a resurgence of my desire for Hannah.
‘We’ve a bit of live action for you, son,’ Mr Anderson announced, with great portent, as he tucked his cellphone back into his handkerchief pocket. ‘No more sitting in a nice comfortable cubicle and listening to the world from a safe distance, I’m afraid. You’re about to meet some of those ruffians in the flesh, and do a bit of good for your country while you’re about it. You’re not averse to changing your identity, I take it? Everybody wants to be somebody else at some point in their lives, they tell me.’
‘Not averse at all, Mr Anderson. Not if you say it’s necessary. Very willing indeed.’ I’d already changed it once in the last twenty-four hours, so twice wasn’t going to make a lot of difference. ‘Who are we saving the world from this time?’ I enquired, careful to conceal my excitement beneath a breezy manner. But to my surprise, Mr Anderson took my question to heart, mulling it over before putting one of his own.
‘Salvo.’
‘Mr Anderson?’
‘How squeamish are you about getting your hands dirty in a good cause?’
‘I thought I was doing that already—well, only in a
way
,’ I corrected myself hastily.
I was too late. Mr Anderson’s brow had clouded. He set great store by the moral integrity of the Chat Room, and did not care to have it impugned, least of all by me.
‘Until now, Salvo, you have performed an entirely essential, but
defensive
rôle on behalf of our beleaguered nation. As of tonight, however, you will be taking the struggle to the enemy. You will cease to be
defensive
, and you will become’—he was hunting for the
mot juste
—‘
proactive
. Do I sense a reluctance on your part to go that extra mile?’
‘None at all, Mr Anderson. Not if it’s a
good
cause, which you say it is. I’d be happy to. As long as it’s just the two days,’ I added, mindful of my life-decision regarding Hannah, which I was anxious to implement with all speed. ‘Or three at the outside.’
‘I do, however, have to warn you that from the moment you leave this building you will be
deniable
as far as HMG is concerned. If for any reason you are rumbled—
blown
, as we say—you will be abandoned without scruple to your fate. Did you hoist that aboard, son? You’re looking somewhat other-worldly, if I may say so.’
With slender, well-groomed fingers, Bridget was coaxing my dinner jacket off me, unaware that, just a skull’s width away from her, Hannah and I were nearly falling off her sofa-bed while we tore the remaining clothes off each other and made love a second time.
‘Hoisted aboard and accepted, Mr Anderson,’ I quipped gaily, if a little late. ‘What languages do they need? Are we talking a specialised vocabulary here? Maybe I should pop back to Battersea while the coast is clear and grab some works of reference.’
My offer was clearly not to his liking, for he pursed his lips. ‘That will be a matter for your temporary employers to determine, thank you, Salvo. We are not privy to their detailed plans, neither do we wish to be.’
Bridget marched me to a dingy bedroom but did not come in. Laid out on the unmade bed were two pairs of used grey flannels, three hand-me-down shirts, a selection of Prisoners’ Aid underwear, socks and a leather belt with the chrome peeling off the buckle. And beneath them on the floor three pairs of shoes, part worn. A mangy sports coat dangled from a wire hanger on the door. Divesting myself of my evening wear, I was again rewarded with a waft of Hannah’s body odour. Her tiny room had contained no washbasin. The bathrooms across the corridor were occupied by nurses about to go on duty.
Of the shoes, the least offensive were the worst fitting. In a mistaken victory of vanity over common sense, I nonetheless selected them. The sports jacket was of industrial-strength Harris Tweed with iron armpits: push my shoulders forwards and the collar sawed my neck. Backwards, it locked me in a
‘We’ve a bit of live action for you, son,’ Mr Anderson announced, with great portent, as he tucked his cellphone back into his handkerchief pocket. ‘No more sitting in a nice comfortable cubicle and listening to the world from a safe distance, I’m afraid. You’re about to meet some of those ruffians in the flesh, and do a bit of good for your country while you’re about it. You’re not averse to changing your identity, I take it? Everybody wants to be somebody else at some point in their lives, they tell me.’
‘Not averse at all, Mr Anderson. Not if you say it’s necessary. Very willing indeed.’ I’d already changed it once in the last twenty-four hours, so twice wasn’t going to make a lot of difference. ‘Who are we saving the world from this time?’ I enquired, careful to conceal my excitement beneath a breezy manner. But to my surprise, Mr Anderson took my question to heart, mulling it over before putting one of his own.
‘Salvo.’
‘Mr Anderson?’
‘How squeamish are you about getting your hands dirty in a good cause?’
‘I thought I was doing that already—well, only in a
way
,’ I corrected myself hastily.
I was too late. Mr Anderson’s brow had clouded. He set great store by the moral integrity of the Chat Room, and did not care to have it impugned, least of all by me.
‘Until now, Salvo, you have performed an entirely essential, but
defensive
rôle on behalf of our beleaguered nation. As of tonight, however, you will be taking the struggle to the enemy. You will cease to be
defensive
, and you will become’—he was hunting for the
mot juste
—‘
proactive
. Do I sense a reluctance on your part to go that extra mile?’
‘None at all, Mr Anderson. Not if it’s a
good
cause, which you say it is. I’d be happy to. As long as it’s just the two days,’ I added, mindful of my life-decision regarding Hannah, which I was anxious to implement with all speed. ‘Or three at the outside.’
‘I do, however, have to warn you that from the moment you leave this building you will be
deniable
as far as HMG is concerned. If for any reason you are rumbled—
blown
, as we say—you will be abandoned without scruple to your fate. Did you hoist that aboard, son? You’re looking somewhat other-worldly, if I may say so.’
With slender, well-groomed fingers, Bridget was coaxing my dinner jacket off me, unaware that, just a skull’s width away from her, Hannah and I were nearly falling off her sofa-bed while we tore the remaining clothes off each other and made love a second time.
‘Hoisted aboard and accepted, Mr Anderson,’ I quipped gaily, if a little late. ‘What languages do they need? Are we talking a specialised vocabulary here? Maybe I should pop back to Battersea while the coast is clear and grab some works of reference.’
My offer was clearly not to his liking, for he pursed his lips. ‘That will be a matter for your temporary employers to determine, thank you, Salvo. We are not privy to their detailed plans, neither do we wish to be.’
Bridget marched me to a dingy bedroom but did not come in. Laid out on the unmade bed were two pairs of used grey flannels, three hand-me-down shirts, a selection of Prisoners’ Aid underwear, socks and a leather belt with the chrome peeling off the buckle. And beneath them on the floor three pairs of shoes, part worn. A mangy sports coat dangled from a wire hanger on the door. Divesting myself of my evening wear, I was again rewarded with a waft of Hannah’s body odour. Her tiny room had contained no washbasin. The bathrooms across the corridor were occupied by nurses about to go on duty.
Of the shoes, the least offensive were the worst fitting. In a mistaken victory of vanity over common sense, I nonetheless selected them. The sports jacket was of industrial-strength Harris Tweed with iron armpits: push my shoulders forwards and the collar sawed my neck. Backwards, it locked me in a
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