Rupert Thomson - Divided Kingdom

The wariness in his voice released a kind of adrenalin in me. I felt I had wrested the initiative from him at last.

‘Why don’t you stay?’ I said. ‘I’ll cook.’

Without waiting for an answer, I went out to the hall and fetched the bag of groceries Odell had bought for me. Back in the kitchen, I reached for the frying pan and placed it on the stove. Dropping a wedge of butter into the pan, I lit the gas. I broke four eggs into a pudding basin, then beat milk into the eggs with a whisk, adding sea salt, black pepper, and a few brittle sprigs of parsley from the freezer. When the butter had melted, I tipped the beaten eggs into the pan where they sizzled loudly, as if in protest, and then began to spread.

The phone on my bedside table woke me at five-past nine the next morning. I let the machine take the call. Pulling on my dressing-gown, I opened the curtains. The city glittered beneath a sky of unadulterated blue, every roof and dome and spire clearly defined. From my bedroom window I couldn’t see any checkpoints or watch-towers. They were lodged deep in the jumble of buildings that lay before me, as were the rolls of razor wire and the attack dogs with their sharpened ears. Standing on the sixth floor, looking south, it would have been easy to imagine that the borders didn’t exist, and that the city was a single entity. An illusion, of course. A heresy as well. A crime.

I turned and went through to the kitchen. The frying pan was still soaking in the sink, traces of omelette welded to the rim. Vishram had offered to wash up before he left, but I had called him a taxi instead. I’d had enough of him by then. As I ran myself a glass of water, I remembered how I had brought him back to his moment of hesitancy, asking once again why he had gone to all the trouble of having me followed. I had been thinking he would tell me, with some small show of embarrassment, that it was because he had grown fond of me, because he enjoyed my company, because — who knows? — he had come to think of me as a kind of son. But that was not how he replied.

‘I’d like you to take my place,’ he said, ‘at the Department.’

At last he had succeeded in surprising me.

‘Are you retiring?’ I said.

‘There’s some research I want to do. I might even return to academia.’ He smiled downwards at his plate, as if the idea was both shameful and absurd.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said.

His face stiffened a little. My reaction had disappointed him. I ought to have been enthusiastic or grateful. I ought to have considered it an honour.

‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘It’s probably too soon to be talking of such things.’

I nodded.

Later, I asked how his biography of the Prime Minister was going. He seemed to flinch slightly at the question. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Yes. It’s going very well.’

‘I never told Sonya, I’m afraid. About the job.’

‘That’s all right.’ He gave me another of his opaque looks.

Soon afterwards his taxi arrived.

Still standing at the sink, I went back over the encounter. It had been awkward for any number of reasons, most of which were entirely predictable, but there had been an aspect to the awkwardness that I wouldn’t have expected, and which seemed to have something to do with Vishram’s state of mind. I could only think that he had problems of his own. The second hand ticked on the cooker’s built-in clock. I drank half my water, then put it down. Whatever doubts or reservations I may have had about him, I couldn’t help but be amused — and curiously touched — by the fact that he had been so intent on being the first person to greet me when I got home that he had somehow contrived to break into my flat.

I fell back on my usual routine that morning — laps in the swimming-pool downstairs, followed by a shower, then breakfast with the papers — but I had the constant, niggling sense that I was only pretending to be myself. At times I could even detect flaws in my own performance. I put the kettle on. I poured cereal into a bowl. The flakes tinkled against the china like tiny bits of metal. Everything felt familiar, and yet the notion of familiarity was, in itself, strange.

As I reached for my glass of orange juice, a fly landed on my newspaper. It wasn’t a normal house fly. It was much smaller than that. In fact, if it had remained airborne, I’m not sure I would’ve noticed it at all. I leaned forwards to inspect the fly, but it chose that moment to rise unsteadily off the page. Seconds later, it alighted on the edge of my plate. This time I was able to crush it. There was no blood, just a minute dark stain on my fingertip. I lifted the finger to my nose. The dead fly smelled exactly like a Brazil nut. I wondered what kind of fly it was, and how many more of them there were. I’d ask my cleaning lady to look into it — if I still had a cleaning lady.

When I was dressed, I took the lift to the ground floor. The front doors of the building stood open to the street, and Loames stooped in the gap, polishing the curved brass handles. He had rolled his shirtsleeves back to the elbow, and his strong, unusually hairless forearms gleamed in the sunlight.

‘Morning, Mr Loames.’

‘Morning, sir.’ He stepped aside to let me past.

Once on the pavement, though, I paused. ‘Lovely day.’

He straightened up, his eyes on a smart middle-aged couple who were emerging from the hotel opposite. ‘They say it’s going to last all week.’

‘That’s good,’ I said.

There had been no allusions to my sudden bizarre appearance the previous night. There had been no ambiguous glances either, no attempts at wit, just ordinary, solid words whose only concern was that life should go on as before, as always.

‘I heard you were ill, sir,’ Loames said after a while.

‘Yes, I was.’

‘Feeling better now, are you?’

‘Much better, thanks.’ Casting around for a change of subject, I remembered what had happened at breakfast. ‘You know those flies you mentioned once?’

‘Flies?’

‘Back in October. You told me you had flies.’

Loames was nodding slowly now. ‘Ah yes, I remember.’

‘Were they small? Like this?’ And I curled my forefinger against my thumb so tightly that only a pinpoint of daylight could squeeze through.

He studied the shape I’d made with my hand almost as if he were afraid of it. ‘They were normal flies, sir,’ he said. ‘House flies.’

‘I see.’

‘I could call in the exterminators if you like — or I could do the job myself.’ His head lunged heavily towards me, like a cow’s.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

I was supposed to have been ill, and appropriately enough, I found myself behaving like an invalid. I had the same dazed responses to the world, the same naive blend of gratitude and reverence. On leaving my flat the previous night, Vishram had told me that he didn’t expect me back at work until the end of the month, which was a fortnight away. We would call it my convalescence, he added in a light but conspiratorial voice, then he invited me to dine with him at his house on Saturday — or perhaps I had other arrangements … Other arrangements? I had laughed at the idea. He must have been referring to Sonya, but I hadn’t spoken to her. I couldn’t, not just yet. I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was like somebody who had jumped out of a plane. I had watched my parachute bloom in the vast, empty dome of sky above, and now I was drifting earthwards. A deep silence enveloped me. No doubt the ground would rush up to meet me soon enough, but in the meantime I wanted to keep everything the way it was — distant, abstract, peaceful.

I had left my flat with no clear purpose in mind, drawn out by the fine weather, but I soon realised I was following the same route Odell and I had taken the night before, only in reverse, of course, a route that now seemed thoroughly saturated with her presence. I lingered outside the supermarket where she had bought my groceries. Her image bent over the tilting shelves of oranges and pears. Further on, I turned down a street renowned for its jewellery, and I remembered how she had stopped once or twice to look in windows. I had ignored her and walked on. I regretted that now. I would like to have known what it was that had attracted her. That row of antique rings, perhaps — but which one in particular? I crossed another, larger thoroughfare, still heading north. Not long afterwards I entered the park.