A Place Of Safety Read online

  His eyes were diamond hard. ‘Why did you leave the Three Counties Observer?’

  Alexia shrugged and took a nervous sip of her tonic water.

  ‘It was a big story,’ she said. ‘It needed national coverage.’

  He shook his head. ‘Loyalty is everything, Miss Dee.’

  ‘Information is everything,’ she answered.

  The corner of his eye twitched. Blood River did not like being challenged.

  ‘It’s better for all of us if we reach a larger audience,’ she said. ‘My boss at the Observer understood that fully.’

  Blood River acknowledged the ground she had given with a nod.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to keep up the momentum,’ she said. ‘I wondered if you have anything else planned.’

  She didn’t really care who else he intended to give a beating to, but thought she’d better show interest.

  ‘I have many things in the pipeline,’ he said grandly. ‘But I can’t share them with you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  ‘Especially not now you’re just another government arse-licking Trotsky hack.’

  They sat in silence until Alexia wondered if she should just leave.

  ‘What do you have planned, Miss Dee?’ he asked. ‘Any projects you’d like to develop?’

  Alexia smiled. Blood River didn’t smile back.

  ‘Actually, I have,’ she said. ‘I’d like to interview the solicitor. Get her reaction to everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Do we want to give the enemy a platform?’

  Alexia wanted to tell him that she didn’t see Lilly Valentine as the opposition, that she hadn’t taken a side, but she knew Blood River’s world view was strictly black and white. If Alexia wasn’t with him she was definitely against him, and she had seen how he dealt with people like that.

  ‘I think she’ll expose herself for what she is,’ said Alexia.

  Blood River nodded. ‘So why don’t you knock on her door and ask her some questions?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d open it to me.’ Alexia laughed.

  ‘Nor me, Miss Dee.’

  ‘I’m pretty certain she’d refuse to speak to the pair of us.’ Alexia leaned towards him. This was why she had come. ‘But I think you may know someone who can help.’

  Lilly nearly wrenched the fridge door off its hinges and grabbed pancetta, eggs and cream. Only spaghetti carbonara could soften a day like today.

  Thirty-six hours was all she had to prepare. Thirty-six hours to visit her client, get the story straight and cobble together a submission to the court. It was impossible. Utterly impossible. Even if she could get to High Point before visiting began, there wouldn’t be enough time to go through everything. She could only hope Catalina was making detailed notes. She had impressed upon her client how imperative this was, and the girl had seemed to understand.

  Lilly reached for the parmesan and a grater.

  ‘Hello, Lilly’

  It was David—he had let himself in with his old key.

  She looked down at the pile of shredded cheese. This had always been his favourite dish.

  ‘Are you psychic about this stuff?’

  He didn’t laugh. Lilly could see his face was grey.

  ‘You didn’t come for your tea?’

  He shook his head. ‘You know why I’m here.’

  Lilly sighed. In the panic of the new hearing date she’d forgotten all about David and his threat to take Sam to stay with him.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘You are ridiculous.’

  David raised himself up to full height. ‘I am doing what’s best for Sam.’

  ‘Get out of my house,’ she said.

  ‘I will not leave without our son.’

  Lilly let out a snort of laughter and pulled David’s hand behind his back.

  ‘Ow,’ he yelled. ‘That hurts.’

  ‘Lilly applied more pressure until his fingers grazed his shoulder blade. Oh, just shut up,’ she said, and led him to the door. ‘You’re a total idiot,’ she said, and pushed him outside.

  He stood on the porch and rubbed his wrist.

  ‘I won’t let this go, Lilly. I will be back.’

  ‘Not without a court order,’ she said, and slammed the door in his face.

  As soon as day breaks Catalina and the other children get up. They have slept in their clothes and only have their shoes and boots to pull on.

  It might be hours before Costel unlocks the door, but they know to be ready the second he arrives.

  They take it in turns to pee in a bucket. On the first morning Catalina was embarrassed, but when her bladder began to ache and a trickle of urine stung her leg she had no choice.

