desk chair and sat. Anni perched on the edge of the desk. Mickey remained standing.
‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you any tea,’ Fiona Welch said. ‘Or anything for that matter. We’re not trusted with such things. Apparently they fear we can turn any household item into a weapon, an instrument of torture or an object for self-harm. It’s like we’re malevolent
Blue Peter
presenters.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Marina.
‘Good,’ said Fiona Welch, nodding. She resumed her seat on the bed. ‘So to what do I owe this pleasure?’ She paused and looked straight at Marina. ‘Ms Esposito?’
‘You know who I am?’ asked Marina.
‘Of course,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘I know your husband. We worked together.’ Her expression changed, her eyes downcast. ‘Alas no more. We… disagreed on too many things.’
‘Disagreed.’
Fiona Welch smiled. ‘I was very impulsive in those days. Very rash. You know how it is, first flush of youth and all that. One is sure one is right. All the time. I’ve mellowed considerably since then.’
‘Have you now?’
‘Absolutely. Oh, don’t get me wrong, one can still hold the same views and convictions but one doesn’t necessarily have to express them in so strident a fashion. In fact, one can often affect more change by employing more subtle methods. Don’t you agree, Marina? May I call you Marina? After all, we have so much in common. I feel I know you.’
Despite the reassuring presence of Anni and Mickey, something about this woman was making Marina feel uncomfortable. Unsettled. ‘What do we have in common, exactly?’ she said, hoping her voice remained steady.
Another smile. ‘How is your husband?’ she asked. ‘I genuinely did enjoy working with him. Despite the fact that he constantly belittled my theories. Theories which, I’m sure you’re aware, have since been borne out to be true.’
‘Which theories in particular?’ asked Marina, her voice steady and neutral.
Fiona Welch sat back, enjoying the attention. ‘Morality and manipulation,’ she said. ‘Especially where men are concerned. We like to fool ourselves constantly. Tell ourselves, as a community, a society, that we’re moral. That we know the difference between right and wrong. And that, more importantly, we act on it. Always. Given the choice, that’s what we do. What we would always do. We live our lives around those beliefs.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It’s a lie. All of it. There’s no such thing. No such differentiation. No right and wrong. No black and white. There aren’t even any shades of grey.’
‘What is there then?’
She continued talking, her voice patient as if she was a primary-school teacher explaining rudimentary mathematics to five-year-olds. ‘An assumed set of values, of course. Relative ones, that can be dispensed with or bargained away depending on what one’s needs are at any given time.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Marina.
‘It is.’ She moved forward, warming to her theme. ‘For instance, you want to take care of your family. It’s your primary concern. What lengths would you go to to do it? What kind of extreme behaviour could you justify to yourself in order to do that? Any, I would think. One can rationalise away anything if one has a good enough reason for doing so.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘We’ve all seen
Breaking Bad
.’
A look of anger rippled across Fiona Welch’s face. In that instant, Marina could imagine her raking her nails slowly and deeply down the side of her husband’s face.
She managed to regain her composure, leaned forward once more, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Marina? Wouldn’t you say that you have done things to protect your family? Hmm? Things that could be considered morally dubious, if not outside the law?’
Marina stiffened. She was aware that both Anni and Mickey were watching her. She bit back her initial response, kept her voice low and calm. Professional
‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you any tea,’ Fiona Welch said. ‘Or anything for that matter. We’re not trusted with such things. Apparently they fear we can turn any household item into a weapon, an instrument of torture or an object for self-harm. It’s like we’re malevolent
Blue Peter
presenters.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Marina.
‘Good,’ said Fiona Welch, nodding. She resumed her seat on the bed. ‘So to what do I owe this pleasure?’ She paused and looked straight at Marina. ‘Ms Esposito?’
‘You know who I am?’ asked Marina.
‘Of course,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘I know your husband. We worked together.’ Her expression changed, her eyes downcast. ‘Alas no more. We… disagreed on too many things.’
‘Disagreed.’
Fiona Welch smiled. ‘I was very impulsive in those days. Very rash. You know how it is, first flush of youth and all that. One is sure one is right. All the time. I’ve mellowed considerably since then.’
‘Have you now?’
‘Absolutely. Oh, don’t get me wrong, one can still hold the same views and convictions but one doesn’t necessarily have to express them in so strident a fashion. In fact, one can often affect more change by employing more subtle methods. Don’t you agree, Marina? May I call you Marina? After all, we have so much in common. I feel I know you.’
Despite the reassuring presence of Anni and Mickey, something about this woman was making Marina feel uncomfortable. Unsettled. ‘What do we have in common, exactly?’ she said, hoping her voice remained steady.
Another smile. ‘How is your husband?’ she asked. ‘I genuinely did enjoy working with him. Despite the fact that he constantly belittled my theories. Theories which, I’m sure you’re aware, have since been borne out to be true.’
‘Which theories in particular?’ asked Marina, her voice steady and neutral.
Fiona Welch sat back, enjoying the attention. ‘Morality and manipulation,’ she said. ‘Especially where men are concerned. We like to fool ourselves constantly. Tell ourselves, as a community, a society, that we’re moral. That we know the difference between right and wrong. And that, more importantly, we act on it. Always. Given the choice, that’s what we do. What we would always do. We live our lives around those beliefs.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It’s a lie. All of it. There’s no such thing. No such differentiation. No right and wrong. No black and white. There aren’t even any shades of grey.’
‘What is there then?’
She continued talking, her voice patient as if she was a primary-school teacher explaining rudimentary mathematics to five-year-olds. ‘An assumed set of values, of course. Relative ones, that can be dispensed with or bargained away depending on what one’s needs are at any given time.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Marina.
‘It is.’ She moved forward, warming to her theme. ‘For instance, you want to take care of your family. It’s your primary concern. What lengths would you go to to do it? What kind of extreme behaviour could you justify to yourself in order to do that? Any, I would think. One can rationalise away anything if one has a good enough reason for doing so.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘We’ve all seen
Breaking Bad
.’
A look of anger rippled across Fiona Welch’s face. In that instant, Marina could imagine her raking her nails slowly and deeply down the side of her husband’s face.
She managed to regain her composure, leaned forward once more, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Marina? Wouldn’t you say that you have done things to protect your family? Hmm? Things that could be considered morally dubious, if not outside the law?’
Marina stiffened. She was aware that both Anni and Mickey were watching her. She bit back her initial response, kept her voice low and calm. Professional
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