‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it’s a different country. Different laws, different health and social services and everything. They still don’t have all the databases joined up. Not by a long chalk.’
‘Yeah, but come on,’ she said. ‘It’s hardly practical for us to move to Lewis.’
‘I’m not talking about moving,’ Hugh said. ‘More like a long holiday, and if we have to stay longer, well, we can both work. You can work from anywhere, and there’s plenty on Lewis that I can do.’
‘I don’t see much demand for fancy joinery on the long island.’
‘No, but – they’ve started dismantling the wind turbines, my dad’s been lured back to the farm from the croft by the wages they’re holding out to him. Plenty of on-site work there for me too – even theoretical knowledge must be worth something, it must come in handy.’
He didn’t sound like he was convincing himself.
‘And what about your work right now?’ she asked.
‘The Ealing jobs? Each of them just takes a few days, so I can leave at short notice if I have to. The whole lot finishes in a couple of weeks. Beginning of June at the latest. By then it’s just a matter of taking Nick out of the nursery a month before the summer holidays start anyway.’
‘A month…’ The reminder troubled her. ‘You know, my next check-up’s a month from now. If I haven’t taken the fix by then, they’ll know I lied to Dr Garnett, and then they’ll really start turning the screws. So all that leaves me is two weeks in June to decide about the fix. Two weeks of this no-pressure situation in Lewis? Huh.’
Hugh looked a bit hurt.
‘OK, it’s not much, but it’s better than staying here. Isn’t it?’
Hope shrugged, and gazed moodily into her glass. She swirled the dilute whisky around, and breathed the fumes.
‘It isn’t just a matter of time,’ she said. ‘It’s a matter of knowing there’s something I can do if I do decide not to take it. I mean, it’s a big step. It would mean going on the run, basically. And Lewis has never struck me as a good place to start running.’
‘No,’ said Hugh. ‘It’s a place to stop running. I have lots of friends and relations on Lewis. All we have to do is keep moving around for six months. Social services up there aren’t so efficient or well-resourced that they can go on chasing us. They go after easy targets, because they measure success by targets, so to speak. No doubt they’ll want to make an example of someone, but if we make that enough hassle for them, it doesn’t have to be you.’
‘That’s a bit selfish,’ said Hope
‘Yes. And?’ Again with the wry smile.
‘It would just set up somebody else,’ Hope said.
Hugh looked her straight in the eye.
‘Oh!’ Hope said. ‘That’s… You think that’s what it’s all about, for me. That I don’t care what happens to any of the other mums in this situation, so long as it doesn’t happen to me.’
‘“Do it to Julia”,’ Hugh said, in a heavy voice, so she could hear the quotes.
‘Who’s Julia?’
‘In Nineteen Eighty-Four, remember?’
Hope had only scrappy memories of the book, which had been compulsory reading in Year Two English in high school. There had been something horrible about rats, which she had tried to put out of her mind. And the teacher had explained how it was really all about how the West and China had always been allies against Russia, from the Cold War all the way through to the Warm War. That had troubled her a bit, because she was sure she remembered being scared of China when she was a small child. But she hadn’t said anything, because China was definitely friendly now, and Russia definitely wasn’t. In Russia the government watched people all the time, with cameras everywhere, and everyone was afraid to say what they really thought. Whereas here we had transparency and accountability. Everything was transparent and people were accountable. Or everything was accountable and people were transparent. One or the other.
‘Oh, nothing like that!’ Hope said. ‘Look, I’ve tried and tried. Argued online. Argued with the faith mums to their faces. Come on, I even joined the Labour Party.’
‘Quite a sacrifice,’ said Hugh. She couldn’t tell if he was being ironic. He sounded aggressive. ‘Done your civic duty. Gone through the proper channels.’
It was the whisky talking, she thought. Disinhibition. He’d been off alcohol for three months too, and he’d just drunk about three times more than she had. She was feeling a bit dis-inhibited herself. She drained the glass and put it on the table, then moved forward along the sofa on her knees.
‘Come here,’ she said, and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to the couch.
13. Genetic Information
‘There’s a girl at the door asking for you,’ said Ashid, smirk on his face, head poking up through the floor from behind the top of the ladder. This house was even more of a wreck than number 37 had been.
‘Is she selling something?’ Hugh asked, putting down a diamond-bladed saw.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ashid. ‘Indian. Christian. Very black.’
‘Oh, great,’ said Hugh, following Ashid down the ladder. ‘Probably saving my soul.’
The suspicion that the young woman was peddling religion hardened as Hugh caught sight of the tiny silver cross on a chain around her neck. The sight also explained how Ashid had known what religion she professed. Standing in the open doorway in puffa jacket, slate skirt, and flat shoes, her arms down and hands locked in front of her, she looked prim enough to be a missionary. The mission to building workers. Sorely needed. The Meddling Little Sisters of St Joseph the Worker. Early twenties, he guessed. A few years younger than him. But somehow more assured. Confident.
‘Hello?’ said Hugh. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Hi,’ the young woman said. ‘Hugh Morrison?’
‘Yes?’
His tone was, what’s it to you?
‘My name is Evangelina Fernandez.’
Knew it, thought Hugh.
She paused, as if expecting him to recognise the name. Or, perhaps, confused by the way he’d looked for a moment as if he had.
‘But you can call me Geena,’ she went on, evidently giving up on the recognition thing. She stuck out a hand. ‘I’m a sociology researcher.’
Marketing, was how Hugh interpreted that. So, wrong wrong wrong, Ashid. She was selling something.
He shook her hand solemnly. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m a carpenter.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I looked you up, and found your location tag.’ She glanced past his shoulder. ‘Could I come in for a moment, please?’
‘Oh, sure, come on. Mind your step.’
Hugh guided her into the big front room, finished but bare. It smelled of plaster and paint and new wood.
‘I’ll give that stool a wipe,’ he said, looking for a cloth clean enough.
‘It’s fine,’ said Geena. She scuffed a hand across the back of her skirt, a gesture that suddenly made her seem a lot less prim. ‘Dirt-repellent fabric.’
She perched on the stool and looked at him as if confirming something in her head.
‘Uh… tea?’ he asked. ‘It’s about time for…’
It was about eleven.
Geena nodded. ‘Milk, no sugar, thanks.’
Hugh went to the kitchen, brewed up a pot, called to Ashid, then carried two mugs through to the front room. He dragged up a trestle and another stool, and sat down.
‘Thanks.’
They sipped for a moment.