A Foreign Country

55

Kell set an alarm for five o’clock and was downstairs before sunrise. He found Elsa awake in the library wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts, watching the live infra-red feed from the darkened rooms of Amelia’s house. She turned as he walked in and seemed startled to see him.

‘Oh, it’s you. You gave me a fright.’

He stood behind her.

‘Have you been awake all this time?’

The team had watched Amelia and CUCKOO eating dinner: they had listened to their conversation; to Amelia’s flawless impersonation of a loving mother; to CUCKOO’s word-perfect portrayal of François Malot. At midnight, CUCKOO had yawned and gone upstairs to bed, running a bath under Harold’s unforgiving gaze — ‘Bubbles? What kind of a man gets into a bath with bubbles?’ — before getting into bed and reading a few pages of the novel that he had removed from his suitcase. Amelia had emailed Kell a report at half-past twelve, confirming that Barbara should appear at the house just after nine o’clock in the morning. Kell had then gone upstairs to bed, where Harold and Barbara were already asleep.

‘Harold woke me at three,’ Elsa said, popping a stick of chewing gum in her mouth. ‘He said nothing had happened. CUCKOO has been asleep since about one.’

Kell looked at the screens. He could hear the low, regular sighs of CUCKOO’s breathing and felt like a doctor watching a patient in intensive care.

‘No sign of Amelia?’ There were no cameras in Amelia’s bedroom or bathroom; Kell had afforded her that privacy.

Elsa shook her head.

‘None.’

But Amelia was the first up. She appeared in the kitchen just after six in a pale silk dressing-gown tied tightly at the waist. She switched on Radio 4, made herself a cup of tea, then returned to her bedroom, away from the gaze of the cameras. Moments later, Harold came down into the library.

‘Day Two in the Big Brother House,’ he intoned in a thick Newcastle accent. ‘Amelia is in the Diary Room.’ He walked over to the table, stood behind Elsa and looked up at the master image from the bedroom. ‘CUCKOO is fast asleep. He has no fooking idea that today he faces eviction.’

Kell laughed. Elsa did not understand the joke.

‘What are you talking about?’ she said.

It was another two hours before CUCKOO woke up, climbed out of bed, walked into the bathroom with a pyjama-tenting erection, stared at himself in the mirror, squeezed a spot beneath his chin and emptied his bladder in the toilet.

‘Here we go,’ said Harold. ‘Elvis is in the bathroom.’

Kell went into the kitchen to find Barbara seated and dressed, a bowl of muesli and yoghurt on the table in front of her.

‘CUCKOO’s awake,’ he told her.

‘Yes. I heard.’

She looked alert and focused, her make-up slightly different, as though she had deliberately put on another face for the part.

‘Amelia wants you there at nine,’ he said. He glanced at his watch. ‘That looks about right. CUCKOO had a bath before he went to bed, so chances are he’ll be downstairs when you come in. How are you feeling?’

He remembered their first meeting in Nice, Barbara’s shy, apologetic smile, the bustle and speed of her mind. A couple of days in the old country, away from Bill, appeared to have rejuvenated her. She was enjoying being back in the game.

‘Oh, I’m looking forward to it,’ she said, and grinned as she met Kell’s eye. ‘Let’s hope we get the bastard. Let’s hope we really get him.’