Iain Banks - Whit

I looked down the road towards the river.

'Is! What's wrong? Are you -?' Sophi said, looking out from the hall with an expression of concern on her sweet face. She wore pyjamas and a dressing-gown.

'I'm fine,' I said, in a whisper. 'Sorry it's so late. Can I come in?'

'Of course.' She stood aside. 'Dad's in bed,' she said.

'Good.' I kissed her cheek. She closed the door and hugged me.

'Can I use your phone?'

'Of course. I might not wait up till you're finished, though,' she said, smiling.

I shook my head. 'This will be a proper call; voice.'

She looked pretend-shocked. 'Are you allowed to do that?' she asked, lifting the telephone off its table and pulling it through to the sitting room.

'Not really,' I said. 'But these are desperate times.'

'God, they must be.' She pulled the telephone's wire under the door and then closed it. 'Quieter in here,' she said, putting the phone on the sideboard. 'Need a chair?'

'No thanks,' I said, pulling from my pocket the sheet of paper I'd written Morag's numbers on.

I explained to Sophi what I'd done.

'Is!' she squealed in delight. 'You're a cat burglar!'

'There's worse,' I said, and watched her expression change to horror and then anger when I told her what Allan had said to Morag.

'That slimy bastard,' she said, her jaw set in a firm line. 'Is that who you're going to call? Morag?'

'Yes. She might hang up on me; if she does, will you call her back; be a sort of character witness?'

'Certainly. I'll go make us some tea, eh?'

'I'd rather you stayed here; she might want somebody to put a good word in for me anyway.'

'My pleasure, Is.' She sat on the arm of the sofa.

I dialled the first number, and got a voice telling me I'd got through to La Mancha; I thought the voice sounded particularly distorted, and so narrowly avoided the embarrassment of trying to hold a conversation with an answering machine. I left no message after the beeps. I dialled the next number.

'Hello?' It was her. It was Morag. I knew that voice - I had heard it going, 'Yes, yes, oh yes !' just a week ago - well enough to tell from just that one word.

I swallowed. 'Morag,' I said, gulping. 'Please don't put down the phone, but… it's Isis.'

There was a pause. Then, coldly, 'What?'

I glanced at Sophi for some moral support, which arrived in the shape of a wink. 'Did Allan just phone you?'

Another pause. 'What's it to you?'

'Morag, please; I think he's been lying to you. I just heard him lying to you.'

'How?'

'What?'

'How did you hear?'

'Well, overheard.'

' How ?'

I took a deep breath, then shook my head. 'Oh, it's a long story, but the point is I did. I heard him say that I had tried to… seduce Grandfather.'

'Something like that,' said the cold, distant voice. 'It didn't surprise me, not considering what you've been doing to me.'

'What? What have I done?' I asked, hurt and confused. Sophi was biting her bottom lip, face creased into a frown.

'… Oh for God's sake, Isis!' Morag yelled, making me jump. I jerked the handset away from my ear, startled. 'Following me; stalking me all round the country, for a start!'

'But I was told to!' I protested. 'I was on a mission!'

'Oh, yeah . I suppose you heard voices.'

'No! I was told to; I was sent on the mission to find you… sent by Grandfather, by the Community; everybody.'

'Don't lie , Isis. God, this is so pathetic.'

'I'm not lying. Ask anybody in the Community; they all came to see me off. We had a meeting; two meetings, sub-committees-'

'I've just been talking somebody from the Community, Isis: Allan.'

'Well, apart from him-'

'I mean, he's even spoken up for you in the past; when all this crazy obsessive stalking stuff started.'

'What crazy obsessive stalking stuff?' I cried. 'What are you talking about?' I was feeling terribly emotional; there was a prickling behind my eyes. Sophi, sitting on the couch in her dressing-gown, looked concerned and slightly alarmed too.

'For God's sake, Isis; all the letters; asking me for-'

'What letters?'

'Isis, are you having black-outs or something? All the letters you've sent me, pledging undying love; sending me your knickers; asking me for my used knickers, for God's sake-'

' What ?' I screeched. Sophi flinched and glanced upwards. She put her finger to her lips.

'Morag,' I said. 'You have to… Look, I mean, I… I like you; I always have… I'm, that is… we're friends, as… as well as cousins… but I don't have a crush on you or anything; I'm not obsessive about you. Please believe me; I haven't sent any sort of letter for about four years, soon after you started sending the open letters, to everybody, when you got busy, with; well, at the time we thought it was playing the baryton, but I suppose it was, um, actually the, ah, films really, but-'

'Don't lie, Isis,' she began, then broke off. '… Wait a minute,' she said. 'What do you mean, "films"?'

I grimaced. Sophi returned the look as though reflecting my feeling of embarrassment. I cleared my throat. 'As, ah, Fusillada; you know.'

There was a long pause. 'Ah, Morag?' I said, thinking she had somehow rung off silently.

'You do know about that,' she said, sounding wary.

'Yes,' I said. 'I… Well, it's another long story, I suppose, but-'

'Allan just told me you hadn't found out,' she said flatly.

I caught a sniff of victory. 'That's what I'm telling you; Allan's a liar !' I said.

'How many people know about the films?'

'Well… everybody,' I confessed.

'Oh, shit.'

'Look, Morag, I don't think there's anything wrong in what you're doing. It's your body and you can do what you want with it, and the act of love is holy under any circumstances unless there is coercion involved; commercial exploitation is irrelevant in that respect and the reaction of Unsaved society is largely a result of its deep-seated fear of the power of sexuality and the repressed-'

'Is, Is… yeah, right; got all that. Jeez, you're sounding like some girl on the game who's just got an Open University degree.'

'Sorry.'

'It's all right. But none of this explains why you were chasing me round the fucking country in the first place.'

'I told you; I was on a mission!'

'For what ?'

'To talk you back into the fold of the Saved and restore your faith in the Order.'

'Eh?'

I repeated what I'd just said.

'What are you talking about?'

'Morag; I saw the letter you sent.'

'What letter?'

'The one you wrote two weeks ago where you said you didn't want to be part of the Order or take part in the Festival; the one where you said you had found another faith.'

Morag laughed. 'Hold on, hold on. I wrote ages ago saying I wasn't coming to the Festival, after I started getting the weird letters from you. But I haven't written in a couple of months. As for finding some new faith, I know I'm not the best Luskentyrian in the world, but I'm not lapsed or anything.'

I stared at Sophi. She looked back, her expression half trepidatious, half hopeful.

'So,' I said into the telephone. 'Somebody's been sending both of us faked - forged - letters.'

'Yeah, if all this isn't you being a really clever stalker,' she said, but didn't sound serious. 'Oops; I'm getting battery low showing here. You got any other bombshells you want to drop?'

'I don't think so,' I said. 'But look, can I meet you? Can we talk some more about this? Wherever you want.'

'Well, I don't know. I heard from Allan you were going to stay with Uncle Mo…'