Friendless Lane Read online

  ‘At least go to the door,’ Lilly told her.

  Kelsey crossed reception until she was standing right in front of Jack, wobbling in her six-inch heels, chest thrust out at him.

  He coughed. ‘I’ll be off.’

  ‘Yeah, you do that, Mr Plod.’ Kelsey laughed and waved him off, her fag clamped between her teeth. ‘You two an item!’

  ‘We’re not an item,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Right,’ said Kelsey and blew her smoke into a gust of wind that carried it directly into the office.

  ‘Getting back to Gem,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Like I say, we been working out of the same place,’ said Kelsey. ‘Doing all right as it goes. Clean place, good pay, could be worse.’ She flicked her ash on to Lilly’s doormat. ‘But a few weeks ago, these Paki boys been coming in.’

  Lilly cringed at the casual racism, but said nothing.

  ‘I told Gem they were dodgy as fuck,’ said Kelsey. ‘You get a sense for the wrong ’uns. Mum always told me that.’

  ‘And now she’s disappeared?’

  Kelsey finished her fag and flicked the dog-end into the street. It landed on the pavement still glowing orange. A man who was walking past glared at her over a pair of rimless half-moon glasses. Kelsey stared right back, until he scurried away.

  ‘She ain’t been into work and she ain’t answering her phone. I even been round hers this morning.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I can do,’ said Lilly. ‘The last address I had for her was the placement in Welwyn.’

  ‘Can’t you ring social services?’ asked Kelsey. ‘Or ask lover boy if he knows anything?’

  Lilly rolled her eyes.

  ‘Don’t tell me the filth don’t have all sorts of information on a computer,’ said Kelsey.

  ‘Yeah, but members of the public can’t access it,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Just ask him while you’ve got your finger up his arse,’ said Kelsey. ‘Usually does the trick.’

  Lilly opened her mouth to explain yet again that she and Jack weren’t together, but Kelsey was already halfway down the steps.

  ‘If she’s back in care or gone off with some boy, that’s fine,’ Kelsey called over her shoulder. ‘If she’s in jail, that’s her lookout. I just want to know she ain’t lying in a ditch somewhere.’

  Lilly followed her outside. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to find out anything,’ she called.

  ‘Thanks for this, Lilly.’ Kelsey crossed the road. ‘You’re a diamond.’

  [#]

  Lilly trotted down to the room where she did her casework. She didn’t allow clients on this floor. She told herself she liked the separation of church and state, but she knew that wasn’t the real reason. Frankly it was the mess; it was enough to put off even her homeless customers.

  Underneath piles of papers, files, computer disks and books was a desk. Last seen circa 2012. On the far edge was a small cactus in a pot. The label called it a Night-Blooming Cereus. Of course there had never been a single petal at any time of the day. It stuck resolutely to what it knew best: spikes. You had to admire that kind of single-mindedness, didn’t you?

  She pressed the dusty soil with her thumb and looked around for a bottle of water. All she could find was a half-finished can of Diet Coke. It would have to do.

  Plant revived, Lilly scouted around for Gem’s old file. There might be a number for a social worker in there. It wasn’t really her place to try to locate the girl. After the charges of assault were dropped and Lilly had sent a letter to the head of Children’s Services begging that Gem be placed with the baby brother she’d cared for virtually single-handedly, her involvement was over. Case closed.

  Yet something about Kelsey’s persistence urged her on. And a couple of calls couldn’t hurt. With any luck Gem was tucked up in a shiny new foster placement and they could both have their minds put at rest.

  She found the number and dialled.

  ‘Gregor Stone.’ The American accent was a jolt. ‘Children’s Services.’

  ‘Oh hi … this is Lilly Valentine. You won’t remember me but I wrote to you about my client Gemma Glass …’ she flicked through the file, ‘a few months ago now.’

  ‘But I do remember, Miss Valentine.’ The warm tones of the Deep South flowed like honey barbecue sauce. ‘I was darn impressed that you convinced the police not to proceed against Gemma. You must be one hell of a negotiator.’