  Four days later she doesn’t care.

  ‘I hope he picks me today,’ says Nicolae, one of the little ones whose front teeth are just starting to show.

  ‘And me,’ says another.

  Catalina and Emil exchange glances.

  Each morning Costel opens the door and takes three or four of the children away. They don’t come back.

  The little ones wonder aloud about their fate.

  ‘Do you think he takes them home?’

  ‘Maybe another family takes them in.’

  Catalina and Emil say nothing.

  At the sound of the bolt sliding in the lock, Catalina’s heart starts beating hard in her chest. What would be worse? To stay here, hungry and cold, or to go with Costel?

  The door opens and Catalina can smell him before she sees him. Sweat and vinegar and cigarettes.

  ‘You and you.’

  He points at Emil and Nicolae.

  ‘And you.’

  His tobacco-stained finger wags at Catalina.

  They follow Costel out of the house and through the city streets. Catalina has never seen so many people, so much traffic. Everyone and everything is moving.

  Suddenly an idea strikes her. What’s to stop her running away? She could run and run until she finds someone to help her. Her eyes dart down the side alleys, taking in possible dead ends.

  ‘If he catches you he’ll kill you,’ says Emil, as if he can read her every thought.

  Catalina looks at Costel, with the scar around his sleepy eye, and knows Emil is right.

  They move north until they reach the Gara de Nord and Costel stops beside a kiosk at the entrance selling newspapers, cigarettes and chewing gum.

  ‘Who’s here?’ Costel asks the owner, and slams down some coins.

  The man hands Costel a packet of cigarettes. ‘Gabi and Stelian.’

  Costel grunts and leads the children to the side of the station. ‘Don’t move.’

  Two men and two women are already there. Costel greets the men, and the women shiver in the snow. One has a purple bruise on her cheek. Both have dead eyes. By their short skirts and see-through shirts Catalina knows what they are.

  Costel opens the packet of cigarettes and offers them to the men. They each take one and light up. They huddle together and laugh.

  Out of the station come some kids. Despite the cold they are in T-shirts; some have no shoes. Most hold a plastic bag to their mouth.

  They point and laugh, nudging each other.

  ‘Fuck off, if you know what’s good for you,’ says Costel, and they move away, but not out of sight.

  ‘So what do you say, Gabi, are you buying?’ asks Costel.

  The man he is speaking to, Gabi, nods, his face almost hidden in a cloud of smoke and hot breath.

  ‘I’ll take those two,’ he gestures to the women ‘for Moscow.’

  The third man rubs his hands together, obviously pleased with his deal.

  ‘And I’ll give you two hundred for the boys,’ says Gabi. ‘My brother is setting up a dipping gang in England.’

  Costel spits into the slush. ‘That’s an insult and you know it.’

  Gabi shrugs. ‘Why would I pay more when I can get them for free under the station?’

 
; ‘It would take you two weeks to get them off the glue, and most of them are mad.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ says Gabi. ‘I’ll give you three.’

  ‘What about my girl?’ asks Costel.

  ‘She’s too young,’ says Gabi.

  Costel laughs. ‘I thought your punters liked them fresh?’

  ‘She looks like a skinned rat,’ says Gabi.

  Costel laughs but he gives Catalina a murderous look. She’s terrified. She doesn’t want to go back to the house without Emil.

  ‘Take her with us.’

  Catalina realises it is Emil who’s spoken.

  The men look at him with incredulity. Costel raises his hand to slap him.

  ‘Hey,’ Gabi shouts. ‘Not yours to damage any more.’

  ‘Take her with us, mister,’ Emil repeats. ‘We’re a great team. The best.’

  ‘You’ve done dipping before?’ asks Gabi.

  ‘Practically every day,’ says Emil.

  Gabi turns to Catalina and she nods furiously, though she has no idea what dipping is.

  ‘It’s a good pitch,’ laughs the third man.

  ‘And when her titties grow you can sell her on,’ says Costel.

