Jane Higgins - The Bridge

‘You’re angry. I understand that.’

‘Do you?’

‘But we’re not the ones you should be angry with. Your father abandoned you to Tornmoor, and then when you went over the river in, I must say, an admirable feat of bravery, he used you. You must have worked this out by now. By jamming those triggers they could kill the Hendry boy and in the resulting chaos the Breken hostage could escape.’

‘Why would they do that? They were getting her back anyway.’

‘I’d have thought that was obvious. A message to us that they mean to pursue this fight to the bitter end. And it will be bitter. The hostage is still here and we are more determined than ever to punish the insurgency and push it to a satisfactory conclusion. They have made a grave tactical error and they will pay for it.’ She peered at me. ‘You’re one of us, Nikolai. I think you know that. You can do good work here. You have grounding in the field. Facility with Breken. Understanding of their ways. And you know just how warlike and unforgiving they are. We want you with us, working for peace. Surely you want peace?’

‘They’d negotiate, you know,’ I said. ‘Some of them. If you came to the table, with terms, they’d talk.’

‘There will be no negotiation with the hostiles as long as they take up arms. It’s out of the question.’

She pressed a button on her desk and said, ‘Proceed,’ to someone; I couldn’t see who. The wall lit up with faces: Levkova, Vega, and a host of others. The images were fuzzy, like they’d been taken from a long way off and magnified multiple times.

She said, ‘You’ve given us a commentary on life over the river. I know you didn’t agree to do that, and I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to consent, but time was of the essence. We couldn’t wait for you to recover.’ The parade of faces and figures streamed across the wall. ‘We know some of these people. We don’t know them all. We’re asking you to identify as many as you can, so that we can match them with your commentary. We want to know who’s with CFM, who’s Remnant, rank, popular status, you know the kind of thing. We want peace, Nikolai. You can help us achieve that.’

I watched them go by, my mouth dry and my heart beating hard and when the wall went blank I stood up. She said, ‘You need time to think. I understand that. You have twenty-four hours.’ She punched a button and spoke to the air again. ‘An escort please.’

She smiled up at me. ‘You haven’t asked me about your mother. Surely you have some questions. I was a good friend of hers, you know.’

I looked at her composed face and bright, enquiring eyes. I heard my father saying, When I came out of the Marsh, Elena was dead and you were gone , and I knew exactly what kind of friend Frieda had been to my mother.

‘I do have a question,’ I said.

‘Yes?’

‘When you befriended my mother, did they give you a promotion? Or did you have to wait until you’d delivered me to Tornmoor?’

She absorbed that without a flicker. Someone knocked on the door. She called, ‘Yes!’ and said, ‘A friend of yours, I think.’

No. Not exactly. Jono, and a buddy.

‘Escort Mr Stais to his room.’ Frieda nodded at me. ‘Think well.’

They took me back through the white corridors; when we got to my room the other guy left. Jono made some excuse about catching up with me, and stayed behind. He said, ‘Sol’s dead. And that’s down to you. Happy?’

I hit him.

I remember thinking once that in a fight with Jono I’d come out with fewer teeth than I took in and not so many limbs in working order. But no. Jono had learned how to fight so that he left no marks. Just immobilization for an hour or two.

When I could move again, I crawled into the bathroom where I threw up, then sat under the shower feeling it drum on my body. I thought about the Moldam doctor and his painkillers. About Levkova. Vega. My father. All those people. Lanya.

‘Where are we going?’I said to the next agent that arrived to take me somewhere. I knew he wouldn’t tell me, but I was going to keep asking questions just in case, one day, one of these people slipped up and said something to me.

He took me to the door of the hospital chapel. I had time to take one deep breath, and then I was standing inside, in a dimly lit space with the smell of polished wood and candlewax in the air.

Ahead of me at the end of the aisle was a small coffin that I knew must be Sol. Standing around it were people I had known for most of my life. Dash and Jono. Mr Hendry. Mrs Hendry. Fyffe.

Seeing them standing there, part of my brain looked for Lou. He was always with them when we were all together, making everyone laugh, or groan, at his latest pun or practical joke. And Sol, who made everyone laugh just because he was a sweet kid.

Mrs Hendry gripped her husband’s hand and put her other arm across her midriff, holding herself together, but only just. She was a thin, gray, heartbroken version of the smiling woman who had welcomed me for the holidays when I was seven and kept welcoming me almost every summer for years after that.

Now she looked down the aisle and said in a strained, cracking voice, ‘Why is he here? Why did they bring him here?’

I couldn’t move.

I looked at Fyffe and she looked back at me. I thought of all the times in Moldam when it had been too dangerous or too difficult to speak and we’d just looked at each other: over the table in the dining hall, over the body of the dead soldier in the infirmary, across the yard at Goran’s, and in the upstairs room with the doctor holding a syringe in his hand. Now Fyffe looked back at me and that gave me ballast, because even though we had failed, I knew the weight of what we had done.

What I didn’t know was whether Fyffe was watching me and thinking of all the experience that ran between us, or if she held me responsible for Sol’s death.

Mr Hendry put a hand on the coffin, as though he had to protect it and its precious contents from me. He looked past me to the agent standing at the door and said, ‘You! What do you think you’re doing? Take him away!’

I was about to turn and run when Fyffe walked towards me.

Mr Hendry said, ‘Fyffe! Come back here.’ Jono hurried after her and took her arm but she shook him off.

She walked all the way down the aisle and right into my arms.

She cried and cried. We both did.

At last, she wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to smile at me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She took a shaky breath. ‘Not your fault.’

‘Fyffe!’ called her father.

I kissed the top of her head and stood back from her. ‘Don’t get into trouble on my account.’

She tugged my sleeve. ‘We’re taking Sol home tomorrow night. Come and say good-bye.’

I looked at Mr and Mrs Hendry and shook my head. ‘I can’t, Fy. I can’t.’

Jono arrived at her shoulder saying, ‘Fyffe. Your mother wants you.’

She nodded and said to me, ‘I don’t believe them. What they’re saying about you. I don’t believe it. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, before I go.’ She shrugged off Jono’s hand and walked alone back to her family.

In my room, when I could think clearly again, I thought this had been Frieda’s doing. Her message wasn’t exactly subtle: take what she offered or she would make sure that Mr and Mrs Hendry would hate me for life. But what would Frieda make of Fyffe not following the script? I was afraid for Fyffe.

When Jono came to my door the next morning, I said, ‘If you’re taking me back to see the Hendrys, I’m not going.’

But Jono stood in the doorway looking straight ahead and said, ‘Mrs Kelleran wants you to meet someone.’