‘Yes,’ said Robin, staring at the dagger lying on the ground. Its nine-inch blade looked blunt. It had a black handle and a brass crosspiece, on which a familiar symbol was engraved. Robin pulled her gloves back out of her pocket, put them on with her phone held between ear and shoulder, and picked it up. Ilsa was still talking.
‘Sorry, what?’ said Robin, straightening up, weighing the dagger in her hand. It was fifteen inches long, weighty and very clearly ceremonial rather than a genuine weapon. Even so, it would make a decent bludgeon.
‘I said,
‘I doubt they’ll get him,’ said Robin, now examining the compass and square symbol on the hilt. ‘It’s dark and he was wearing a mask. No cameras… anyway, I’m not hurt. He just wanted to frighten me.’
‘
‘Where did he follow me from?’ said Robin, talking more to herself than to Ilsa, now.
‘Robin, you’re scaring the crap out of me—’
‘I’m all right, I’m fine… now I just need to find a way of hiding this dagger so I don’t get arrested on the Tube.’
Robin’s phone began bleeping.
‘Ilsa, I’m really sorry, that’s Mum, I’ll have to take it.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll call you back.’
A man walking his dog appeared out of the darkness ahead. Robin thrust the masonic dagger inside her coat, tightened her belt so it wouldn’t fall out and accepted her mother’s call.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, Robin, what a nightmare,’ said Linda, who was clearly crying.
‘What is?’ said Robin, in alarm.
‘Martin just threatened to hit the doctor—’
‘
‘It turns out Carmen’s got an android pelvis—’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s harder for the baby to get through, they think that’s why he was injured coming out, if he’d been full term they’d probably have done a C-section – Martin’s blaming them for not realising and acting sooner, she was in labour for nineteen hours and now he’s been escorted out of the hospital…’
Robin walked on, her mother sobbing in her ear, and could think of nothing to say except,
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s gone after Martin, he’s trying to calm him down…’
‘Mum, I’m so sorry,’ said Robin. ‘I wish I could do something…’
‘Oh, Lord, hang on, Stephen’s just arrived…’ Linda’s voice became muffled. ‘It’s Robin, Stephen, I’m just telling her… I’m back,’ said Linda into the phone again.
‘But what’s wrong with the baby? You said his arm’s not moving.’
‘They say it’s torn nerves, something palsy – they need to investigate. They say it might resolve, if that’s what it is, but they seem worried…’
‘Mum, I—’ But Robin couldn’t think of anything to say that would help. ‘Please… just send Carmen my love, and say I’m really looking forward to meeting – has he got a name yet?’
‘They’re saying they’re going to call him Dirk,’ said Linda. ‘I don’t care… I just want him to be all right…
‘Me?’ said Robin, pausing to tighten her belt, as the dagger was slipping. ‘I’m great. Don’t worry about me.’
Now hyper-alert, Robin hurried home, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder. Once in her flat, she placed the dagger engraved with the compass and set square inside a new freezer bag, then hid it in her underwear drawer, alongside the small rubber gorilla that had been forced into her hand at Harrods.
Had they been the same man? Had she – the thought was irresistible – just come face to face with Oz?
Before she drew the sitting room curtains she peered down into the street to be sure no lurker was watching. She told herself there’d been a comic aspect to her menacer’s methodology; throwing the dagger at her had been ludicrously anticlimactic, the kind of thing a child would do. But the gorilla mask had upset her, far more than the knife; that had been vile, personal, intended to invoke atavistic terror. She returned to her front door three times in the twenty minutes after arriving home, rechecking that she’d bolted it, and that she’d set her alarm.
The more Robin thought about it, the more certain she was that the man must have followed her from her flat that morning, taken the bus with her, then lurked on that industrial estate, and now she thought about it, the man with the bandana who’d been hanging around had the same dark green jacket as the one wearing the gorilla mask. He’d pretended to be just another worker moving around the industrial units, waiting for a chance to frighten her with his mask and dagger and deliver his message. She felt humiliated: she, who’d undertaken training in surveillance and counter-surveillance, was supposed to know better than this. She knew all the tricks because she used them herself: taking her jacket on and off, subtly changing her appearance, concealing her face, constantly switching position. He hadn’t even been very good: she’d noticed him earlier, staring at her.