Twisted Agendas (19 page)

“Remember what I said to you a while back about his business?”

Danny took a slow, deep breath. “Things have changed between Susan and me.”

“Aye Susan mentioned you two had a difference of opinion. But that’s between the two of you to sort out as far as I’m concerned.”

“It is sorted.”

There was a silence. His father didn’t get it or refused to understand Danny was his own man now. He wondered what it would take to ram the message home.

“I’m worried about that wee lass, son.”

Danny didn’t speak.

“So I says to her ‘Why don’t you take a wee holiday to yourself?’ Sure a couple of days away would do her the power of good.’ Don’t you think I said the right
thing?”

He could hear Finty’s footfalls as she started along the landing.

“Sorry to have to cut you short but I’m going out, Dad. Some friends are waiting for me.”

“That’s okay, son. Anyway, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s happening to the wee lass. Enjoy yourself now. Sure I’ll call again some other time.”

Danny knocked on Piper’s front door a third time. Still no-one answered. He peeked through the letterbox. Newspapers and leaflets lay strewn over the floor. Four pages of
handwritten notes were on the bottom three stairs. Near the kitchen threshold, the ponytail palm he’d repotted into a glazed blue and yellow striped ceramic pot and given to her for her
birthday lay at a forty-five degree angle against the wall of the hallway.

“Maybe she left already,” said Finty. “We need to go or we’ll be late.”

A dense crowd of people, many with blankets and picnic hampers, milled around the terrace of Kenwood House when Danny and Finty arrived. They waited for ten minutes to see if Piper would show up
but she didn’t. Reluctantly, Danny followed the other concertgoers toward the park. Not a leaf stirred within the limbs of the mature beeches and oaks as they made their way along the winding
pathway. Even the white and lemon butterflies were languid, fluttering in the sultry air that reeked of damp earth. A film of sweat developed on Danny’s arms and forehead, the latter swelling
into a trickle that wended its way toward his nose where it formed crystal droplets that he wiped away with the back of his hand.

They tendered the tickets to the attendant and strolled over the lush, ankle deep grass until they came to the brow of a gently sloped hill. Along the breath of the slope, hundreds of people
reclined on deckchairs or lay supine on the grass. Beneath them, the parabolic concert hall nestled by the curved bank of a freshwater pond whose size he couldn’t determine because one side
was cut off by a twin-arched bridge. Danny scanned the crowd for Herr Fehler but Finty spotted Hilary’s lurid violet hair first. They wended over to the group. About forty people including
the two Chinese students, their wives and children were already there, far too many to greet personally.

“You must try Fredi’s German potato salad,” Hilary said, as Finty poured them glasses of chilled wine. “It’s awfully good.”

Finty pulled a faux-surprised look when Danny’s eyes locked in hers. Hilary, who was receiving extra tuition from their teacher, was letting them know that he was no longer Alfred but
rather Fredi now.

The food had been placed within the circle the group had formed. It was a massive feast: plates of cold chicken breasts and drumsticks, potato salad, rice and Waldorf salads, pots of store and
homemade hummus, tzatziki, French bread, sandwiches, beef satay, and the standard array of prepackaged supermarket quiche, cold meats and pork pies.

“My salad is not so terrible, if I may say so,” Herr Fehler said. He was sitting nearby talking to a woman Danny didn’t recognise.

“I’d love to try some of Fredi, I mean Alfred’s, salad in a minute,” Finty said to Hilary. Again, she gave Danny a faux-surprised look. He loved this small, exclusive
connection to her even if it was only to poke fun at Hilary.

They lay down side by side, he resting on his elbows as he gazed out over the pond, she nibbling on the bunch of black grapes he’d brought.

“What else is there to eat?” Finty asked.

Aware she was vegetarian, he’d prepared a mescaline salad, cold pasta salad with olives, sliced hardboiled eggs and an assortment of roasted vegetables drizzled in a sweet chili oil. She
placed a portion of mescaline salad on her plate, poured oil and vinegar over it and then heaped some of the roasted vegetables alongside it.

“The pasta salad’s tasty, too,” Danny said, as he spooned some of it on his plate.

“No, thanks.”

