(Note: 'balanda' is the Russian term for the thin porridge once used to feed inmates in Russian prisons.)

Chapter Twelve

"Penny! You ready?"

The warped bathroom door opened with the grating screech that was already starting to haunt Lucas's dreams, and Ros emerged, bringing with her a powerful waft of antiseptic that made his eyes water. He coughed as it reached his throat, and she glared.

"Don't you start." Her voice was hoarse, and she blew her nose, which was red, hard. "We need at least one of us fully functional."

Lucas blinked as the smell made his eyes water. "What on earth is that?"

"Chanel Number 5." The croaked response was pure Ros Myers. "Listerine. What the hell do you think it is?"

She looked and sounded in such a bad mood that Lucas prudently decided to refrain from further comment. Penny and James's new lodgings consisted of a cramped, one-room flat over a fish and chip shop in the High Street. The shabby décor could best be described as 'seventies chic' with all that that entailed, and the air seemed permanently tainted with a lingering odour of fried fish. The kitchen consisted of a sink, a battered table with two rickety chairs, an antediluvian gas cooker connected to what he thought was a dangerously inefficient supply, and a small fridge that lurched between producing Arctic quantities of ice and defrosting itself at will. Next to it, the toilet shared space with a narrow bath that didn't seem to have been scrubbed in several generations. The only source of heating in the flat – a cacophonous, clanking radiator that Ros insisted must have a resident Boggart somewhere in its bowels – operated on a meter that Penny and James's financial straits meant they used as little as possible. That, plus a cold snap that had coincided with their arrival had brought Ros down with a heavy cold within four days. Now Lucas watched warily as she pulled on Penny's coat and knotted a doubled scarf around the collar.

"How about a quick cup of tea first?" he suggested.

Ros checked her watch and nodded. Several sneezes pursued him into the spartan kitchen. According to the back-story that the team had so carefully researched and prepared for them, James, an economist with a private investment bank, had lost his job during the worst of the financial crisis. The family had been plunged into into so much debt that he and Penny had been compelled to sell their home. Forced to move into cheap, rented accommodation, they had sent their children to live with their maternal grandparents in Matlock. Penny, devastated by the separation and by their change in circumstances, had slid into a deep depression for which she was still being treated. There was more than enough in the legend to secure them an entrée to the organisation they were trying to penetrate. Unfortunately, acting a part also meant living it. For Lucas, with his memories of conditions in a Russian prison, the discomforts that entailed wouldn't be so great. Ros's background as the cossetted daughter of a privileged and wealthy family – even if it had disowned her long since – was likely to make the adjustment harder.

"Here." He handed her a mug of tea, and Ros wrapped her hands gratefully around it as she lowered herself carefully into one of the two sagging armchairs. Lucas perched on the edge of the bed. Instead of yielding under its weight, the mattress made a crackling sound, and lumps thrust up happily either side of him. Lucas thumped them with his fist and pulled a face.

"There're more lumps in this than the balanda they used to serve in Lefortovo." Ros's smile was tight – James hadn't been in Lefortovo – and he shrugged. "Sorry." He hesitated. "Don't suppose this is quite what you've been used to."

"That's the point, isn't it?" she snapped.

"Yeah, of course," he said, hastily. "I just meant - "

"You meant it's not what Sir Jocelyn Myers's daughter's been used to." Ros drained the mug and put it down on the threadbare carpet with a thump that warned Lucas that he had just stumbled across one of her unmarked boundaries. "Whatever Crisis Crusade might think, there are worse things in life than being short of money, believe me. Being his daughter is one of them."

The bitterness in her voice made him want to apologise. During their preparatory hours in safe-house Beta Three, Ros had watched without comment as Lucas had written a safely bland letter to his own father announcing his forthcoming absence. She had been subdued all evening, and he knew she hadn't slept much, either. He guessed she was unhappy at Harry appointing Ruth as liaison officer with Transatlantic and, despite everything, still worried about Jocelyn Myers. She's not wrong. Whomever it was that he was trying to manipulate - and Lucas was certain the bloody man had some target in mind – it was a dangerous game, as events in Wormwood Scrubs had already proved.

"I didn't - " he started, but Ros cut him off.

"I know." She got up. "Come on. That service starts in less than an hour, and we need to get a move on."

Lucas pulled on his own coat and followed her out of the building. They were greeted by a chill gust of wind that blew litter from the take-away outlets that dotted the street around their ankles, and dust into their eyes.

