A Place Of Safety Page 29

  ‘You’ll have to get that checked,’ said the guard.

  Lilly was about to point out that a woman had recently been caught smuggling six wraps of heroin and a flick knife into the prison. In comparison, a few sheets of lined A4 were hardly going to pose a safety threat. But she knew it was wasted energy.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, and headed back to reception.

  ‘You need to get that sorted, soft lad.’

  Caz is peering at Luke’s hand. It has swollen to twice its size. Each finger is hard and smooth.

  ‘That’s fluid, that is,’ says Caz, pressing his thumb with her own.

  They’ve made up the lean-to early tonight and are huddled inside around a single candle. An angry wind rages outside, blowing newspapers and chip cartons along the street. Luke is exhausted from his day’s work but he knows he’ll never sleep.

  Caz unhooks the safety pin and starts to unravel the bandage.

  ‘It’s the Return of the bleeding Mummy.’

  After two layers, the gauze won’t come away and Caz has to tug. With each round of bandage the tug becomes less gentle. At last his hand is free, apart from a square of surgical lint, now black and rancid. It’s stuck fast.

  ‘That’s got to come off,’ says Caz.

  ‘It hurts,’ says Luke.

  ‘All the more reason for it to come off,’ she argues.

  Without warning, she rips it away. Luke feels the white heat shoot up his arm again and roars. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?’

  Caz ignores him and inspects the damage.

  Luke can’t look. ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘Minging.’

  He forces himself to take a peek. ‘Jesus.’

  The two welts where the blades went in are full of blood-tinged pus.

  ‘It needs cleaning up,’ says Caz.

  Luke looks around the damp and dirty space they call home, littered with McDonald’s boxes and burnt tinfoil.

  ‘With what?’ he asks.

  ‘Teardrop Tony always has bleach,’ she says.

  Luke imagines their friend’s mud-and shit-caked clothes, his hair that hasn’t seen shampoo in years.

  ‘What the hell does he do with bleach?’ he asks.

  Caz rolls her eyes. ‘To clean his works, soft lad.’

  She scrabbles to her feet, heads out into the night and leaves Luke to chase after her.

  They find Teardrop Tony at Charing Cross station, nursing a bottle of Lambrini.

  ‘Look at this for us,’ says Caz, and thrusts Luke’s hand under Tony’s nose.

  He nods as if this is exactly what he was expecting.

  ‘Got any Domestos?’ asks Caz.

  Teardrop Tony wanders over to the disabled toilet. ‘Step into my office.’

  ‘I reckon we squeeze the gunk out of it, then put the bleach right into the cut,’ says Caz.

  Teardrop Tony nods.

  Luke’s heart lurches. His hand is killing him, but the alternative sounds infinitely worse.

  ‘Won’t that hurt?’ he asks Tony, in the hope he might lie.

  ‘Indeed it will.’

  Caz searches through her pockets. ‘Here,’ she says, and holds out two fluff-covered pills. ‘Get these in your gob.’

  Luke washes them down with Lambrini. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Mogadon.’

  ‘Will they numb the pain?’

  Caz gives him a wink. ‘No, but you won’t remember anything about it after.’

  Luke takes another long swig of the sweet, fizzy wine. It’s a bit like the champagne his mum lets him drink on Christmas mornings.

  They hold his hand over the sink and press.

  Luke screams from the depths of his lungs.

  ‘I knew a man in Iraq who had his ear blown off,’ says Teardrop Tony. ‘He screamed like that.’

  Luke begins to feel woozy. Whether it’s the sickening pain or the tranquillisers kicking in he doesn’t know, but the world has gone blurry around the edges.

  ‘You men are all the same,’ says Caz. ‘I cried less than this when I was having a baby.’

  Luke’s field of vision is covered in Vaseline, then he passes out.

  * * *

  Hours later he wakes up in the lean-to. Everything is moving slightly, floating. He wonders for a second if he’s on a boat.

  ‘All right, soft lad,’ says Caz.

  ‘Hello,’ he manages. His voice sounds gooey, syrupy.

