'And if I want to die for a cause I'll bloody well choose it myself. And it won't be for terrorism. It won't be for bastards who put bombs in pubs and blow up my friends and don't give a damn about ordinary people, because we're not important, are we?'
Caroline said: 'You must have suspected something. You're not educated but you're not stupid, either. I wouldn't have chosen you if I couldn't be sure of that. You never questioned me and you wouldn't have got an answer if you had, but you couldn't have thought that we were going to all that trouble for frightened kittens or butchered seal pups.'
Had she thought that? Amy wondered. Perhaps the truth was that she had believed in the intention but never that it would actually be carried out. She hadn't doubted their will, only their ability. And in the meantime it had been fun to be part of the conspiracy. She had enjoyed the excitement, the knowledge that she had a secret from Neil, the half-simulated frisson of fear as she left the caravan after dark to plant the postcards in the ruins of the abbey.
She had hidden behind a broken breakwater almost laughing aloud that night when she had nearly been caught by Mrs Dennison and Mr Dalgliesh. And the money had been useful, too; generous payment for so small a task. And there had been the dream, the picture of a flag whose design was as yet unknown, but which they would raise over the power station and which would command respect, obedience, instant response. They would be saying to the whole world, 'Stop it. Stop it now.' They would be speaking for the captive zoo animals, the threatened whales, the polluted, sick seals, the tormented laboratory animals, the terrified beasts driven into the abattoirs to the smell of blood and their own death, the hens crowded together, unable even to peck, for the whole of the abused and exploited animal world. But it had been only a dream. This was reality; the insubstantial boards under her feet, the dark suffocating mist, the oily waves slapping against their frail craft. The reality was death, there was no other. Everything in her life, from the moment she had met Caroline in that Islington pub and they had walked back to the squat together, had led to this moment of truth, this terror.
She moaned: 'I want Timmy. What about my baby? I want my baby.'
'You won't have to leave him, not permanently. They'll find a way of reuniting you.'
'Don't be daft. What sort of life would he have with a terrorist gang? They'll write him off like they write off everyone else.'
Caroline said: 'What about your parents? Won't they take him? Can't they look after him?'
'Are you crazy? I ran away from home because my stepfather knocked Ma about. When he started on me I walked out. Do you think I'd let him have Timmy, him or her?'
Her mother had seemed to like the violence, or at least had liked what came after it. Those two years before she ran away had taught Amy one lesson; have sex only with men who want you more than you want them.
Caroline asked: 'What about Pascoe? Are you sure he knows nothing?'
'Of course he doesn't. We weren't even lovers. He didn't want me and I didn't want him.'
But there was someone she had wanted, and she had a sudden vivid memory of lying with Alex in the dunes, the smell of sea and sand and sweat, his grave ironic face. Well, she wasn't going to tell Caroline about Alex. She had one secret of her own. She would keep it.
She thought of the curious paths by which she had come to this moment in time, to this place. Perhaps if she drowned her whole life would flash before her as it was said to do, everything experienced, understood, made sense of in that final annihilating moment. But now she saw the past as a series of coloured slides, clicking in quick succession, an image briefly received, an emotion barely experienced before it disappeared. Suddenly she was shivering violently. She said: 'I'm cold.'
'I said to come with warm clothes and nothing else. That jumper isn't enough.'
'These are the only warm clothes I've got.'
'On the headland? What do you wear in winter?'
'Sometimes Neil lends me his greatcoat. We share. Whichever one of us goes out gets the coat. We were thinking we might get one for me from the Old Rectory jumble.'
Caroline took off her jacket. She said: 'Here, put this round you.'
'No, that's yours. I don't want it.' 'Put it on.'
'I said I don't want it.'
But like a child she let Caroline push her arms into the sleeves, stood obediently while the jacket was fastened. Then she crouched down, almost wedging herself under the narrow seat which ran round the boat, shutting out the horror of those silently advancing waves. It seemed to Amy that she felt for the first time and with every nerve the inexorable power of the sea. She saw in imagination her pale and lifeless body plummeting through the miles of wet darkness to the sea bed, to the skeletons of long-drowned sailors where the uncaring creatures swam between the ribs of ancient ships. And the mist, less thick now but mysteriously more frightening, had become a living thing, gently swirling and soundlessly breathing, stealing her own breath so that she found herself panting, insinuating its damp horror into every pore. It seemed impossible to believe that somewhere there was land, lighted windows behind the drawn curtains, light spilling from the doors of pubs, laughing voices, people sitdng in warmth and safety. She saw the caravan as she had seen it so often, returning from Norwich after dark, a sturdy rectangle of wood which seemed rooted to the headland defying the gales and the sea, the warm glow from its windows, the twist of smoke rising from the stack. She thought of Timmy and Neil. How long would Neil wait until he called the police? He wasn't one to act in a hurry. After all, she wasn't a child, she had a right to leave. He might do nothing until morning, and perhaps even then he would wait. But it wouldn't matter. There was nothing the police could do. No one except that desolate figure on the quay knew where they were and if he raised the alarm it would be too late. It was useless to believe even in the reality of the terrorists. They were marooned here in black dampness. They would circle and circle until the fuel ran out and then drift out to sea until a coaster ran them down.
She no longer had any sense of passing time. The rhythmic throbbing of the engine had lulled her, not into peace but into a dulled acquiescence in which she was aware only of the wood hard against her back, of Caroline standing intent and motionless in the cockpit.
The engine died. For a few seconds the silence was absolute. Then, as the boat gently lurched, Amy heard the creak of wood, the slap of water. She breathed a suffocating wetness, felt its cold seeping through the jacket, into her bones. It seemed impossible that anyone could find them in this bleak expanse of water and emptiness and she had ceased to care whether they did.
Caroline said: 'This is the place. This is where they're going to meet us. We'll just have to circle here until they come.'
Amy heard the engine again, but this time it was an almost imperceptible throb. And suddenly she knew. There was no conscious process of reasoning, only a blinding and terrifying certainty which burst upon her with the clarity of a vision. There was a second in which her heart froze, leapt and its strong drumming powered her body into life. She almost sprang to her feet. 'They're not going to put me ashore, are they? They're going to kill me. You know it. You've known it all along. You've brought me here to be killed.'
Caroline's eyes were fixed on the two lights, the intermittent flash from the lighthouse, the glitter from the offshore structures. She said coldly: 'Don't be hysterical.'
'They can't risk letting me go. I know too much. And you said yourself that I wouldn't be much use to them. Look, you've got to help me. Tell them how useful I was, make believe I'm worth keeping. If I can only get ashore, somehow I'll make a break for it. But I have to have a chance. Caroline, you've got me into this. You must help me. I have to get ashore. Listen to me! Listen to me, Caroline! We've got to talk.'