Джеффри Арчер - This Was a Man

Harry smiled, delighted that his granddaughter had regained her irreverent streak, along with her acerbic sense of humour.

‘Do I have any say in this?’ asked Seb.

‘Certainly not,’ said Jessica. ‘Otherwise what’s the point of being a father?’

‘Bravo, Karin,’ said Grace, ‘we all applaud you.’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Seb. ‘There will be a sub-clause attached to the contract. Not a penny will be paid if Karin fails to finish.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Karin, ‘and my thanks to you all.’

‘Who’s left?’ asked Emma.

Everyone turned their attention to Harry, who couldn’t resist making them all wait for a few more moments.

‘Once upon a time there was a remarkable old lady, who, just before she died, wrote a letter to her son suggesting that perhaps the time had come for him to write that novel he had so often told her about.’ He paused. ‘Well, Mother,’ he said, looking towards the heavens, ‘that time has come. I no longer have any excuse not to fulfil your wish, as I’ve just completed the final book in the William Warwick series.’

‘Unless of course your wicked publisher,’ suggested Emma, warming to the theme, ‘were to offer his susceptible author an even larger advance that he found impossible to resist.’

‘I’m happy to tell you that won’t be possible,’ said Harry.

‘How come?’ asked Seb.

‘I’ve just sent the final draft to Aaron Guinzburg, and he’s about to discover that I’ve killed off William Warwick.’

Everyone was stunned into silence, except Giles, who said, ‘That didn’t stop Sir Arthur Conan Doyle bringing Sherlock Holmes back to life after his loyal readers thought Moriarty had thrown him off a clifftop.’

‘The same thought did cross my mind,’ said Harry, ‘so I ended the book with William Warwick’s funeral, and his wife and children standing by the graveside watching his coffin being lowered into the ground. As far as I can recall, only one person has ever risen from the dead.’

That silenced even Giles.

‘Are you able to tell us anything about the next novel?’ asked Karin, who, like everyone else, was hearing about the death of William Warwick for the first time.

Once again Harry waited until he had everyone’s attention, even Jake’s.

‘It will be set in one of the Russian satellites, probably Ukraine. The first chapter will open in a suburb of Kiev, where a family, mother, father and child, will be having supper together.’

‘A boy or a girl?’ asked Jessica.

‘Boy.’

‘Age?’

‘Haven’t decided yet. Fifteen, possibly sixteen. All I know for certain is that the family are celebrating the boy’s birthday, and during the meal, not exactly a feast, the reader will learn about the problems they face living under an oppressive regime when the father, a trade union leader, is considered to be a trouble-maker, a dissident, someone who dares to challenge the state’s authority.’

‘If he’d been born in this country,’ said Giles, ‘he would have been the leader of the opposition.’

‘But in his own country,’ continued Harry, ‘he’s treated like an outlaw, a common criminal.’

‘What happens next?’ asked Jessica.

‘The boy is about to open his only present, when an army truck comes to a screeching halt outside the house, and a dozen soldiers break down the door, drag the father out on to the street and shoot him in front of his wife and child.’

‘You kill the hero in the first chapter?’ said Emma in disbelief.

‘This is going to be a story about the child,’ said Grace, ‘not the father.’

‘And the mother,’ said Harry, ‘because she’s an intelligent, resourceful woman, who’s already worked out that if they don’t escape from the country, it won’t be long before her rebellious son will seek revenge, and inevitably end up suffering the same fate as his father.’

‘So where do they escape to?’ demanded Jessica.

‘The mother can’t decide between America and England.’

‘How do they decide?’ asked Karin.

‘On the toss of a coin.’

The rest of the family continued to stare at the storyteller.

‘And what’s the twist?’ asked Seb.

‘We follow what happens to the mother and child, chapter by chapter. In chapter one, they escape to America. In chapter two, England. So you have two parallel and very different stories taking place at the same time.’

‘Wow,’ said Jessica. ‘Then what happens?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Harry. ‘But it’s my New Year’s resolution to find out.’

‘Ten minutes to go,’ said a voice over the loudspeaker. Karin kept jogging on the spot, attempting to get into what the seasoned runners called ‘the zone’. She’d put in hours of training, even run a half marathon, but suddenly she felt very alone on the starting line.

‘Five minutes,’ said the voice of doom.

Karin checked her stopwatch, a recent gift from Giles. 0.00. Get as close to the front as you can, Freddie had told her. Why add unnecessary time or distance to the race? Karin had never considered the marathon to be a race, she just hoped to finish in under four hours. Right now, she just hoped to finish.

‘One minute,’ boomed the starter’s voice.

Karin was about eleven rows back, but as there were over 8,000 runners, she considered that was near enough to the front.

‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!’ the runners all shouted in unison, before a klaxon blared ominously. Karen pressed the button on her stopwatch and set off, swept along by an enthusiastic tide of runners.

Each mile was marked with a thick blue line stretching across the road, and Karin completed the first mile in under eight minutes. As she settled into a steady rhythm, she became more aware of the crowds lining both sides of the course, some cheering, some clapping, while others just stared in disbelief at the mass of human flesh, of all shapes and sizes, which was passing them at different speeds.

Her mind began to drift. She thought about Giles, who’d driven her to the little village of tents earlier that morning to register, and who would now be out there somewhere standing in the cold, waiting for her to appear among the also-rans. Her thoughts turned next to her recent visit to the House of Lords to hear the health minister answering questions from the despatch box. Emma had coped well, and in Giles’s opinion had quickly got into her stride. As Karin passed the halfway mark, she hoped she was also in her stride, although she accepted the winner would already be crossing the finishing line.

Giles had warned them that Karin was unlikely to complete the course in under four hours, so the family had all risen early that morning to make sure they could find a spot where she was certain to see them. The previous evening Freddie had been on his knees preparing a placard that he hoped would make Karin laugh as she staggered past them.

Once Giles had returned to Smith Square after dropping his wife off at the A — D registration tent in Greenwich Park, he led her little band of supporters to the back of the Treasury building and found a front-row place behind the barriers on Parliament Square, opposite the statue of Winston Churchill.

Karin was now approaching what was known by all marathon runners as the wall. It usually came at around 17 to 20 miles, and she’d heard so often about the temptation to try and convince yourself that if you dropped out, no one would notice. Everyone would notice. They might not say anything, but Sebastian had made it clear that he wouldn’t be parting with a penny unless she crossed the finishing line. A deal’s a deal, he’d reminded her. But she seemed to be going slower and slower, and it didn’t help when she spotted a 30 miles per hour road sign ahead of her.