“Thanks.” Tim was reluctant to let go; he held up his PCglasses. “We watched it, all of us. Every news stream showed you walking across. I couldn’t believe it.”
“You’ve got balls of steel, Jeff,” Simon said, grinning with admiration. “I would never have done that.”
Jeff didn’t take his eyes off Tim. “I had to.”
“You really came. I…I don’t know what to say, Dad.” He peered around Jeff’s shoulder. “You too, Annabelle. Thanks.”
“Hi yourself, Tim.” She sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. Jeff put his arm around her, stroking in concern. Rachel was giving them a sardonic look, unnoticed by Simon.
“So, are you going to live up to your side of the deal?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah,” Tim said weakly. “None of this is what I expected.”
“Life never is, son.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
52. AN EVENING IN
SUE BUZZED THE OUTSIDE LOCK as soon as she saw them on the porch’s CCTV monitor. She was waiting in the vestibule when the lift arrived. Jeff was first out. She gave him a quick smile, then looked anxiously behind him. Tim was standing there, looking exhausted. His clothes were filthy and messed up, with broad smears of green dye. She flung her arms around him and squeezed tight.
“I’m okay,” he said. “We’re all okay now.”
Sue nodded welcome to the other youngsters. The three girls looked wrecked. The boys weren’t much better. “Come on in,” she said.
Vanessa, Rachel, and Annabelle claimed the master bedroom with its en suite bathroom. Sue gave them a pile of her casual clothes, and found them some extra soap and shampoo, though she doubted that would be any good against the dye. The boys had taken over the biggest guest bedroom, and were soon larking about as they got ready to shower. She called at Tim through the door, telling him which wardrobe had his old clothes, and that he was to share them out. As she walked away she heard Colin and Simon joshing him about being told what to do by his mum. A secretive grin lifted her lips; it actually felt good looking after them all, as if she’d become some kind of earth mother.
She found Jeff in the kitchen, swigging down a bottle of premium-strength lager.
“That was quite something you did this afternoon,” she said.
He handed her a second bottle. She expertly snapped the top off against one of the granite work tops, then smiled, wishing Tim had seen her do that.
“Second scare he’s given me in a month,” Jeff said.
“First one you’ve given me in quite a while. I watched you on the news streams.”
“Have the government put their spin on that yet?”
“I think they’re a little busy blaming Brussels for the riot right now.”
“Never mind, I’m sure they’ll get round to it.”
“Everybody saw you, there’s not much they can change in people’s minds. And when they find out you did that because you were concerned about your son…You really could run for president, you know.”
“What a ghastly thought.”
“And Annabelle went with you. I’m going to have to revise my opinion about that one.”
Jeff took a big swig. “Go easy on her tonight, she’s had a hard time.”
“I wasn’t planning on being a bitch, Jeff.”
“I’m glad you were here.”
Sue raised her bottle in salute. “Me too.”
“Right then. Let’s get supper sorted, I’m starving. You have got proper food here, haven’t you, not just that delicatessen crap?”
Sue stuck her tongue out at him, and opened the freezer. Jeff chuckled appreciatively as they pulled the packets out.
Once the youngsters were all washed and dressed in clean dry clothes, they sat around the kitchen table and wolfed down sausages and eggs and potato fritters and spaghetti and garlic bread. “Nursery food,” Tim called it contentedly. “Thanks, Mum.”
Listening to all the banter and mild teasing going on around the table was almost like old times for Jeff. With one exception. Annabelle never left his side, and he could return the affection in front of Tim and Sue without any hesitation.
The big screen in the living room was switched to a news stream, and everyone settled in chairs or sprawled over cushions to watch. Jeff sat on the couch with Annabelle curled up beside him. She was nice and warm against his side. He was feeling the cold again, though the others all claimed the room was hot.
By eight-thirty the first squads of the Europol RSF had arrived from Paris, though none had yet been seen emerging from the trains. Cameras showed protestors retreating from the streets around Kings Cross. Rob Lacey appeared in Downing Street’s Rose Garden for a live press statement, claiming that the nihilists wrecking the streets of our great capital would be brought to justice no matter how long it took.
“They always say that,” Simon exclaimed. “Any sort of big crime gets committed, and politicians say exactly the same line every time. They never do it, though.”
By nine o’clock the Metropolitan Police had managed to escort fire engines to most of the blazes away from Docklands. There was coverage of the infernos raging through dozens of buildings, sending flames twisting high into the night sky. News streams competed against one another with dramatic shots of fire crews sending huge jets of foaming water through broken windows and crumbled masonry, trying to stop the spread. Some of the more hysterical reporters were talking about the Second Fire of London, a concept the authorities were eager to quash. Cameras lingered on the somber black ruins of buildings already burned out.
There was no official curfew, although Scotland Yard kept stressing that law-abiding citizens should not go outside.
The Brussels Parliament went into emergency session to debate the civil situation. Furious English EMPs rose to condemn foreign agitators for wrecking the capital, claiming it amounted to an invasion force. Continental EMPs protested at the use of such provocative, racist terms. Shouts and countershouts grew louder; objects were thrown across the seating tiers. The speaker called a recess so that tempers could calm.
At half past ten, more than three and a half thousand RSF officers had arrived at St. Pancras, along with their vehicles and equipment. They began to deploy through the city under the overall command of the Metropolitan Police chief in tandem with Europol’s senior commander. Downing Street and the Home Office made that quite clear from the start, promising their full support for whatever actions were necessary to bring the troublemakers to justice.
The RSF began to establish an isolation cordon around the outside of the University of East London campus. Big water cannon vehicles led the way down streets, high-pressure hoses washing away anyone who stood in front of them. Protestors were slammed to the ground as the water hit them, then pummeled over and over by the jets to lie semiconscious on the side of the road, where RSF officers picked them up and flung them into the prisoner containment carriers that were following the water cannons.
Just after midnight, Rachel and Vanessa announced they’d had enough, and went off to bed, tired by their strange, exhausting day, and depressed by the relentless bad news on the screen. Half an hour later Sue said she’d also seen enough. Jeff agreed, and said good night to the boys who were camping out in the living room.
He and Annabelle used the smaller of the guest bedrooms. They made love with the same kind of desperation and intensity as that first time in the car. Both of them were needy, demanding reassurance and physical comfort from each other. For once he didn’t have to bother with the Viagra; his body was as eager as hers.
They clung together afterward, trembling in relief, thankful that they had each other, both accepting that the
