Celebrating 6 chapters in
My thoughts on the experience so far - plus all of the first 6 CHAPTERS together
First 6 chapters are at the end of this post.
Or follow these links… CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5 - CHAPTER 6
Hi Everyone
It’s been six weeks since launching this newsletter and the novel so I thought it would be a good time to reflect on how it’s going.
“The bomb in the shed…” is the second novel I’ve written and I wanted to do it differently this time. I decided to share a chapter a week as I wrote it to try and make the experience of writing a novel more involving and engaging. Otherwise it can feel quite isolating at times.
I have to say, so far I’m really pleased. I think it’s working. Knowing I’m releasing a chapter every week has three key benefits…
Having a deadline. Which keeps you focussed and keeps you writing. Once you’re committed to delivering you don’t want to let people down, it helps keep you motivated.
Thinking in chapters. With any novel you need to think in chapters as well as the overall story. Each chapter needs to have a clear purpose, move the story and characters along and be a story in and of itself. This is just as true when a novel is released in full. But knowing it’s a chapter at a time and you want to keep readers hooked keeps you more focussed on this.
A source of energy. Overall I find it far more energising knowing there are people reading the novel as I write it. I get feedback and its all fuel for the process, whether it’s constructive criticism or people letting me know how much they are enjoying it. All of it gives you a lift and keeps you going
So thanks to everyone who has subscribed and to anyone reading the novel. From the comments Ive received so far I think lots of you are enjoying it.
And if you haven’t quite got round to it yet the first six chapters are below, in case you want to have a binge read.
That’s it form me for another Tuesday.
(First 6 chapters below)
Jonathan
Chapter 1
The whole audience turned to stare at Arthur Price as he skulked in the shadows at the back of the hall, nursing a half empty glass of wine, trying his best to stay out of everyone’s way. It was the most attention he’d received in all of his sixty five years, and it was mortifying.
“Tell us about your husband, what does he do?”
That was the question his wife, Camilla, had been asked by the young publicist interviewing her on stage. Camilla had paused, her silver hair shining as bright as a halo in the glare of the spotlight. Up to that point she’d been basking in the adoration of the crowd, sharing the secrets behind her seventh and latest best-selling novel A season for love. But at the mention of her husband her smile had faded, just a little, and she’d shielded her eyes from the light’s glare as she sought him out in the crowd. She’d pointed and waved. The spotlight had swung round and picked him out. The audience’s attention had followed.
Arthur waited patiently for the ground to swallow him whole.
Camilla said, “You know, he keeps himself busy, with his little project in the shed.”
This insight was greeted with polite laughter before the interview quickly moved on to more pressing questions, around the love life of her glamorous retiree heroine Jacqueline Devereaux. It was a relief that everyone’s attention was elsewhere once more. Arthur shouldn’t even be at the launch, there was far too much for him to do back at home. His little project wasn’t going so well and standing around a book launch like a spare part wasn’t going to help. Camilla usually took their daughter, Alex, to these events. She was a big fan of her mum’s writing. But Alex was away at a fashion shoot, so Camilla had made Arthur come along for moral support. And this was his reward, total humiliation.
“You must be very proud of your wife.”
A young man had appeared next to Arthur, slicked back dark hair, sharp features, pristine white jeans. What on earth would Camilla think if Arthur wore trousers like that? He assured the fellow that he was indeed very proud of his wife, but the words sounded hollow in his own ears. It was hard to maintain the appropriate level of sincerity when he’d had to answer the same question so many times. The young man’s eyes momentarily flicked to the nearby poster of the square-jawed hero on the cover of Camilla’s new book, then back to Arthur, the stark contrast between fiction and reality evident in his expression.
It was a typical reaction.
The young man offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Jacob.”
“Arthur Price.”
Jacob’s strong handshake squeezed Arthur’s fingers together uncomfortably and almost pulled his shoulder joint out of its socket. You had to be so careful with rotator cuffs, they were a nightmare.
Jacob said, “I’m here with my mother.”
The clarification was understandable, the room was full of women over the age of sixty, crowding around Camilla as she left the stage, desperate for her to sign their books. Jacob nodded in the crowd’s direction but it was hard for Arthur to tell whose son he was, they all looked the same to him.
Jacob topped up Arthur’s glass with a bottle of wine he’d clearly been keeping to himself. “Tell me about this project of yours, I’d love to hear about it.”
Was he being serious, or being sarcastic? Arthur could never tell the difference.
“It’s nothing really, just something I’ve been tinkering with since I retired. I’m an engineer.”
Jacob didn’t seem discouraged. “What kind of engineer?”
“Weapons systems mainly. I worked for the MOD.”
“You’re not building a bomb, are you?”
Jacob laughed at this, like it was funny. So Arthur did too.
They chatted for a while, which was fine by Arthur because it was about work. He wasn’t very good at small talk, especially with strangers, but Jacob seemed to make conversation easy. The attention was surprisingly enjoyable too, he could see why Camilla found it so intoxicating. If this was what it felt like when one person was hanging on your every word, what would it be like with a room-full? Terrifying probably. Arthur talked about his time at BAE systems, QinetiQ and Lockheed Martin, and some of his more interesting patents. He had to be careful how much he revealed, but once he got going it was hard to stop, he was proud of his work and rarely got to talk about it.
The more he shared, the more engaged and animated Jacob seemed to become.
“That’s an impressive career.” Jacob poured Arthur another glass of wine.
The praise felt good.
“You seem to know a lot about the defence space yourself,” replied Arthur.
Jacob was a good listener but he knew the right questions to ask too, smart stuff that got Arthur thinking, which was a rare quality.
“I’m no expert,” Jacob replied, “But it pays to stay up to date with new tech, for my work. It all moves so fast. In fact, I’d love to see what you’re working on now, if you don’t mind?”
The request caught Arthur by surprise and he wasn’t sure what to say. On the rare occasion someone asked him about the shed he always did his best to change the subject, but with Jacob it felt different somehow.
“There’s not much to show, I’ve hit a bit of a roadblock, truth be told.”
That was an understatement, progress had ground to a halt, through lack of materials and funds, and Arthur honestly didn’t know what to do about it. There was only so far you could go on a pension, and he wasn’t going to ask Camilla for extra money.
Jacob handed him a business card, “Maybe I can help?”
Arthur had never had a business card of his own, anyone he’d ever worked with knew who he was and how to get in contact with him. Jacob’s was plain white, or was it cream? It had simple black lettering: Jacob Germaine, Seed One Capital, and then a mobile number. Nothing else. Could Jacob be the saviour of his project? Arthur hadn’t had anyone visit the shed before, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to have him take a quick look?
Except, what would Elizabeth say? It was her project too. Not that you’d know it these days. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in weeks now. She was frustrated at how things had slowed down, just like he was, but as ever she didn’t deal with it so well. Perhaps a visit from Jacob would get things going again, lure Elizabeth back to the shed so they could work together again. It wasn’t the same without her.
He said, “Ok then, why not.”
Jacob stuck his hand out. Arthur stared at it. What was that for?
“Shake on it?” suggested Jacob.
This time Arthur put a little more oomph behind it and was pleased that his fingers didn’t get squeezed and his shoulder remained firmly lodged in its socket. Jacob left soon after, escorting his mother who wore a grin from ear to ear as she clutched a copy of her signed book like a trophy. Jacob turned back just before disappearing out of sight. He held his finger and thumb up to his ear like a phone, then mouthed the words call me. Just like an American.
---
When they got home Camilla went straight to bed complaining of a migraine. Arthur couldn’t sleep, he rarely managed more than a couple of hours most nights anyway. His head was still buzzing from meeting Jacob, so he Googled Seed Capital One. They were a venture capital firm investing in early stage tech businesses, specialising in defence, energy, utilities and communications. It all looked very big business. Hard to believe that Jacob would be interested in his shed. Arthur didn’t have a company. But he did have an idea, perhaps that was enough.
He called Jacob the next day, in the morning while Camilla was still asleep, she always had a long lie-in after a book signing. Were there rules about how soon you should call a venture capitalist after meeting them? There had been rules about calling girls when he’d been dating all those years ago, but he’d never really understood how it all worked even then.
“Hey, Arthur, great to hear from you.”
At least Jacob remembered him and sounded pleased he’d called. They arranged a visit to the house on Saturday morning. Apparently Jacob was swamped during the week. What was that like? Arthur had never been swamped even when he was working. Busy yes, but he’d just been getting on with doing his job. It seemed that wasn’t enough these days though.
That Saturday Arthur hung around waiting for Camilla to leave. What is the matter with you? She asked him more than once, but she didn’t wait for an answer, just got on with doing a few bits and bobs around the house. He couldn’t help but feel nervous, Jacob might arrive early which would spoil everything. He hadn’t told Camilla about Jacob, or his visit, he had a feeling she wouldn’t approve. Saturday morning had seemed the ideal time to meet as Camilla was supposed to be at her book group, she never missed a session. but the book club had been pushed back an hour because Mary’s husband had had a particularly difficult night.
To Arthur’s relief Camilla finally disappeared and Jacob turned up about a quarter of an hour later, this time wearing a purple velvet jacket. It looked like something you’d see on a Parisian catwalk on the TV, not in your kitchen while you were getting its owner a cup of tea. As he returned the sugar back to the cupboard Arthur couldn’t help but notice how tired the kitchen units were looking. How long had they had them, thirty years? The whole house was old and faded, the decoration hopelessly out of date, what must Jacob think? It hadn’t occurred to him before today.
The air was sharp against the skin of Arthur’s face and arms as they emerged into the garden. It was unseasonably dry and cold for April, the blustery wind creating a chill and toying with the wisps of grey hair on his balding head. He was in the same plain short sleeved shirt he always wore when he worked. There was no point in wrapping up for the few moments they were outside, and anyway the shed got incredibly hot whatever the weather. Scout, the cat, followed eyeing Jacob suspiciously. She kept a careful distance, tail aloft and curled into the shape of a question mark. She was old now, probably the same age as Arthur in cat years. When she was younger she’d spent all her time with Camilla, barely registering Arthur’s existence. Now Arthur did most of the feeding Scout had switched allegiances and followed him everywhere. Camilla called her traitor.
