A Delicate Truth A Novel

were both off the slag heap, what with Jeb’s dad a useless layabout and no mother, and me never knowing who my dad was, and my mother not bloody knowing neither. But we was going to be straight, decent people if it killed us. Got myself a course in Physical Education, all so’s we could make a home for Danny.’
    ‘And she’s the best PE teacher the school’s ever had, or likely to, aren’t you, Brigid?’ Harry said. ‘All our children love her, and Danny’s proud of her you wouldn’t believe. We all are.’
    ‘What do you teach?’ Toby asked Harry.
    ‘Arithmetic, all the way up to A level, when I’ve got the pupils, don’t I, Brigid?’ – handing her a cup of tea as well.
    ‘So is your friend Mr Paul down in Cornwall some kind of fucking psychiatrist Jeb was hooked on, or what?’ Brigid demanded.
    ‘No. Not a psychiatrist, I’m afraid.’
    ‘And you’re not a gentleman of the press? You’re quite sure of that?’
    ‘I’m sure I’m not press.’
    ‘So if you don’t mind me being inquisitive, Mr Bell: if you’renot press and your pal Paul’s not a shrink, what the fuck are you?’
    ‘Now Brigid,’ said Harry.
    ‘I’m here purely privately,’ said Toby.
    ‘Then what the hell are you purely publicly , may I ask?’
    ‘Publicly, I’m a member of the Foreign Office.’
    But instead of the explosion he was expecting, all he got was a sustained critical examination.
    ‘And your friend Paul ? Would he be from the Foreign Office too at all?’ – not releasing him from her gaze, which was wide and green-eyed.
    ‘Paul’s retired.’
    ‘And would Paul be somebody Jeb knew, like, three years back?’
    ‘Yes. He would.’
    ‘Professionally then?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And would that have been what their summit conference was going to be about, Jeb and Paul’s, if Jeb hadn’t blown his head off the day before? Something in the professional line, for example, from three years back?’
    ‘Yes. It would,’ Toby replied steadily. ‘That was the connection between them. They didn’t know each other well, but they were on the way to becoming friends.’
    Her eyes had still not left his face, and they didn’t now:
    ‘Harry. I’m worried about Danny. Would you kindly go over to Jenny’s a minute and make sure he hasn’t fallen off his fucking bike. He’s only had it a day.’
     
    *
     
    Toby and Brigid were alone, and some kind of guarded understanding was forming between them as each waited for the other to speak.
    ‘So should I be calling up the Foreign Office in London to check you out, then?’ Brigid asked in a noticeably less strident voice. ‘Confirming that Mr Bell is who he says he is?’
    ‘I don’t think Jeb would have liked you to do that.’
    ‘And your friend Paul? What about him? Would he like it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And you wouldn’t either?’
    ‘I’d lose my job.’
    ‘This conversation they were proposing to have. Would it have been about a certain Operation Wildlife at all?’
    ‘Why? Did Jeb tell you about it?’
    ‘About the operation? You’re joking. White-hot tongs wouldn’t have dragged it out of him. It stank, but it was duty.’
    ‘Stank how?’
    ‘Jeb didn’t like mercs, never did. In it for the ride and the money, they are. Think they’re heroes when they’re fucking psychos. “I fight for my country, Brigid. Not for the fucking multinationals with their offshore bank accounts.” Except he didn’t say fucking , if I’m honest. Jeb was Chapel. Didn’t swear and couldn’t drink above a couple of sips. God knows what I am. Fucking Prot, I’m told. I’d have to be, wouldn’t I, for the fucking Royal Ulster Constabulary?’
    ‘And it was the presence of mercenaries that he didn’t like about Wildlife ? He said that of this particular operation?’
    ‘Just generally. Just mercs. Get them off his back, he hated the buggers. “It’s another merc job, Brigid. Makes you wonder sometimes who starts the wars these days.”’
    ‘Did he have other reservations about the operation?’
    ‘It sucked but what the hell?’
    ‘And afterwards? When he came back from the operation?’
    She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she seemed to become a different woman – inward, and appalled:
    ‘He was a ghost. Washed out. Couldn’t hold a knife and fork.Kept showing me the letter from his beloved regiment: thank you and goodnight and remember you’re bound for life by the Official Secrets Act . I thought he’d seen it all. I thought we