‘The blade you are throwing is double-edged, Benji,’ Goodie said from her position sitting on a tree stump, ‘it needs a hammer grip: four fingers wrapped around and thumb over the top.’ She watched as Benji readjusted his hand and then smiled. ‘Great. Okay, weight on dominant leg.’
‘Which one’s my dominant leg?’
Goodie sighed and stood up slowly, giving a very patient Salem a quick stroke before she picked up her crutch and hobbled over to Benji.
‘Give me the knife a sec,’ she said, holding out her hand. After she’d put the knife back in its holster, she turned to Benji. ‘Now, look at the target again.’ He stood with his back to her and she gave him a firm shove, making him go forward on his right leg.
‘Oi!’ he said as he righted himself. ‘What was that for?’
Goodie laughed. ‘Now we know which is your dominant foot, ebanashka.’*
‘I am not crazy,’ replied Benji, and Goodie laughed again.
‘You are little bit –’ she held her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart, still smiling ‘– crazy. But luckily for you I like crazy, so this is okay.’ Benji rolled his eyes as she handed him back the knife, and then stared at her as she hobbled back to her log. He saw her wince as she sat down, and he scuffed his shoe on the ground, looking down at his feet.
‘I’m sorry you were hurt, Goodie,’ he mumbled at his shoes.
‘This was not your fault,’ Goodie told him, and he shrugged.
‘Still, it must make you bloody cross. Especially you. I mean, you were like a Russian Lara Croft or something.’ Goodie laughed again.
‘I don’t mind this,’ she said, lifting the crutch slightly and looking down at her leg.
Benji frowned at her in confusion. The Goodie he knew didn’t laugh and definitely wouldn’t accept an incapacitating injury so easily. ‘But you’re …’ he trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in front of her.
‘Weak?’ Goodie finished for him, and he flushed red with embarrassment.
‘I didn’t mean –’
‘There are other ways to be strong Benji,’ she said. ‘And besides, weakness can be an advantage, it can give you power.’ Benji tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Goodie smiled and waved her hand through the air dismissively. ‘Enough sharing and touchy-feely nonsense,’ she said. ‘You want to learn to throw knife with skill or not?’ Benji looked at her for a moment longer, his sharp mind ticking over at an alarming rate. Goodie waited patiently and held his gaze until he sighed and turned back to the target.
‘Raise your hand higher. Straight wrist this time. The tree is further than before; you don’t want the blade to spin as fast. Breath in, out, and throw.’ The knife flew out of his hand and hit the tree, dead centre.
*****
‘Hey,’ Nick called as he strode over the field at the back of Katie’s house towards Benji and Goodie. ‘Where did you two get to?’ His gaze fell to where her knife holster sat on her lower leg, hidden inside her boot, but as he frowned Goodie stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, her crutch slipping on the mud, and Nick ran to her side to hold her arm, all his suspicions wiped away with concern.
‘Benji was just pointing out the local wildlife,’ Goodie told him.
‘Really?’ Nick asked slowly.
‘Yep, I’m quite the ornithologist actually,’ Benji said, not skipping a beat. He was, just like Goodie, an accomplished liar. Nick’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at the lanky boy.
‘Right, what’s that then?’ he asked, pointing at a small brown bird hopping onto a molehill in front of them.
‘A dunnock,’ Benji said confidently; he’d read a book on birds last year, and, like Goodie, he had a photographic memory.
Nick sighed. ‘I don’t know if you two together is a good combination.’
‘Yeah, Mum and Dad reckon that too,’ Benji said, grinning at Goodie, then catching sight of his brothers playing football in Katie’s garden and sprinting off towards them.
‘What is it about you and that kid?’ Nick asked, smiling at Goodie as he half lifted her over a molehill.
She shrugged. ‘I first met Benji when he was eighteen months old and I was doing freelance work for his father. Benji could already speak in full sentences. After being around him in Rob’s office for all of half an hour he came up to me, pulled me down to his level, put his hand against my cheek and asked me: “Why are you sad? What happened to make you sad?” Just like that he asked me something nobody else would have dreamed of asking: cut through the bullshit to what he perceived to be the heart of the matter. He is exceptional.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘I told him the truth. I told him that I wasn’t sad, that I didn’t feel much of anything at all. He asked what would make me happy and I told him I didn’t know.’