It wasn’t really a shed, it was a double garage at the back of their north London 1960’s semi, with a roll up door secured by a large lock that Arthur had to wrestle to get open. It seemed to get harder every day, was it the lock getting older and more worn, or him? Finally he succeeded, then tapped a few numbers into a keypad on the wall and the door started to rise.
Jacob looked amused, “That’s pretty heavy security for a shed.”
Arthur didn’t offer a reply. It wasn’t clear if Jacob was expecting one, but with no question and no obvious response it was easier to say nothing. Arthur had learnt you were less likely to get it wrong and upset people that way. Once inside he pressed the button to close the garage door, then hit the light switch. The strobe lights flickered for a moment then sprang to life, filling the room with a harsh bright light. Scout sat herself in the corner and watched Jacob’s every move. Jacob didn’t look too comfortable. Maybe he was worried about ruining his jacket. The place wasn’t dirty, but it was a bit rough and ready, with just an old, tattered rug on the floor and bare breeze blocks on the windowless walls. But it was home, familiar and comfortable. Arthur had spent more time there than anywhere else in the last twenty years.
Jacob said, “Do you mind if I have a look around?”
“Be my guest.”
It must have been a lot to take in on a first visit. Along one wall there was floor to ceiling shelving crammed with all kinds of electronics, ancient to modern, whole machines to plastic boxes full of parts. Raw materials were stacked along the other wall: liquids, powders, metals, some kept in heavy metal cases with yellow triangle labels warning of hazardous materials. On the back wall was Arthur’s workbench, with laptop, lamp, magnifying glass, soldering iron and a wall full of tools. Hanging up next to the desk was a yellow hazmat suit and in the corner a tall metal server rack with his memory array. He wasn’t going to be saving his work in the cloud.
“All this can’t have been cheap.” Jacob was at the workbench now.
It wasn’t. And some of it was possibly illegal to own.
“Old colleagues used to help me out here and there. Not so much anymore though. Everyone’s retired now… or dead.”
Jacob lifted one of the notebooks off a pile in the corner, “Do you mind?”
Arthur shrugged. It would be impossible for Jacob to understand, even if it hadn’t all been written in Arthur’s own code. Jacob flicked through a few pages then put the book back down on the pile.
He said, “So, can I see it?”
“Bella.”
“Sorry?”
Arthur rolled back the rug to reveal a metal door in the floor. “She’s not an it, she’s called Bella.”
He typed a code into a keypad on the wall and the door slid back with a mechanical rattle. Once it was fully open he pressed a button and the lifting platform that was buried in the cavity below began to rise. The sight of Bella emerging gracefully from her place of rest gave Arthur butterflies in his stomach, even after all these years. Maybe more so because he was sharing what was normally a private moment with a stranger. Seeing her with fresh eyes. She was beautiful as always.
Or so he thought.
Jacob looked on stony faced. Arthur looked at Bella again, trying to see what Jacob might see, a large black and chrome flight-case with no lid, components, lumps of metal and wires spilling out of the top. Some people were incapable of looking beyond the surface to see the real beauty in the world.
“What am I looking at?” asked Jacob.
It was hard to know where to start. Everything about Bella was in Arthur’s head or in his notebooks, he hadn’t talked to anyone about her. Apart from Elizabeth of course. She could have explained it all to Jacob easily, she was good with words in a way Arthur wasn’t. And with people. But Elizabeth hadn’t come, despite Jacob’s visit. Arthur tried talking through some of the developments he was most proud of, but Jacob’s eyes glazed over and he looked uncomfortable. The heat was starting to kick in. How would Elizabeth have explained it? She would have kept things simple, less technical.
Arthur tried again, “Look, a typical thermonuclear device has two phases. The main explosion is caused by the second stage fusion reaction, but it needs temperatures of over a hundred million kelvin, which is created by the first stage fission reaction. This fission material is what makes these devices so hard to make. With Bella we’ve found a way to create a fusion reaction at room temperature, which means no first stage fission reaction is needed. It’s pure fusion.”
He smiled proudly, he couldn’t help himself. But Jacob was staring at him. Staring, sweating and not saying anything. Arthur didn’t know what to say. So he stayed quiet.
Then Jacob said, “Fuck me, are you saying this actually is a bomb?”
“Yes.”
Jacob was staring at Bella, “A nuclear bomb?”
“It’s a pure fusion nuclear device, yes.”
“And you built it here in your shed?”
All of this seemed rather obvious to Arthur, but Jacob seemed rattled. “Don’t worry, it’s safe, she’s not finished yet.”
This didn’t seem much of a reassurance for Jacob, so Arthur gave him a few moments to collect himself. Jacob was still staring at Bella.
Jacob took a deep breath. “How does it work?” Then quickly corrected himself. “She. How does she work?”
Could Arthur really do this, share the secrets he and Elizabeth had been working on, with a stranger? He’d hoped Jacob’s presence would bring her back to the shed, but it hadn’t. Arthur was alone. Maybe Jacob’s visit was a mistake after all. Without Elizabeth it would never work, even with all the funding in the world. Maybe she would never come back. He reached down to press the button that would send Bella back down into the safety of her chamber beneath the floor. Away from prying eyes and difficult questions.
But then he heard a voice.
It was Elizabeth.
As clear as if she were standing next to him.
He’d always loved her accent. It was American, but Northwestern, smoother and less jarring than most of her compatriots, who sometimes mistook her for Canadian, which infuriated her.
She said, “We need him, Bear. Tell him everything.”
Chapter 2
Jacob knocked on the door and waited.
“Come.”
Kinga Kovács sounded out of breath. Which meant she’d either just given someone a massive bollocking, or she was past mile twelve on the treadmill. It turned out to be the latter. She slowed her speed as Jacob entered her office, but she didn’t stop entirely. How the hell did she do it? Physically she was big, almost six foot and heavy set, but amazingly fit and fast. She was training for yet another marathon.
“How’s the raise going, Kinga?” he asked.
“How the fuck do you think it’s going?”
Kinga’s distinctive Hungarian accent came through most strongly when she was swearing, which was most of the time. Her voice had a singsong quality but with a staccato edge to the consonants, her emphasis often landing in the place you least expected it. In this case heavily on the word fuck. She wiped the sweat from her face with a towel and picked up the TV remote. Jacob caught a glimpse of The Real Wives of Beverley Hills on the screen before she changed the channel. Did she really watch crap like that? When he saw what replaced it Jacob wished she would turn the channel back.
It was his Bloomberg interview on pause.
Shit.
Kinga hit play.
“Jacob, some people say you’re the one who put the star into the Rockstar One fund. Is that right?”
On TV he managed to come across as both uncomfortable and a little pleased with himself at the same time. It wasn’t a good look.
“It was a team effort, Sally.”
Even he didn’t think his reply sounded very convincing.
Sally continued, “Don’t be modest, you discovered Gemini Blue, rumour says at a cocktail party of all places. They made the Rockstar One fund a hit.”
“Most early stage investing is dodging bullets. You need to get out there and do a bit of prospecting to find gold.”
“But a couple of years into Rockstar Two and some say things aren’t going so well. Maybe lightning really doesn’t strike in the same place twice?” She smiled sweetly.
All that flattery had just been to butter him up, let down his guard. She’d been so nice in the green room.
“Pre-revenue tech is a volatile investment space. That’s why most VCs don’t play there. It can be a rollercoaster ride sometimes but we’re right on track.”
Sally nodded, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been touting Sensidium as the next Gemini Blue, it’s certainly the company that seems to be keeping Rockstar Two’s head above water. Is it true the product trials have run into problems?”
He’d paused, just a moment, but it was enough to undermine all the confident denials that followed. Kinga chose that moment to hit pause on the remote, his face caught halfway between expressions, about to speak. He looked like a moron.
She said, “Really, Jacob? I have to hear this shit from Sally, junior reporter from butt fuck nowhere? How bad is it?”
Kinga pronounced his name Yakob and somehow managed to make it sound like another swear word.
“The full results aren’t in.”
Kinga was still running. And staring. “Don’t bullshit me.”
Why lie? She was going to find out sooner rather than later.
“It’s bad.”
The treadmill stopped.
“How did you manage to screw this up?”
When everyone was riding high on Gemini Blue it was all about the team, now it was all going south it seemed to be on him.
He said, “There’s a way out I think. I just met a new start-up, pre-revenue, boot strapped, great tech.”
“Bit late closing the stable door once the horses are fucked.”
It could be funny when Kinga mixed up her metaphors. Not now.
“We can get them into Rockstar Two under the radar. An acquisition by Sensidium.”
The treadmill started again. That had to be a good sign.
She said. “What space?”
“Clean energy.”
Not a lie, just not the whole truth. He couldn’t tell Kinga about Bella.
She said, “I can deal with the rumours. How long can we keep the results of the trial quiet?”
“Three months for sure, six at the most. It should be enough.”
God he hoped that was true. It had to be true.
The treadmill went back up to full speed and Kinga’s feet pounded hard on the belt.
She said, “Ok do it. But I want to see the details, ok?”
He nodded.
“And don’t screw it up again,” Kinga added.
It was always hard to know when she was done with you, and you didn’t want to try and leave before she was.
He waited.
Kinga said, “Go on then, piss off.”
Definitely done.
---
Camilla had been on the Groucho Club website to check it out before getting ready. Where mavericks belong. Was she a maverick? It certainly wasn’t how she saw herself, she just liked to write stories. But people kept telling her she was breaking boundaries and bravely reinventing herself so maybe she was. What did mavericks wear for an informal business meeting at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning? Mavericks probably didn’t ask themselves that question. In the end she chose her favourite full length animal print dress, right for any occasion.
The club was a large converted townhouse on Dean Street in Soho. It wasn’t clear she’d found the right address at first. No signs. But it was definitely the place. Maybe not being easy to find was the point. More exclusive. Alex had suggested Camilla go in by taxi. You can afford it now, Mum. Which was true, but she’d told her daughter not to be so silly, it was a waste of money, and she’d gone on the Northern Line instead. Perhaps Alex was right after all though, Camilla was exhausted already and her feet were killing her.
