What to do about Katrina, Ep. I, Act I, sc. 28-29
Three pints of Guinness, some covert biographical revelations & a tasty Irish stew
Before I do my usual cute little intro, I need to mention that there will be an intermission soon, which has come about after a few recent moments of epiphany which should have been blindingly obvious to me from the start. Perhaps that just goes to show how an excess of intricate intelligence can obscure what’s in plain sight.
So, I shall be doing an intermission post shortly by way of explanation. In the meantime, I should also say that we have another four instalments after this one before I get to the stage where I need to do more editing, and add a few extra scenes. That may well turn out to be the point where I start doing it as paid-only, or at least free for say, a week, before it gets archived. This also means I can spend more time on the other stuff, which seems to be going down better.
Anyhow, I’ll talk about all that in the intermission.
So, if you have just joined us, you are very welcome. Some might say that if you jump in here you’ll be inundated with a whole lot of spoilers, and should be directed to the start, either here with my intro, or here with the Prelude & Scene 1. Then again, given this is in large part a curious, convoluted & conspiratorial spy thriller, if you were to jump in right here then it would provoke you with a whole load of intriguing questions, which would, I think, poke your interest. This Episode I, after all, is a kind of origin story. And the art of narrative is indeed to provoke the reader into asking questions.
This instalment, then, has a load of character-based info. Suggestive details, that’s to say. Which sort of makes for interesting spoilers if you were to just jump in. Also, Katrina finalises her decision regarding what to do with herself in this parallel world she’s just unceremoniously landed in. She is mindful of the impending forces of antagonism, though, so she will have to give that some careful consideration in due course.
For the previously on Katrina, you can click there. In that instalment, whilst Katrina was able to lose herself in swimming, Tom got some CCTV transferred for later analysis, had two drinks before the sun was over the yardarm, got some information about a grandfather paradox, then gave Peter a bit of a fright. But now he gets to visit the best Irish pub in Paris and wolf down a good Irish stew washed down, naturally, with a generous helping of Guinness.
“Try that my friend.”
Sean Macavity had a grin on his face. Not unusual in the slightest. He watched his friend Tom sample the Guinness.
“Ooh! Now that,” Tom was delighted to say, “is a perfect pint. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
Sean reflected Tom’s smile. He acted all nonchalant. Of course it was. He knew the landlord. And that lovely barmaid. They had arrangements.
“Something tells me, however,” Sean suggested, “that you’ve already had your fair share this morning. I’m also going to assume, if it’s all the same to you, that there’s a girl involved. Am I right, or am I right?”
Tom frowned. Which told Sean all he needed to know.
“So, is it this gorgeous French bint I’ve been hearing about? Or is it your new mystery woman from a parallel world? She too is gorgeous, after all, if your photos are anything to go by. Or is it both, even?” he tilted his head suggestively, “Obviously I can understand that. No criticism intended, you understand?”
Tom didn’t bother stifling a laugh. “Now I’m wondering,” he retorted, “just what level of surveillance you have on our Embassy.”
“Hah! Now you know perfectly well we don’t have your Embassy bugged. Same as you don’t have ours bugged. The French, of course,” he took a large draught, “well, of course we all let them bug our places to kingdom come, feed them misinformation then discuss important stuff in the quiet room but hey, everyone knows the score, eh? So no, this isn’t inside knowledge. It’s just one bloke to another. And you, my friend, have always been the easiest guy in the room to read. Which kind of makes me wonder why you joined the Service. Aside from your old man, obviously.”
Tom’s short laugh was one of resignation. “Well, I’m not going to dispute that. I’m beginning to wonder whether I should’ve done something completely different.”
“Ah,” Sean grinned, “but then you wouldn’t get to know all these juicy classified secrets, eh?”
“The only perk of the job.” Tom frowned again and took a long draught.
“Hmm, I s’pose you could argue that.” Sean drained another few fingers of Guinness. “But there’s more to it than that. At least in our respective sections, that is. We get to meet sexy French interns, for a start. And that, I have to say, is worth the inconvenience of, well, I don’t know, I’ll think of something.”
Tom laughed better this time. Sean always made him feel better. Even when Sean was talking meaningless bollocks. In fact because he talked bollocks. Which was all the time, come to think of it.
Tom couldn’t even be bothered to ask Sean what he’d found out, if anything, about Katrina’s alleged Irish side of her family. He knew Sean would mention it at some point. Guinness and a proper Irish stew would come first. And be far more appreciated. And the truth was, of course, he was grateful to talk about something else.
Mind you, Sean had a point, he had to concede. Tom was beginning to realise his choice of career had never been his own in the first place.
Still, duty never stopped calling.
“Gossip, then, Sean. You know I’ll have to go back with something.”
“Hah! Nice try. Well, actually it’s a shite try. Why don’t you just ask me to stop talking shite and get to the point, eh?”
Sean’s grin was perpetually disarming. Tom often wondered whether he was more than just a liaison officer, like him. Then again, everyone laboured under job titles that didn’t really mean anything. That was another thing Tom had come to find irritating. The thought of a job that was boring, predictable, pedestrian, and, well, necessarily remunerating, of course, didn’t seem unappealing anymore. If he could find a nice girl, someone he could imagine himself growing old with, then yeah, that might work.