"Spring," Lucas grumbled, turning up his collar as Ros shivered, and sneezed again. "Sure you don't want to bus it?"

"We can't afford it, remember, James?" Ros shoved her hands deep into her pockets and started walking south-east. Over the last four days James and Penny had bought a map and familiarised themselves with their surroundings on the pretext of locating the cheaper shops and Job Centre that they would need. Lucas, whose mental image of Surrey had been largely generated by its pairing with the term 'Stockbroker Belt', had been surprised to see that it also included some quite run-down shopping streets and less well-off council estates. It wasn't until they had walked almost a mile down the main road, turned under the railway bridge and were on the outskirts of Hersham that the streets began to look tidier, the houses more substantial and the few passers-by better off. He stopped, surprised, as Ros took the map from her handbag and unfolded it.

"I do know where it is."

"No, you don't." Ros hissed the words through her teeth, turned the map, looked around and then called uncertainly: "Excuse me!" to an elderly couple just ahead of them on the other side of the road. She darted across. Lucas let several cars pass and rejoined her just as the elderly woman said: "Oh, that's nice, dear. Is this your husband?" as Lucas arrived. "Are you in the village, then?"

"Oh, no, no." Ros shook her head. "No, we couldn't possibly aff – I - I mean we - " she made a fumbling, failed attempt to re-fold the map, and looked in helpless embarrassment at Lucas.

"Let me, sweetheart." He took it from her and smiled at the elderly couple. "It's a bit beyond our purse, I'm afraid. We're in Walton, but we're regular churchgoers, and someone told us St Christopher's is really welcoming."

"I should hope so!" The old man smiled. "We've been members for fifteen years." He glanced at his watch. "I'd say walk with us, but at our speed, you'll keep warmer by going on ahead." He glanced at Ros, who was huddled into her coat. "You can't miss it; it's clearly visible as soon as you hit the Green. On the far side."

"Thank you." Lucas smiled and tucked his arm through Ros's. "Perhaps we'll see you later?"

"Come to coffee afterwards! You'll find us there. Betty and Gordon Jenkins. And you?"

"James Anderson." When Ros delicately dabbed at her eyes with a tissue instead of speaking, he added, "This is my wife, Penny." He shook Ros's hand gently. "Pen, shall we go, then?"

"Yes." Ros finally raised her head and gave a watery smile that produced instant concern on the faces of Mr and Mrs Jenkins. "Yes … thank you." She sniffed, and James, with an awkward, apologetic shrug, thanked the couple again and turned away, putting a comforting arm around his wife's waist as he did so. For a fraction of a second he felt Ros stiffen – in their own personae physical contact in public was strictly verboten – but she checked the reaction immediately.

"How did you know?" he murmured once he was sure they were out of earshot.

"Good guess. He's carrying a Bible," Ros answered. She nodded across the road and blew her nose hard as they passed a small pub. "Might be an idea to drop in there later."

"Mm." Lucas glanced at her. It was like flicking a switch; Penny had yielded to Ros Myers – alert, watchful, in control. "We need to cross. There it is."

There were a few people out on the Green, which had obviously been the centre of the original village before it became absorbed by the post-war surge of suburbia. Children were shrieking and whooping in the playground, and several dogs were chasing across the grass, including an over-excited Springer Spaniel, who bounded up to them, barking happily.

"Easy, boy, easy," Lucas said mildly, as the animal reared up and plonked two muddy front paws on his thighs. He ruffled its fur. "Whoa, you're a good lad -"

"Barney!" A woman about their age came running over. "Sorry, sorry. Barney!" She made a dive for the dog's collar and pulled him away. "He gets so excited." She shouted towards the playground: "Nicky! Nicky, come and take Barney! Dogs and kids." She gave a flustered smile as a boy of about ten ran across and took the dog's lead. "I don't know which is more trouble, and they both cost a fortune."

"Don't worry," Lucas said with a reassuring smile. "Ours are just the same."

She laughed. "Dogs or kids?"

"Both. Aren't they, darling?"

Ros nodded. "Y - yes." The word ended in a muffled sob, and the woman looked at her in alarm.

"I'm sorry – oh God, did I say the wrong - " as Ros swiped at her eyes, hiccoughed an apology and walked quickly off towards the church.

"No, no. It's – er – just – um – personal things. Few problems. Sorry." He broke into a trot and caught up with Ros at the lych-gate leading into the churchyard. The church bells were pealing now, and people were converging on it. "Pen!" He put his arms round her. "She couldn't have known. Come on, sweetheart, don't upset yourself."