Inside it was busy. There was a young man and woman on reception, dressed in trendy black clothes, dealing efficiently with a constant stream of enquiries. Camilla waited her turn then announced herself as confidently as she could manage. She’d never been one for airs and graces but she couldn’t help but feel a thrill when her name was recognised and she was greeted warmly. Welcome to the club Mrs Price, this is your first visit with us I believe? Yes it was, and that had to mean things were going well, surely. Maybe the launch was even better than they’d hoped. The young man guided her to the restaurant personally, even though it meant keeping other guests waiting at the desk.
Amira jumped up from the table and welcomed Camilla with a big beaming smile, her face as always framed by her Hijab, a muted burnt orange today. Her agent was a cheery young woman anyway but she seemed particularly full of beans this morning. Next to her, still seated and serenely calm, was Sandra Bellingham.
The Sandra Bellingham.
It was like meeting the Queen. Camilla had seen her at functions before and they’d even been introduced once, I hear you’re our new star author, but there were hundreds of writers at the Sandra Bellingham Literary agency, she probably said that to all of them. Their table had that lived-in feel that suggested she and Amira had been there for a while. A meeting before the meeting? They had a bottle of champagne on ice, their glasses were full, and a third was placed in front of the empty chair.
“Camilla, so lovely to see you, please do sit.” Sandra’s voice purred.
“Thank you,” replied Camilla. A waiter appeared beside her, poured her drink and placed a brunch menu on her plate. “What are we celebrating?”
Her hosts shared a brief knowing glance, even the great lady herself smiled, a feature absent from all the pictures Camilla had seen of her.
Sandra raised her glass, “To Jacqueline Devereux.”
They clinked and drank. Camilla had never had champagne this early in the day before, not even at Christmas. It gave her a sudden rush of happiness. She took a second sip.
Amira said, “We just got an offer for the film rights. Netflix.”
It was a tiny squeal of a voice by the time she got to the name of the streamer. It was like she couldn’t hold it in anymore and it burst out. She shot an apologetic look to Sandra who rolled her eyes. Clearly this wasn’t the manner of announcement they’d agreed. But it didn’t dent the smiles.
Sandra said, “It’s a three film deal, options for more, Hollywood A-listers. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
It was hard to take it all in. Amira had hinted that some kind of film deal was possible but they’d kept everything very quiet. What would Arthur say? He seemed to struggle with the success of her books, what on earth would he think about films on Netflix?
Amira put a comforting hand on Camilla’s arm. “Are you ok? It must all be a bit of a shock.”
“It’s wonderful of course. I was just a bit worried about Arthur.”
Her agent nodded sympathetically. They often discussed how Camilla’s new career was impacting her relationships at home. She was very understanding.
“Sod Arthur,” said Sandra, as she refilled their glasses.
Sandra’s gentle bonhomie had been replaced by a steeliness more redolent of her photographs.
Camilla said, “You don’t understand…”
She was cut off before she had a chance to explain further.
“I understand perfectly well,” said Sandra. “You’re not the first of my authors to think about tempering their careers because of their husbands, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. I’m not having it.” She paused, then added, “Do you know why the Groucho club was founded in the first place?”
She was staring at Camilla intensely. It was easy to see why the people at Netflix might not relish a seat opposite her at the negotiating table. Camilla didn’t have an answer, but even if she did she wouldn’t have offered it.
Sandra continued, “It was to create a space where a woman could sit alone at a bar with a drink and not be taken for a prostitute. That’s not a joke.”
Amira added, “Your stories are loved by so many people, Camilla. You have a voice, it should be out there for everyone. It’s important.”
The girl was so passionate about what Camilla was trying to do with her books, sometimes more so than Camilla herself if that was possible. She’d got it straight away, that’s why Camilla had chosen her from a number of agents with offers on the table even though she was the least experienced.
Sandra reached to the floor, lifted her silver Hermes Kelly bag onto the table, took out an envelope and handed it to Camilla. “Here, open it.”
Camilla could feel Amira and Sandra’s eyes on her as she scanned the letter until her eyes settled on the number at the bottom. A large number beside a dollar sign. Camilla had to check twice to make sure she’d read it right.
Good Lord.
That was a lot of money.
And just imagine her stories brought to life on screen and seen by millions of people. Who would play her heroine? Helen Mirren? Dame Judy Dench? Of course Arthur would be happy for her, wouldn’t he? Anyway, she didn’t have to tell him, not quite yet.
Camilla raised her glass, “To Jaqueline Devereaux.”
---
Arthur met Jacob for lunch at the Red Lion pub. It was his and Camilla’s local. Or had been. When was the last time they’d been together? He couldn’t even remember. It was traditional, warm and cosy. But it clearly wasn’t the kind of place where Jacob usually took meetings. He arrived in a bright blue suit made of some kind of shiny material which looked expensive. He searched in vain for somewhere to hang his jacket, gave up, folded it neatly and placed it on the chair next to him, having brushed some crisp crumbs off first. They tried a little small talk over a pint, but that didn’t go so well. Arthur wasn’t really capable. So they ordered some food and got down to business. It was relief to get onto the topic of his research.
Jacob said, “I had someone look through the files you sent me, they were impressed.”
“That’s good,” Arthur replied, feeling quietly pleased with himself.
It had been hard to decide what to send over. Like inviting Jacob into the shed, sharing details of his research didn’t come naturally. He didn’t want to give everything away, just enough to pique Jacob’s interest and hopefully get the money that would allow him to finish Bella. He’d spent hours trying to get the balance right. Elizabeth was a great help. It was good to have her back in the shed at last, she seemed more energised. But everything depended on Jacob and his money.
“You’ve definitely created something special…”
Exactly right. Bella was special. Jacob’s words gave Arthur a sense of satisfaction that the steak and ale pie he was picking at was failing to do. He didn’t have much of an appetite at the best of times and could barely force more than a couple of mouthfuls down today.
“… Although I’m not sure you’re seeing the big picture on this.”
Arthur’s fork paused halfway between plate and mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Clean energy.” Jacob was leaning forward now, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Your technology could be used to light homes, power businesses, to reinvent travel. Cheap, safe renewable power. The possibility are endless, it could be worth billions.”
What did that have to do with Bella?
“I couldn’t build anything like that,” said Arthur.
“We have people who can help you,” replied Jacob. “And we can give you all the money and resources you need to fund your research, right now. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Arthur had got Jacob all wrong. He wasn’t there to help him, he was a vulture circling, waiting for Bella to die so he could pick at her carcass and feed himself.
He got up and reached for his coat. “I want to build Bella.”
Jacob’s look of triumph collapsed into one of confusion.
“You can’t really want to build…” Jacob looked around self-consciously and lowered his voice, “…a bomb. It’s crazy.”
Arthur said, “I’m sorry, this was a mistake.”
He fled the pub and breathed in the cold air as he walked home through the streets lined with semi-detached houses, all much like his own. Though he didn’t like what Jacob had said at all his anger soon faded to disappointment. He’d dared to dream that he was going to get a chance to finish Bella, to be with Elizabeth again, but it was an illusion. It probably wasn’t Jacob’s fault, he was doing what all venture capitalists probably did. Hunting for the money. Arthur had been rude to the young man, he’d even left him with the bill.
The house was quiet when Arthur got home, Camilla would be out for hours yet. He gave Scout some treats and she wolfed them down in a second. Cats were happy with simple things, people seemed destined to never be. Money was probably all Jacob thought about. Not Arthur though. What would he do with billions?
Unless he used the money to build Bella.
Could that work? Go along with the clean energy idea until he had what he needed. I couldn’t build anything like that. Jacob had misunderstood what Arthur had meant. He could probably build just about anything he put his mind to. But he had to want to build it, to feel it in his bones. That was what he’d learned after all these years. Could he fake it just to get the money he needed for what he truly wanted, Bella?
Arthur went out to the shed, rolled back the carpet and lifted Bella up and out from the darkness into the light. Scout watched him nervously from the corner, she never seemed to get used to the noise. Arthur brought the chair over from his workbench, sat, and ran his fingers along the metal of the casing and over the components within. They were cool to the touch still, yet to be heated by the warmth of the room.
“How did it go?”
It was Elizabeth. She was there with him now, perched on the workbench. She never sat still long enough to get comfortable in a chair. The familiar half-smile on her face was the one she always wore when she’d been watching him unnoticed. Like he was an equation she couldn’t quite work out. Her long dark hair hung loose on one side, tucked behind her ear on the other, exactly as he always remembered it. He’d hoped she’d come today but seeing her now only made what had just happened feel more painful.
He shook his head.
Elizabeth looked disappointed but not surprised.
She said, “You know I can’t stay. If we’re not working on Bella then I can’t be here anymore.”
“I know.” He turned away. It was impossible to look at her.
Elizabeth came over and hunched down in front of him so she was looking right into his eyes, her face close to his. When things got difficult his instinctive reaction was to withdraw back into himself. He couldn’t help it. She never let him get away with it.
“Why did you show Bella to Jacob?” she asked.
“You know we had to, we needed someone. The money.”
“Yes, but why him?”
Arthur shrugged. He’d been the right person at the right time. But it was pointless. It didn’t matter who it was, no-one was going to help them. Why would they?
“You like him, don’t you? You think he’s smart.” She had that half-smile look again, now with a familiar touch of mischievousness. “Did he pay you a compliment? Massage that big ego of yours? I bet he did. Funny old Bear.”
Arthur looked away again, he didn’t like it when Elizabeth got like this. She loved to tease him sometimes. And the old stung. She probably didn’t mean it like that. Funny old Bear was something she’d often called him back in New Mexico. But she hadn’t aged a day since, while Arthur was all too aware of how old and frail he’d become.
She said, “Don’t get mad. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s fine.” He could never stay angry at her for more than a moment anyway.
“And don’t give up either. You promised us. Ok?”
“Ok.”
Arthur’s phone rang.
It was Jacob.
“Listen, Arthur, I’m sorry about today. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Jacob sounded genuinely mortified. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
Arthur said, “That’s ok, it’s just all very personal for me.”
