Body Politic Read Free Page B

quickly. “It’s my fault. I influenced him. He could easily have become an auxiliary. It was because of me that he didn’t. He let his work at college go, failed all his exams and ended up as a labourer.” She looked over at me. “Sorry . . .”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’m not proud. You haven’t told me why you were demoted.”
    Her eyes opened wide and glinted shafts of ice. “That’s got nothing to do with this. What about you? Why did they kick you out?” She looked down.
    â€œWhy do I have the feeling that I’ve suddenly grown jackass’s ears?” I waited for her to raise her eyes again but she didn’t oblige. “Forget it. I’ll have to trust you.”
    â€œHow kind.” She smiled bitterly then stood up. “I’ve got the night shift. When will you know something?”
    I moved over to the bookshelves. “In a couple of days. I live in Gilmore Place, number 13. Come round about eight in the evening.” I pulled out the book that had attracted my attention. It was the same edition of Chinese poetry translations Katharine had in her bag. Between pages twenty and twenty-one I came across a single foreign banknote. I kept my back to her. “Any idea why your brother would have secreted fifty thousand drachmae in his copy of this?”
    She was at my side instantly, staring at the garish pink bill. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, her voice fainter than it was hoarse. “What’s it worth?”
    â€œMore than you or I will earn this month. But where did he get it? You know it’s illegal for Edinburgh citizens to have foreign currency.”
    Katharine shook her head in what looked like bewilderment. I was almost sure she knew nothing about this part of her brother’s life but you never know – she could have been the most accomplished actress in the city. Glancing at her profile, I made another discovery. The line of her nose was exactly the same as Caro’s. I thought I’d got over seeing aspects of her in other women. This case was already full of surprises.
    I wheeled my bicycle back to Gilmore Place. It was dark now and the fog was even thicker than before, but City Guard vehicles were still careering about like decrepit maroon dodgems. My watch had finally succumbed to the soakings it got every day in the city’s parks so I didn’t have much idea of the time. Fortunately curfew wasn’t imminent. Then I remembered the sex session. All citizens have to attend a weekly session with a partner allocated to them by the Recreation Directorate. The Council claims we get a more stimulating sex life, but everyone knows it’s just another way of keeping an eye on us. At least it was a home fixture this time. A month ago I ended up stranded for the night at a crazy woman’s flat in Morningside. She got her money’s worth. Thank Christ the regulations forbid further encounters between partners of my status.
    Back in my place I sank into the sofa, which was even more hamstrung than the one at Adam Kirkwood’s. My room, a testament to Housing Directorate grot, was so similar I almost thought I was back at his. The only difference was that I had a lot more books. One of the few Council decisions I completely go along with is the banning of television. As a result Edinburgh citizens are seriously well read and cheap copies of most kinds of books are available. Nothing too subversive, of course, and writing in any Scots dialect is right out. I’ve forgotten all the dirty bits from Irvine Welsh books I memorised when I was a kid. But the worst thing the idiots in power have done is to ban the blues, though they had their reasons. My collection of recordings is hidden under a tartan rug with my guitar case on top. I listen to them with my head against my moth-eaten speaker, straining to hear and hoping the neighbours won’t report me. What a thrill.
    The street