  ‘Try to go back to sleep,’ Caz smiles. ‘Let the pills do their job.’

  Luke sticks out his tongue. He wants to speak but it feels huge in his mouth.

  ‘Baby?’ he manages.

  She holds his freshly wrapped hand against her cheek and kisses it. ‘Sleep.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lilly jumped off the scales. She felt round and flabby. Even her pyjama bottoms felt tight.

  She knew she’d put on some weight but the truth was shocking.

  She got back on slowly easing herself toe by toe, leaning against the sink to distribute her mass. Same result.

  She exhaled in disgust. She’d always had a womanly figure. Even as a kid her dad used to say you could use her arse as a tray. But half a stone in the space of a few weeks was going some.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and looked in her wardrobe. A nice double-breasted jacket and a black polo neck should cover a multitude of sins.

  The phone rang.

  ‘How did you get on?’ asked Dr Kadir.

  Lilly checked her clock. Seven-thirty Blimey the woman hadn’t lied when she said she couldn’t sleep.

  ‘Slowly,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Excellent.’

  Lilly held the phone in the crook of her neck and fished in a drawer for some tights. She found a pair with ladders and some red leg-warmers.

  ‘You might think so, Doctor,’ she said. ‘But I need answers.’

  ‘Patience, Lilly, time is your friend.’

  Lilly sat on the bed and tried to pull on a pair of pop socks. Christ, she could hardly reach her feet.

  ‘I’m going back to the prison this morning. I want to push her a little more.’

  ‘Not too hard,’ said Dr Kadir.

  ‘I know,’ said Lilly. ‘I know.’

  Lilly called into the hospital on the way to High Point, expecting nothing more than an update from the nurse on duty. Like every hospital Lilly had ever been in, this one had the heat ramped up to Sahara levels and she pulled at the neck of her jumper.

  ‘You can see her,’ said the matron. ‘For a few minutes.’

  Lilly crept into the room and nearly collapsed.

  There were tubes in Rupinder’s hands and nose, and she was still, so very still. But it was Raj who stopped Lilly’s heart, half-asleep in the chair next to the bed, his head lolling to the side.

  He began to rouse and Lilly cursed herself for intruding.

  ‘Hi.’ He scratched his beard, his voice a raw rasp.

  ‘Hi,’ said Lilly. ‘How is she?’

  Raj turned to his wife and ran a gentle finger across her wrist. ‘They managed to stop the bleed on her brain but there’s still a lot of swelling.’

  Lilly chewed her lip. ‘She’ll be okay.’

  He nodded but didn’t reply.

  Lilly hovered above Rupinder, horrified by the size of her head, which seemed bloated and tight. Her eyes began to flicker but were so swollen the lids couldn’t lift.

  ‘Lirry,’ Rupinder whispered, without moving her horribly deformed mouth. ‘Lirry? Rat you?’

  Raj took his wife’s hand. ‘Yes, Lilly’s here.’

  Lilly looked at her friend, broken and in pain, and felt overcome with guilt. She need never have taken Anna’s case, need never have put Rupinder in harm’s way.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and ran out of the room.

  Catalina sucks the end of her pen.

  She has spent all night thinking about Artan.

  In her desperate refusal to relive the past she realises she ha
s lost him. Artan may be dead, but if she denies that other existence does that mean he is also forgotten?

  On that first day, when she was numb with cold and terror, he had reached out to her. Given her everything he had.

  ‘Here,’ says the boy, holding out a dry hunk of bread. ‘Take it.’

  Catalina snatches it and rips some off with her teeth.

  It’s a lie, all of it. She knows that now. The job, the money, none of it is true. She didn’t want to admit it and clung to the promise of a better life like a totem pole. An au pair. The words are ashes in her mouth.

  She left Mama and the babies and went with the woman with her yellow hair, shiny buttons and tight smile. She said her name was Lavinia.

  Catalina had got in a car that smelled of sour milk. Lavinia said she was taking her to her ‘new family’. They had driven for hours and hours. At first Catalina had been excited, but soon she was lulled to sleep by the endlessness of the passing landscape.

