was his way of marking the moment an idea came together. 'And you've taken them. I know you, Phoebe, I can hear it in your voice. You've taken them. Without consulting me.'
'Yes,' she said slowly. 'And I want to take them again.'
He snorted. 'Don't be an idiot.'
'You said Dad used them to pull things out of his head?'
'Yes.'
'Don't laugh at this, Kaiser, but in all your research have you ever—' She let her voice drop to a whisper. 'Have you ever heard anyone say drugs can let them communicate with people who've died?'
Kaiser sighed. 'Your parents, you mean?'
'Mum.'
He shook his head and got up, standing facing the locked cupboards. He put one hand in the small of his back. That fragility – it was a lie, she thought, not for the first time that night. There was something strong in his long muscles and his claw-like hands. 'Phoebe,' he said, in a low voice, 'there are some things you have to let rest – you can't keep going back and raking it over.'
'Would Dad have let it rest?'
'No.'
'Then you know I'm never going to.' She sat forward a little. 'It could lose me my job, but that doesn't change anything. I want to go back where I went last night.' She paused. Her voice had been getting quieter and quieter. 'I saw her, Kaiser, I saw her. She was trying to say something about the accident.' Flea shook her head and screwed her hand into a fist. 'But I couldn't quite . . . couldn't quite understand what she meant.'
Kaiser's face was grave. 'What did you say?'
'I said, something about the accident – something in the way we're thinking about it – is all wrong. We've been looking in the wrong place.' She held his eyes. 'Kaiser, I'm going to do it – I'm going to take them again. Find out what she meant.'
A long, long silence rolled out between them. Something was happening behind his eyes – she could almost see the computations he was making. Then, when it seemed they'd be locked there for ever, Kaiser broke away, and went back to his chair. He sat for a moment, hands on the armrests, head turned sideways, looking at his ex-fiancée's face. 'If you want to communicate with people who've gone,' he said quietly, 'there is something. A hallucinogen you can control, a drug that is legal. Your father introduced me to it.'
'But you don't believe it, do you? You don't really believe it's all true?'
'There'll be some literature about it in your father's study.' Kaiser pretended not to have heard the question. 'Please, read it, then come back to me. Throw away the baldheads – they won't take you any further. But this will.'
'"This"?' She sat forward, creeped and excited all at once, as if her skin had been brushed the wrong way. 'What's "this", Kaiser?'
'What's "this"?' He smiled to himself, a little sadly, as if it was a secret he'd known he'd have to give up one day – that he had to be big about letting it go. '"This" is called ibogaine.'
'Ibogaine?' She whispered the word. It put pictures in her head of firelight and people dancing ancient dances in the dark.
'Ibogaine,' Kaiser said. 'And if you really want to speak to your mother again . . .'
'Yes?'
'. . . then it's the only route to take.'
9
14 May
The morning of the second day of the case, drinking coffee on Bristol harbour and watching the dive team assemble their kit, Jack Caffery was thinking about a direction: he was thinking about west. For a long time it wasn't going to be west for him when he left London, it was going to be east – the direction that for an Englishman means cold winds and invaders. At about the same time that his sense of a connection with Ewan had disappeared he'd been doing a job in Norfolk, and maybe that was why he'd felt pieces of him had got stuck there. For a while after the abrupt ending of his sense of Ewan, he'd looked for a position in East Anglia, monitoring vacancies on the web. But when months had gone by with none coming up, he'd turned his attention to the west where something more interesting was
'Yes,' she said slowly. 'And I want to take them again.'
He snorted. 'Don't be an idiot.'
'You said Dad used them to pull things out of his head?'
'Yes.'
'Don't laugh at this, Kaiser, but in all your research have you ever—' She let her voice drop to a whisper. 'Have you ever heard anyone say drugs can let them communicate with people who've died?'
Kaiser sighed. 'Your parents, you mean?'
'Mum.'
He shook his head and got up, standing facing the locked cupboards. He put one hand in the small of his back. That fragility – it was a lie, she thought, not for the first time that night. There was something strong in his long muscles and his claw-like hands. 'Phoebe,' he said, in a low voice, 'there are some things you have to let rest – you can't keep going back and raking it over.'
'Would Dad have let it rest?'
'No.'
'Then you know I'm never going to.' She sat forward a little. 'It could lose me my job, but that doesn't change anything. I want to go back where I went last night.' She paused. Her voice had been getting quieter and quieter. 'I saw her, Kaiser, I saw her. She was trying to say something about the accident.' Flea shook her head and screwed her hand into a fist. 'But I couldn't quite . . . couldn't quite understand what she meant.'
Kaiser's face was grave. 'What did you say?'
'I said, something about the accident – something in the way we're thinking about it – is all wrong. We've been looking in the wrong place.' She held his eyes. 'Kaiser, I'm going to do it – I'm going to take them again. Find out what she meant.'
A long, long silence rolled out between them. Something was happening behind his eyes – she could almost see the computations he was making. Then, when it seemed they'd be locked there for ever, Kaiser broke away, and went back to his chair. He sat for a moment, hands on the armrests, head turned sideways, looking at his ex-fiancée's face. 'If you want to communicate with people who've gone,' he said quietly, 'there is something. A hallucinogen you can control, a drug that is legal. Your father introduced me to it.'
'But you don't believe it, do you? You don't really believe it's all true?'
'There'll be some literature about it in your father's study.' Kaiser pretended not to have heard the question. 'Please, read it, then come back to me. Throw away the baldheads – they won't take you any further. But this will.'
'"This"?' She sat forward, creeped and excited all at once, as if her skin had been brushed the wrong way. 'What's "this", Kaiser?'
'What's "this"?' He smiled to himself, a little sadly, as if it was a secret he'd known he'd have to give up one day – that he had to be big about letting it go. '"This" is called ibogaine.'
'Ibogaine?' She whispered the word. It put pictures in her head of firelight and people dancing ancient dances in the dark.
'Ibogaine,' Kaiser said. 'And if you really want to speak to your mother again . . .'
'Yes?'
'. . . then it's the only route to take.'
9
14 May
The morning of the second day of the case, drinking coffee on Bristol harbour and watching the dive team assemble their kit, Jack Caffery was thinking about a direction: he was thinking about west. For a long time it wasn't going to be west for him when he left London, it was going to be east – the direction that for an Englishman means cold winds and invaders. At about the same time that his sense of a connection with Ewan had disappeared he'd been doing a job in Norfolk, and maybe that was why he'd felt pieces of him had got stuck there. For a while after the abrupt ending of his sense of Ewan, he'd looked for a position in East Anglia, monitoring vacancies on the web. But when months had gone by with none coming up, he'd turned his attention to the west where something more interesting was
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