Read Online Red Joan by Jennie Rooney - Free Book Online

Keith, one of the solicitors at the Crown Prosecution Service. He heard a rumour.’ He stops and runs his hand through his hair. He is jumpy and agitated. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I just wanted to warn you in case anyone came round. I wouldn’t want you to be shocked.’
    Joan looks down at her feet. She wants to be downstairs, on solid ground, not hovering at the top of the stairs. She grasps the bannister, and descends slowly, deliberately, while her son continues to talk.
    â€˜It’s probably just a case of mistaken identity but we need to get it cleared up. This rumour, I mean. And then we might even have a case for libel, depending on how far it’s gone. But we’ll think about that later. It may be easier to drop it.’
    At the bottom of the stairs Joan hesitates, reaching out to put her arms around her son. She wants to feel the warmth of him, the strength of him. She doesn’t know what to say. She wonders what she would say if she didn’t already know. What would be the convincing thing to do? She crinkles her forehead as if confused. ‘What rumour?’ she whispers.
    â€˜It’s ridiculous.’ He bends to take off his shoes, just as she always made him do when he was a boy.
    Joan turns away from him and starts to walk towards the kitchen. How does this Keith fellow know anything? They said they weren’t going to tell anyone. Not yet.
    The kettle, she thinks. She must fill the kettle. And then she must make toast. She needs to settle her stomach.
    He follows her to the kitchen in paisley-patterned socks where Joan’s three potted geraniums remain untouched next to the ashtray bearing the charred remains of the solicitor’s letter and William’s obituary. She picks up the plant pots and moves them to the windowsill, placing them in a neat line, and then she tips the blackened pieces of paper from the ashtray into the bin. ‘He said they’ve found two old Soviet spies. They started questioning the first one last week, but he died rather suddenly. Probably suicide, Keith said, but it’s impossible to force an autopsy when there’s no actual proof of any wrongdoing. Or no admissible proof.’
    She takes a cloth and wipes the soil and ash from the table. There is mud on the floor too but she cannot think about that now. Her hands shake as she takes the butter out of the fridge. She does not want to think about William. She knows she has never mentioned their connection to Nick, even though he had become quite a public figure in the last few decades and Nick would have been interested. There is no reason for Nick to suspect that she might have any connection with him.
    â€˜Of course, they asked his brother to authorise an autopsy but he refused. The families generally do. Said he should be allowed to rest in peace. So that’s why . . . ’
    Joan blocks Nick’s voice out of her head and turns on the grill. She has never got the hang of that toaster. Why have a toaster when you have a grill anyway?
    â€˜Mum, are you listening? The Home Office is preparing a case against the second spy now. They’re hoping this will prove their suspicions about the first one—the one who died—so they can get their autopsy.’
    Jam. A knife. Fill the kettle. Teabags in the teapot.
    â€˜I know it’s ridiculous,’ Nick continues. ‘He said he couldn’t really tell me anything, but he said your name had come up. Linked to your war work, when you were a secretary.’
    Slice the bread. Be firm and decisive. Lay it on the rack. Don’t turn around. Don’t let him see.
    â€˜Mum, are you listening?’
    Slide the bread under the grill. That smell. How she would miss that smell if . . .
    She feels Nick’s hand on her shoulder. Her body is being turned away from the grill, slowly, slowly, until she is facing her son. The water in the kettle is bubbling