"Sorry." The words came out in a tearful, muffled squeak, and he marvelled at how Ros, to whom tears, especially in public, were complete anathema, seemed able to turn them on and off at will provided she was under another identity. "I just – I just … so wish they were here with us -"

"I know, I know. Sssh, darling. Sssh." Lucas shook his head apologetically to several people who had hesitated with that peculiarly British half-concerned, half-embarrassed expression caused by close proximity to anyone in distress in a public place. "Come on, you're cold. Let's go in; you'll feel better." He led her up the path to where a clergyman in his late sixties – Martin Cowley, Lucas thought, recognising him from his photographs - stood sheltering from the gusts under the church porch.

"Welcome, welcome!" He beamed at them. "Come in out of this dreadful wind." He urged Ros, who was shivering, which Lucas suspected wasn't requiring her to act, through the doors. "Welcome to St Christopher's."

oOoOoOo

The service wasn't that familiar to Lucas, who was more used to the Methodist church in which he'd been raised, but Ros rose, sat, knelt, and responded with an ease that spoke of long experience. The congregation was larger than Lucas had expected, mainly white with only a handful of Asians. Although many people were elderly, there were almost as many younger couples and families, the latter's presence underlined by a noisy crèche in the side chapel from which Penny kept her eyes averted. She went up for Communion, edging timidly into the aisle and hesitating nervously until Gordon Jenkins, who was ushering, gently encouraged her to join the waiting worshippers. Lucas sat quietly, surveying the congregation, mentally checking faces against the photos he had memorised on the Grid, until she returned. Ros lowered her head as if in prayer and murmured into her clasped hands: "Patrick Alastair, front pew."

Lucas kept his face straight, patted her shoulders and slipped his hand into hers. When Martin Cowley announced their 'guest preacher for this Sunday' it was Alastair who climbed into the pulpit, said a word of thanks for their invitation and announced he would be preaching on Mark 3 chapter 24.

'If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand'. Lucas recognised the reference instantly; it was one of his own father's favourites, and as a boy, had heard Joshua preach on it more than once. The way Ros's lips tightened suggested she knew it too, and was expecting a provocative call to arms, but Alastair surprised both of them. He was fervent and emphatic, but there was a gentleness in him that impressed Lucas despite the team's suspicions of the man. He ended his sermon with an invitation to everyone to come to the back of the church for coffee after the closing hymn, and when the last somewhat discordant chord of 'Onward Christian Soldiers' died away, Lucas and Ros joined the rest of the congregation filing down the aisle.

"James and Penny!" Betty Jenkins beamed at them both. "Coffee this way!" She nodded towards where it was being served, and edged a wooden collection plate imperceptibly closer to Penny.

"Oh! Oh, I – sorry," Penny stammered, and dug her purse from her bag. Hesitantly, she put a fifty-pence piece on top of the notes already there. "I – I don't know if – if that's enough – James - "

An expression of real compassion leaped into Betty Jenkins's eyes, and Lucas noticed her registering Penny's well-worn coat and shoes. "Of course it's enough, my dear. Go and get some coffee – and make sure you get a chocolate muffin, too. They're delicious."

Not all the congregation had stayed for coffee, Lucas noticed, and he guessed that those who had were probably the stalwarts who attended week in, week out. Patrick Alastair was there, chatting to two couples and from what Lucas could hear, taking some flak from them about the mildness of his sermon. He drifted closer on the pretext of re-filling his coffee cup, and caught a tall, attractive red-head saying indignantly " – all very well, but it just isn't enough, Patrick. We don't have forever." She flicked a glance at Lucas as he passed. "Anyway, we're going over to the Coopers if you've the time?"

The pub across the green. Lucas filed the name in his memory banks, and James returned to where Penny was in conversation with Martin Cowley.

"James, it's a pleasure to have you both here. Penny tells me you've just moved into the area. I do hope we'll see you again. Are you working locally?"

James looked embarrassed. "Er, not yet. I'm …between jobs again at the moment." There was a pregnant pause, and he saw the penny drop with the minister much as it had with Betty Jenkins.

"I see. What is it you do?"

"I'm an economist." He shrugged self-consciously. "Not the most popular animal out there in the job jungle at the moment."

"Well, our government could certainly do worse than hire a few decent economists," the priest said tersely. "The sort who understand there are people out there, grovelling unnoticed behind their wretched statistics." The sudden spurt of anger was extinguished almost immediately by the return of his amiable smile. "I don't wish to pry, but how long have you been out of work?"