“Why is it so important? Why do you need to finish Bella?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
What could he say? He couldn’t tell Jacob about Elizabeth. He’d not talked to a soul about her, not even Camilla. Especially not Camilla.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then Jacob said, “Why don’t we do both? You work with us on clean energy, we give you what you need to build Bella?”
Arthur looked at Bella, lying on the platform, her insides exposed, beautifully formed but incomplete, like a precious patient part way through life-saving surgery. Then at Elizabeth. She was hunched down beside him still as he sat in his chair, listening in to the call, their faces were close. She was smiling now. Her whole face lit up when she smiled.
“Yes,” he replied. That would work.”
Chapter 3
It felt good to be cooking Sunday lunch for the family, the kind of thing that keeps you grounded. Camilla’s life had transformed over the last few years as each of her novels became more and more successful. Book launches and movie deals weren’t the day to day of course, but it felt like a trajectory, taking her further and further from her familiar and comfortable home life. On one hand exciting, but daunting too.
She called out, “Alex, can you carry the potatoes through for me?”
I’m having trouble understanding you right now.
That bloody box. How do you get it to shut up? Her daughter appeared in the kitchen with a glass of red wine in one hand, an open magazine in the other. She was in full make up as always, hair like she’d come straight from the stylist, nails long and freshly painted. Honestly, it was Sunday, it wouldn’t hurt to dress down once in a while.
“You do know you can change the name to Amazon or Echo, Mum? It doesn’t have to be Alexa.”
“I haven’t got time for all that, here take the carrots too.”
Her daughter rolled her eyes, put down the glass and magazine and picked up the two serving dishes with an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t David help?”
Camilla said, “He’s changing Gemma.”
“How convenient.”
Did all kids regress the moment they stepped back into the family home? Assuming the role of helpless child as easily Camilla did fussing mother.
She called after her daughter, “And then can you go and get your father out of the shed? He’s probably forgotten everyone’s coming round.”
A short while later they were all crowded round the small table in the dining room piling food onto their plates. The table was plenty big enough when the kids were little, but now they were grown up and joined by little Gemma in the high chair it was more of a squeeze. It felt good to have them all under one roof again though. Sunday lunch at Mum and Dad’s had been something of a tradition, just about every week when the kids first left home and money was tight for them, then trying to fit it in at least once a month as life started to get in the way. But now? This was the first time they’d been together since Boxing Day, and it was many more months before that. Just one more small but significant life change in the shifting sands beneath her feet.
Camilla said, “David, how’s Angela?”
She tried her best to keep her tone light but it was hard to mask her frustration. She missed her daughter in law. Anyway it was only right to ask, and she hadn’t said what she really wanted to say; Why does Angela never come over with you anymore?
David was busy cutting up a Gemma’s lamb into tiny pieces, the metal of the cutlery scratching at the small plastic plate. He didn’t look up. “You know, busy as usual. She has a case going to trial next week so she’s at it all weekend.”
His skin was looking pale, his face puffy and jowly, and he must have put on a couple of stone in weight over the last year or two. These things happen over time but you miss them and then see the cumulative effect all at once. He used to be into his sport when he was younger, so fit. Looking after a small child was hard but he really should look after himself better.
Alex said, “Mum, how was the book launch? Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
She wasn’t eating her food so much as pushing it around the plate with her fork. Her performance gave this impression of busy industry that masked the fact that little if any of the food making it into her mouth, unless you knew what you were looking for.
“It seemed to go very well, didn’t it, Arthur?”
Arthur looked up in momentary confusion. He’d been staring at his plate in a trance, as if trying to work out what it was there for. He’d said almost nothing since he’d emerged from the shed. He was usually lost in his own world, today he seemed more distracted than usual.
“Yes, dear, very well.”
This led to a rather long conversation about her books. Alex was genuinely a huge fan which had surprised as well as delighted Camilla. Amira said their core demographic was older women but the magic of her work was that it had broad appeal. Her daughter’s interest was all the proof Camilla needed that this was true. Alex asked all sorts of questions about the event and the novel itself. She hadn’t read the latest one, she was saving it for her holiday in a couple of weeks.
“Go on, Mum, just give me some hints.” She’d given up on her food and was focussed on her wine now, waving her glass around enthusiastically.
“I’m not going to spoil it for you,” Camilla replied.
The conversation bounced back and forth between Camilla and Alex with the boys saying very little. Arthur was absent in all but body as usual, David distracted by Gemma who seemed about as keen as Alex to put food in her body. Camilla tried to steer the conversation onto another topic that might bring them all together but she didn’t get much help from the table and Alex kept dragging things back to the books.
She said, “If this one’s another hit maybe you can get that house in Hampstead.”
Camilla smiled, “Maybe we will.”
The same thought had been on her mind ever since the meeting at the Groucho Club. It was exciting to daydream, it made all the crazy talk about movies and Hollywood feel closer to home and real. Arthur made some kind of hrmmph noise that was halfway between a laugh and sneer. Maybe he didn’t intend it that way but it sounded mean.
“I’m sorry do you have something you want to say, Arthur?”
She hadn’t meant to say it so sharply, but she couldn’t help it. A house in Hampstead was something they’d talked about together for years, at least they’d used to, when the kids were little. It was part of the family folklore. A pipe dream that seemed impossible to achieve, but fun to imagine together.
He said, “We don’t need to move, we’re fine here. Anyway, you’d have to sell millions of books to afford a place in Hampstead.”
That’s never going to happen. Those were the unspoken words at the end of that sentence. Like Arthur had any clue how many books she could sell or had sold already. Or how much money she’d accumulated in her bank account in the last few years. And that was nothing compared to the film deal. She’d decided not to mention Netflix today in case it upset Arthur. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil the family lunch. But it looked like Arthur was intent on ruining things regardless. He’d gone back to staring at his lamb and potatoes like nothing was amiss. He never seemed to notice when he hurt her.
The rest of the meal was rather subdued, which was hardly surprising. Camilla would normally be the one to try and jolly things along but she didn’t feel like it today. Alex and David were polite enough but they clearly couldn’t wait to get out of the door as quickly as possible. Such a shame. Camilla had been looking forward to the lunch for weeks and she’d spent hours cooking and getting the house ready. Now it was all over, the plates were half full and she’d barely had a chance to spend time with anyone. Alex left first in an Uber and Arthur had already escaped back to the shed as soon as he could, so Camilla was able to speak to David alone before he left.
She said, “Is everything ok with Angela, honestly?”
Camilla didn’t want to think the worst about their marriage, but it would certainly explain Angela’s absence. It was such a shame, she liked Angela, she’d been really supportive in the early stages of her writing career. But they barely ever saw each other now.
“It’s fine, Mum.” He was busy strapping Gemma’s travel seat in. It didn’t look like the car had been cleaned in months.
“So why doesn’t she visit?”
David was lifting the bags in now. “I told you, she’s busy.”
It was like he couldn’t wait to get away.
She said, “Come on, David. There has to be more to it than that. Tell me.”
He paused and sighed, “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“It’s Dad. He makes Angela feel uncomfortable.”
He got into the car and started the engine, then lowered the window.
Camilla lent in and wiped a smudge of gravy from his cheek. She really shouldn’t, not at his age. But she couldn’t help herself, it was instinct.
“What do you mean, uncomfortable?”
He said, “Listen, Mum, I have to go. Maybe talk to Angela about it next time you see her.”
He wound the window back up and drove off. Camilla watched until he’d turned the corner and was out of sight. When would that be? And why would Arthur make her feel so uncomfortable she wouldn’t visit? He was a bit distant with Angela but he was with everyone these days. And today wasn’t the first time he’d soured the room and not noticed. But really?
Camilla went into the kitchen to clear up. Normally she wouldn’t give it a second thought but now she was acutely aware of Arthur’s absence. He hadn’t offered to help, just slunk off back to the shed. With Arthur retired and her writing why was she doing all the housework? Things had just drifted along like that, she’d never stopped to question it, and he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.
When she was done Camilla went up to her study, supposedly to do some research for her next book, but instead she went on to Rightmove and looked at properties. There was a soft knock on the door. For a moment she genuinely wondered who it was and how they’d got into the house, before realising it was Arthur. He never came up to the study.
He said, “Are you ok?”
“I don’t know, are you?”
In a way it was quite sweet him asking, like a little of the old Arthur had come back. But she was damned if she was going to let him off that easily. His eyes flicked to the property on the screen and then back to her.
“I didn’t mean to upset you but you know we can’t move even if we wanted to. We just can’t afford it.”
They could afford it, probably even without Netflix. With the deal they could get their dream house. But it wasn’t Arthur’s dream any more that much was clear.
Camilla said, “I should get on, I have to do some research.”
Arthur nodded and left.
---
It was clear he’d upset Camilla, even Arthur realised that. As if to make the point Scout was staring at him from across the shed with accusing eyes. I know what you’ve done. Arthur had convinced himself her writing was a little project, just how she described his shed. Clearly it was far more than that. He should be happy for her. He should be up there with her now looking at houses in Hampstead and planning turning their old dreams into reality. But they couldn’t move, not with Bella. He had to finish her here. Anyway, what would you say to the removal men? Hey, be careful with that it’s a nuclear bomb?
He went on to Amazon and typed in Milly Price, novels. Her agent had suggested the pen name to make her more approachable. Camilla had agreed but it didn’t feel right to Arthur, she wasn’t Milly she was Camilla. He clicked on A season for Love and scrolled down to the reviews. There were hundreds already, mostly five star. Lots of people were talking about how powerful her writing was and how moved they were by the story. He’d dismissed her books as mindless romance, easy-reading lounge fiction, but clearly it was far more than that. Arthur had never had a Kindle or read on his phone or laptop, he always read real books, mostly non-fiction. But he wanted to read A Season for Love and he wanted to read it now. So he bought the Kindle version, loaded it onto the app on his phone and began.
He was drawn in to the story from the first page and kept reading.
“What are you doing? We’ve got so much to do.”
It was Elizabeth, she was staring at him from the corner disapprovingly, a bit like Scout had done.
