‘I have to go, but I’ll come back.’
‘Cosima.’
She stares at him. She has never told him her real name.
‘I know who you are,’ River says, trying to sit up in bed. She tries to help, moving the pillows to prop him up. ‘I know who your father is.’
She stops fussing with the pillows. What? She has been so careful to cover her traces, to ensure that no one in their group discovers her Dad’s identity. In their eyes, he’s enemy number one: the Energy Secretary who is doing nothing to halt the advance of planetary extinction. For River, Meadow, Broccoli and the others, Ben Fitzmaurice and his entire family are the embodiment of elitist privilege. They’re the wealthy pillagers who don’t give a fuck about anyone else. She has understood, from the beginning, that to reveal herself would not only be foolish but dangerous. And yet, here River is, telling her he has known all along.
‘I’m Pineapple,’ she says, her voice shaky.
‘Yes. And you’re also Cosima Fitzmaurice. The eldest child of our energy secretary, the Right Honourable Ben Fitzmaurice, now the favourite to be our next prime minister.’
She goes to pick up her backpack but he grabs her by the wrist with his one working hand.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone, but—’
‘But what? You’re going to blackmail me? You’re going to make me pay? I knew you hated me. You’re just a fucking narcissistic manipulator who—’
The old lady in the next bed tuts in disapproval.
‘I don’t hate you,’ River says. ‘I like you a lot. Really like you. I seemyself in you because …’ His eyes dart around the ward, almost as if he’s trying not to be overheard. His voice drops. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’
She sits back in the chair.
‘You’re going to find out some stuff about me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are going to be stories in the press, and I want you to know two things. Firstly, what I felt for you all was – and is – real. I loved you all, in my way. I believed in what we were doing. But …’
He lets go of her wrist and leans back into the pillows, looking suddenly exhausted.
‘… not the way we were doing it.’
‘Are you telling me …?’
‘Shh. I need you to know something else. It’s about your aunt.’
‘My aunt?’ she repeats, stupidly. ‘Fliss?’
River nods rapidly. There is an urgency to his movements now.
‘The way she died,’ he says. ‘There’s more to it than they’re saying.’
‘I don’t understand, how could—?’
‘I’ve seen the files.’
‘What files?’
‘Police files. It’ll make more sense when you find out.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know. You will. I have bosses. People I report to. They’re not particularly happy with me. They knew all about your family connections. The rest of it just took a bit of digging on my part.’
He starts coughing, as if the effort of speaking has winded him. A nurse appears at the foot of the bed with a jug of water and fills the plastic beaker on the wheeled tray next to him.
