Capital Union, A by Victoria Hendry

flew up from the plants as I walked through them. The wild garlic smelt bitter as it crushed under my feet, and I had to watch for the nettles. I had forgotten what good soup they make, so I picked a few of the young tips. They don’t sting if you grip them just right, and then I added some dandelions. I was sitting astride the wall, trying to work out how to get down without dropping all my sticks and field greens, when a voice said, ‘Mrs McCaffrey?’
    I looked up to see the English man from the rally yesterday. Before I could answer, the policeman with him said to watch I didn’t kiss him, in case I was a fairy in my green dress. My hair was full of leaves and bits of sticky willow, but the man in the suit didn’t laugh. He didn’t know he would disappear for seven years if I was one of the Gentle Folk. He was looking at my legs and just said, ‘Help her down off the wall, officer.’
    Mrs MacDougall’s curtains twitched. I expect she heard him say that they were here on Crown business and had a warrant to search the flat. I told them Jeff wasn’t in and they said they knew that as they had been upstairs already.
    ‘I am not sure it is wise to leave your door open when you are out, Mrs McCaffrey,’ the man said, so I told him I alwaysleft it open when I was out at the back green because maist folk were honest.
    He held my arm very tightly on the way up the stairs, and when I said, ‘Get your hauns aff me,’ he laughed and said, ‘You’ll need to translate for me on this one, officer.’
    Then I remembered I was an Edinburgh lady now. I stood up straight and said a real gentleman would introduce himself . He bowed and said he was Mr Grenville Ford, Assistant Director of Intelligence for His Majesty’s Government. I told him I didn’t care if he was King George himself, he had no right to enter my house uninvited and he showed me his warrant and declared I was mistaken on that point, he had every right.
    There was a smell of smouldering paper as we went into the hall. I knew then that none of the letters had burnt. I wondered why Jeff wanted rid of them. Mr Ford guided me into the drawing room and asked me to take a seat. I didn’t want to because I was all maukit from climbing over the wall, but he said, ‘Sit down, Mrs McCaffrey,’ in a very stern voice, as if I was back in school and about to get the belt.
    ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
    ‘That remains to be seen. I need to ask you some questions about your husband. Can you look at me when I am speaking to you?’
    I was pulling the leaves out of my hair and when I looked at him, he sighed and opened his notebook. ‘Let’s start at the beginning to keep the record straight. What is your full name?’
    ‘Mrs Jeff McCaffrey,’ I said.
    He stopped me with his hand. ‘Your first name,’ he said.
    ‘Agnes Margaret. My maiden name was Thorne and my husband sometimes calls me Pip. He makes a joke about…’
    ‘Address?’ he said, and it was then I felt like I was waking up in Jeff’s world and that I had been lost in a dream before, and nothing had been real. I didn’t like Mr Ford with his grey moustache and the lines on his forehead that pulled the skin onto his eyebrows, or his eyes that were as sharp and black asa craw’s.
    ‘How long have you been married, Mrs McCaffrey?’ he asked. I told him it would soon be a year, and he glanced at my belly like Mrs MacDougall, and I put my hand across it. ‘Children?’ he asked, and I said, ‘No, not yet.’
    ‘Seems our man is neglecting more than one of his duties, eh, Mrs McCaffrey?’ And he looked at me as if he expected me to laugh.
    ‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’
    ‘I think you know,’ he answered.
    I told him I had no idea and he said, ‘So why are you burning letters in your kitchen and not making bread, or whatever it is that a good Edinburgh housewife usually does?’
    ‘Because my husband asked me to.’
    The wrinkled skin above his eyebrows shot up, but