‘The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher | mean, how would you? How would you imag- ine that? And kneeling, kneeling on the glass. For the frst day or so he was not coherent. But nobody was intesested in his state of minds not in the way they would have been, if he had been in custody for killing his wife in some more obvious ‘way. A doctor explained it to him, when they thought he was ready. Long QT syndrome. A Genetic, probably. the population at large. If we spot it easly, we doctors can do all sorts of stuff , beta blockers, Bur there's not much anyone can do, ifthe A shock will do or strong emotion, strong emotion of any sort. It can be horror. Or disgust. But, then again, it doesn’t have to be. Somerimes, he said, people die laughing. Winter BreakBy the time they arrived at their destination, they could no longer recognise ther own name. The taxi diver stabbed the air with his placard while they stood gawping up and down the line, until Phil pointed and said, That'sus’Litle peaks had grown over the “T's in their surname, and the dot on the ‘i? had drifted away like an island. She rubbed her cheek, numbed by the draught from the air vent above her seat: the ret of her feltcreased and gri and while PI towards the man, waving, she picked the cloth of her tee-shirt away from the small of her back, and shuffle for the weather we want, though we've seen the forecast nproprictorial hand on xy le was a squat man with the regulation mouetac svas late and it was already dark. He flung open a reat door for her and humped their bags into the back of his estate car. ‘Long way,’ was ll he said leathery creak. When he slammed his door the whole vehicle shuddered. The front headrests had ‘been wrenched off, so when he swivelled his to reverse he threw his arm ac {lash ofthe car park’ back, darling, Phil told her. ‘Seatbelt on. Away we go.” How suited he would have been to fatherhood. ‘Whoopsey-daisy. There, there. No harm done. But Phil chought otherwise. Always had, preferred to be able to take a winter break during the school term, when hotel rates were lower. For ” Winter Break ‘years now he had passed her newspapers, folded to getaway with hand-me-downs Half-portions. It doesn’t work lke that” “But our child wouldn't have a drug addiction, she'd say. Not on that scale. It wouldn't be bright igh for Eton, It could go down the road to le Comp. Although, I hear they have head “And you wouldn't want deal with that, would you?’ he said: a man laying down his ace. ‘They inched through the town, the pavements the cheap bars lashing their signs, and Phi ‘we made the tight decision.” A journey of an hour lay ahead, and they speeded up through the spravling outskirts; the road began to climb. When she was sure that the driver did not want conversation she cased If back in her seat. There were two types of ci man: the garrulous ones with a niece in Dagenham, who wanted to talk right the way out 8The Asasination of Margaret Thatcher to the far coast and the national park; and the ones you where their niece ‘were under torture. She made one rematks: how had the weather been? ‘Rain ‘Now I smoke,’ the man said, He thrust a cigarette rom the packet into his mout lighter and at one point taking his hands from the heel entirely. He drove very fs swerve in the road as a personal ins any hold-up. She could fee Phi rs edged past them, creeping down to the lights of the town. ‘Then the trafic thinned and pet road narrowed, black and silent hi bbehind them. Phil began co tll her about the flora and fauna of the high maquis. She had toimagine the fragrance of herbs erushed ‘underfoot. The car windows were scaled agains the still, cool night, and she turned her head ately away from her husband and misted the glass ‘with her breath. The fauna was mostly goats. They % Winter Break tumbled down the them, and leapt running a their heels, They were patched and, teamed furtive i seatbelt, which was sawing closed her eyes. ‘At Heathrow Phil had been a pain inthe security queue. When the young man in front of them bent 0 ‘The hiker glanced up from the tail of his eye. ‘Sorry, mate.” “One day you'll get your head punched in’ she said “We'll see, sade singing i, lke child in a playground game. ”‘The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher ‘Once, a year or two into their marriage, he had confessed to her that he found the presence of smal “On the contrary’ she said. “They point. They shout, “Juice."” He nodded miserably. ‘A li jcnow. She had when genetic strings got knotted and chromosomes went whiz~ zing around and re-attaching themselves. “Trisomies, he said. ‘Syndromes. Metabolic defi- ciencies, I woulda’t put you through that” She sighed. Rubbed hher bare arms. forward. Cleared his throat, spoke to the driver, “My wife is chilly” “Wear the cardigan,’ said the driver. He sloted another cigarette into his mouth. The road now ascended ina series of violent bends, and at each of n Winter Break shed che wheel, throwing the ext “Nonsense. There's no flesh on you.” ‘There was a cloudy half-moon, slong scoop of len land to their right, a bristling treline above sm, and as he cupped her elbow, caressing there was once more a skid shower before them. P ‘me two minutes to unpack.’ He was beginning to ‘explain to her his system for travel the driver grunted, wrenched the wheel them lurching to. jarring her wrist on the seat impact but seen nothing. The driver swung open ”‘The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher his door and ducked out into the night. “Kid,” whispered, Gone under? The driver was pulling something nt wheels. He was bent double in the air, with car they sat very still a if nt to draw attention to the incident. They did not look at each other, but watched asthe driver straightened up, rubbed the walked around and lifted the thing dark, wrappimg, 2 their shoulder blades, and frac +. Phil took her hand. She not petulant, but because she fel concentrate. The driver appeared in silhouette before them, lt by their own headlights. He turned his head and glanced up and down the empty road. hand, a rock, He stooped. . She wanted to cry wud. The man straightened up. hisarms. Tomorrows dinnes, she thought. Seethed in onion and tomato sauce. © Winter Break know why the word ‘seethed’ came to femembered a sign down inthe town: The Sophocles School of Motoring, ‘Call no man happy “he driver posted the bundle into the back of the cas, by their luggage. The tailgate slammed. Recycling, she thought. P laudable. If he spoke. But not to. She understood that they would them, mention She cradle ist. G of anxiety. A washing, M you don’s get vets patrolling the mountains by night. Something rose into her throat, that she wanted to articulate; tickled her hard palate, fell “Welcome to the Royal Athena sd from a marble interior, and neat 8The Ausasination of Margaret Thacher athand some cold broken columns were sp sifting from blue to green and back again ‘That will be the ‘archacologicl feature’ as prom- ised, she thought. Another time she would have ined atthe exuberant vulgarity. But the clammy the incident .. she inched out of the car and ened wp, unsmiling, her hand resting on the ing helpful, was behind him. He reached bags with both hands, The driver moved s blocking him, and co her own amazement she jumped forward, No!” and so did Phil ‘belive in-"he suid Bur the phrs cluded him. ‘Not much scuff’ he said. ‘The porter shrugged. Stepped back. She rehearsed it in her mind, as if celling it to a friend, much ater: you se, we were made complicit. But the taxi driver didn’t do anything wrong, of course, Just something efficient. 2 Winter Break ‘And her imaginary friend agreed: tively you would feel, you would feel there was something to hide. ready for a drink,’ Phil said. He was yearn- ing for the scene beyond the plate glass: brandy sours, clanking ice cubes in the shape of fish, cick ing high heels on terracotta tiles, wrought-iron scrollwork, hotel linea, sof pillow. Call no man happy: Call no man happy until he has gone down to his grave in peace. Or at is junior suite; and can rub out today and wake tomorrow hungry. ‘The taxi driver leaned into the ear to scoop out the second bag. As he did, he nudged aside the tar- paulin, and what she glimpsed ~ and in the same moment, refused to see ~ was not a cloven hoof, but the grubby hand of a human child.