“Later, I need to read this first.”
He replied without lifting his head from the screen, then felt guilty for being short with her. But when he looked up she was gone.
Maybe it was for the best.
Arthur went back to the book and carried on reading, page after page, chapter after chapter, until five hours had flown by and he was done. He didn’t have much to compare it to but it was enjoyable. Yes there was romance, but it was also an exciting thriller that really made you think. Where did Camilla come up with these ideas? She was clearly a talented writer.
As much as he enjoyed it though, it was painful reading. He’d lived with Camilla all these years yet never really heard her voice, not like this. Her heroine, Jacqueline Devereaux, was different to Camilla of course. But something of the woman he married was there in the details, the small things she did, the little observations in her head. The painful part wasn’t that Arthur was so unlike the male hero of the story, that was hardly a surprise. It was that the life Camilla envisaged in these books was so unlike the one they had together. Was this what she dreamed of, a different life? Was he the one stopping her being the person she wanted to be?
He closed up the shed and went back to the house, Scout following closely behind. He was going to tell Camilla that he’d read her book and that he was proud of her. He couldn’t move house, not yet anyway. Maybe he could tell her why though. Not about Bella, that would be a hard one to explain. But that he too had an exciting new opportunity, doing some work in the Energy sector. They could explore these new directions in their lives together. But Camilla wasn’t in her study, or in the bedroom. She wasn’t in the house at all. She’d packed up some things and left him a note on the kitchen table. I’ve gone away for a few days.
That was all it said.
Arthur fed Scout, then went back out to the shed.
---
“I’ve been watching you.”
The voice on the phone was disguised. Distorted and metallic sounding, like the killer from the Scream films. Kinga was on her third lap of Regents Park when the call came through, bringing Girls Aloud’s Sound of the underground to a premature end.
“No you haven’t.” Her voice was calm and she kept running.
“How do you know?”
The words were exaggerated, a theatrical taunt with a heavy emphasis on you.
“Because, Gibson, you would have invoiced me by now if you were.”
The voice on the phone switched to normal.
“Cool isn’t it?” Gibson said. “Voice changer. Kids got it me for Christmas. Hey, how did you know it was me?”
“Because you’re the only moron I know who would do something like that. Anyway, I left a message for you to call me back, prick.”
“Fair enough.”
Kinga said, “Has Jacob briefed you on the new job?”
“Oh, yeah.” It was clear from his tone what Gibson thought about Jacob. “He just wanted some quick profiling, on a guy called Arthur Price. Don’t worry we’re on it.”
Why wasn’t she surprised? Jacob always assumed the best in people. They needed to be quick but they also needed to be thorough.
“I want you to do the full works on Arthur Price. And I want you to lead this one personally, we can’t afford any fuckups.”
“That’s going to be expensive.”
“Isn’t it always? Just bill me…”
She must be slowing down. Some lean-torso’d guy half her age that she’d passed earlier was right behind her again. It was amusing. He’d picked up the pace as soon she’d past him before, tried to keep up. He couldn’t then, no way she would let him now. She sped up and left him standing. That wouldn’t be great for his ego.
“… while we’re at it can you put someone on Jacob? I want to keep an eye on what the little shit’s up to.”
Gibson said, “No problem.”
She could imagine him smiling at the prospect.
Chapter 4
When Camilla awoke it took a moment for her to remember where she was; sleeping in a single bed in a room stacked with boxes. She was staying at David and Angela’s house. And right now they were arguing about her, that much was clear from the muted voices floating up from below. The cause of the argument wasn’t entirely clear though, as Camilla could only catch snippets that didn’t make much sense. How embarrassing. She waited until she heard David disappear off to work before going down to get some juice and toast.
Downstairs was open plan, with kitchen, dining table and TV area all in one space. David and Angela had done the conversion a few years ago, and although Camilla had been sceptical of this kind of modern living at first she’d grown to like it. Angela was at the table dressed in sweats feeding Gemma, working from home today once the nanny arrived.
“Morning.” Camilla tried to sound light and breezy.
Angela looked up with a big smile. “Good morning, sleep well?”
Her daughter in law deserved an Oscar. No hint of the argument from earlier. Barristers were actors though, weren’t they?
“Lovely, thank you,” replied Camilla,
She hadn’t slept well at all. The bed was lumpy and uncomfortable and the room was basically a dumping ground for all the stuff that didn’t quite fit into the couple’s lives, and most of it was David’s. Is that what Camilla was, just one more unwanted relic from his past? Still, it was kind of them to give her somewhere to stay at all. Space and time to think was what she needed, but she couldn’t bear the idea of checking into a hotel on her own.
Angela said, “There’s coffee, if you want to use the machine.”
Why did everything have to be so complicated these days? Machines and pods. What was wrong with a kettle and bit of instant?
“No, I’m ok.”
Angela left Gemma to wrestle with her porridge on her own and came over to the kitchen. “Let me, I was going to have another anyway.”
That was kind of her.
As Angela worked the machine, she said. “I got a chance to look at the heads of agreement last night. You know, entertainment law isn’t really my area.”
That was also incredibly kind of her. Angela hadn’t got back from work much before nine and she hadn’t even eaten. God knows when she’d found time for it all. And she was underselling herself, her help with Camilla’s book contracts had been invaluable.
“Really, that’s great. What did you think?”
“I think you must have very a good agent.”
Which was reassuring.
Angela handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “It’s not like your other contracts though, you’re giving up a lot more control.”
The coffee looked like a faff to make but it certainly tasted better than instant.
“Yes, I thought as much.”
That was the concern. Camilla was used to taking notes from Amira and the publishers. After all, writing is editing. But once she signed the deal with Netflix she’d be giving up Jacqueline Devereaux to the machine. Her stories and how they were told would be shaped by a procession of screen writers, directors, actors and editors. Their vision, not hers. And that’s before you got onto the marketing and merchandising. Amira had warned her she’d have to step back and watch it all happen.
Angela said, “Is it really what you want?”
She was clearly concerned, and apparently happy to let Camilla turn down a huge deal if it didn’t feel right. She should be all for it, if she was giving David’s inheritance a moments thought. But of course she wasn’t. If she was motivated by money she wouldn’t have become a human rights lawyer. It made Camilla feel bad. For causing the argument this morning, for hardly ever seeing Angela and Gemma anymore. Or David. Maybe this was a chance to clear the air.
She said, “David told me you don’t like to come round to the house anymore because of Arthur. Is that true?”
“Did he now?” Angela went back over to Gemma who had decided she wasn’t getting enough attention and had started to squeal. “Do you really want to have this conversation, Camilla?”
“I think I need to.”
After all, she was standing in her son and daughter in law’s kitchen having spent another night alone in a room full of boxes. She should be at home with Arthur, but she didn’t want to be, not yet. Things didn’t feel right between them, but why?
Angela started mopping up the mess on the high chair. “It’s how he treats you, and David. He’s withdrawn, obsessive and totally uninterested in anything apart from whatever it is he does in that shed of his. And he has no relationship with Gemma at all.”
“Oh he’s a little quiet, but he’s not that bad.”
The words came out before Camilla had really thought about what she was saying, or whether she meant it.
Angela rolled her eyes. “That’s the problem, you keep apologising for him. So does David. I think he’s treated you all badly for years. And he doesn’t know how to handle your new career, so he’s getting worse.”
Was she right?
“He’s not a bad person, you know.”
It was hard to know if she was trying to convince Angela, or herself.
Angela paused wiping. “Maybe he’s not, but good people do bad things sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Arthur is suffering from depression, I think he has ever since I’ve known him. He should get some help with it.”
Why would Arthur be depressed? They had a perfectly nice life. Ok, he struggled to adjust when he got back from New Mexico, but he got over it, didn’t he?
Angela sighed and said, “You don’t believe me.”
“I just don’t see it. Why?”
“Maybe he grew a conscience.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” replied Camilla.
She was definitely starting to sound defensive now, she couldn’t help it.
Angela undid Gemma’s cotton bib and carried it over to the washing machine. “He was a weapons engineer for the MOD, Camilla, you do understand what that means?”
Is that what this is all about? Arthur’s work? Camilla hadn’t given it much thought over the years, it was just what Arthur did. It certainly didn’t interest her. But it clearly bothered Angela. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised, given what Angela did for a living.
“You really have that big a problem with Arthur?”
Angela said, “Absolutely I do. I don’t like how he treats his family and I don’t like that he helped to build weapons that kill people. And I certainly don’t like Gemma being at your house. It’s not worth the risk.”
“What risk?”
“Do you even know what Arthur’s building in that shed? He could blow the whole house up one day for all we know.”
It all made sense now, the fragments of the argument she couldn’t quite piece together before. It wasn’t just Camilla’s unannounced visit that was the problem, or that David had come over for Sunday lunch. It was that David had brought Gemma with him on Sunday, without asking Angela.
The doorbell rang.
Angela said, “It’s the nanny, I have to go. But please just think about it. Something needs to change with Arthur, for his own sake as well as yours.”
She picked up Gemma and disappeared into the hallway leaving Camilla alone.
---
Jacob stared at Professor Winterbourne and tried to keep his frustration in check. Stay calm and confident, as if all of this was part of the plan all along, not the stab in the back it clearly was. Jacob had delivered the perfect pitch, knocked it out of the park, a compelling vision, jaw-dropping numbers, suitably vague on details. But now it was the technical Q&A and Winterbourne seemed set on screwing the whole thing up. Thank god it wasn’t the full investment board or it would have all been over by now. This deal was quick and under the radar so it just needed sign off from Kinga.
“Are you saying the technology doesn’t work?” she asked.
“I’m saying I can’t possibly know,” replied the Winterbourne, taking his glasses off and wiping them on his lab coat. “If this is all the work of one man then he’s obviously some kind of genius. I would have guessed this was a team of engineers, each expert in their own field, collaborating with a world class nuclear physicist. There’s definitely something in it, but is it the basis of a new clean energy technology? It’s impossible to say. I just think it’s highly unlikely.”
Kinga said, “But it’s at least possible?”
