Hoods and Bots: Part Ten by Irena Szirtes

credit: Canva/Irena Szirtes

    Our hostess welcomed us with hot coffee and friendly smiles. She lived in an aged terrace in Ann Street, not far from the reconstructed railway station, and a hill where locals believed Catherine Parr’s castle once stood. By the time we settled, it was early evening.  Victor and Roland decided to check out the town's drinking places, while I poured my life story out to Carla. She was the sort of person who drew it all from you without really trying. Soon I was in tears over Frank, something I’d declared would never happen again. Carla listened, then put a hand over mine.

“I know it feels impossible,” she said, “but believe me, these things have a way of working out. I’ve been through a messy divorce myself, so I know how bad it can feel. You’ll grow through it, and there’ll come a day you’ll see the best of your life is ahead of you, not behind.” 

“That’s almost what my mum told me,” I replied, wiping my eyes.

“You see? Mums know best.” 

    She showed me pictures of her son and daughter, who looked about my age, maybe a little older. Bubonic plague had almost taken her son, but it was losing intensity by the time it reached Cumbria, and vaccines and treatments, first researched after Covid in the 2020s, had become available. Carla lost an elderly Aunt, but her son had survived. Both her children were Hood, her daughter an innovative dog trainer at an underground base near Lancaster.

    It turned out Carla was a mobile hairdresser, and after a couple of glasses of wine, we decided a funky new haircut would be just the thing to combat any divorce-in-progress blues. We giggled our way through every snip, watching swathes of my once long hair drift into piles all around us. “Enough to stuff a cushion to smother Benson Parry with, ” Carla said, and we laughed all the more at such treasonable talk.

“But, being serious, if your mission works out, which I’m sure it will , you’ll be up this way again. Why don’t you re-activate this identity and stay with me? We'd have to run it past leadership, but I reckon they’ll agree if we present it with a bit of cunning.” 

She paused, looked at her handiwork in the mirror, and smiled.  “What do you think?” 

“Of my hair, or the plan?”

“Both!” 

“Love my hair, it’s brilliant! Just what I needed. The plan, well...”

“My doctor’s Hood, she’ll help. Strangely enough, she’s of Polish descent  like you  – Gosia Małych, Gosia Małych Sedgwick now. How about I ask her to record my condition as very delicate - well, that’s no exaggeration, really. Perhaps  she’d mention visits from ‘relatives’ should be allowed for the foreseeable future, just in case – well, you know. You could be my favourite  ‘niece’ -  I could ask her to sign you an open travel pass.” 

“But what about the danger? Keeping this identity could be far more dangerous for you, than if I assume a new one every time.”

“Danger? Sure, but I’ve lived with it for years. Why stop now? I looked it full in the face when my children were born. You don’t have children, do you Mia?” 

I shook my head.

“Well, when you find a partner, you think you know all there is to know about love, yes? But when the children come, you know you know – I mean, you know beyond doubt you’d die for them, without a second thought - yes, even kill for them -  I  tell you, it’s powerful. Back then, I seriously considered forgetting Resistance and towing the line. Wasn’t my duty, first and foremost, to protect my own children?  But conforming is no guarantee of safety, as we see again and again – not with a dictator as paranoid  as Benson Parry. And how could I deny my kids integrity, a sense of right and wrong? How could I look my children in the face, if they watched me walk with evil? Danger is always with us – better to court it with what’s  right, than with what’s wrong.”

“When you put it like that  - I mean, you could have chosen  to live as an ordinary citizen and keep your head down -  you’re one brave lady, Carla.”

Laughter danced in her eyes. “Agreed! Having kids is the bravest thing you’ll ever do! You never lose the conviction you’d die for them, but hell, they test you to the limit and back!”

We laughed before I said, “Well, it sounds like they turned out alright!”

“You haven’t met them yet!” 

We laughed again, and I knew Carla was happy with herself, and happy with her children. I found that compelling, with divorce pending, and feeling I wasn’t enough in so very many ways.

“Sometimes, Carla, I wish I was like you, first generation Hood. I’ve this awesome  heritage to live up to, past and present -  even my cousin Sophie has some amazing  undercover role, though I’m not sure what.  I just don’t feel – well, maybe I’m not what I ought to be, not like any of them.”

“I hope you’re not like any of them! I hope you’re like just one -  yourself. I used to be like you, worried I couldn’t please anyone. But then I got older and well – learned to embrace my own special brand of weirdness!  Look at you  –  hand-picked for this mission because, unlike anyone else on your base, you’re the one who’s researched livestock farming.”

“So you think my contribution, courier, general odd-jobber and livestock freak, is ok?”

“Of course it is, and don’t let anyone – especially those men -  tell you otherwise. That Victor’s a bit full of himself, isn’t he?” 

    We spent the rest of the evening sipping hot chocolate. It was laced with the bracing homemade alcohol Carla’s doctor had banned, and we drank a little too much while sharing extracts from comic holo-novels. We laughed ourselves silly.  I’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh until I cried.   We tried not to catch each other’s eye when the men returned stone faced and sober, because the merest look tipped us into laughter all over again.  The connection between us felt all the more delicious, because Victor and Roland sensed we shared a girl thing, in which they had no part.