‘Viktor Illyich will kill you though,’ says the Viking. ‘He will find out where you live. I found out easily enough.’
‘I will take my chances,’ says Elizabeth.
Viktor Illyich will not kill Elizabeth, she knows that. That’s her ace. The Viking has been unlucky here. Elizabeth and Stephen will be home before dawn, and will be quite safe. Depending on where they are, of course. ‘So kill me or let me go. Those are your two options. Which do you choose?’
‘I think I choose option three,’ says the Viking. ‘The option where I send Viktor Illyich the full photos.’
‘The full photos?’
‘Yes, for sure. The photos with your friend Joyce Meadowcroft by your side. Both pictures, both names.’
‘Bit below the belt,’ says Stephen. Elizabeth still feels safe. Viktor won’t go after Joyce either. Not if they’re in the photo together. A friend of Elizabeth is a friend of Viktor.
‘Viktor might not have the heart to kill Joyce, of course,’ says the Viking. ‘She is more of a civilian, I think? So here’s my deal. Just as insurance, if Viktor Illyich isn’t dead within two weeks, I will kill your friend Joyce.’
13
The second date was, if anything, even better than the first. They have just been to Brighton to watch a Polish film. Donna hadn’t realized there were Polish films, though obviously there must be. In a country that size, someone is going to make a film once in a while.
It was an art-house cinema, of course it was, it was in Brighton, and that meant you couldn’t get proper pick ’n’ mix. No chocolate mice, no Kola Cubes, nothing. Just healthy snacks.
But they did let you bring wine into the cinema, so Donna supposed it was OK to put up with a handful of unsalted cashew nuts. Also, everyone stayed quiet during the film, which Donna was not at all used to.
They took the train from Fairhaven. Donna drank a Mojito in a can, and Bogdan drank a large energy drink into which he had mixed a sachet of protein powder.
They walked from the station to the cinema, her arm hooked through Bogdan’s. At one point they walked past a house on Trafalgar Street which Bogdan told her was a crack den, and then past an old forge on London Road where a Lithuanian was buried. Bogdan would make a very good tour guide for a very specific type of tourist.
There were other black people in Brighton, and that was nice to see. Though still few enough for a subtle nod to be exchanged as they passed each other. Donna likes Brighton; she could see herself raiding a few crack dens here before her career was out.
They talked a little about Bethany Waites, and about Heather Garbutt. Donna is putting together a map of all the CCTV cameras in Fairhaven for Chris. It is not an enjoyable job.
Now, not only do people in Poland make films, it turns out they make very good ones. Donna had worried it might be a searing portrayal of love and loss across the generations of a remote farming family, and she would have to keep turning to Bogdan and pretending to nod wisely. But not a bit of it. There was murder, there was fighting, there was a cop in a ripped shirt; it wasn’t bad at all. Every few minutes Bogdan would lean into her and she readied herself for a kiss, but he was just pointing out occasional inconsistencies in the subtitles. She held his hand, her red wine slipped down a treat, the gal got the guy, and someone shot down a helicopter. Eight out of ten, would recommend.
They went back to his, there wasn’t even a question. Where would they have parted? And why?
Bogdan is currently in the bathroom, and Donna is frantically rehydrating, and trying to recall if she has ever been happier.
They had talked a little more about Bethany Waites. Donna had looked into the files on Jack Mason, the businessman. A record as long as a Post Office queue. Charming but dangerous.
Talking of which, Bogdan walks back into the room, and gets into bed. She puts her arm around him, sleepy and safe.