  Gabi puts up his hands up in mock-surrender. ‘Three-fifty for all three, and that’s my final offer.’

  Catalina puts down her pen and rubs her wrist. That was the first time Artan saved her. But not the last.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Did I hear Dad last night?’

  Sam was pushing his cornflakes around the bowl.

  ‘Uh huh.’ Lilly tried to sound distracted.

  ‘Why didn’t he come up and speak to me?’

  Lilly took a deep breath. Sam loved both his parents unconditionally and whatever crap she and David had been through, Lilly had always avoided saying negative things about him to his son.

  ‘We thought you were asleep, big man.’

  Sam pushed away his breakfast. ‘I heard shouting.’

  ‘Must have been the TV,’ she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Now brush your teeth.’

  To signal the conversation was over, Lilly turned her back to Sam and poured the soggy cereal down the waste disposal. The orange sludge made her gag.

  ‘You look terrible.’

  Penny had waltzed into the kitchen to collect Sam for school.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lilly.

  Penny put a hand to Lilly’s forehead. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Just under a lot of pressure.’

  ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘Rupinder is in a terrible state.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And my ex-husband is being a total shit.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And the judge has brought the hearing forward and I still haven’t got anything out of Catalina.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And,’ Lilly’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t have time for this self-pity right now.’

  Penny rubbed her back soothingly. ‘You need to give this case to someone else.’

  Lilly pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes and inhaled through her nose. ‘What I need,’ she grabbed her car keys, ‘is to get to High Point.’

  Luke’s head is swimming. The shrimps go in and out of focus as if he’s messing about with a camera lens.

  He’d managed another day’s tomato picking with the help of half a tranq every two hours. He’d bought a handful from Sonic Dave, and by the time they’d bundled him into the back of the van he could barely keep his eyes open.

  The men had glanced at him and muttered under their breath.

  At last the Ukrainian had spoken. ‘We know you are not well.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Luke had slurred.

  The Ukrainian had looked embarrassed. ‘But we cannot cover for you tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  The Ukrainian had shrugged, unwilling to expand. He didn’t need to. Luke knew he hadn’t been working fast enough, that the others had taken the slack.

  It’s his hand. It’s still excruciating. Without the Mogadon he’s barely able to stop himself crying out with every movement, but with it he’s incapable of doing anything. It’s like his head has been folded in a blanket and everything is soft and warm.

  This morning when they arrived at the fish factory the Ukrainian patted him on the back. ‘Today you will be fine, yes?’

  Luke smiled and nodded because that was all he could do. His mashed-potato brain could not command his mouth to speak.

  The foreman looked shocked to see him again.

  ‘Hand all better, is it?’

  ‘All better,’ Luke mumbled, and took his position on the assembly line.

  The foreman pursed his brow and pulled back his thin lips. ‘You’d better go on quality control,’ he said, and nodded to the end of the line.

  ‘This is much better job,’ said the Ukrainian. ‘You watch shrimp, spot one with shell and take off.’ He pushed Luke into a chair. ‘Easy.’

  And it should be easy. Hundreds and thousands of shellfish trundle past him and ninety-nine per cent are pink and naked. The odd one that has missed its unveiling is obvious. The trouble is, Luke’s mind keeps shutting down.

  He sees himself as if he has stepped out of his body. He’s sat on a chair and it’s one of those swivelly ones. In front of him are lots of shrimp. Lots and lots of shrimps. Is it shrimp or shrimps?

  ‘What the hell…’

  The foreman appears in front of Luke, his arms waving like the bare branches of the trees outside.

  Luke lifts up his hand. ‘All better.’

  The foreman hits the emergency button and the conveyor belt grinds to a halt. He reaches into a pile of shrimp.

  ‘This one still has its shell.’ He holds the offending fish between his thumb and forefinger. ‘And that one.’ He nods to another. ‘And over there.’

  Luke knows he should say something but he can’t engage his brain.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asks the foreman.

  Luke tries to shake his head but the movement knocks him off-balance and he falls off his chair.

