Chapter six

Time away from Irina had done nothing to clear his head. Jack returned to the safe house, his mood worse than it had been when he left. He thought about how easy it would have been to kill her earlier; she was so weak, her neck so fragile.

He knew he couldn't. Whatever she had done, she was still the mother of his child. He didn't think he would be able to look at Sydney if he killed Irina.

She was asleep when he entered the room. Lying on her back, one arm stretched above her head, he could have mistaken her for Laura if it wasn't for the handcuffs.

He set the food on the nightstand and went to the kitchen to look for plates. When he got back to the bedroom, Irina was moaning, tugging at her restraints. Jack unlocked the handcuffs, horrified to see that her wrist was bleeding.

He shouldn't have cuffed her, he thought. Her wrists had already been injured; he'd made it worse. He went in search of a first aid kit – standard for every safe house. It was in the bathroom. He took the whole box back to the bedroom.

He dabbed gently at Irina's wrist with a piece of cotton wool soaked in antiseptic. Her eyes flew open and she tried to jerk her hand away. Jack said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on her hand and not her face. It suddenly struck him how their roles had reversed; he'd lost count of the times he'd returned from a mission to have Irina care for him.

Laura, he reminded himself. His wife was Laura, not Irina.

He wrapped a bandage around her wrist, then reached for the other, repeating the action.

"Thank you," Irina said.

"You should see a doctor soon."

"What about your hand?" She sat up, then unwrapped the piece of cloth he'd used. He couldn't speak, couldn't move – her expression, her tone was completely Laura. "It's not deep enough for stitches but—"

"Don't," he managed to say, and pulled his hand away. He dabbed antiseptic on the cut then covered it with a bandage. He looked up to find Irina's gaze on him. "Are you hungry?"

She nodded. He quickly packed up the first aid kit, then handed Irina a plate. From one of the paper bags he'd brought in earlier, he pulled out a polystyrene box.

"There's rice, and some chapatti. I tried not to get anything spicy for you."

She smiled again, and to his surprise he found himself smiling back. Uncomfortable, and unsure why, he opened his own carton of food.

"What were you dreaming about?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember."

He didn't call her on the lie, remembering the guard who had passed him outside her cell, remembering the words of the other two guards he'd killed. He didn't want to know how she had suffered.

They ate in silence. Jack was pleased to see her appetite had improved, though only a little. When they were both finished, he picked up the other bag he'd brought. From it he took two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste.

"Careful, Jack. People might start thinking you don't hate me after all."

"I don't hate you." The words were out before he could stop them. He was surprised to realize it was true; he didn't hate her, he hated the situation. "How could you do it? How could you live a lie for more than a decade?"

She didn't speak immediately. When she did, her voice was so low Jack struggled to hear her. "Do you know when I became a communist, Jack? I was seven. Sydney's age. That's when Soviet children begin their education."

When he tried to interrupt, she held up her hand. "No, let me finish. All my life, all I was taught was how to be loyal to the Soviet Union. We learned all about the evil West, how the wealthy left the poor to starve, how you used your armies to control your people. When I was approached by the KGB, I was flattered that I'd been considered worthy to serve my country." She took a deep breath. "I was prepared to hate you, to hate my time with you. I wasn't prepared to fall in love."

His expression darkened. "Love?"

"You asked how I could live a lie. I couldn't."

"You could have told me."

She shook her head. "You were supposed to believe I – Laura died. You were never supposed to know the truth."

"They thought I was working with you. I spent six months in solitary."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

He didn't want her sympathy. "What were you doing in prison, Irina? Shouldn't you have got a promotion instead?"

"They don't promote traitors, Jack." She scooted to the edge of the bed and picked up one of the toothbrushes. Slowly getting to her feet, she went to the bathroom. Jack was too stunned by her reply to say anything.

Irina shut the bathroom door, then sat on the toilet, surprised at how much energy she'd burned getting here from the bedroom. She hated feeling so weak, especially in front of Jack.

But, she thought, rather this than another minute in that hellhole.

She squeezed a little toothpaste onto the toothbrush, and began cleaning her teeth. When she was finished, she stood and spat in the sink. She rinsed her mouth, then repeated the whole process. It had been far too long since she'd last been able to brush her teeth.

Once she was finally satisfied that her teeth were clean enough, she studied her reflection in the mirror. It was still a stranger who looked back at her.

"Jack? Do you have a pair of scissors?" she called.

A moment later the bathroom door opened. "Why do you want scissors?"

She touched her hair. Jack disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a pair of scissors.

"Sit," he said.

Irina did as she was told. Jack hesitated before bringing the scissors to her hair. He began trimming the bottom. "Cut it all off, Jack," she said.

"Are you sure?"

-- hands fisting in her hair, pulling, twisting --

"All of it."

She felt the blades touch her scalp, and closed her eyes.