“You need to understand, in essence this is a kind of cold fusion were talking about. It’s hokum, totally debunked. It’s like asking a chemist to give their view on the secret of alchemy.”
He laughed uneasily as he said this, but Kinga didn’t. It was no secret turning base metals into gold was pretty much her life philosophy. Winterbourne had started to sweat slightly. It was like watching a novice pitching in the dragons den.
Time to step in.
Jacob said, “I think what Winterbourne is saying is that we definitely have something new here that’s credible. He’s asking if we’re one hundred percent sure. But are we ever? The beauty is, it doesn’t even matter. We don’t have to get the technology to market, we just need to demonstrate to the big players that it’s remotely possible. Doubt is ok. Imagine what they’d pay if they believed there was just a chance it worked.”
There was a flicker of a smile on Kinga’s face. Winterbourne looked like he was going to say something else but then stopped. If he’d wanted to fight on he’d thought better of it. Kinga was gone a few minutes later, off to another meeting. Winterbourne was packing his notes back into his briefcase, red-faced.
Jacob said, “What was that all about?”
They’d worked together for a few years and Winterbourne was Jacob’s go-to for technical due diligence. He’d always been reliable. Discrete. Until now.
“Everything I said was in the report, as always you only focus on the positives.”
Most technical due diligence was a balance of positive and negative, everything couched in caveats that protected its author from culpability further down the line. That didn’t mean you went around shouting the stuff out in the pitch. Even Winterbourne knew that. Jeopardising the investment didn’t make any sense.
“You’re really that worried it won’t work?”
Winterbourne snapped his briefcase shut. “No, Jacob, I’m no. I’m worried that it will work. And you should be too.”
“What do you mean?”
The scientist was already on his way out. Jacob jumped ahead and held the door closed.
Winterbourne glared at him. “Limitless clean energy is a wonderful idea, I get it. But what if that’s not all this technology can be used for, it’s incredibly dangerous. Have you thought about that?”
An image popped into Jacob’s mind. Bella lying on the rising platform. Just a big box of metals, wires and electronics. So innocuous looking. Winterbourne didn’t even know about the bomb in the shed, he was worried based only on the limited data Arthur had sent through. But Arthur would never actually finish Bella, right? Jacob just had to make sure that never happened.
Winterbourne was still staring at him, “Of course you’ve thought about it, you just don’t care.”
Jacob stepped aside so his colleague could leave.
---
Kinga’s phone erupted and dozens of eyes turned to stare at her. The instructions at the start of the performance had been crystal clear, all mobiles off or on silent mode. She’d ignored it. They were watching a year six school play for Christ’s sake, not the National Opera, and this one was particularly dreadful. All these parents staring at the kids through the lenses of their cameras phones, they probably couldn’t even tell which little bundle of joy was their own. Kinga certainly couldn’t pick out her Stella in all those crazy costumes. Her husband glared at her as Kinga stood, phone still ringing, and excused herself. Legs, bags and glasses were moved out of the way all along the row to allow her escape, a chorus of tuts following. It was a relief to be out of there and milling around the deserted lobby.
She answered the call, “Gibson, can’t this wait?”
“Something’s come up, I think you need to hear it.”
Jesus, not Arthur bloody Price. She’d just signed off on the deal.
“Go on then.”
“I think it’s better we talk face to face.”
That didn’t sound good.
“Ok, when?”
“Now. I’m outside the theatre.”
Fuck’s sake. Of course he was. Maybe he was watching her after all. She nipped outside, spotted his old Honda Civic just down the road and jumped in the passenger seat.
She said, “Can we be quick? I don’t want to miss any more of my daughter’s play.”
He laughed, like it was a great joke, and handed her a flask. “This should help you get through the rest.”
Whatever was in there gave her a warm burning sensation inside, it was just what she needed.
He said, “We got the basics on Price, he was at the MOD on and off, with stints at a number of defence contractors, nothing remarkable, clean record, so far so good.” He took the flask back and took a swig. “But there was an anomaly. A two year secondment in New Mexico, 2000 to 2002, working with the US government in the Los Alamos National Laboratory.”
“Doing what exactly?”
He shrugged. “It’s not clear, they do a range of research, from energy to nuclear weapons to environmental science. I approached a contact, asked him to find out what Price was doing there. He said he would do, no problem.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Complete radio silence.”
The first splatters of rain landed on the windscreen. They sat still and listened. In a moment the rain was falling hard, the sound of the raindrops echoing off the metal of the roof.
“So what does it mean?”
“I’m not sure. But when the walls come down like that it gets me worried. Something clearly happened in New Mexico, the question is, do you want to know what it was? If we investigate it could get messy, and expensive.”
Now wasn’t the time to take risks. “Ok, let’s do it, but we need to move fast.”
“Ok.”
Kinga said, “I really should get back inside.”
Gibson smiled, then handed her the flask.
Maybe she could wait a little while, until the rain died down a bit.
Chapter 5
Arthur felt like a kid in sweet shop on pocket money day as Jacob showed him around the labs of Sensidium. He’d spent so long in the shed with just Elizabeth, Scout and Bella, that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to surrounded by state of the art facilities and a team. Not that he didn’t like the shed and Elizabeth’s company, but this was something else altogether.
It was like coming home in a way, he’d worked in big labs at the forefront of new technologies most of his life, at the MOD, at private contractors, the US. He’d never thought he'd be back. Although it wasn’t quite the same. It was more like coming home after someone else has moved into your house and renovated the place. Everything was a little different to how he remembered.
Jacob was parading Arthur about the place like he was some kind of superstar. It was excruciating. They were joined by a scientist called Winterbourne who led the introductions. But Jacob always had something to add or a smart question to ask. His ability to span so many complex topics and cut to the quick was a marvel really. A kind of intelligence Arthur didn’t really understand, but one he could appreciate. Winterbourne seemed a smart and level headed kind of chap too, but he was eyeing Arthur warily. It was particularly noticeable because of the contrast to Jacob’s enthusiasm.
When the tour was done Jacob took Arthur aside to an empty room.
He said, “What do you think?”
“It’s impressive.”
Jacob smiled. “I thought you’d like it. As I said, you’ll have everything you’ll need.”
The lab was still visible through the window. Dozens of scientists and technicians were milling about working with busy industry, like bees in a hive. The facilities matched or exceeded anything Arthur he’d seen anywhere else, even New Mexico. But then again, that was two decades ago.
“Where will I be working?” he asked.
“I thought we could set up your lab in here. Give you a little space and privacy. You’ll have your own team too.”
“And I can continue to work on Bella in the shed at home?”
Arthur has insisted on this from the beginning. Jacob had tried to persuade him to bring Bella into the lab. But Bella has to stay in the shed, with Elizabeth. It was the only way.
“Yes, that’s the deal. So, you’re in?” asked Jacob.
He was doing it again, hand out, looking to confirm things with a handshake.
“Don’t we need contracts? Lawyers?” Arthur asked.
Jacob laughed, “Yes. There’ll be plenty of those, don’t worry. But right here, right now. Just you and me. What do you think, are we doing this?”
What would Elizabeth say? Probably For God sake, Bear, shake the man’s hand.
So he did.
---
“Netflix? That’s so exciting, Mum.”
Camilla wanted to tell Alex all about it but she was finding it hard to speak. All she’d managed so far was to hold the mountain pose for three minutes but she was already out of breath and sweating buckets into her T-shirt. Alex’s body looked strong, sinewy and glistened with sweat. Camilla had assumed her daughter had been wasting away under her loose fitting clothes, but in reality her lean body was powerful in a way Camilla didn’t recognise. There was a snake tattoo curling up from her calf the length of her body to her shoulder. Camilla had heard about it many times but refused to be shown. It all made her suspect she really didn’t know her own daughter well at all.
They were in one of the spare rooms in Alex’s flat in Shoreditch. The room had a sprung wooden floor, mirrors on the walls, an infrared heater set to 400 and a humidifier at 50%. Imagine that, having enough spare rooms in your house so you could turn one into a hot yoga gym. Maybe Camilla could do something similar with a new house in Hampstead. A writing room perhaps. A reading room. A ‘guests round for coffee in the morning and wine in the late afternoon’ room.
She managed to get a few words out, “Angela thinks I should hold out for more control.”
Alex didn’t react at hearing her sister in law’s name. It was often a trigger that led to some kind of argument. Instead she kept her eyes closed and her body perfectly still as she held her pose. “Maybe she’s right.”
The response was unexpected. Perhaps yoga invoked a zen-like state of calm in her daughter. Something to keep in mind if she wanted more reasoned debate about the family with her in the future.
Alex lent to the side, shifting into a half-moon pose. “I’d love to see Jacqueline Devereux on TV, but not if they’re going to ruin her.”
Camilla tried to follow Alex but couldn’t reach the floor with her right hand or get her left leg up parallel with the floor. She reverted to the relative safety of the mountain pose before she fell over trying. If Angela was right about Netflix maybe she was right about Arthur too.
“She also talked about your dad.”
“Did she?” Alex opened a quizzical eye.
Maybe that zen-like trance had been broken. Best tread carefully.
“She though he might be suffering from depression, what do you think?”
It was hard to tell what Alex thought, with her face at a ninety degree angle, but she certainly didn’t look so happy.
“Dad’s just dad. He’s always been like that.”
“Has he though? He was different when he got back from New Mexico. We all saw it. I thought he got better. Maybe we just got used to it.”
It looked like Alex was losing concentration, her previously rock solid half-moon was beginning to wobble. “Maybe, to be honest I gave up expecting anything from him years ago. I know that sounds awful but he just didn’t seem at all interested.” She pulled out of pose and reached for her water bottle. “You should drink too, Mum.”
The water made Camilla feel a lot better. Was it surprising Alex had tuned her father out over the years? She’d left home about the time he got back from the US, first to Uni and then starting her career. It was a stage in life when you had to put in a little extra effort to stay close with your kids. Arthur had done the opposite. He was far more interested in that bloody shed of his. Was Angela right about that too? Was he doing something dangerous in there? He never talked about it. Was he being purposefully secretive? To be fair she’d never asked him, she wasn’t interested. Maybe that was a mistake.