Hilary held out a plate of thinly sliced French bread smeared with a pinkish substance. “This tzatziki’s delicious.”

“No thanks,” said Finty.

“It’s homemade,” Hilary said.

“It is delicious,” Danny added. “Try one.”

“I don’t eat any eggs.”

“Why ever not?” Hilary asked.

“Religious grounds.”

Hilary shrugged and offered a slice to one of the Chinese men.

“Eggs are vegetarian,” Danny said.

“They’re not, actually.”

“I’ve never heard of any religion banning eggs.”

“I really didn’t want to get into this, Danny.” Finty sighed. “You’ll think I’m crazy. That’s what many people think.”

“No, I won’t.” He reached out impulsively and put his hand on top of hers. “I’m really interested.”

“Well, eggs come from animals so they can’t be vegetarian, can they?”

“So does milk and cheese.”

“Exactly.”

He recalled the occasions they’d been in cafés and how he’d never seen her put milk in her coffee, drink cappuccinos or eat cream cakes. She always ordered garden salads or
vegetarian chilies without sour cream, foods he considered boring. “What is your religion?”

“I’m a Satsangi. It’s actually more a philosophy than a religion.”

He didn’t articulate his next thought, that its very name implied some kind of weird cult.

“It’s a science of the soul. Our body’s a cage and the soul is the bird inside longing to fly toward the truth.”

Finty rummaged in the pocket of her shorts and took out a packet of cigarettes. As he watched her light up, Danny couldn’t help thinking it a bit incongruous.

“I’m not as good a Satsangi as I’d like to be,” she said, as if she’d read Danny’s mind. “I have my vices. But under
no
circumstances will I
break the rule against eating eggs. They’re extremely powerful.”

“Fish roe is powerful?” He regarded it on his half eaten slice of French bread.

“All eggs are powerful,” She scoured his face. “They’re the vehicle of life. Eating them would have a negative influence on my meditation.”

The orchestra began to assemble on stage. Suddenly remembering Piper, he looked back up the hill to see if she might have arrived and was now searching for him. Only a middle-aged man and woman
stood at the apex.

The musicians began to tune their instruments. A minute later, the first violinist gave the bowings. The conductor announced the first half of the programme and began the concert. Danny was
amazed at the precipitous cessation of chatter among the group as soon as the first notes of the
Canon in D
drifted out over the pond. He peered down over the quilt of heads. Everyone was
rapt, some with their eyes closed and faces uplifted to the sinking sun, some watching as they nibbled food, others gently swaying with their hands clasped around their knees.

The tangy scent of crushed grass floated up to mingle with the swirling, invisible notes. Everything was perfect. He closed his eyes to allow the music to transport him. Finty’s arm
brushed against his. Moments later, it happened again. His penis began to harden. He couldn’t stop it. It grew and grew until it began to protest the confines of his underpants. He shifted
position and tried desperately to will it into quick subsidence.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Finty said. She sat up, took off her floppy sunhat and shook out her hair.

“Shush,” Hilary said.

Danny regarded Hilary, the Dame Edna lookalike seated now on a rug with Herr Fehler. Her eyes were closed and she swayed her head slowly from side to side. The strategy worked. A moment later,
he was able to lie on his back again. Propping himself up on his elbow, he leaned over and whispered “Fredi, oh my little Fredi” in Finty’s ear. Her torso began to shake. She
pressed the palm of her hand on her chest to stop herself laughing.

“Stop,” she said wordlessly.

She took her hand off her chest and gripped his thigh. Immediately, the stirring inside his trousers commenced again.

When Danny reached Chumley Street just after eleven-thirty, he stopped at Piper’s house and rang the doorbell. Still no-one answered. He peered through the letterbox.
Although nearly dark inside, he could see the dull glow of the handwritten pages of notes on the stairs. He checked the answering machine when he got home but she’d left no messages.

On Sunday, he stopped at her house every time he passed by on his way to and from the shops. She was never home. Although surprised she hadn’t come to the concert, Danny wasn’t
unduly concerned: people often changed their minds last minute and they both led busy lives, days sometimes even an entire week passing without their contacting one another. Only when Todd arrived
at his home that evening saying Piper and he were scheduled to leave on Wednesday for the States and he hadn’t heard from her did Danny start to worry. They went to her next-door neighbour
Sonia Berg who said she’d seen her on Friday evening because Piper wanted to discuss a private matter with her.