But then again, he’d always be left wondering about the what if questions. What would he not know? That was no way to live, ultimately. Life was more important than that. It wasn’t that he really cared about national security, whatever that was. That didn’t seem important anyway during his interview process, which had always made him wonder, in an uncomfortable sort of way. You would’ve thought they’d have asked about that kind of stuff. Like why do you care about your country, potential new recruit? What’s your view on the geopolitical situation in such and such a place? But no, there wasn’t any of that. At the time he did notice that omission, but he’d deliberately not mentioned it and just allowed himself to be happy to sail through the whole thing.
And it wasn’t because of his dad, either. It wasn’t as if he’d put in a good word. None of that. Dad worked for the Circus, anyway, not Five. No, it was all like it was already arranged. No effort required whatsoever. No challenge.
And that’s no way to live.
“She does exist.”
Tom almost choked on his Guinness. Perfect timing, he had to admit, from Sean’s point of view.
“Who exists?”
“Katrina’s mum. Ursula Catriona Sugrue. Her maiden name, obviously.” Sean grinned again and raised his eyebrows. He was clearly enjoying this.
Tom sobered up immediately. “Same person?”
“Same date of birth, place of birth, all of it. County Kerry, southwest Ireland. Family are peasants. Own a farm. Have done for generations. Organic, of course.”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean it. Your girl’s a socialist, right? Possible Russian spy?”
Tom narrowed his eyes and wondered whether Sean was being devious when he said they didn’t have bugs in the Embassy. “What makes you think we think she’s a Russian spy? Come on, out with it.”
“Hah! Now you just confirmed it. Thank you my friend!”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”
“Works every time. Make a suggestion, see what the reaction is. You, my equally brilliant friend, still have much to learn about the arts of espionage. Clearly.”
“Clearly.” Tom forlornly drained the last of his glass.
Sean waved the young Irish girl over to replenish the conversation. No comment required there. She clearly liked him.
“Fifth of December 1948,” Sean said, “studied English lit. at King’s College London ’67-’70. Master’s degree Library and Information Studies ’71. Worked at the British Library for a year or so, then went back to Ireland. Married a good honest Irishman, by the name of O’Rahilly, had some children, ran the local library, gave piano lessons, went on concert tours, there you go.”
Tom decided to remain suspicious. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Sean was good at this.
“I can’t think of anything.” Tom was totally sincere. “Unless there’s something Peter isn’t telling any of us.”
“Hmm. Highly likely, if you ask me. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing was some MI6 setup. Using you, of course, to come up with some cover story report. If you catch my drift?”
Their seconds arrived. They both drank a healthy draught and contemplated, in something approaching unison. Tom realised he didn’t know any more than Sean did, and that Sean, too, was in exactly the same place as he was.
“That would explain a lot,” Tom suggested after a while.
“It would explain everything, actually,” Sean agreed. “Especially from the MI6 perspective, wouldn’t you say? I mean, they’re constantly engaging in devious fucking shite, eh?”
Tom chuckled. “I will not dispute that, sure. And you’re right, for what it’s worth. This has Peter’s grubby little hands all over it for sure. It’s just the kind of thing he’d come up with.”
“Quite. So,” Sean put his drink down, leaned in close and looked Tom directly in the eyes, seriously, then spoke a little more quietly, “I say we not only pool our resources, but we work on this thing together. Aside from anything else, it’s fucking fascinating and ridiculous at the same time. All this parallel world shite. Someone must’ve come up with that cover story, eh?”
Tom leaned back. “Hmm. Yeah. But it doesn’t sound like Peter’s style. Subjecting me to her infuriating nature and her conspiracy theories just to provoke me, sure, that’s his style. But not inventing whoever she is.”
“Ah. Sure. Just what I was going to add. Maybe we should follow him, see if he meets any shady characters. So yeah, I’m not saying she was his idea, indeed. His carrying out, sure. But not his idea. But there’s something going on here, that I do know.”
“I think we can agree on that. In which case, you can look at birth certificates too. Ursula’s offspring, that is.”
“Ah, now that’s something I was wondering. Ursula can’t be her mother. She would’ve been what, fifty-something when she conceived.”
“Grandmother, then.”
“Most likely. I’ll look into it.” Then he nonchalantly returned to his Guinness.
Tom tilted his head curiously at Sean. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
“Hah!” Sean looked at his watch. “That took you, oh, I’d say around three minutes to work out. Well done. You not only pass but you win the prize. Congratulations.”
“Ok. Sean, stop talking shite for a moment and just tell me. If you do want us to work together on this and aren’t just fishing like usual. Go on. What?”
Sean put his Guinness down, leaned back with a smile on his face and then suddenly changed that expression. It was the first time Tom had ever seen his friend actually serious. He waited for the answer.
“She died,” Sean said. “Ursula, that is. She died two months ago.”
Tom caught his breath.
“Fuck!”