  Lilly smiled. In her job it was rare to receive recognition. Far more usual to have a copper ignoring you, a judge growling at you and a client asking to borrow a fiver ‘for bus fare’.

  ‘So what may I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘I wondered if you had any up-to-date information on Gemma,’ said Lilly. ‘The placement in Welwyn broke down pretty quickly, I understand.’

  ‘Sadly, that’s often the case. For these young people it’s very hard to make the transition from chaos to somewhere more stable,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Lilly. ‘It wasn’t a criticism.’

  He made a noise in his throat that sounded like ‘ha’ but wasn’t a laugh. Then she heard the sound of fingers tapping a keyboard.

  ‘There was a second placement in Enfield,’ he said.

  ‘Bit far.’

  ‘Beggars can’t afford to be choosers, Miss Valentine. We simply don’t have enough foster carers to keep all our children in the borough.’

  Lilly sighed. She knew there was a chronic shortage of foster families, especially for teenagers, but Enfield! A kid like Gem wouldn’t have been any further than Luton town centre. Enfield might as well have been the moon.

  ‘When that placement broke down, we tried a new couple in St Albans,’ said Stone. ‘They didn’t have any experience but at least they lived close to Gemma’s birth family.’

  ‘How long did that last?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘Gemma didn’t stay the night.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘After that we had to be pragmatic and accept that wherever we put her, she was simply going to vote with her feet. Far from ideal, but we didn’t see any point in trying again just for her to leave an hour later.’

  Lilly let out a long breath. He was right. But by God, it seemed so horribly defeatist.

  ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘Gemma’s not actually at home.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘When did a social worker last visit?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure of the exact date,’ Stone replied.

  Lilly rolled her eyes. The man was accessing Gem’s file on screen as they spoke. No doubt no one had been to see her in weeks.

  ‘Well at some point since the date that you’re not exactly sure of and today, Gemma’s gone missing,’ she said.

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Yup. Not at home. Not at work. Not answering her phone.’

  ‘Have you reported this to the police?’ Stone asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Lilly replied. ‘I was hoping you might have some good news.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Miss Valentine, in this job, good news is in very short supply.’

  [#]

  The two o’clock news came on the radio. Civil war, famine, barbarism. A man in a faraway land had been killed by a mob and eaten limb by limb. Not cooked in a stew and served up in bowls, but ripped raw from the bone by sharp white teeth. Mary Mother of God, thought Jack, could that possibly be right? He’d come across a lot of ugly stuff in his time, but cannibalism? Jeez. He listened closer, sure he’d got it wrong, but the programme had already moved on to the next story: a missing girl, a hysterical mother.

  He leaned across the steering wheel and pressed the off button with the pad of his thumb. Noise from outside suddenly smashed into the car. The BMW in front hooted angrily at a white van blocking the road, hazard lights winking defiantly. To the right a pneumatic drill pounded the pavement to shards and dust, ready for replacement with smooth fresh slabs. It seemed to Jack that Harpenden was endlessly being renovated. Each road and path being made anew on a co
nstant loop. The residents demanding that everything in their lives must be bigger, better, brighter and shinier, even down to the concrete that touched the soles of their hand-stitched shoes.

  While other towns quietly crumbled under the weight of the recession, Harpenden shone like the North Star, fuelled by the mega-watt money pouring in from the City.

  Lilly often described the place as ‘a bubble’; when she was feeling especially harsh it was ‘overprivileged’, and when she’d had one too many it became ‘toxic’. The woman was a class warrior to her bones. She’d opened an office here to pick up the lucrative divorce work, charging a hundred and fifty quid an hour to argue over the contents of the hoover bag. But her heart was over in Luton, with the kids in care and their legal aid cases.

  Jack headed away from the town centre and drove down the A5 towards the nick. He’d booked today off as annual leave but he just wanted to check a few things on his desk. As he pulled into the car park, his stomach growled. He’d intended to take Lilly out for lunch to cheer her up; the offer of food nearly always did the trick, but fuck a duck, Kelsey Brand had been in reception.

  Clearly on the game. Clearly on the pipe.

