Three Hours(98)
Dad says Lead on, Macduff as a joke, like when she needs to show him the right aisle in Sainsbury’s to get Shreddies. But it wasn’t Lead on, Macduff because no one was leading; they were all leading.
‘Did you know that there’s an oak tree in the real Birnam Wood which was alive when Shakespeare wrote Macbeth? Its trunk is rotten, but it’s still alive and has branches growing.’
Frank had told her that, while they were walking with their trees in the snow, expecting to hear the shots, expecting to feel them.
‘You were right, Mr Marr, love is the most powerful thing there is and the only three words that really matter are I love you.’
They thought they’d die, she’s pretty sure everybody thought that, but in an energetic, crazy way – Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Thelma and Louise going over the cliff – more exciting and less self-centred than her dystopian scenario. But that wasn’t right either, because they weren’t just a pair, there were loads of them, a small army of teenagers and teachers, getting splinters in their fingers. They’d all been so cold, that’s what she remembers.
‘It was amazing, Mr Marr, it really was.’
Everyone shaking with cold so their trees shook too like another wind was going through them.
‘We were Birnam Wood coming to Dunsinane Hill, marching to the beat of three words.’
*
In the ambulance, paramedics are asking Neil, who hasn’t once let go of his hand, when he was shot, and Neil says, ‘about three hours ago’. And Matthew Marr thinks about is not very exact, but life isn’t very exact, nor time itself, come to that. It’s been like a gift, these last three hours – plus a bit, he thinks it’s plus a bit, thinks the gift erred on the generous side – a lifetime he might not have had if the bullet had hit his head and not the medals first. Now, exhausted, he is slipping away from the conscious world and it’s a relief to give way to it. He thought he’d have regrets, that he’d get to the end of his life and think, I should have married, should have had children of my own, I gave everything to the job. But there are no regrets, or any he has are too piddling to take notice of, not when children turn into invincible trees and a man risked his life to hold your hand as you die.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the following people, for whom thanks on a typed page really aren’t enough:
Everyone who wrote books, gave interviews and made documentaries that helped my research for Three Hours. Among the books, the following were especially helpful: The Lightless Sky: An Afghan Refugee Boy’s Journey of Escape to a New Life in Britain by Gulwali Passarlay; The New Odyssey: The Story of Europe’s Refugee Crisis by Patrick Kingsley; Human Cargo: A Journey among Refugees by Caroline Moorehead; State of Hate, by the campaign group HOPE not Hate; A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of the Columbine Tragedy by Sue Klebold; and Columbine by Dave Cullen.
Graham Bartlett, former Chief Superintendent with Sussex police, and Police Commander for Brighton and Hove, for his generous help and guidance; any mistakes I have made are entirely my own.
My agent Felicity Blunt at Curtis Brown, whose generous enthusiasm when the novel was no more than twenty pages kept me writing and whose creative suggestions as it neared the finishing line made it far better; and Lucy Morris for her tireless help and advice.
Venetia Butterfield, my wonderful and inspiring editor, for her astute observations and passionate championing of this book.
The stand-out team at Viking for their many talents and hard work on this novel: Isabel Wall, Maria Garbutt-Lucero, Ellie Hudson, Ellie Smith, Karen Whitlock, Sara Granger, Anna Ridley, Georgia Taylor, Samantha Fanaken, Tineke Mollemans, Ruth Johnstone, Linda Viberg, Guy Lloyd, Richard Bravery and Laura Bijelic.
The amazing people at Penguin General for reading almost overnight and believing in the novel from the beginning: Joanna Prior, Amelia Fairney, Katy Loftus, Mary Mount, Poppy North, Jack Ramm, Lindsay Terrell, Rosanna Forte and Grace Thornton.
I’d also like to pay tribute to the immensely talented and creative John Hamilton.
Deborah Schneider at Gelfman Schneider/ICM Partners for the best email I have ever received. Sophia Macaskill, Rose Pierce, Nadia Mokdad, and the marvellous Alice Lutyens and Kate Cooper, at Curtis Brown.
The staff and pupils at Frensham Heights School, a progressive school in every good way. The staff and pupils at More House School, who kindly allowed me watch their lock-down drill. Anna Ledgard for her generous help in my research.
I’d also like to pay tribute to the small UK charity ‘Safe Passage’ for the vital work they do in bringing unaccompanied children to safety.
And the people without whom I couldn’t write:
My sister, Tora Orde-Powlett, who is unfailingly supportive and fantastic; the best of sisters.
The great friends who are still my great friends despite me being absent most of the time I was writing Three Hours.
My parents Kit and Jane Orde-Powlett, who have always believed I could write and continue to do so, even when I think I’m stuck.
Last, but most of all, my husband, Martin, and my sons, Cosmo and Joe. My conversations with Cosmo informed and shaped much of this novel, Joe’s explanation that editing is like cutting off the head of the hydra meant I sat down at my desk prepared to do battle and Martin, the rock in my life, for whom words will never be enough.