It’s been super working with you on this, a privilege. I care very much about what happens to them, Rachel. That’s really all I’ve ever cared about. I hope you can see that.
She shakes her head.
I can see exactly what’s happened.
It is not a threat, and there’s nothing more she can say. No doubt he believes what he says, but his tone is so equitable that she wants to hit him. Or is he to be congratulated? She wonders. Has he achieved something unarguably worthwhile, no matter the means? No other individual in the country was in a position to do what he has done. He is an accelerant in the world. An environmentalist, a master tactician, and a spoilt child. She gets into the taxi, and he closes the door behind her.
They drive through the tall, steepled city, the castle spot-lit and looming above, the new trams sounding their bells. After a few minutes, she tells them to let her out, that she would prefer to get the train home tonight. It sounds churlish, but she has the excuse of needing to get back to Charlie. She does want to see the baby, but she also wants to sit alone, quietly, in a carriage, with the blacked-out landscape flushing by, and think — or not have to think. Huib offers to accompany her, his comrade spirit undented by her mood, but she tells him, no, stay, enjoy the evening and the flight tomorrow. The taxi detours and drops her at Waverley station.
Keep your train receipt, Thomas tells her as she gets out.
The next train to Penrith is not for an hour; she has just missed the previous one. She finds a bench at the far end of the platform, away from the travelling throngs. She calls Lawrence and lets him know what has happened, what time she will be back, and that she will be coming north again the next day. A light aircraft has been arranged for her to monitor the progress of the wolves as they make their way up the country, and then she will be required to liaise with various local groups, smooth the way for Scotland’s new hunter. The contract offered is temporary, with moderate government pay, but suitable, more in keeping with what she is used to earning, and she is not yet ready to let them go. First she must pick up her car, and her son, speak to her brother and to Alexander, explain what she has to do.
The station rattles and clanks with trains arriving and departing; the tannoy announces which are late, or boarding, or cancelled. Pigeons coo from the roof, flurrying between wrought-iron rafters, swapping positions between the metal spikes designed to deter them. She stares at the ground. A pile of feathers near the bench where a hawk has been at work. Sweet wrappers, crushed cans, the grey boles of chewing gum trodden flat. The wind on the platform is blissfully cold, and bears the consoling thought of winter, an end, or a beginning. She takes out her phone and dials the number of the office at Chief Joseph.
*
After takeoff, when the seatbelt sign has been extinguished, she unbuckles herself and Charlie and walks him down the aisle, past all the passengers he has offended with his yelling for the last fifteen minutes. He has stopped screaming and thrashing, his ears probably having equalised, but his cheeks are still flushed and damp. She tries not to feel impatient. It will be a long flight in a confined space, shortcutting over the polar cap, but still another nine hours to endure. She’ll need to keep him occupied as much as possible, or try to get him to sleep. The plane tilts as it banks west. He parades gamely on down the aisle, stopping to look at various passengers, a large man already snoring, head back, a girl with a brightly tattooed arm. Rachel steers him onward, thinking about the chalky little pills Binny used to give her when they were driving any great distance. To stop you being sick, her mother always said, though Rachel was never travel-sick. The thought does appeal now, of doping her son. Perhaps it’s cruel to subject a fourteen-month-old to such physical discomforts and tedium, she thinks, but the same might be said of the terms of existence.
A steward makes his way towards them and smiles as he passes by, shaking his head.
You were the one making all that noise, were you?
Charlie looks up at the man, all innocence and big dark eyes, and continues walking unsteadily towards the back of the plane.
We don’t care, do we? Rachel says. We’re doing our own thing.
If Binny taught her anything, it was exactly that. Don’t be cowed. Live singularly, and without regret. Not always the best creed, but maybe now Rachel can put it to good use. It’s going to be a very difficult, very strange visit. What will Kyle say when he sees her, and — more to the point — when he sees Charlie and learns who he is? Her phone call explained very little, just that she was coming with some friends to visit the Reservation and to say hi. He could be struck dumb. He may never forgive her. She would not blame him.
Well, he’s probably not going to stove your head in, Alexander had assured her at the airport when he dropped them off. He doesn’t sound the type.
I know. But still.
Hey, don’t worry. Men love children. The more the better, scattered all round the world.
Oh shut up, she’d said, pushing him gently.
He’d grinned and kissed her, then leant down and kissed Charlie.
Go on, then. You get to board on the plane first with this one, you know. See you in a week.
Don’t forget to do your visas online, she reminds him, and tell Chloe to bring some warm gear — it’ll get very cold. I’ll pick you up in Spokane. OK?
OK. Hey, Kyle might stove my head in. Men love that possessive stuff, too.
She’d laughed and wheeled her bag to the front of the security check, Charlie heavy on her hip.
Maybe.
She walks Charlie to the back of the plane, where he takes extreme interest in the handles of the cabin storage drawers, trying to open them one by one. She disengages him, wends him round the toilets, and down the other aisle. He stops to yank on the trailing wire of someone’s headphones, drawn to pull-able things with almost narcotic intensity.
Nope, she says, untangling his hands, and to the lady whose film has suddenly gone silent, says, Sorry about that, he’s a little monkey.
Oh, no, the woman says. He’s a little angel.
The great debate, Rachel thinks, I’ll go with monkey. Charlie steps forward. She is glad she’s travelling ahead of Alexander; she owes Kyle that much, the courtesy of private explanation and some time alone with his son. She will plan what to say on the flight. Or maybe she won’t. The subject is not going to be gentle on the palate: human beings are strong meat. Maybe she’ll arrive at the centre and present the baby as a given, a thing that simply is, a boon — which he is. Perhaps there won’t be too much shock. The world is used to reproduction, after all. Nothing seems to stop it — not war, not science, not humanity’s own incalculable stupidity.
Lawrence’s advice was just that — hold Charlie up, introduce him, and don’t worry about the rest. Her brother’s advice is usually simply put these days, often revolving around truth, exposing the root, squeezing out the poison. Fear of re-entering the labyrinth of self-deception, perhaps, and getting sick again. He did not want to come on the American trip, though she asked him several times, assured him there was no intrusion: he would be one of the gang.