The Stars’ Tennis Balls

‘He had a sudden twinge of cramp and that woke him up a bit,’ said Ned.

‘Cramp?’ said Babe, frowning. ‘What do you mean cramp?’

‘Well, he leapt out of his seat and started walking up and down. I asked him if he was all right and he said it was just a touch of cramp. Then he went out of the room for a moment and came back with a bag of clothes…’

Babe leaned forward. ‘What had you said?’ he asked. ‘What had you said just before he got cramp? What exactly were your words?’

‘He had been asking me about the envelope, who Paddy wanted me to deliver it to, all the details…’

‘But what exactly had you said?’

‘Well, I told him what Paddy had asked me to do – I told him the envelope was to be delivered to a Mr Blackrow, Philip R. Blackrow in… what was the name of the street? It was a square, Heron Square, W1. Number Thirteen, I’m pretty sure – ‘ Ned broke off. Babe was staring across the table at him with a look of horror on his face. ‘What? Babe, what on earth is the matter?’

Babe shook his head and made a noise that sounded like something between a groan and a laugh.

‘Are you all right? What is it?’

‘Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned.’ Babe rocked backwards and forwards in his chair. ‘Why did you never tell me that part of it before? You only told me Blackrow. But Paddy didn’t say Philip Blackrow, that isn’t the name he gave you.

‘Yes it was. I was the one there, for God’s sake, not you! The name was Philip R. Blackrow, 13 Heron Square. I heard it clear as anything.’

Babe had started to shake with laughter. ‘Philip R.

Blackrow! Oh, you poor young donkey, is that what you heard? Don’t you see? It wasn’t Philip R. anything, it was Philippa. Philippa Blackrow. That was the name. Philippa Blackrow.’

‘Philippa? But how could you be so sure of that?’ Ned stared at Babe in bewilderment. ‘I mean it’s possible, I suppose but – are you saying you know her?’

‘I should have joined the dots earlier,’ said Babe. ‘You mentioned the name Blackrow and I never made the connection. What a fool you are, Babe.’

‘What connection? Babe, if you know something, then tell me.’

‘Delft and Blackrow, I can’t believe I’ve been so slow. But there again, who but I would have remembered those names from just one glance at a file over thirty years ago? Oh, you’re an unlucky man, Ned Maddstone, a most unlucky man.’

‘Tell me, Babe. Tell me everything.’

‘Did you ever hear of Jack Custance?’

Ned shook his head.

‘Shot as a traitor during the Second World War. English as a china spaniel, but Fenian to his core. He left a wife and one child, a daughter called Philippa. The wife died in Canada, so her rich brother Robert Wheeler brought little Philippa back to live in England with his family. She grew up as Philippa Wheeler and in due course married one Peter Delft, bearing a child, unnamed, ungendered and undated in the file. Peter Delft died in September, nineteen sixty-one, if memory serves – which of course it does. In April nineteen sixty-three she remarried the merchant banker Jeremy Blackrow and by the time I came across the file in sixty-three no one had ever bothered to update it from that day forward. Thus Philippa Custance became Philippa Wheeler became Philippa Delft became Philippa Blackrow. I only read Jack Custance’s file to research his early life. I had been given the tedious job of writing a paper on the profile of your typical British republican sympathiser, as if such a definable type ever existed.’

‘Philippa Blackrow was Oliver Delft’s mother?’ Ned enunciated each word with extreme deliberation, as if afraid the meaning of what he said would totter and collapse. ‘He was her son. He was the son of the very person Paddy wanted me to give the letter to?’

‘No cross referencing,’ said Babe with a disapproving purse of the lips. ‘Her son applies to the service and they don’t connect Oliver Delft with the daughter of a condemned traitor. Well, how can we expect an intelligence service that can’t spot a full Colonel of the KGB in its ranks to notice a small thing like that? But no wonder Oliver had a touch of cramp when you mentioned her name out of the blue. Must have put the fear of God into him.’

‘So he was a traitor too?’

‘Perhaps, but not necessarily. He might have joined without knowing anything about his mother’s true allegiances.’

‘In either case,’ said Ned, ‘he couldn’t allow me to wander about the world knowing her name.

‘Precisely. If he was any good at his job he would have to find a way to get rid of you and cover all your tracks. We know how he got rid of you. But I wonder how he hid the trail …' Babe’s voice trailed off.

Ned grasped him by the sleeve. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘You have to think of it from Delft’s point of view,’ murmured Babe, more to himself than to Ned. ‘He’s on duty. A flash comes through that a youth has been picked up with a document that might interest the service. He interrogates you, all seems fine, you turn out to be nothing but an innocent. He discovers his own mother is implicated. What can he do? His section chief will ask all kinds of questions next day. “We see from the log, Oliver, that you were sent out to a police station. Who was this boy? What did he have on him?” What would I do if I were Delft?’

