Somewhere, people are trying to find us. The detective will have told my mam that I’ve been taken. I remember her one evening last week saying, “Do you and Finn want to take a walk with me?” and me saying, “Not tonight, mam, I can’t, I’m so tired from work.”
I regretted it then, too. I pictured her going for a walk on her own, or staying at home on the sofa, carefully reading a catalogue, folding down the pages. I should have said yes.
I lie on the mattress and consider the different rooms in the house, the different ways a raid might play out. Our guards have automatic rifles. If there is a raid, we might die.
Though the operators MI5 sends in will be experienced. The Special Forces specialize in hostage rescue, their officers have two years of instruction before even deploying. They might have run hundreds of simulations in a house like this, with the same number of hostages and terrorists. They will know how to enter the rooms. We aren’t in a fortified compound, we’re in a farmhouse in South Armagh. I wish there were a way for me to talk to them, to tell them where we are in the house, to receive instructions.
I try to picture us being hurried outside by officers after a siege, but can’t. If there is a raid, we might never leave this room.
At some point in the night, I move to the floor. I have an image of the two of us lying on the mattresses, our blood soaking into the sky-blue sheets, so I kneel on the floor, like if I can change one part of the image, it won’t happen.
I end up on Marian’s mattress eventually, and fall asleep with her arm tucked around me.
* * *
—
At dawn, a man steps inside the room, holding a chair. It takes me a moment to recognize him. His faded red hair is brushed to the side, and he has on a tweed blazer over a blue shirt. He sets the chair on the floor and sits down facing us.
“Seamus,” says Marian with relief. “You need to help us.”
“Well,” he says. “That will depend on how this goes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need both of you to answer some questions.”
“You’re not on internal security.”
“I am, actually,” he says, and Marian’s face sags.
“Fine,” she says. “You and I will talk, but Tessa shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, I disagree,” he says, rubbing the knuckles of his long hands. “We’ve a bit of a problem.” He rests his ankle on his knee and clasps his hands on his lap. “A sniper was meant to assassinate the justice minister during her speech, but someone warned her. We think you told Tessa, and she told Rebecca Main.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of any of this, Seamus. You know we weren’t involved in that operation.”
“No, but someone told you about it. I have their word.”
“Who?”
Seamus turns his attention to me. “You’ve been quiet, Tessa.”
“Because this is mad.”
“But you’ve met Rebecca Main, haven’t you? She was a guest on your program.”
“Politicians come in every week. Do you think I’m friends with all of them?”
“Do you have a personal phone number for Rebecca?”
“No.”
Seamus reaches down to brush some dust from his shoe. “Do you know how many of these interviews I’ve done?” he says. “Can I tell you something? Innocent people get restless. They move around. And neither of you has shifted an inch since I came in.”
Marian laughs. “Is this a witchcraft trial? There’s a river back there, do you want to go see if we sink?”
Seamus points at me. “I already know Tessa has lied to us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You told your neighbor to call the police.”
I nod. “You don’t get to threaten my son.”
“But, you see, now I know that you’re a liar.”
“No, I’m his mother. And you can fuck right off.”
“Watch yourself,” he says.
“Which speech?” asks Marian.
“Sorry?”
“At which speech were you planning to assassinate the justice minister?”
“The one in Portrush on Friday.”
Marian frowns. “We’re on cease-fire.”
“Well, not all of us agree,” says Seamus. “We never voted on a cease-fire.”
“So who ordered the assassination?” she asks. “Anyone from the army council? No? You lads just took it upon yourselves.”