Alex was wiping the sweat from her face with a towel, “Are you going to go back to him?”
It had been a week since Camilla had left. She and Arthur had talked on the phone a couple of times but it had been awkward. He hadn’t asked her to come back and she hadn’t offered. She missed him in some ways but, honestly? She’d being enjoying herself more than any other time she could remember. Spending time with her children and grandchild, seeing her old friends, making time for herself. And she’d written more than she had done for months. It could be some kind of honeymoon period she was experiencing, but then again it could just be real life.
“I don’t know yet.”
One thing was for certain. If she was going back to Arthur things would have to be very different.
---
Arthur ignored his ringing phone as he was deep into a complex conversation with Elizabeth about energy transference and didn’t want to break his train of thought. But she reminded him he’d been expecting a call and should probably answer it.
“I thought you’d retired.”
Paul Granger never bothered with pleasantries on the phone, or face to face for that matter. It was one of the more likeable things about him.
“So did I,” replied Arthur.
“In fact I wasn’t entirely sure you were still alive, Arthur. Your email was a bit out of the blue.”
“Can you help?”
“God you never change, do you?”
It was another of those questions that didn’t seem to require an answer, so Arthur didn’t.
Paul filled the gap. “Yes I can help, Arthur, in theory. But this is going to be a complex contract and I’m no expert in the field. There are so many ways you could lose out. Do you want me to refer you to a specialist?”
“Not really,” Arthur replied. “All I care about is funding my research. If you make sure that’s secure I don’t care about anything else.”
Elizabeth gave Arthur a thumbs up and an encouraging nod.
“Ok, it’s your call.”
There was only so much fight Paul would put up when there were more fees on the table.
He added, “Listen, Arthur, I’ve got another golfing weekend coming up with the old gang in a couple of weeks. No-one’s seen you in years, I know they’d love to have you there. Why don’t you come?”
It was true, Arthur had let things drift. A social life that was pretty full before New Mexico had become increasingly sporadic after his return, then ground to a halt entirely after he retired and focussed more of his time on Bella. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to see everyone again, find out what they were up to. Maybe Camilla would see it as a good sign and want to come back home.
But Elizabeth was staring at him and shaking her head. “We don’t have time for that, Bear.”
She was right of course.
He said, “Sorry, Paul. Maybe another time.”
---
Professor Robert Fitzpatrick didn’t do many public lectures these days, but when he did the main conference hall at MIT was always packed, standing room only. Even after all these years he loved the moment he walked on stage under the glare of the lights, when the hubbub died and he paused to revel in absolute silence. It was the moment of ultimate potential before his performance was unleashed. Like an actor who only truly thrived on stage he needed to see the whites of the audiences eyes once in a while and feel their presence.
But today there was no nervous chatter as he entered the back of the auditorium. No hushed tones and sea of expectant faces staring back at him as he walked on stage. The lights of the lecture theatre were on full and bright and the room was empty.
Where the hell was everybody?
He reached for his phone. Best to check he had his facts straight before calling the department secretary to find out exactly who screwed up, how and why. But then he noticed a single figure sitting high up on the back row, a middle aged Latino woman in a dark blue trouser suit.
She called out to him, “Professor Wilson?”
“Yes?” he replied, his voice failing to project with the authority he’d been anticipating just a few moments ago.
“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” The woman got up and made her way to the front. “I’m sorry about your lecture. This was the only way I could get some time in your schedule at such short notice.”
Robert had a sinking feeling in his stomach as the woman approached, holding up her credentials. Gabriela Alverez, National Nuclear Security Administration (NNSA). He’d been dealing with people like her most of his life and they all gave off a similar humourless air. Although the long dark hair twisted into a loose ponytail and the faint smell of musky perfume was different.
He sighed and took a seat on the edge of the stage. “How can I help?”
Alverez took a seat opposite him on the front row. It meant she was a good couple of feet higher looking down at him. How can I help? wasn’t the real question he wanted to ask of course. The real question was what clearance do you have and how much can I reveal to you? Assuming Alvarez even know the right questions to ask.
She said, “I head up the Defence Nuclear Security program within the NNSA…”
Which meant that this woman had ultimate responsibility for the safety and security of the US nuclear programme and everyone in it. It meant she had the keys to the darkest closets.
“…I need to ask you some questions about operation Sunglass.”
Of course she did. What else would she be here for?
“Anything you want to know is in the files. If it’s not there, I probably don’t know the answer.”
He’d let his frustration show, which was careless, but he couldn’t help it. He’d lost years of his life to that programme, then months during the enquiry afterwards, going over every detail again and again. It was all behind him. No way he wanted to dredge all that up again. Anyway, how could it matter anymore?
“Yes, I’ve read the files and I know everything that happened in New Mexico.” Alvarez paused and let that hang in the air between them. “I’m just looking for a little local colour, from someone who was there on the ground.”
He had to be patient, cooperative. “Ok.”
“What can you tell me about Arthur Price?”
Not what he was expecting. Why would anyone want to know about Arthur Price for Christ’s sake? Still, if they were talking about Arthur they weren’t talking about Elizabeth Chambers. That was a good thing. All anyone had wanted to talk to him about before was Elizabeth.
“From what I can remember he was brought over from the UK to work on a specific engineering challenge. I barely knew the guy. He was quiet, hardly spoke to anyone.”
Basically, he was a nobody.
“What was he working on?”
She must know this, from the files.
“Plasma diagnostics. It’s a specialist area, pretty clever stuff. But self-contained, he wasn’t exposed to the broader programme.”
He glanced at his watch, a bad habit he had when he wanted to be somewhere else. But of course he had a two hour window clear, nowhere else he could claim he needed to be. If Alvarez noticed she chose to ignored it.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“I guess he would have moved back to the UK and the MOD right after the programme closed down. He’s probably retired now. Or dead. I haven’t heard anything about him on the academic circuit. Why are we talking about Arthur Price?”
“Has he contacted you recently?” She was staring at him in a way that left him feeling deeply uncomfortable.
“No.”
“Has anyone contacted you on his behalf? Or asked you about him or his work?”
It was just a question, but under the glare of those dark eyes it felt more like an accusation.
“No they haven’t. And I would have flagged it with the agency if they had, you know that. I’m not going to talk to anyone about New Mexico, believe me. Not now, not ever.”
Alvarez held his gaze a few moments more, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.
She said, “That could be a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if Arthur Price, or anyone showing an interest in Arthur Price, were to get in contact with you I want you to talk to them. And I’m going to tell you exactly what I want you to say.”
Chapter 6
Jacob left work early to try and catch the physio before she left. One of the advantages of working for a VC was that he had a lot of flexibility over his time and could leave whenever he wanted. He’d probably be working later tonight anyway so why not? Barbara was just on her way out when he got back to the flat, a harried look on her face that was all too common a sight after a physio session with Jacob’s dad. It was a miracle she’d lasted six months with him, she must have the patience of a saint.
Jacob said, “How’s he doing?”
“Fine,” Barbara replied.
It didn’t look like she wanted to hang around and chat.
“Fine, but?...”
She let out a long breath of exasperation and lowered her voice, glancing back towards the living room to make sure she wasn’t being overheard. “Same as always. He keeps trying to get me to help him walk. It’s pointless, he needs to work on his upper body strength. But he’s too damn pig-headed.” She looked guilty for a moment. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that.”
“Don’t apologise. I know exactly what you mean. I’ll try talking to him.”
Barbara gave him a half-hearted smile, “Thanks,” then collected her things in a hurry and left.
It didn’t look like she believed him and why should she? How many times had they had the same conversation? How many times had he promised to have a word? He’d tried of course, but not very hard. How do you try to convince your own dad to accept he won’t ever walk again?
“How’s it going.” Jacob tried to keep his voice bright and optimistic as he entered the living room.
Everything was just as he had expected, unfortunately. The blinds were closed and the place gloomy. There was a mild fug in the air that was an unpleasant blend of body odour and unwashed dishes. No wonder Barbara was so keen to leave. His dad was sat on his chair in front of the muted TV in stained sweat pants and a T-shirt, the mess of his day surrounding him. His wheelchair was within reach for when he wanted to get about the place. Every morning Jacob would get up early and tidy before going to work, only to find a complete mess by the end of the day.
“Hey Kidda,” replied his dad. “Get in here.”
His dad’s face brightened as the sight of his son, as it nearly always did. He seemed to genuinely love having Jacob around, which made Jacob’s heart sink with guilt every time he came home. Jacob was pulled in for a big hug, something his dad had done most evenings since he was a little boy. But the experience of it had changed. As a child Jacob could feel the hard muscles of his dad’s arms and chest though the fabric of his expensive shirts and and smell the faint musk of aftershave that was strong enough to survive the whole day. Now Jacob had to bend down awkwardly, his dad’s arms weak, his body thick and heavy from a diet of junk food and his clothes stained and ripe with sweat.
Jacob pulled away first and checked his suit and shirt to make sure they hadn’t been soiled by the embrace. It was a reflex reaction he couldn’t help, no matter how guilty it made him feel. He went over to the window, opened the blinds and let some fresh air in, taking a couple of deep breaths. Then he started clearing up the mess.
His dad was eyeing up the shopping bags Jacob had placed on the floor. “Come on then, Jakey, what have you got?”
Jacob went to one of the bags and took out a couple of flapjack bars. “You’re going to eat your dinner tonight though, right?”
His dad accepted the bars eagerly, opened one of them straight away and took a big bite. “Love these,” he said, already chewing.
Jacob went through to the kitchen to put the shopping away.
His dad’s voice followed him, “How’s your mother?”
It was always one of the first questions he asked and it was hard to know what to say.
“I haven’t really seen her since the book launch. We’ve exchanged a couple of texts since then. She’s fine.”
A grunt of acknowledgment was all he got in reply. His dad probably only asked from a sense of obligation, he didn’t ever seem interested in the answer.
“And how’s work? Kinga still busting your balls?” His dad laughed at this.
“Kinga’s Kinga. You know what she’s like.”
His dad had made sandwiches for lunch, the aftermath of crumbs and smears of margarine were all over the place. Jacob moved on to clearing it all up.