  ‘Wake up.’ Lavinia had shaken her roughly.

  Catalina had blinked. It was dark outside. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Bucharest.’

  Catalina had felt a thrill snake through her body. During the time of the communists, soldiers from Bucharest had been to their small town. Her granny had told her all about them.

  ‘Naughty boys,’ she’d laughed, her pink gums gleaming in the black of her mouth. ‘Such naughty boys.’

  Was she going to work here? In Bucharest? She knew there were rich people here.

  She had scrambled out of the car after Lavinia, who, she’d noticed, walked with a limp. The house in front of them was old, grey and tired. Catalina was disappointed. She’d hoped she was going to live somewhere fancy.

  She had followed Lavinia through a hallway as bare as their own at home. Male voices spilled from the kitchen.

  ‘Answer only when spoken to,’ said Lavinia. ‘Got it?’

  Catalina had nodded and clutched her little grey bag to her chest.

  Three men sat around a table, smoking and playing cards. A bottle of vodka sat in the middle. They didn’t look up from their game.

  ‘I have a good one here for you, Costel,’ said Lavinia.

  The man at the far end lifted his head. One of his eyes was half shut, encircled with a half-moon scar.

  ‘Come over here,’ he said to Catalina.

  She was frightened. Was this the man of the house? The boss? But where was the lady, the lazy woman who needed help?

  ‘Come here,’ he had repeated more gruffly.

  Catalina shuffled forward.

  ‘She’s a pretty one,’ said Lavinia, her voice nervous.

  ‘Skinny, more like,’ he said.

  ‘She’s a good girl,’ said Lavinia. ‘She won’t give you any trouble.’

  Costel snorted. ‘That’s what you always say.’

  He took a mouthful of vodka from the bottle and went back to his cards.

  Lavinia had bundled Catalina out of the kitchen and into the room next door. The walls were flaking and there was no furniture. The floor was strewn with blankets and old curtains. Lavinia had opened a packet of cigarettes and lit one. Her hands were shaking.

  ‘What’s wrong, Lavinia?’ Catalina asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Lavinia exhaled a blue plume of smoke. ‘Costel is a difficult man to do business with, that’s all.’

  ‘He scares me,’ said Catalina.

  Lavinia picked a loose piece of tobacco from her tongue.

  ‘I want to go home,’ said Catalina.

  Lavinia sucked on the cigarette, her cheeks collapsing on each side of her face.

  ‘Don’t make a fuss,’ she said. ‘It will be the worse for you if you do.’

  Catalina blinked away tears. ‘I don’t want to stay here.’

  Lavinia took a last drag, ground out the dog-end on the floorboards and left Catalina in the room. From the other side of the door she heard the lock banging shut.

  Catalina had stared at the empty room. What was she doing here? Why didn’t they take her to her new family?

  A snuffling sound came from the corner and one of the blankets moved. Mice. Then another blanket moved, then a curtain.

  Catalina screwed up her eyes. It was dark in the room but she could definitely see movement. Sudenly she realised she wasn’t alone. She gulped back her panic and peered into the shadows. Fingers, toes and eyes peeped out from the makeshift bedding on the floor and Anna felt fear sweep through her. The room was full of children.

  From his hiding place under an itchy brown rug came a boy, about her age, with a thin, torn shirt and a scab on his lip. He held out some bread.

  Catalina lies on the floor with the others and asks him his name.

  ‘Emil,’ he whispers.

  ‘Why are we here, Emil?’ she asks. ‘They said I was going to work in a house for a rich lady. Why am I here?’

  Emil puts his finger to his lips and she lets the tears come.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ says Emil. ‘Costel gets very angry if we cry.’

  Catalina stuffs the back of her hand in her mouth and chokes back her sadness.

  * * *

  The letters scrawl under the lines and ink is smudged across the page. Her English is terrible, the words spilling onto the page in the wrong order.

  Her pen flashes across the paper.

  She is telling Artan’s story. What he did for her.

  Her fingers ache and a lump is growing on the side of her forefinger, but she can’t stop. This is for Artan.

