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“Your what?” Louisa asked.
“My Dad,” River said, downing the other drink on the table. “I’ll explain later, promise, but I have to find my grandfather. Flyte said he wasn’t at Catherine’s.”
“No, he’s not there anymore,” Louisa explained and then followed up quickly when his face dropped. “He’s at Slough House.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” River said, standing abruptly. “Let’s go.”
He needed to see David. He needed to see the closest thing he had to a real father, the man who raised him, the man who loved him. His wrist ached from the handcuff, and his arm was stiff and his head throbbed but he needed Grandad.
Grandad was all that mattered at the moment.
“I’ll call and tell them we’re on our way back,” Louisa said as they left the train station and searched for a cab.
It was still chaos in the area. He supposed that’s what happened when a grenade went off in London. He didn’t stop to think about how it had been in his hood, sitting against the top of his spine–by his head. He didn’t stop to think how Louisa had put her hand into that same hood and pulled the grenade from it even though it could have killed her.
River would think about that later. He would dream about it. He would sob thanks into Louisa’s chest. But that would come later. Right now, he needed to see his grandfather.
They were walking towards Slough House, still trying to find a cab, while Louisa tried to reach someone on the phone. Marcus hadn’t answered, and neither had Shirley. Louisa tried Lamb next, her face turning pale when he answered.
“No. No. No,” Louisa said, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide.
River took off running.
He made it four blocks before Louisa caught up with him.
“River, stop!” she said, simultaneously panting and hailing a cab. “It’s three miles back to Slough House. You can’t run the whole way.”
He would have if he needed to, but a cab arrived at the same time. Louisa shoved him into the backseat as she spoke with the driver. Every red light felt like the universe was punishing River. He lept from the cab before it pulled to a complete stop, taking the creaking stairs two at a time to the Slough House door and then up to Lamb’s office.
“Grandad? Grandad?” he yelled.
Catherine appeared at the top of the stairs, “River!”
River rushed past her, barely taking the time to notice the dead body of the man who had taken him earlier slumped against the radiator. David sat at Lamb’s desk, his head in his hands, but his face lifted at River’s voice.
“Grandad! Grandad, it’s me, it’s River,” he yelled, rushing towards his grandfather.
“River? River! My boy, it’s really you. Are you alright?”
He dropped to his knees, throwing himself onto his grandfather. David held onto him like a lifeline, and River returned the hug with the same urgency.
It had been a hell of a twenty-four hours since he left his grandfather at Catherine’s. In his darkest moments, he was unsure he would make it home to him–that David would be left alone to mourn a grandchild he had forgotten. Maybe dementia would have been a blessing in that case. Surely, not remembering a loss was better than grieving one.
David cried onto River’s shoulder, and he whispered to him, “It’s okay, Grandad. It’s okay. It’s over.”
But it wasn’t over, River knew. A new chapter was beginning, one the last day told him he could no longer delay or avoid. One that was going to hurt both of them.
“My boy, you're alright. You're alright,” David whispered over and over into his ear.
River wondered if it was for his benefit or David’s. He didn't think it eased either of them.
Once David and River eventually and reluctantly let go of each other, Louisa removed the handcuff from his wrist and she and Catherine fussed at the raw, ripped skin. It stung like crazy and was sore if he moved it too quickly, or at all really but he promised he would have it seen to.
Louisa drove them to his car, the nervous energy and tension almost suffocating in the small confines of the car. River felt terrible leaving her after everything that had happened in the last day after she had saved his life, but he had to get David home, and she understood. At least he hoped she understood. He wasn’t only trying to weasel out of her wrath at him for running off to play the hero, though he didn’t look forward to that conversation. He owed her an explanation and would give her one, just not right now.
David dosed during the ride to Tunbridge Wells, waking with a gasp more than once that startled and worried River in equal measure.
“Are you alright, Grandad?” River asked as they were closer to the house.
River tried to use the title as often as possible to remind the O.B. of his status and their relationship. It felt awkward but necessary.
“Yes, just tired,” David answered but River didn’t miss the way he gripped his cane tighter.
Questions danced around River’s head the entire ride. How much had Frank Harkness told the truth? How much did David truly know about the situation? Now wasn’t the time for questions, and River mourned the thought that time might never come. He wasn’t sure he could truly trust the O.B.’s answers, both because of his deteriorating mental condition and the lies of omission that clouded River’s life.
As River settled David into bed, memories of all the times David had done the same danced through his mind. He kissed his grandfather on the head and gently closed the door behind him, sliding to the ground in the hallway and dropping his head to his hands.
His body shook with silent sobs, the last day finally shattering the composure he had held onto with clawed hands. River was unsure how long he sat in the hallway as everything he knew about himself and his existence crumpled like a sandcastle under a wave. It pulled him under, threatening to drown him in grief.
River reached a trembling hand into his pocket, intent on calling Louisa, only to realise he didn’t have a phone. It was probably somewhere in an evidence locker at the Park after he planted it on Bertrand–after he planted it on his brother’s dead body. No, not stopping to think about that. Not if he wanted to get off the floor anytime soon.
