She said, ‘Anyway. I keep saying that, don’t I? Anyway. Anyway, I walked home. A lot of Londoners did that on the seventh of July. It was walk home from work day. And by the time I got home, my feet were in ribbons … I’d been wearing heels for work. Because I was new, and because I wanted to look smart and feel sexy, because this was the City, after all … And because nobody told me that my second week on the job, a bunch of murderers were going to take their lunatic grievances into the underground, kill fifty-six people and close London for half a day.’ She blinked. ‘I got home and put my shoes in a cupboard and that’s where they’ve been ever since. Everybody’s got their own memorial, haven’t they? Mine’s a pair of ruined shoes in a cupboard. Every time I look at them, I think about that day.’ Now she looked at River. ‘I’m not being very clear, am I?’
‘You were there.’ It came out a croak. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s your memory. It doesn’t have to be clear.’
‘What about you?’
Where’d he been when the bombs went off, she meant.
As it happened he’d been on leave; a make-or-break Italian jaunt with his last serious girlfriend, a civilian. So he’d watched the day unfurl on CNN, when not frantically altering his flight home. ‘His’ flight, because she’d stayed. He wasn’t certain she’d ever returned.
Sometimes, River Cartwright felt like a career soldier who’d never seen action.
Instead of answering, he said, ‘So that’s why you joined. To stop anything like that happening again.’
‘Makes me sound naive, doesn’t it?’
‘No. It’s part of the job.’
Sidonie said, ‘What I thought was, even if I’m only filing cards. Trawling through websites. Even if I’m just making cups of tea for the people who are stopping it happen again, that’ll be enough. Just to be part of it.’
‘You are part of it.’
‘So are you.’
But making cups of tea is not enough, he didn’t say.
Down the road, another car turned off the main drag and almost immediately pulled into a space. For a moment it sat, lights on, and River could make out the purr of its engine. Then it died.
‘River …’
‘What is it?’
‘You wanted to know why I was assigned to Slough House.’
River said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I have been.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t need the details.’ Because when you got down to it, it didn’t take a genius. Sid must have embarrassed the wrong person, either by not sleeping with him—or her—or by sleeping with him or her, and still being there in the morning. She didn’t belong in Slough House. But that wasn’t a reason to make her tell him about it. He said, ‘I’ve messed up plenty myself.’
Bombs on underground trains had propelled Sid into the Service. A non-existent bomb on an underground platform had all but propelled River out of it. One day he might be able to say something like that out loud, and hear her laugh; hear himself laugh, even. But not yet.
‘I didn’t mess up, River.’
River’s view of the newly parked car was mostly blocked by the car in front, but he could tell nobody had got out of it.
‘I mean, there’s a reason I’m there.’
Could be making a phone call. Or waiting for someone. Maybe here was a rare example of someone who’d pull up near a friend’s house after dark, and refrain from blowing their horn to announce their presence.
‘River?’
He didn’t want to hear it. Might as well come clean; he didn’t want to hear about Sid’s sexual history. Months of pretending she barely existed; it had been a way of guarding against rejection, because Christ knew, he was already a reject. The whole world knew about him crashing King’s Cross. The footage was used for training purposes.
‘Christ …’
There might have been movement down the road. Did one shadow leave the parked car, and join the larger shadows on the pavement? He couldn’t tell. But if it had, it had been too clean to be an accident.
‘Will you pay afuckingttention?’
‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘So what’s the reason? For you being at Slough House?’
‘You are.’
And now he did pay afuckingttention. Sid, half her face in shadow, the other half white as a plate, said, ‘I was put there to keep an eye on you, River.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
She shook her head.
‘You’re kidding.’
The one eye he could see gazed steadily back. He’d known good liars, and maybe Sid was one. But she wasn’t lying now.
‘Why?’
‘You’re not supposed to know about this.’
‘But you’re telling me. Right? You’re telling me.’