  He’d legged it out of there sharpish, and now he was starving.

  He let himself in through security and made straight for the station canteen. The lunchtime rush was over, but there were still a few stragglers hanging around, sipping coffee, going through their notebooks. Jack picked up a red plastic tray and pushed it along the metal rails in front of the hot food. Under a weak heat lamp sat the remnants of today’s ‘healthy option’. A few oily courgettes clung to the sides of the metal container, cheese sliding away from them as if it had lost the will to live.

  ‘Hello, darlin’.’

  Jack smiled. ‘Hello, Rose.’

  Rose had worked in the canteen forever, resplendent in curly blonde wig and sparkly make-up trowelled over her black face. She was at least seventy.

  ‘You want some o’ dat, Jack?’ Her accent was as strong today as the day she left Kingston.

  Jack crinkled his nose. ‘Are there no chips?’

  Rose threw back her head and laughed. A great huffing sound that would do Frank Bruno proud.

  ‘You want chips, you gotta be ’ere an hour ago. At least,’ she said. ‘Anyho’, I thought you was all about the healthy food. Salad and t’ing.’

  Jack looked down at the small roll of fat curling over his belt like a pouting lip. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been for a run.

  ‘Fallen by the wayside, Rose. Story of my life.’

  ‘If you ask me,’ Rose leaned across the congealing vegetables, ‘you look better for a bit o’ meat on dem bones.’ Then she let out another bark of laughter. ‘See now, you want I should make you a bacon sandwich?’

  ‘Would you?’

  Anyt’ing for you, Jack.’

  As Rose turned back to the kitchen, Jack caught sight of the gleaming brown skin at the back of her knees, just above where her pop socks ended.

  He took a seat at the far end of the canteen, picking up a discarded copy of the Mirror on his way. The table was tacky with coffee rings and blobs of ketchup and the back page stuck to the melamine surface. He tried to pull it free but heard the paper tear, leaving half of Luis Suarez attached to the plastic.

  He was picking it off with his thumbnail when Rose arrived with his butty.

  ‘Get it down you, Jack.’ She plonked the paper plate in front of him. ‘Just don’t be telling no one else about dis special service.’

  Jack made a zipping gesture across his mouth and Rose gave him the dirtiest wink he had ever seen.

  He made his way up to the unit, food held out in front of him like a wise man in a nativity play. It was all he could do not to shovel it down as he walked. Halfway there, he broke into a run. At his desk, he slid into his chair, put the plate down and smiled. Then he lifted the two slices of white bread to his lips and took an enormous bite. He was still chewing, a line of salty grease dripping down his chin, when one of the young lads from the post room dropped a letter in his in tray.

  Jack gave a vigorous nod of thanks and ignored the boy’s look of blatant disgust. Kids these days knew nothing about food. They could only recognize what they were eating by the photograph of it on the box or plastic container.

  He swallowed his mouthful and reached for the letter. It was unusual to get real mail these days. Another thing lost on the younger generation. Together with watches, record players and walking anywhere. He laughed at himself. Christ, he was getting old. A real Grumpy Old Man.

  Then, as he caught sight of the handwriting on the envelope, his smile slipped. A cold wave swept through like a February wind and he pushed his sandwich into the bin at his feet.

  [#]

  ‘And I’m like laughing so hard, I’m literally falling off my chair.’ Talisa leant over and patted the carpet, tapping a fag burn with her finger to show the exact place she almost landed. ‘He’s acting the big man, you know. Calling everyone “blud”.’

  ‘Blud?’ Kelsey asked.

  Talisa grinned and shook her head. ‘He’s bouncing around the place on his toes, I’m not even joking. And we’re all cracking up.’

  Laughing, Kelsey reached for the ashtray balanced on the arm of the sofa and fingered through the dog-ends. She found one with a few decent puffs left in it and sparked up.

  ‘It’s like he thinks he’s a bad boy, you get me,’ Talisa said. ‘A gansta.’

  Kelsey let out a bark that quickly turned into a cough. She banged on her chest with her fist, covering her top in ash.