Of course, the house had a landline, but he had no idea what people’s phone numbers were beyond the house's landline.
Once he was finally able to push himself to stand on wobbly legs, River went to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. He hadn’t slept; he should have been exhausted, and he should have been asleep on his feet, but he couldn’t imagine sleeping in the moment. River checked the fridge and the pantry, making a list of groceries as he went. He walked through the house as the kettle heated, checking all the locks on the doors and windows.
Patrice, the man who had killed two dogs and an innocent bystander before throwing River in a trunk was dead. Frank was in custody. They were safe.
So why didn’t it feel that way?
River reluctantly left David in the morning to go to the store and purchase a phone. As soon as the phone was activated, he called the landline at the house, waiting anxiously with each ring before his grandfather answered.
“Yes, River, I haven’t murdered anyone since you’ve been gone.”
It was good to know the O.B.’s sense of humour was still intact.
He texted Catherine next, though he realised afterwards that she might not have a phone either. Not with it likely in a similar evidence locker to his now that Frank–his father, he thought with a shudder–was in MI5 custody.
River: Thank you for everything.
He owed her a new phone. A new mobile and flowers. Or dinner. Or a new car. He owed her something he could never actually give her. For now, thank you seemed like as good a place as any to start.
He texted Louisa next.
River: Got a new phone. Still with Grandad. Talk soon?
Louisa hearted the message and responded immediately.
Louisa: Let me know if you need anything.
What he needed, River didn’t know.
That wasn’t entirely true. He needed a fucking time machine and a cure for dementia, but without those, he was at a loss for what could possibly help him.
River thought about calling his mother. Louisa briefly mentioned she had spoken to her, but they hadn’t gotten a chance to discuss what Isobel had actually said. River wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His mother could be a bit difficult, and River felt a surge of anger towards his mother. It should be her responsibility to care for her father, not River. Wasn’t that how it went? But, no, David had raised River, too.
David may have raised River more than he raised Isobel. He was still working when River’s mother was growing up, spending months in Berlin or other European stations. River always loved the story of the snowball fight with David’s KGB counterpart, but he never stopped to think it meant the O.B. was missing a Christmas at home with his daughter and wife. And now, River had an even better idea of what led to the estrangement of father and daughter.
River.
Or River’s father, at least.
River was merely a pawn in the 3D chess game David, Isobel and Frank had played. The winner got River Cartwright. Or maybe the loser; he wasn’t sure sometimes. River called his grandfather again from the grocery store, pretending to have misplaced the list. He simply needed to hear David’s voice again.
If David saw through the ruse, he didn’t comment.
It was Catherine who suggested Sunny Times Homes.
Here’s something you may want to consider. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything else I can help with.
The e-mail accompanying the link was so normal and practical it made River want to cry. Catherine’s practicality knew no bounds, and she had a front-row seat to the deterioration of David Cartwright. River hadn’t known a place like Sunny Times Homes existed. It made sense the more he thought about it. You couldn’t have ex-Service members chatting away about potentially classified information to anyone offering a friendly smile and a cuppa.
The pictures online looked lovely.
David would hate it.
River hated it.
But if River had had any other option, he would have taken it.
He set up a tour for the following day.
If David had suspicions of where River was going, he didn’t say, but River knew his grandfather well enough to know he was concerned when River left with an excuse of needing to pick up some clothes at his flat. Once a spy, always a spy.
Louisa met him at Sunny Times Homes. He hadn’t asked her to, and she hadn’t asked if he wanted her to—she only asked what time his appointment was and told him she would meet him there.
“Where do they come up with names like Sunny Times Homes?” she asked as they exited their cars.
“I guess it’s better than Rainy Day Suites.”
She hit his arm lightly, then let it linger to give it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks for coming,” he said as they walked through the door, and he took an exaggerated breath.
“You’re doing the right thing, you know.”
“I know. Doesn’t feel like it, though.”
“I know.”
River appreciated Louisa and didn’t try to tell him why it was right or that doing the right thing wasn’t easy.
Sunny Times Homes was exactly what he expected.
David would hate it.
River hated it.
River filled out the intake forms before he could change his mind.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Louisa repeated as they stood by their cars.
“I know.”
Maybe if he said it enough one day he would believe it.
David was napping in his chair by the fire when River snuck into the bedroom to pack some of his clothes. He found Grandad’s slippers beneath the bed, covered in mud. River made a mental note to pick up another pair when he went to drop the clothes off later that day.
Louisa was coming to stay with David.
River still hadn’t thought of what his excuse would be. Lamb called him back to the office? He was needed to debrief at the Park? Lamb had run interference on any interviews and claimed to have done his debrief but they both knew even Jackson Lamb couldn't hold the Park off forever if Lady Di wanted to speak to him.
Catherine had called him. Just not asking him to come to the office.
Catherine had offered to stay with David, but once she also relayed that Frank Harkness was free in the world, River preferred someone with a gun.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” David said when Louisa arrived, though he didn’t object further.
