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of bush. They wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for the blacks. But it’s the blacks’ land. There’s real trouble starting
among the Kikuyu. Blood’s going to get spilt. Some of these builders of this proposed new East African Dominion are going to wish they’d never left home.’ He gave one of his angry
barks of laughter.
    David hesitated, then spoke quietly. ‘Some of the Dominion governments are getting very concerned about what our new government’s doing. The Canadians and New Zealanders are talking
about leaving the Empire. They’re very worried in the Office.’ David was being indiscreet, to a degree he would not have been even a year before. He went on to talk about protests from
New Zealand about the latest British trade union bans. When David finished Geoff sat looking at him in silence, then whispered, ‘There’s a friend of mine you might like to
meet.’
    David felt a stab of anxiety as he realized he had been saying too much. ‘I think you’d find views in common,’ Geoff continued. ‘In fact I’m sure you
would.’
    David looked back at him. Immediately he wondered if Geoff meant someone in the Resistance. With Geoff’s angry restlessness, he recognized he might. ‘I don’t know,’ he
said. He thought of Sarah, at home, grieving for their dead son.
    Geoff gave a tight little smile, waved an arm. ‘I’m not talking about committing to anything. Just talking to someone who – sees things the way we do. It helps to realize
you’re not alone.’
    Part of David wanted to say no, change the subject to sport or the weather, end the conversation. But then an angry impatience came over him, chasing away the fear.
    Geoff introduced him to Jackson a week later. It was high summer, the sun hot in a cloudless sky. David met Geoff at Hampstead Heath Station and they walked to the top of
Parliament Hill. Courting couples strolled along hand in hand, the women in bright, white-skirted summer dresses, the men in open-necked shirts and light jackets. There were families too; children
were flying kites, bright colours against the blue sky.
    David had been expecting Geoff’s friend to be someone their age, but the man sitting on a bench was in his fifties, with iron-grey hair. He got up at their approach; he was tall and bulky
but moved quickly. Geoff introduced him as Mr Jackson and he shook David’s hand with a firm grip. He had big, solid features and keen light-blue eyes. He gave David a broad smile.
    ‘Mr Fitzgerald.’ He spoke in a voice that Sarah’s mother would have called la-di-da. ‘Delighted to meet you.’ His manner had the easy public-school confidence, what
they called effortless superiority, that always made David, the grammar-school boy, feel slightly defensive.
    ‘Let’s take a turn,’ Jackson said cheerfully.
    They walked towards Highgate Ponds. A group of teenage boys in Scout uniform were putting on a gymnastic display; three stood in a row, two more balanced on their shoulders, a sixth climbing
slowly to form the pinnacle. Several people were watching. A scoutmaster gave instructions in a quiet voice. ‘Slowly now, distribute your weight carefully, that’s the key.’
    Jackson stopped to watch. ‘Goodness me,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember when Scouts used to help old ladies across the road. It’s all gymnastics and military exercises now.
Of course they’re afraid of a forced merger with the League of Fascist Youth.’
    ‘People wouldn’t stand for that,’ David said. ‘They’d take their sons out.’
    Jackson laughed softly. ‘Who knows what some people will stand for, these days?’ He turned away, striking out across the heath, Geoff and David following. Jackson, slowing down,
spoke quietly to David. ‘Geoff tells me you’re unhappy with the way the poor old country’s going.’
    ‘Yes, I am.’ David hesitated, then thought,
to hell with it
. ‘They’ve got away with rigging the election. More and more people are getting arrested