‘I don’t follow,’ said Ned. ‘What exactly…

‘Sh!’ Babe put a finger to his lips, ‘I would pretend to be playing you, that’s what I’d do. “I’ve turned him, Chief. He’s feeding me all kinds of gold. But hands off, he’s mine and I don’t want him compromised.” But he would need to give something in return. There’s the tape, of course, but that had his mother’s name on it – he’d need another. Did he, Ned, did he by any chance get you to say anything specific on the tape? After his attack of cramp, that is?’

‘I’m not sure … yes! Portia’s family! He wanted to know about her father. I told him what I knew and he asked for the full address. He even asked me to say it twice. But why? I still don’t understand.’

‘Mine was a grubby trade,’ said Babe. ‘Let me tell you what Oliver did.’

That night, as Ned lay awake, another name joined the others pounding inside his head. Now it was Delft, Fendeman, Garland and Cade.

Delft, Fendeman, Garland and Cade. Delft, Fendeman, Garland and Cade. He banged the names with his fist against his thigh. He scratched them with his nails into the palm of his hand. He burned the names into his brain. Delft, Fendeman, Garland and Cade. Delft, Fendeman, Garland and Cade.

Spring on the island was a time when, in the past, Ned had always felt at his most imprisoned. As the long winter melted away and the days lengthened, birds would begin to arrive bringing thoughts of a world outside. As they built their nests and started to sing, Ned would feel the limits of his own mind. No amount of literature, science or philosophy could counter the absolute beauty of the daffodils and the birdsong, nor palliate the terrible achings they awoke in him.

One day in mid-April, just a week after the sun-room had been opened up for the year, Ned sat at the chessboard waiting for Babe. They rarely played these days. It embarrassed Ned that he could beat the older man so easily and it annoyed him that Babe seemed so devoid of will as not to care who won.

Martin came out into the sunlight, blinking. He approached Ned with a smile.

‘You waiting for Babe, I suppose?’

‘Of course,’ replied Ned.

‘You wait long time then. Babe had some heart attack last night. Babe is in his bed dying right now.’

Ned sprang to his feet and grabbed Martin by the coat.

‘Hey, Thomas! You let go. You want to be strapped up in punishment cell?’

‘Take me to him!’ Ned yelled. ‘Take me to him right now.

‘I don’t take you to nobody,’ Martin sneered. ‘Who you think you are? You don’t tell me orders. I tell you orders.’

Ned let go of Martin’s collar and started to smoothe it down placatingly. ‘Please, Martin,’ he said. ‘Try to understand. Babe is everything to me. He is my father, my brother and my only friend. We are like … we are like you and Henrik.’ Ned gestured towards where a young newly-arrived Swede was sat trembling and hugging his knees in a basket-chair at the other end of the room. ‘You and Henrik, how close you are. How wonderful it is. It is the same with Babe and me. You understand don’t you? You do understand. I know Dr Mallo would understand. He would want me to be with Babe now, I am sure of it.’

Martin’s eyes narrowed and then dropped. ‘I let you see Babe, you don’t go talking bad things about me to Dr Mallo?’

‘Never, Martin. Never would I say bad things about you to Dr Mallo. You are my friend, Martin. My good friend.’

Ned allowed Martin to lead him to the hospital wing. It took him past Mallo’s office and into a corridor down which he had never been before.

Babe was the only patient in the small four-bed ward. Lying on his back with a tube up his nose, he seemed shrunken and old. Ned knelt by his bed and looked at the face he loved so deeply.

‘Babe,’ he whispered, ‘Babe, it’s Thomas.’

‘I come back half an hour,’ said Martin, closing and locking the door. ‘You go then. Not see Babe again.’

Ned could see the thick orbs of Babe’s eyeballs rolling under the loosened skin of his eyelids.

‘Ned?’ The name came out in a whispered breath.

Ned took a hand. ‘It’s me,’ he said, tears starting to roll down his face. ‘Babe, you can’t leave me. You mustn’t leave me. Please … please … I’ll go mad. I know I’ll go mad.’ His voice cracked and he gave a huge sob. ‘Babe! Oh Christ, Babe! I will kill myself if you go. I swear to Christ I will.’

Babe pushed out his blackened tongue and passed it over dry and flaking lips. ‘I am dying,’ he said. ‘They will pack me in a box in the room next to this. I heard them talking when I woke up an hour ago. They will seal me in a crate and take me to the mainland where I will be certified dead, nailed into a coffin and sent home. They will burn me in England.’

‘Please don’t talk like this,’ the tears were dropping from Ned’s face onto the bed sheets.

‘We have half an hour, no more,’ whispered Babe, ‘so you must listen to me. In sixty-nine I was preparing to leave England. They caught me before I could leave and they brought me here, but they never guessed what I had been up to.'

‘Babe, please! You’re working yourself up…’

‘If you don’t listen,’ Babe took Ned’s hand and gripped it hard, ‘I shall die here and now!’ he hissed. ‘Be silent for once and listen. They