“Before Piper left me she said she was wery behind in her thesis,” the doctor said, “and was going to hide herself away until she made progress.”

“Yeah, she is way behind schedule on some reading lists,” said Todd.

“Maybe she’s just not answering the door?” Danny asked.

“I think she’d answer if she knows it’s me,” Todd said.

“I’ve shut myself away from friends when I’ve had a deadline,” Danny said.

When Todd suggested they file a missing persons report with the police, Sonia disagreed.

“She is a grown independent woman with no record of mental illness,” she said. “The police will not take this seriously until sufficient time passes.”

The doctor’s logic made sense and they agreed to wait until the following day.

Danny looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was six a.m. The rapid knocking on the front door continued as he put on his dressing gown.

“Who the hell can it be?” Julia stood on the landing battling with the belt of her robe. Behind her, he could see Katie sitting up on the bed rubbing her eyes.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

Piper stood at the door, her hair utterly unkempt, the skin on her face waxy and upper lip so dry it had split in two places. Her blouse and jeans were heavily wrinkled.

“Who is it, Danny?” Julia called, her voice still hoarse from too much marijuana and wine the previous night.

“It’s Piper.” Danny pulled her gently inside and closed the door.

“Is she all right?” He could tell Julia was at the head of the stairs now.

Piper nodded languidly to indicate she was fine.

“No need to come down.”

The floorboards creaked and then he heard Julia’s bedroom door shut.

“Todd’s worried sick.”

“I got arrested.”

Danny was amazed the police had worked out she was the one who’d been to Westminster.

“How’d they find out it was you at Paisley’s office?”

“Wasn’t for that. They accused me of having an IRA arms dump on my property.”

Danny’s heart leapt. The hair on his scalp and nape crawled.

“Pat’s in the Real IRA. They’re saying his cell planted the bomb that killed the guy on Hammersmith Bridge. Anne Marie wasn’t his girlfriend, either. She and another
woman are part of the cell, too.” Piper bit on her cracked upper lip. He winced. She ran her fingers over her spiked hair. “They’re still searching for Pat. It makes sense now why
he didn’t stay at my house so much.” She paused. “In a way, I kinda suspected him of something when you showed me those shots of the two bridges. Boy, I’m sure glad I tossed
’em into the garbage.”

Danny recalled the man he’d seen outside her home, the man in the denim shirt whom he’d feared was following him. It was Pat and Piper they’d been watching. He felt relieved
and then instantly guilty.

“It was true what you told me. Someone was on my tail.” She laughed. They screwed up and didn’t get Pat though.”

He wondered how she could laugh after her ordeal.

“Jeez, this country really is a police state,” she continued, “what with goddamned surveillance cameras everywhere. It’ll soon be you can’t wipe your ass in
private. Folks have to wake up here and put a stop to this bull. We wouldn’t put up with that kinda crap back home.”

“Did they have a warrant?”

“Yeah. They found that bunch of notes I’d made of an interview I’d done with an IRA volunteer when I was in Ireland.”

“Shit.”

“And they found tilt switches and Semtex and a bunch of stuff they wouldn’t disclose.” Her puffy eyes widened. “How the hell would I know what fricken Semtex looks like
even if I’d come across it in my shed?” The phone started to ring. She stopped talking and looked over at the dining table. Danny rose to answer it. “Anyway, the guy comes running
into the house with this stuff that looked like tan-colored putty. He was all excited to show it to his boss.”

No-one spoke when Danny picked up the receiver. All he heard were two rapid batches of clicks, as if someone were punching out Morse code followed by static.

“Hello,” he said.

Still no-one spoke. He had a sense someone was on the line. There was a click and then the dial tone came on.

“Probably a wrong number,” he said.

“Maybe Special Branch’s still on my tail.”

“But they released you.”

“Only because they couldn’t find anything to charge me with when they didn’t find my fingerprints on the Semtex and whatever else they found in the shed. They tried to pin
something on me because of the interview notes. Can you fucking believe it?”