His dad said, “How’s the new deal going?”
Jacob could tell from the subtle change in tone that this was the question his dad was really interested in the answer to.
“I don’t know. I’m worried about it.”
“I thought this was the one.”
Jacob came back through with a couple of opened bottle of beers. He probably shouldn’t, but it helped make the evenings more bearable. He sat on the sofa, leaned over and handed one over. “We’ve just had Arthur’s medical and psyche evaluation back.”
“And?”
Jacob took a swig of beer before replying. “I think the guy might be crazy.”
His dad laughed again. “That’s what the report said?”
“Not in so many words. But there are flags. You know what I mean. Anyway, I told you, he’s trying to make a nuclear bomb in his shed. He can’t be completely right in the head.”
“All founders are nuts, you know that. They need to be.”
That was a fair point. You had to be a little bit crazy to have those ideas, to take those risks. But this was something different altogether.
His dad switched to preachy mode, “What do we do with risk?”
All investments had risks, especially early stage start-ups.
Jacob replied in monotone, as if a child answering by rote, “Mitigate and manage.”
“Exactly. Why should this be any different? Get him a therapist, surround him with the sanest people you know and keep an eye on things. Listen, you have real skin in the game this time. You’re done making other people rich, it’s your turn now.”
His dad said your turn, but it sounded like he almost said our turn. He probably meant my turn.
“And if he finishes his bomb?”
His dad took another long pull of beer and stared at the silent TV screen thoughtfully.
“Maybe best not let it get that far, right?”
---
The applause was ringing loudly in the auditorium as Camilla left the stage, but it was likely the audience wasn’t clapping for her. She’d been taking part in a panel discussion on the future of the publishing industry along with three other authors and she suspected she’d only been invited for window dressing. Amira was waiting for her at the front, clapping enthusiastically with a big happy smile on her face. She was wearing a lovely long floral dress complimented by a dark bottle-green hijab. She always dressed beautifully.
“You were great,” Amira assured her before Camilla could say anything.
If Amira had one vice it was that she was perpetually upbeat, which meant Camilla wasn’t always hearing things as they really were. Which was funny, because when it came to editing Amira was the complete opposite. She was brutal with the red pen.
“Really? I didn’t say much. It was hard to get a word in edgeways with David Weatherburn droning on. Is it awful that I thought he was rather pompous?”
He’d made a few derogatory remarks about the industry being drowned in mindless genre writing. Camilla was pretty sure he’d glanced over at her as he said it. He was at the back holding court now, surrounded by an eager group of young acolytes.
Amira was giving the man a dark stare. “Don’t worry about David, he’s a pretentious hack.” There was a surprising amount of vitriol in her voice. But the bile disappeared with a smile a moment later as if it were a mirage. “Anyway, he’s not the one with a Netflix deal, is he?”
How was Camilla going to tell Amira she’d decided to say no? It was all well and good running it through in your head, a whole different ball game explaining it to someone whose life and future was so closely bound up with your own.
Her agent’s face fell. “What’s going on, Camilla?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it. Not because of Arthur. I don’t want to leave Jacqueline Devereaux in the hands of a bunch of clueless men in Hollywood. I just can’t take the risk.”
Amira looked disappointed. Then after a moment’s reflection, fearful. Perhaps the long shadow of Sandra Bellingham was responsible. But then her expression changed again. A look of steely resolve set in that Camilla hadn’t seen in her agent since she’d led the auction for publishing rights for books four to seven.
“Don’t worry, Camilla, you’re absolutely right,” said Amira. “Leave it with me.”
And then she was off, striding through the crowd. She was a good foot shorter than most of the people there but they got out of her way pretty sharpish.
“You’re going to tell Sandra now?” Camilla called after her.
Now that it was happening for real she couldn’t help but question if this really was the right thing to do. Amira clearly thought it was though, she’d disappeared from view without another word.
---
“Have you ever had therapy before?”
Amanda was a rather jolly looking middle aged women with curly hair and a round face who smiled a lot as she talked. And she was very welcoming too, she offered Arthur a cup of tea and made him very comfortable. Arthur has always imagined therapists as something rather different, older men with greying hair and serious frowns.
He shook his head.
Not that he had anything against therapy per se, he’d just never seen the point. He’d always been far too busy to worry about what was going on in his own head. They’d offered Arthur counselling after his time in New Mexico, and again when he was given early retirement from the MOD. But he was pretty sure it was less about looking after his mental welfare and more about minimising legal risk. Each time he’d politely declined. This time it seemed he didn’t have much choice.
Amanda gave him an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
They were in her studio in a building in North Finchley that housed a number of alternative wellbeing practices. If he so chose Arthur could also experience acupuncture, aromatherapy and reflexology during his visit, all probably about as effective use of his time as spending an hour chatting to a complete stranger about his life. The space was like someone’s living room, but one stripped of any personal items that might betray to whom it belonged. There was a box of toys in the corner, presumably for Amanda’s younger clients, but honestly, who knew? The layout felt a little uncomfortable at first and it took Arthur a moment to work out why. The position of the chairs forced you to look at someone else rather than a TV.
“Arthur, these sessions are all about you,” Amanda continued, when it was clear he had nothing to add. “I’m going to ask you some questions and we’re going to have a chat. That’s all. How does that sound?”
It sounded perfectly horrid, but not unexpected.
He nodded.
Amanda said, “Tell me, Arthur, why are you here?”
“I have to be,” he replied, “It’s in my contract.”
He’d tried to refuse but Jacob had insisted, and to be fair Arthur couldn’t think of a rational explanation of why he shouldn’t. Apparently mental wellbeing was part of the package for VC backed founders these days. He’d asked Elizabeth her view and she’d told him to man up and stop being such a baby.
Amanda said, “So you’d rather not be here?”
He didn’t want to offend the woman, this was her job after all. So Arthur just shrugged.
“What would you like to get out of these sessions?”
Another shrug.
“Are you experiencing any problems, is anything troubling you at the moment?”
Honestly? He wouldn’t know where to start. But these were all questions that revolved around how to finish Bella. He and Elizabeth now had access to all the resources they needed but it still wasn’t going to be easy.
He said, “Not really.”
Amanda was staring at him with some intensity, so he looked away. She took in a deep breath held it, then let it out in a long deep sigh. “Arthur, why are you here?”
“I told you, I have to be, it’s in the contract.”
She made an exaggerated play of looking around the room before her eye’s settled back on him. “I don’t see anyone holding a gun to your head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, from what I understand you’re a grown man of sixty five years with a long and successful career who has a family. You’d have every right to be relaxing and enjoying your retirement. Why is this contract so important that it makes you willing to come to this studio and suffer talking to me for an hour a week.”
He didn’t reply. Just looked at her.
Amanda didn’t fill the silence, just looked right back at him.
He said, “I need to carry on my research. This is the only way.”
“This research must be very important to you then, why?”
An image of Bella and Elizabeth in the shed popped into Arthur’s head, incredibly vivid. His mind did this sometimes when people asked him intrusive questions, it overloading him with powerful mental images that made it even harder than normal to talk.
“It just is.”
Amanda nodded. “Ok. How about your family, what do they think about your research?”
“I don’t know, they don’t get involved.”
“Not at all? Don’t you talk to them about it?”
“No.”
Amanda paused, then shifted position on her chair.
“What do you do with your family then?”
Arthur had to think for a moment. It wasn’t something he’d really considered for a while. He was able to measure the weeks, months and even the years or his life over the last two decades by the progress they were making with Bella. But the things he did with his family? Anything he might remember doing could have been last week, last month, last year. He really wasn’t sure.
“You know, normal things.”
Amanda smiled at this, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me with what constitutes normal.”
“Sunday lunch… that sort of thing…”
His words petered out to nothing.
“… I guess we don’t do so much together anymore.”
“So you used to do things together? What changed?”
“My wife started writing.”
It came out before he’d really thought about it. A reflex reaction to the question that his brain had ready and prepared.
“That’s the problem then?” asked Amanda. “Your wife’s new career is the reason why you don’t do more as a family?”
Arthur shook his head. It would be easy to say yes but the truth was Bella had started taking up more of his time way before then. It was actually a relief when Camilla’s writing took off. It eased the pressure for him at home.
“Why don’t you tell me what life was like before everything changed, for you and with your family.”
Arthur hadn’t thought about those times for years, but he began to talk about it. Slowly at first, but them with more confidence. As he did it all came flooding back to him. He loved his job back then, it had been a passion rather than an obsession. As a family they had their share of problems and drama of course. But something about the memory of those times felt more real to him than what he was doing now. David and Alex grew from children to young adults on the cusp of living their own lives. He and Camilla made plans together about what they would so when the both of the kids left home. They would travel, and finally buy that house in Hampstead they’d always dreamed of.
The contract in New Mexico would make all of that possible. It was six months away in the US, which would be difficult for all of them, but the money would transform their lives so it was worth it. But six months turned into two years. And then it all came crashing to an end and nothing was the same again.
“So what happened?” asked Amanda.
Another image crowded into Arthur’s mind unbidden. Driving his car across the flat of the New Mexican desert at night, windows open, short sleeved shirt with pens in the breast pocket. Much like he was now but looking younger, a full head of hair, dark but lightly peppered with grey. The lights of the facility were ahead, winking in the darkness. Then a rumbling, the ground shaking below the wheels, forcing Arthur to pull over to the side of the road. Then a huge explosion erupting from below, the ground disappearing beneath his feet. Then nothing.
“Arthur, are you alright?”
Amanda was standing over him holding a glass of water. He was trembling and his throat was dry. He took the water and drank it all down in one. She placed her hand on his shoulder, gently. Normally such an act from someone he didn’t know might cause him to flinch. But not now.
“Maybe that’s enough for today?” she suggested.
“Yes I think maybe you’re right,” replied Arthur. Then added, “You’re not going to tell Jacob any of this are you?”
“I’m bound by patient confidentiality,” Amanda assured him. “I can’t tell anyone.”
“No exceptions?”
“Only if I believe there’s an immediate threat of harm to you or to others. Otherwise, no, I can’t tell a soul.”