  Alexia checked her inbox and her voicemail but both were empty. It wasn’t that she thought she’d be inundated with offers, but after the piece in the Mail she had anticipated some interest.

  She looked around her flat. It was a new build that the developer hadn’t been able to sell. Even with a brand new MFI kitchen and a residents-only car-parking permit it had lain empty for so long that Alexia got a six-month contract at a knockdown price.

  Still, without any money coming in she couldn’t afford even that rent. Steve hadn’t paid her much but it was regular.

  Then there was the credit card bill.

  She thought of the penthouse in Chelsea Harbour that her father had let her use, with underground parking and a private roof terrace. It would be so easy to pick up the phone. One word from him and she could have any job she wanted.

  Her hand hovered over the buttons.

  She could have a maid, a concierge. Anything she wanted. Free.

  She put the phone down. As her father never tired of saying, nothing in life was free. If Alexia took her father’s handouts there was always a price to pay and a heavy one at that. For a life of luxury she had to submit to his control. Her mother had realised this when Alexia was five years old and had run off with the assistant manager of a DIY store. They lived in Crawley in a tatty semi and her mother trained as a beautician. Alexia remembered she had lovely nails and a dog called Oliver.

  She sighed and headed out to the Turk’s Head. As a freelancer she would need another story to sell.

  ‘Did you manage to write anything down?’ Lilly hoped to God she had.

  ‘I didn’t get the paper,’ said Catalina.

  Lilly wanted to scream. She had two more days before the court expected a full report.

  ‘Couldn’t you have asked for some?’

  Catalina shrugged. ‘I didn’t think about that.’

  Lilly closed her eyes and counted to ten.

  ‘I need you to understand how important this is.’ She took Catalina’s hand. ‘If I can’t get the information I need, I can’t help you.’

  ‘I do understand.’

  The door behind them opened. It was the same guard as yesterday, her cheek full of gum.

  ‘Time’s up.’

  Lilly groaned.

  ‘You were late,’ said the guard. ‘Again.’

  ‘My friend is in hospital,’ said Lilly.

  The guard pulled her gum into a thin strand that dangled between her teeth and fingers
like a pink washing line.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Lilly.

  When she got to reception she was greeted by the guard with the lazy eye. After the débâcle of their last meeting, Lilly’s new tactic was not to look at the other woman at all. She put down a pad of paper and mumbled into her chest: ‘Could you make sure my client gets this?’

  ‘Another lot?’ said the guard. ‘Is she writing War and Peace?’

  ‘She didn’t get it yesterday,’ said Lilly into her chest.

  ‘I took it to D Wing myself.’

  Lilly shook her head. God, it was difficult making your point without eye contact.

  ‘I can assure you she didn’t get it.’

  ‘And I can assure you she did,’ said the guard.

  Lilly was about to lose her temper when her mobile rang. She turned her back on the guard.

  ‘Bloody rude cow.’

  Today was going badly, very badly. If this was David, calling to threaten her again, he was going to get very short shrift.

  She stabbed the answer button with her thumb. ‘What?’

  ‘Miss Valentine?’

  It was a man’s voice. Not David’s, but familiar.

  ‘Who is this?’ Lilly barked.

  ‘Edward Roberts,’ he said.

  Lilly’s heart sank. She had just snarled at the bloody judge.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I am looking at my lists,’ his voice was icy. ‘And I find I am over-committed on Friday.’

  Yes. Lilly punched the air. He was going to adjourn the hearing until next week, and that would give her another couple of days to prepare.

  ‘These things happen,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed they do,’ he replied. ‘Which is why I will require the parties to attend on Thursday.’

  ‘Have you got a moment?’

  Alexia’s tone sounded breezier than she felt. She slipped onto the stool next to Blood River. He didn’t look up from his book. She watched his even breathing, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled.

  She had always suspected the man was off-key, and now she knew the truth. He was a wild animal, out of control, and sitting so close to him filled her with fear.

  At last he folded the corner of his page. ‘I saw your piece in the Mail.’

  ‘What did you think?’