The voice says: Do you see it?
And Allie does see it suddenly and all at once. Awadi-Atif of Saudi Arabia has armed the troops in North Moldova. They plan to retake Bessapara, the republic of the women; for them, this would show that this change is merely a minor deviation from the norm, that the right way will reassert itself. And if they lose, and lose utterly …
Allie begins to smile. ‘The Holy Mother’s way will spread across the world, from person to person, from country to country. The thing will be over before it’s begun.’
Tatiana raises her glass for a toast. ‘I knew you would see it. When we invited you here … I hoped you would understand what I mean. The world is watching this war.’
She wants you to bless her war, says the voice. Tricky.
Tricky if she loses, says Allie in her heart.
I thought you wanted to be safe, says the voice.
You told me I couldn’t be safe unless I owned the place, says Allie in her heart.
And I told you that you couldn’t get there from here, says the voice.
Whose side are you on, anyway? says Allie.
Mother Eve speaks slowly and carefully. Mother Eve measures her words. Nothing that Mother Eve says is without consequence. She looks directly into the camera and waits for the red light to flash on.
‘We don’t have to ask ourselves what the Saudi Royal Family will do if they win this war,’ she says. ‘We’ve already seen it. We know what happened in Saudi Arabia for decades, and we know that God turned Her face from it in horror and disgust. We don’t have to ask ourselves who is on the side of justice when we meet the brave fighters of Bessapara – many of whom were trafficked women, shackled women, women who would have died alone in the dark if God had not sent Her light to guide them.
‘This country,’ she says, ‘is God’s country, and this war is God’s war. With Her help, we shall have a mighty victory. With Her help, everything will be overturned.’
The red light blinks off. The message goes out across the world. Mother Eve and her millions of loyal followers on YouTube and Instagram, on Facebook and Twitter, her donors and her friends, are with Bessapara and the republic of the women. They’ve made their choice.
Margot
‘I’m not saying you have to break up with him.’
‘Mom, that is what you’re saying.’
‘I’m just saying read the reports, see for yourself.’
‘If you’re giving them to me, I already know what’s in them.’
‘Just read them.’
Margot gestures to the pile of papers on the coffee table. Bobby did not want to have this conversation. Maddy’s out at tae kwon do practice. So it’s up to her, of course. Bobby’s exact words had been, ‘It’s your political career you’re worried about. So you handle it.’
‘Whatever those papers say, Mom, Ryan’s a good person. He’s a kind person. He’s good to me.’
‘He’s been on extremist sites, Jos. He posts under a false name on sites that talk about organizing terror attacks. That have links with some of those groups.’
Jocelyn is crying now. Frustrated, angry tears. ‘He’d never do that. He probably just wanted to see what they were saying. Mom, we met online, we both go to some crazy sites.’
Margot picks up one of the pages at random, reads out the highlighted section. ‘“Buckyou – nice name he’s picked there – says, “Things have gotten out of hand. Those NorthStar camps for one thing – if people knew what they were learning there, we’d put a bullet in every girl in the place.”’ She pauses, looks at Jocelyn.
Jos says, ‘How do they even know that’s him?’
Margot waves at the thick file of documents. ‘Oh, I don’t know. They have their ways.’ This is the tricky part. Margot holds her breath. Will Jos buy it?
Jos looks at her, lets out one quick sob. ‘The Department of Defence is vetting you, isn’t it? Because you’re going to be a senator, and they want you on the Defence Committee, like you told me.’
Hook, line and sinker.
‘Yes, Jocelyn. That is why the FBI found this stuff. Because I have an important job, and I’m not going to apologize for that.’ She pauses. ‘I thought we were in this together, honey. And you need to know that this Ryan’s not what you think.’
‘He was just trying something out, probably. Those things are from three years ago! We all say stupid stuff online, OK? Just to get a reaction.’
Margot sighs. ‘I don’t know if we can be sure of that, honey.’
‘I’ll talk to him. He’s …’ Jos starts crying again, loud, long, deep sobs.
Margot scoots towards her on the couch. Puts a tentative arm around Jos’s shoulders.
Jos sinks into her, burying her face in Margot’s chest and crying and crying just like she did when she was a child.
‘There’ll be other boys, honey. There’ll be other, better boys.’
Jos lifts her face. ‘I thought we were supposed to be together.’
‘I know, sweetheart, because of your …’ Margot hesitates over the word: ‘because of your problem, you wanted someone who’d understand.’
She wishes they’d been able to find help for Jos. They’re still looking, but the older she gets, the more intractable the problem seems to be. Sometimes she has all the power she wants, and sometimes nothing.
Jos’s sobs slow to a trickle. Margot brings her a cup of tea, and they sit in silence for a while on the couch, Margot’s arm around Jos.
After a long while, Margot says, ‘I still think we can find some help for you. If we could find someone to help you … well, you’d just be able to like normal boys.’
Jos puts her cup down on the table slowly. She says, ‘Do you really think so?’
And Margot says, ‘I know it, honey. I know it. You can be just like all the other girls. I know we can fix it for you.’
This is what it means to be a good mother. Sometimes you can see what your kids need better than they can.
Roxy
‘Come home,’ says the message. ‘Ricky’s been hurt.’
She’s supposed to be going to Moldova, supposed to be training women in how to use the Glitter to fight. But she can’t, not with a message like that on her phone.
She’s stayed out of Ricky’s way mostly, since she got back from America. She’s got her own thing with the Glitter, and it’s making them good money. Roxy used to long to be invited into that house. Bernie’s given her a key now, she’s got a guest bedroom for when she’s not out at the Black Sea, but it’s not what she thought it’d be. Barbara, the mother of the three boys, hasn’t been right since Terry died. There’s a big photo of Terry on the mantelpiece with fresh flowers in front of it, changed every three days. Darrell’s still living there. He’s taking on the betting, because he’s got the brain for it. Ricky’s got his own place up in Canary Wharf.