Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(91)

‘On your feet,’ a voice called through the door. ‘She wants you in the chair again.’

Fear passed over Jamie’s face. He forced a smile over it when he looked back at the camera. ‘Tom, you need to stop looking for me,’ he said. ‘You need to turn your eyes to what’s really important. The hero must be stopped.’

Tom shook his head. ‘No,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ Jamie said, just as if he’d heard Tom’s voice. ‘You can . . . for me.’ His smile gentled into something real and soft. ‘You hate goodbyes, so I won’t give you one,’ he said. Tom was still shaking his head. Jamie kept speaking. ‘As for me . . . a Liu doesn’t need goodbyes. I can see you perfectly even now. I remember every moment that we were together. Every touch. Every conversation we ever had. For me, you’re always here.’

The recording ended.

They sat there for a long while in silence: Aaron and Tom on the sofa, Ruth slumped in a chair.

‘What are we going to do?’ Joan said finally.

‘What can we do?’ Aaron said. His voice sounded flat. ‘We should wait out the Patel hit and then just . . . disappear. Live quiet, unrecorded lives. Pretend we never saw what we just saw.’

‘You mean give up?’ Ruth said.

‘What choice do we have?’ Aaron said.

But it wasn’t just their own families. It was all those other people who were going to be killed—dozens and dozens of massacres, Jamie had said. It was the human time that Aaron and Joan had stolen to get here. It was Jamie Liu, being kept in that cell.

And it was Nick and his family.

‘In that message,’ Joan said, ‘Jamie said that Nick had been made wrong. That they’d made a mistake.’

‘If it was something that could have helped us, he should have just told us what it was,’ Aaron said.

‘He’s a Liu,’ Joan said. ‘He’s the Royal Archive. He could have told us lots of things.’

‘And?’ Aaron said.

‘And the most important thing—the thing he chose to tell us—was that a mistake was made.’

‘Well, he didn’t tell us enough,’ Aaron said. ‘And we can’t exactly go and ask him for more information, can we?’

Joan looked at Tom. He’d realised it at the same moment she had. She could see it in the shadow of resignation that crossed his face.

‘Yes, we can,’ she said.





TWENTY-ONE




Joan wanted to go immediately, but Tom refused. ‘We’re not waking him up at the crack of dawn,’ he said.

That gave them a chance to get cleaned up, at least. Joan had a shower. There were clothes in the bedroom wardrobe in various sizes—some new with tags, some pre-worn and laundered. Who had this safe house been prepared for? Aaron had said that he’d learned of this place from his mother. How had she known about it?

More questions. Joan sighed. She found a pair of jeans that fit, and a T-shirt that said Crystal Palace FC.

Aaron looked pained when she re-emerged. ‘A football T-shirt?’ he said.

Joan was surprised to find herself smiling in response. Only a few days ago, she’d found his grumbling annoying. ‘It fits,’ she said.

‘Is it indicative of your own taste or the selection in there?’ Aaron said. ‘No, don’t tell me. I’m afraid to know.’ He headed to the bedroom with a mild air of doom.

Ruth joined Joan. ‘What’s the bet he’ll come back out in those same clothes?’ she said. She looked better, Joan thought. She’d had a nap and woken with more colour in her face.

‘How are you feeling?’ Joan asked her.

Ruth sighed. Her hair was flat where she’d been lying on it. ‘The Hunt power still feels burned out of me,’ she said. She added, very soft, ‘Do you think it’ll come back?’

Joan reached up to fix Ruth’s curls. She didn’t know. But Ruth had burned herself out to save the rest of them. Ruth would have stayed there at the Court, as long as Joan had gotten out. Joan’s throat felt tight at the thought. ‘You should stay here and rest.’

‘I’d rather be busy.’ Ruth poked Joan’s foot with hers, and grinned when Joan protested. ‘Anyway, I think we should keep an eye on him.’ She looked over to the kitchen. Through the open doorway, Joan could see Tom sitting at the table with Frankie in his lap. Frankie looked sleepy—she’d eaten two of the pork pies. Tom stroked her head absently; he was staring at nothing much.

‘You don’t trust him?’ Joan said. ‘I do. We saw him laid bare today.’

‘No, I mean we should keep an eye on him for him,’ Ruth said. ‘When you speak to someone you love before they know you . . . Well, it isn’t easy.’

Joan looked at her. Did Ruth know that Joan had gone to see Gran? But Ruth’s expression had turned inward. Everyone tries to change something, Aaron had said once. Did everyone try this too?



They headed out soon after that. Conrad had apparently assumed they’d gone to ground. The police blockades on the bridges were gone, and there were fewer guards around.

Joan found herself walking with Tom. He’d scooped up Frankie and tucked her into his zipped jacket. She snored, squashed-faced, against his shirt.