Beat.
Sean waited for that to sink in. It had been the effect he was after. “Covid-related, according to the death certificate.”
“Oh.” And that was another realisation. “That would explain her conspiracy mindset. About Covid, I mean.”
“You didn’t mention that. Anti-vaxxer, is she?”
“She thinks it’s a bioweapon.”
“Ah. That old chestnut. Well, that’s beyond my pay grade to comment. Or security clearance level, that is.”
Tom frowned. “Same here. But it does make psychological sense.” He took another large draught.
Then their stew arrived. Which was very welcome on a number of levels.
They both tucked in immediately without waiting on ceremony. Once the lovely serving girl was out of earshot again, Sean said, with a moutful, “But she does seem sincere, though? As if she really believes in the parallel world shite? And no memory before yesterday? Of this world, I mean.”
“Totally. Although she did say she’s an excellent actress.”
“Double-bluff. Got to be.”
“I can go with that one,” said whilst munching.
“Still,” Sean added, “I think you should mention this to Malcolm before he gets to work on her.”
Tom nodded and glanced at his wrist. “Well, he’ll be here soon enough. Then that’s me done.”
“Aside from the CCTV, though, eh?”
Sean’s smile had a hint of wickedness to it. Schadenfreude, even. Tom sighed. “Bugger.”
“Let me know how it all goes, eh?” Sean chuckled.
Tom decided he’d definitely be having another re-fill before going back to work. They definitely didn’t pay him enough for all this.
The watchers noticed Audrey when Katrina did. She didn’t think it would do any harm for them to know. She glanced up at her whilst perched on the edge of the pool, and they shared a smile.
It wasn’t all they shared. Audrey had come to understand Katrina. For she too could understand how it is to feel outside the world, to feel that something isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. The world itself should be different. The world itself was wrong. And all this talk of Katrina’s parallel world simply heightened that understanding and brought it all home.
Katrina spent a good few hours in the pool, practicing various strokes between five minute breaks. Towards the end of it she felt strong enough and confident enough to try a 400 metres medley.
According to the standard issue watch, it took her less than five minutes.
And that was the point when Katrina remembered just how good she used to be. That’s when she realised she could have a life in this world. And at least be happy in moments. When it was just her and the water and she could’ve been in any world. Or back home again. She would make the team, whatever their standard was nowadays, and she would win. When were the national championships usually? April? She would have to check. And then there would be a Commonwealth Games.
And then people would know who she was. Some weird and eccentric and beautiful girl who says she’s from a parallel world but who can swim like a siren. The girl who’s entire being just exudes cognitive dissonance.
And she could talk about her world – they would ask, after all – and she would tell them how beautiful it is, and they would come to understand what’s wrong with their own. Maybe all of them, or enough of them, would come to feel how Audrey feels.
And then maybe they would act on that.
Was this her penance? Given how much evil there clearly is in this world, she told herself, you won’t last very long. They’ll get scared of you, those dystopians, they’ll see you as a threat and they’ll start wondering what to do about Katrina. Her mere presence alone will demonstrate what’s wrong with the world. And those who control it will fear for their own exposure.
They’ll start scheming. If they’re wise enough, Katrina also knew, they’d just kill her as soon as she pops her head above the parapet. But these people aren’t wise. They’re too scared to admit they are scared. They rely on the arrogant self-belief in the extent of their own power and control and only panic when it’s too late. No, they won’t try and kill her straight away, they’ll do what they’ve become accustomed to doing. They’ll just discredit her in the eyes of the public. Which shouldn’t be hard. She thinks she’s from a parallel world, after all. She’s mad, isn’t she? No need to take a word she says seriously.
No, Katrina smiles slyly to herself, they won’t try anything drastic until it’s too late.
Not like the last time. When Nicci died.
Katrina will take pre-emptive measures. She’s forty-eight years old, after all. She knows the score.
And what does that mean for her penance?
She’s not supposed to win, is she? Try, sure, but win? No. Purgatory isn’t about success. It’s about staying true to yourself. No matter what they do to you.
Her eyes open suddenly as she exits her little meditation in the changing room. The Goddess doesn’t answer. Neither confirm nor deny. Fair enough. Katrina will find out in her own good time.
Because that’s the way of things.
So she packs her things away and meets them in the little café in the pool and gym complex. Audrey is there with them, which makes her smile. They’ll have a light lunch and then return to the Embassy together. A far more pleasant room this time on the second floor. Comfort and warmth.
Security.
There will be some psychologist coming for her, apparently.
But what should she say, and what should she conceal?
She hadn’t thought enough about that. She’d gotten herself distracted.
Stall for time, then. Just talk about feelings.
She was starting to miss home again. So that wouldn’t be difficult. Her mind began to wonder what her family were doing. What she herself was doing, for that matter. Maybe at the end of this life, when her penance is done, when the Goddess decides, she will wake up back home again in the morning and she will have a story to tell.
And unlike in this world, she will be believed.
Maybe she’ll make a movie out of it.
So they won’t be missing her at all. And they won’t ever have to know she’s gone.
I will see you again.