Nick opened the gate into Katie’s garden, then took Goodie’s hand now that they were on more even ground. Past the boys playing football on the lawn, Goodie could see Katie, Sam with Anya on his hip, and the boys’ parents Sarah (who was cuddling Katie and Sam’s new baby girl) and Rob laughing in the kitchen at what Katie was pulling out of the oven. Goodie waved to Geoff who was acting as far guard outside the house and he nodded back. After another month at Nick’s parents’ Goodie wanted to see Katie and thank her for going to Nick after she was taken; and she wanted to thank Rob for becoming part of her rescue team (since his wife, Sarah, had her fifth boy he had largely been UK-based, but had made an exception for Goodie). Goodie hated that she had put them in danger, and knew that there was never anything that would be enough to repay them. When she apologized to Sarah and Katie though, they both hugged her and told her not to be daft. There was, however, steel in Sarah’s eyes after she released Goodie and said: ‘Don’t do it again.’
Nick, it seemed, was not a fan of physical distance separating him from Goodie, so he’d come with her to Wales. Goodie stifled a laugh as she watched Sarah tip whatever sludge Katie had cooked into the bin. Last night Goodie had realized just how much Nick loved her as she watched him valiantly clear his plate of Katie’s attempt at lasagna. She was glad there wouldn’t be a repeat performance today: she could see Sam rifling through the takeaway menus.
Goodie tugged Nick to a stop before they started up the steps to the back door, and he turned to her. ‘You know I’m happy now, don’t you?’ He nodded and dropped her hand so that he could slip his arms around her waist and pull her to him.
‘I know, honey,’ he said into her hair.
‘You know it’s you, don’t you?’ she whispered, pushing her hands under his arms to move in closer. ‘You’ve made me happy. You’ve brought me back.’
*****
Nick nearly choked on his beer when she emerged from the bedroom of the penthouse. She was wearing a short silver dress with wide straps to hide the bullet wound to her shoulder. Her hair was clipped up on one side with a silver hair comb, her eyes were smoky and her lips pale. Before Goodie had really let him in he had thought she was stunning, but now with her smiling and happy, despite the limp and the cane she had to use, her beauty was almost otherworldly. He knew he wasn’t the only one to notice this. She’d attracted attention before, but now when she walked into a room all eyes were drawn to her immediately.
The press had gone wild for her since she’d moved back to London with him. He’d taken her out with Ed, Tilly, Bertie and Natasha for one meal in Soho and they’d been swamped with attention. Goodie was surprised the next week when all the photos were of her on Nick’s arm: she was used to seeing Natasha in print but not herself. She was initially ‘Mystery Blonde’, but to prevent anyone digging too deep Nick had allowed his new PR manager (Clive had long since slunk away) to play up her connection with Natasha and the NSWH Foundation. Her injuries were explained by a story about a car accident, but her name was trickier. She had no less than seven aliases to choose from, all of which had birth certificates, passports, the works. She chose the one with the longest, most unpronounceable surname, as this would be repeated and printed the least. But just when Nick was about to email the information across, she grabbed his hand and stopped him hitting send.
‘Change it,’ she’d said, ‘make it Anya – Anya Myshka.’ Nick had sat up in shock and frowned at her.
‘Is that safe?’
She shrugged. ‘There’s no harm. Obviously my surname was never really “little mouse”. My first name was lost in the system decades ago. I haven’t used it once since childhood.’
‘Does this mean I can call you Anya?’ he asked tentatively; he didn’t want to spark a reaction like the last time.
‘Of all people, I want you to call me that.’
He smiled at her, showing his dimple.
She was still a sucker for his dimple.
So it was a long time, and not before Nick had very thoroughly road-tested the reinstatement of her old name, before he actually sent that email.
‘You look amazing,’ he told her as she slipped on the flat, silver ballet pumps (her leg still wouldn’t allow her to wear high heels). She gave him a small smile as she straightened and leaned heavily on her stick, but he couldn’t miss the shadow that passed over her face. His own smile dipped as his mind was filled with the image of Goodie sitting with Arabella months ago:
‘I hate this,’ Goodie said, grabbing a handful of blue material, ‘and this,’ she indicated to her face and hair, which was swept up off her neck in an elegant style, ‘with such intensity that sometimes I feel like they are actually burning my skin.’
‘Hey,’ Goodie called as she made her way across the room, ‘you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I … I’m fine,’ he said, blanking his expression and shaking off the dark thoughts. ‘Let’s go.’