"This time? Nearly a year." James shifted uncomfortably. "I've had jobs – temporary bits and pieces, but – well, you know."

Martin Cowley clicked his tongue in concern. "That must be very difficult. Are you getting support?"

"Well, the usual." James shrugged again. "Job Centre, scouring the papers, internet searches, although now we don't have a connection in the flat that isn't so easy. And internet cafes, well, they're expensive. I'll find something better eventually, I'm sure, but in the meantime we just have to cut down on all the non-essentials. Hence the shaggy dog look." He flicked at his hair. "Watch the pennies." He made a weary attempt at a smile. "Pardon the pun."

The older man turned his gaze towards Penny, who hadn't said a word, but was biting her lip hard and, apparently unaware, shredding the tissue she held into a blizzard of pieces all over the church floor. He reached out and patted her hand. Startled, Penny looked up, and skittered several steps backwards like a frightened deer.

"It's all right, darling." James held out his hand to Cowley, and lowered his voice. "Sorry, it's very hard for her. She gets very ... distressed. We'd best go now. Thank you; you've been very understanding."

"Someone has to be." There was a sudden grimness in the reply. "And the Lord knows I've seen enough people in situations like yours." He took a card from his pocket and scribbled on it. "My number. If there's anything we can do – access to a computer for a few hours, for example, a few extra food items, or just someone to talk to - let off a bit of steam." He glanced at Penny again. "We have a couple of little groups within the church, and we meet for a friendly meal once or twice a week. We'd be delighted to see you."

James took the card, thanked him again and eased Penny out of the church. When they were clear of it and re-crossing the Green, he swiftly reported the snippet of conversation he had overheard. "D'you think we can stretch the budget to a quick pint?"

"Long as you - " A spasm of coughing cut off the words. Ros glared at the crumpled remains of her tissue and pulled out another. "Long as you order one beer with two straws."

"You need that cough seen to," Lucas said, as he uneasily remembered the lung damage and chest injuries she'd suffered in the bombing.

"Harry's speciality," Ros croaked caustically. "He bloody near gave me pneumonia trying to drown me on the Thames Barrier, as well." Irritably, she jerked the scarf higher over her face. Her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose peeking over it reminded Lucas irresistibly of the nest of white mice kept in his biology classroom at school. As the wind whipping across the Green produced a stream of muffled invective from underneath, he decided to keep that insight to himself, and stepped up the pace.

The warmth that drifted out when he opened the pub door was a welcome relief, and when they reached the bar, Penny rubbed her hands together. "Oh, that's better. I'm so cold."

"Something to warm you up, love?" the barman asked cheerfully.

"The usual, darling?" James pulled out his wallet as she nodded, then glanced up at the wall behind the bar. "Oh."

"What?" She looked at him enquiringly.

He glanced towards the barman. "The price, Penny. Look, G&T … well, we can't. I mean, I've got enough, but still - "

"Sshh!" Penny shot a panicky look around. "Well what – what can we afford?"

James went back to scrutinising the price list. As he did, Penny, her head lowered in what would pass for embarrassment, murmured, "That them, far side of the fireplace?" When James nodded, she whispered: "We need to get their attention. Follow my lead."

James ordered a pint of the cheapest beer on the board for himself and a half of cider for Penny. He carried them over to a free table near the group in which he had recognised the red-head from St Christopher's.

"Here, darling." He pulled up a chair. Penny sat down, held her hands out to the flames and shuddered. "It's freezing out there. Do we have to walk back as well?"

James sighed. "Well we can get the bus, but I don't know if we'll have enough to call the kids again tonight if we do. I mean, we can't reverse the charges on your mum every time. Maybe we can wait a few more days before we ring."

"Oh, James, we can't do that! I promised we'd ring every week. And I miss them." Penny's voice quivered as she spoke and she pressed one fist to her lips.

"I know, darling." He put his arm round her shoulder, admiring her acting ability. "Don't get upset. Come on, have your drink." He pushed the glass towards her. "Cheers."

She clinked glasses with him and sipped at the cider. He saw her shudder, more, he suspected, from the taste this time than from the cold. She put it down.

"There isn't much to be cheerful about, is there? Not with the kids hundreds of miles away … and living in that awful dump …" She put a hand over her face.

"Pen, Pen, come on." He noticed one of the women in the group next to them watching them and gave her an awkward smile. "I know it isn't much, but it's just temporary. Until we get back on our feet."