  The foreman calls over to the Ukrainian. ‘What’s wrong with your friend?’

  The Ukrainian looks away. ‘He not my friend.’

  Catalina thought Bucharest was busy but London is ten, twenty, a hundred times worse. The noise is like a wall and it never stops. At night it dies down a little, but it never truly stops.

  And the smell. The smell is disgusting. The people eat all day, even when they’re walking down the road. Fried potatoes, meat and chicken. The air is thick with dirty cooking fat and smoke from the cars.

  ‘I feel sick,’ says Nicolae.

  Catalina ignores him. They all feel sick. They have done since the horrific journey from Romania. Ten of them hidden in the back of a truck. No air, no light. Swaying from side to side for days, maybe weeks.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Nicolae wails.

  Emil checks what they’ve made. On days when the work’s been good he might take a note from one of the wallets and buy them all some food. Gabi and his brother Daniel would beat them if they found out, but sometimes the hunger makes them take the risk.

  ‘We don’t have enough,’ says Emil, and Nicolae begins to cry.

  Honestly, that boy is becoming a pain.

  ‘Let’s do another one, then,’ says Catalina.

  They head down into Leicester Square underground station and watch. At this time in the morning the place is packed with workers and shoppers pounding through the ticket machines. Emil nods at a woman by the map. She’s wearing an off-white coat, the colour of sleet, and a thick brown scarf that looks so soft Catalina is tempted to run her cheek against it. The woman is checking her journey, running her finger along the red streak of the Central line.

  The ones who don’t know where they’re going are always the best. The easiest to distract.<
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  Nicolae approaches.

  ‘Help, please,’ he says, his arm outstretched. ‘I lost.’

  He hasn’t asked for money but with any luck she’ll subconsciously touch the pocket or bag where she keeps her purse.

  ‘Where’s your mummy?’ she asks, a gloved hand hovering over a patent black shopper.

  Nicolae’s eyes become glassy with tears. ‘Help, please.’

  Emil closes in on the bag, while Catalina blocks the view of any nosy passers-by and keeps a lookout for the police.

  ‘Are you here on your own?’ asks the woman. ‘Is there an adult with you?’

  Emil nods that the job is done and walks towards the exit. Catalina follows suit.

  ‘Mummy,’ says Nicolae, and points to the exit.

  The woman looks over and nods. She can’t see anyone but she’s just glad to be rid of this dirty, cold little boy. That’s London for you.

  ‘It’s full,’ says Emil, holding open the red wallet full of crisp twenty-pound notes.

  Catalina looks up and down Charing Cross Road. There’s no sign of Daniel or Gabi. ‘Let’s get some food.’

  Calm, calm, calm.

  Lilly breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth.

  As soon as her client arrived empty-handed, Lilly could feel the panic swell in her chest.

  Calm, calm, calm.

  ‘Did you get the paper?’ Lilly asked. ‘I handed in more and had a bit of a spat with the guards about it.’

  ‘I got the paper.’

  So where the hell was it?

  ‘Did you do what I asked?’ Lilly smiled at Catalina and tried to control her increasing fear. ‘Did you write down everything you could remember about Artan?’

  Catalina rubbed her finger.

  ‘Tell me you did,’ said Lilly.

  A silence stretched between them, as dark and cold as an ocean.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Catalina.

  Lilly shook her head as if to discard what her client had said.

  ‘I can’t go to court tomorrow with nothing.’ Lilly’s heart was pounding. ‘I just can’t.’

  Catalina’s eyes filled with regret. Lilly had never seen anything more pitiable.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Catalina repeated.

  When Lilly got back to the car park she locked herself in the Mini, turned the heat up and let the tears come. Her shoulders heaved as the sobs wracked her body. She cried for Rupinder; she cried for Charlie Stanton; and she cried for Artan Shala. But most of all she cried for Catalina. Poor Catalina was locked in her own private hell and Lilly had failed to find the key. The kid would end up serving years for a crime she hadn’t committed.