  ‘I says, what you doin’, man? I known you from time.’ Talisa wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘You ain’t no rude boy. You been to college and everything.’

  Kelsey managed to get her breath back and swiped at her top. Fuck it, the ash was rubbing in.

  ‘And what’s he say?’

  ‘Oh man, this is the best bit,’ Talisa says. ‘He gives me this look, you get me, like I’m stupid or something. Then he goes, “I’m on the street now, sister.”’

  Kelsey snorted, smoke shooting out of her nostrils. Talisa laughed so much she had to lie down sideways, hugging a cushion to her chest.

  Kelsey finished her fag and stabbed it out. She ought to get off to work. Punters started coming in around five. Thing was, she didn’t want to leave Talisa in the flat. She was a good girl. The best. But she’d rob anything that wasn’t nailed down and take a hammer to anything that was. Not that Kelsey had much to nick. She kept her cash and her stash on her.

  ‘Fancy something to eat?’ she asked.

  ‘Nah, mate,’ said Talisa. ‘Skint, innit.’

  ‘I’ll shout you some chips, for fuck’s sake,’ said Kelsey.

  ‘All right then.’ Talisa reached for the leather jacket she’d laid across the back of the sofa. ‘Any chance of a burger?’

  Kelsey rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t take the piss.’

  [#]

  Jack crossed the car park to his car. He tried to put the key into the ignition, but his hands were shaking.

  ‘Fuck.’ He threw the keys on to the passenger seat. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

  He should just bin the letter. Forget it ever existed. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to calm himself. What was wrong with him? Throw the damn thing away.

  There was a bin at the far end of the car park, right by the entrance to the nick. Jack could see it from here, overflowing with crushed cans of Red Bull and empty burger boxes. What was he waiting for?

  He jumped out of the car and strode towards it. When he was a foot away, he pulled the envelope from his pocket, lunged forward and pressed it in amongst the crap. Then he spun on his heel and went back to the car.

  Inside, he placed his hands back on the wheel. Still trembling, but less violently. He felt sick, but he was sure that was down to the smell of all that rubbish.

  It was done. It was fine. He was fine.

  Finished.

>   The end.

  ‘Fuck.’ He slammed his palms down, hitting the horn, which let out an annoyed beep. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

  He got out of the car and went back to the bin.

  Hello, Jack.

  No doubt you’ve been wondering how I am. Most likely worrying. I know what you’re like about these things.

  Suffice it to say everything here is under control. There were some initial issues, as one would expect, but these have been resolved with as little fuss as possible.

  You know how I hate fuss.

  It would be great to see you, Alice too, of course. Let me know when’s convenient.

  Thinking of you.

  Kate

  He couldn’t keep it in any longer. He opened the car door, leaned out and threw up.

  [#]

  Every cup in the tiny office kitchen was dirty. Lilly sighed. The cleaner, Coleen, had let her down. Again. Lilly knew she should sack her, but the last time she’d tried, Coleen had burst into tears, gabbling a long and convoluted account of an ex-husband with gambling debts, a daughter undergoing transgender therapy and a grandson with ADHD. Lilly had ended up pressing a twenty-pound note into her hot, damp palm and giving her the week off.

  She sighed even louder and filled the washing-up bowl with hot water.

  ‘I’m a pushover,’ she told the Fairy Liquid. ‘A total mug.’

  Still, it was better than being bitter and twisted, wasn’t it?

  She washed the cups, set them upside down on the draining board and flicked on the kettle. The tub of Belgian hot chocolate called out to her, its voice thick and sweet and husky. Lilly ignored it and reached for a herbal tea bag. Ginger Zinger or Lemon Detox.

  ‘Decisions, decisions,’ she said and plonked a Ginger Zinger into a still wet cup.

  As she poured over boiling water, a warm, aromatic fog filled the air. Every bit as good as hot chocolate. And no calories. What Sam would call a ‘no-brainer’.

  Speaking of which, Lilly ought to call him. Check that he was in the vague vicinity of his revision books. She grabbed her tea and headed for the phone in reception. Sam picked up on the seventh ring.