"And when will that be?" Penny retorted.

"Things will get easier once I find a decent job. The house will clear most of the debts, and then we'll be able to pay off the rest, so -"

"And how exactly do you think you're going to do that?" Ros let her voice rise. "Just go strolling down the Job Centre and say 'hi world, here I am, James Anderson, economist extraordinaire?' You read the papers – there are fifty, a hundred people after every vacancy! There's more empty space in your office building now than in the Australian outback!"

" Penny, darling, calm down. I'll find something – all right, maybe not in the same business -"

"Then what? Stacking shelves in Tesco's for peanuts?"

"Yes. Yes, if I have to; until I find something better -"

"Ha!" She pulled herself free of him. "And what about the kids?"

"We'll get them back -"

"And do what with them? Bring them to live in one room in that .. that … fleapit?" "What about Abi's asthma? It's damp in there, James! Anyway, it – it's nonsense … you know it is." She gulped back a sob. "We can barely afford to feed ourselves on the bloody handouts they give you, never mind them!" She put a hand over her eyes. "Oh God, I miss them so much."

"Penny, please, don't." He reached out to stroke her hair, but she slapped his hand away. "Look, you know the doctor said you shouldn't get upset like this. Did you take your pills this morning?"

"Pills?" Penny's head jerked up and she glared at him. Her indignation sounded so genuine that he automatically flinched back. "What good do bloody pills do?"

"They help you cope."

"Don't tell me I need help to cope!" She was almost shouting now. "Those crooks – those bloody pimps in pinstripes you spent so many years grovelling around – they've destroyed our lives! Our house, our future, our family … they've even taken my kids away from me, and you tell me pills will help me cope?"

She burst into tears and sprang to her feet, pushing the table away and causing the cider to spill in a golden flood across the table onto the floor. James grabbed for her hand a second too late to prevent her fleeing across the bar and through the door leading to the toilets. He spared a second to admire her performance as he shrugged apologetically at the group of four at the next table for whose benefit it had been given.

"Sorry. She'll be all right in a minute. Things get on top of her. You know." He started dabbing ineffectually at the puddle of cider with a paper napkin that dissolved almost instantly into an unappealing heap ofpulp.

"Here." One of the men had fetched a dishcloth from the bar. He held it out. "This'll do it."

"Oh. Thanks." James produced a discomfited smile and looked over at the toilet door. "She – er – well, sorry about the scene." He wiped the table and cast another worried look across the room. "I'd better go and see if she's OK."

"Give her a minute to herself," one of the women advised. "Let her mop up."

"I can't, really." He got up. "She's on – er – anti-depressants. They said if she gets upset, stay with her; she shouldn't be left on her own. We've had a bit of a rough time lately." He shrugged helplessly. "Recession and all that. She finds it difficult."

"Don't we all." The redhead now got to her feet. "I'll fetch her. Don't worry," as Lucas went to object. "I know what it's like. We've all been there. What's her name again?"

"Penny." Lucas watched her across the room. The man who had brought the dishcloth pointed at Ros's empty glass.

"I should get her another one, mate. Might help."

"Yes … I – I suppose." He pulled his wallet out and fumbled in it, deliberately taking his time. As he did, the toilet door re-opened and the redhead emerged with one arm around Ros, who was dabbing at her eyes with a handful of toilet paper.

The other man looked shrewdly at him as he counted out his loose change. "That what she usually drinks?" he asked.

"No, not – er – usually. Gin and tonic, but I don't -"

"I'll get it." The man jerked his head towards the other couple. "Why don't you come and join us?"

Lucas made himself hesitate. "We really don't want to bother you -"

"You're not," the redhead said firmly. "It's on us. That's Alex, my husband," as her partner headed for the bar, "I'm Miranda, and this is Ben and Alice."

"James Anderson." Lucas took the space made for him on the bench and Ros shrank close to him, still decorously sniffing into her makeshift tissue. "This is my wife, Penny. Thanks, this is really kind of you."

"We're all fellow sufferers," Ben said cheerfully. "And we've always got room for new members."

James looked puzzled. "New members? Oh, you mean in the church – I thought I saw you there?"

Alice, a pretty brunette with slightly Asian features, smiled at him. "You did. And yes, in a manner of speaking, I suppose; a particular branch of it, anyway." She raised her glass to Penny as Alex put a glass of gin and tonic in front of her. "Welcome to the Crusade."

oOoOoOo

Thank you for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated. :)