River found them in the living room. River’s childhood photos spread out, and Louisa grinned when she saw him. It was a beautiful image.
And it sliced through River like a rusty knife.
Louisa was the closest thing River had to a best friend, the closest thing he had to one since Spider, which was a depressing thought in its own right. But now, watching her with David–the closest thing he had to a father, River felt an immense sadness for what was and what would never be. The pair meeting should have been a happy occasion, but it only reminded River that it was nothing more than illusion.
There would be no more dinners at Grandad’s with Louisa.
There wouldn’t be a lot of things in their future.
River pulled the postcards out later that night.
He still hadn’t spoken to his mother, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. River finally worked the nerve up to call her on the way back from dropping some of David’s clothes at the residential home.
She didn’t answer.
He rambled through a message on her voicemail. He wouldn't have been able to remember if someone asked later what he had said on it. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure her mother would listen to it.
He didn’t expect Isobel to call back.
River tried to picture his mother at Les Arbres; standing barefoot in the nursery as she painted that mural. Did she envision raising him there? Had she known precisely what Frank was planning? He shuddered, thinking of what his life would have been like if David hadn’t made the deal he had.
There was blood on his grandfather’s hands, but because of that, it wasn’t on River’s.
He thought of Bertrand, of Yves, of Patrice. How many others were there? What had their lives been like? Child soldiers, yes, but what did that mean in the day-to-day? Would River have even survived? Would Frank have sent him instead of Bertrand to murder his grandfather?
Would River been able to?
Would River have been able to murder Marcus?
He pushed that thought aside as quickly as it rose within him because otherwise the guilt would have suffocated him. River’s brother had murdered his friend. How was he supposed to face Marcus’ family at the funeral next week? How was he supposed to look Shirley in the eye?
River dug deeper through the box in his lap, sorting through the photos. Him on David’s shoulders and together with him in the garden. At the beach in Brighton with Rose and another on his graduation from secondary school with both of them.
He traced their faces. He suddenly missed his Nan in a way that made him physically ache as if someone had slid a knife between his ribs. She would know what to do about David. She would be able to fight through the fog that descended onto his brain. She would make everything okay.
But she couldn’t make everything okay. Rose had passed almost eight years ago now. A stroke that was so sudden River hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. And David was still here, but River was losing him more day by day. It was all suddenly so unfair.
He dropped the box to the floor and stood abruptly. He reached for the closest thing he could: the guitar at the foot of the bed. His hands gripped the neck, and River swung it like a bat onto the wall, it shattering with a crunch.
River swung again.
And again.
And again.
It shattered against the wall, pieces of broken wood and string flying everywhere until it was smashed and barely hanging by strings. But the guitar wasn’t the only thing being held together by strings; River seemed to be too, his suddenly cut as he collapsed to the floor, his body trembling with sobs.
River shattered on the floor of his childhood bedroom, and he wasn’t sure what could put him back together again.
He cried himself to sleep that night, curled in the foetal position the same way he had his first night in the same house twenty years earlier.
The twenty-minute drive to Sunny Times Homes felt shorter than the twenty minutes it was. The other two times he had made the drive, it felt like an eternity, but today, the final moments he would have with his grandfather before he betrayed him passed in an instant.
David hadn’t taken the news well, and at one point, River worried he would refuse to leave the house, but David had been a resigned shell the last few days.
River almost wanted him to fight against it, to show some of that same David Cartwright fire his grandfather had always possessed. River was wrong, of course, when Grandad fought against the idea once they were in his new room, and the kind nurse dropped off towels and explained meal times as if River’s entire world wasn’t ending.
He fled the room. Later, he would wonder if he should have stayed longer, but the case worker River worked with insisted that it was better for the residents not to prolong the inevitable. Like pulling off a bandaid.
Or completing an execution.
River held back tears as he willed himself not to break out into a sprint from the room. He debated not answering when he saw the name Jackson Lamb on the caller ID, but only for half a second, welcoming the distraction even if it was a flatulent and irritable one.
Still, he sat in the car for ten minutes before he dared to turn it on as if leaving the grounds made it more real than leaving the building.
Had River done the right thing? Was there another way? In the recesses of his soul, he knew there wasn’t. If there were another way, he would have taken it.
His grandfather had saved his life when he made that deal with Frank Harkness. He sacrificed his ideals, his morals, his ambition to be First Desk to save his daughter. So he could save River. Many would say David’s hands were covered in blood. But those same hands held River as he cried. Those same hands taught him to garden. Those same hands fed him when he was sick.
Those hands saved him.
And that was something River could never repay.
Leaving David today felt like a betrayal. Barbed wire wrapped around his heart and tightened with each breath he took as his brain still searched for another solution.
There was none.
This was how he took care of his grandfather now. He dirtied his hands to keep David safe. Grandad might never forgive him for the betrayal, just as Isobel never forgave her father. That was something River would have to live with the same way the O.B. lived with his choice.
His phone rang again as he pulled onto the motorway.
Mother flashed across the caller ID.
River didn’t answer.