*****
Goodie cocked her head to the side as she stared at the Indian minister for energy. She wanted to punch him, preferably in his testicles. But she suspected that a black-tie state dinner would not be the most appropriate venue for that, so she held back … just. He had been asking Ed about the possibilities for cold fusion, about how easily it could be implemented, and above all how much it would cost. Halfway through this conversation he’d turned to the Indian ambassador beside him and muttered in Hindi: ‘This guy is nuts; making heat from thin air? Why am I listening to this stupid bastard? These English banging on about the bloody environment all the time, trying to get us to stop burning coal whilst sitting in their warm houses.’
‘Maybe you are the stupid bastard,’ Goodie said in perfect Hindi. The minister, who had previously only glanced at Goodie’s breasts rather than her face, turned sharply towards her, his eyes widening in shock. She smiled at him as if she had paid him a great compliment rather than an insult. ‘Maybe you should listen more carefully. They are making energy from thin air. It’s already happened. Do your research. Your people need low-cost energy more than most. They won’t thank you for passing this up. The solution is staring you in the face. Do you want to be remembered as the man who turned his back on the biggest revolution in energy in the 21st century, or do you want to be remembered as the man who led India out of developing-country status and into world-leader status?’ The minister’s face was red and he was scowling. Goodie took a step closer to him and lowered her voice. ‘Now, you can either take offence and storm away, or you can listen to what this man has to say. You’re used to having the power but in this situation you do not. You need what he has and you need it badly. I suggest you take option two.’
The minister opened his mouth, and then shut it again. His heightened colour gradually receded and he smoothed over his furious expression, before turning back to a mystified Ed. Goodie smiled.
‘Good decision,’ she muttered under her breath as she passed him, and he sent her once last furious look as she limped away.
‘Golly,’ Bertie said as he caught up with her in her traverse across the large room towards Nick. ‘Did I overhear you speaking Indian?’
Goodie laughed so hard that she had to lean on her stick for support. When she looked up, her eyes met Nick’s as he moved towards her and Bertie. Once he made it to her he discreetly took her stick and placed her arm on his, so that she could lean on him instead. She managed to get herself under control with some effort. Nick raised his eyebrows in question.
‘Bertie overheard me “speaking Indian”.’
‘Ah, Bertie.’
Goodie looked up as Natasha emerged from the crowd and linked her arm through Bertie’s, kissing his cheek.
As Tasha started to explain to Bertie exactly what was so funny, Nick leaned down to Goodie’s ear. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, frowning up at him. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just that was the first time I’ve seen you laugh all night.’
Goodie looked around the room. Most people had polite smiles on their faces the same as she had been wearing all night. Hardly anyone was laughing. ‘What’s this really about?’
Nick shifted uncomfortably. ‘I know you don’t like to have to dress up, play a part. You’ve done so much of it before. I hate that being with me means you have to keep doing it.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I want you to be living a different life. To be happy.’
Goodie rolled her eyes. ‘You think I am so sensitive that I can’t wear formal clothes and act for a while? Have you met me?’
‘I’m not saying you can’t do it. I’m saying you don’t enjoy it. I know how you feel wearing this stuff.’
‘Okay.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll admit I’m not a fan of them. Before, when I had to wear clothes like this it meant …’ She paused as she noticed Nick’s body stiffen. ‘Look, it’s not the same now, and I wouldn’t want to come somewhere like this without … armour, without power.’
He threw his hands up, then ran them both through his hair in frustration. ‘You wouldn’t have to come somewhere like this if it wasn’t for me. Look, I don’t have to do this. We don’t even have to be in London. We could go anywhere we wanted.’
‘And leave Ed and Bertie to handle everything?’
He shrugged. ‘I have got other executives, you know: capable chaps, too. It wouldn’t matter if –’
She stepped closer to him and reached up to put her fingers over his mouth, stopping him midsentence.
‘What you and Ed are doing is important to me too, okay? I wasn’t just trained in violence; I was trained to manipulate any situation I needed to. I can help you; I’ve been helping you. That makes me happy, understand?’
He searched her face for a long moment before his frown smoothed out and he finally smiled.
‘Exactly how many languages do you speak anyway?’ Nick asked out of the corner of his mouth as they approached the Chinese ambassador. Goodie smiled and when they were welcomed into the group she bowed to the ambassador, greeting him in perfect Mandarin.
* ebanashka – crazy person
