A Place Of Safety Read online

  Her misery was interrupted by her mobile.

  ‘How are you?’ said Jack.

  Lilly’s voice cracked. ‘Terrible.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Lilly?’

  ‘I miss you, Jack,’ Lilly wailed. ‘I miss you.’

  * * *

  He smoothed her hair off her face and wiped her snotty nose. Trust Jack to be the sort of man who would drive twenty miles to meet Lilly in a prison car park.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ she snivelled.

  ‘Sure, I was bored with Keira Knightley. Yap, yap, yap.’

  Lilly sniffed.

  ‘And her cooking,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me started on her cooking.’

  Lilly smiled in spite of herself.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘So why don’t you tell me what this is about?’

  ‘I have to go to court tomorrow and tell the judge I have no idea how or why Catalina came to be in this country or why she was calling herself Anna Duraku.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘I know, but it won’t make the fact that she has to stay in jail any easier.’

  ‘Like I said—not your fault.’

  Lilly threw back her head and laughed. Her lips were so dry they cracked.

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  He kissed her gently.

  ‘It is easy. You say you tried your best, but your client isn’t playing ball.’

  He was right. She knew he was right. And yet.

  ‘Perhaps I can ask for another week.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Now that I’d like to see.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alexia couldn’t believe it. Every newspaper, radio station and TV channel was running with the story.

  It was a disaster.

  200 DEAD AND FEARS FOR 100 MORE

  Screeched the Independent.

  LOCKERBIE 2

  Roared the Mirror.

  Despite the upping of airport security around the UK the day everyone predicted had finally arrived—a British Airways 747 bound for Washington DC had exploded over the Atlantic.

  Early reports suggested a terrorist cell working as baggage handlers at Heathrow had hidden a bomb inside the kennel of a pet stored in the hold.

  It was indeed a disaster. Alexia had no money to get out to the States to cover it and the Stanton story her story was of no interest to anyone.

  She balled up the front page and threw it across the room. She would have put her head in her hands but they were inky, the fingertips smudged and black.

  She sighed and went over to the sink. As the cold water ran onto her palms her temper began to cool. This was a setback, nothing more. Yes, the terrorist attack was ferociously exciting and the public would gobble up as much information as they could but as soon as the police and the authorities launched their ubiquitous enquiries the public would be angry. They would need to vent that anger. And who better than an illegal immigrant who had killed a schoolboy?

  Alexia needed that interview with Valentine.

  She had swallowed her pride and her better judgement and asked Blood River to help her. All she wanted was a number.

  ‘I can’t divulge the personal details of any of our members,’ he’d said.

  Alexia had wheedled and flirted, she’d practically begged, but Blood River was immovable.

  ‘I’ll pass on yours,’ he said, and went back to his novel, their conversation clearly at an end.

  She toyed with going to see Blood River again, but didn’t want to appear desperate and, frankly, he frightened her.

  The letterbox rattled and she sighed. More bills. Her credit card bill was overdue and she didn’t even have enough for the minimum payment. And the rent; she didn’t even want to think about the rent.

  She plucked the pile of buff envelopes from the doormat and tossed them onto the kitchen surface. She wished she were the sort of person who could ignore them, hide them in a drawer like a dirty secret, but she was too much her father’s daughter.

  She decided on a hot drink before the torture began and snapped on the kettle. To her disgust she was down to her last teaspoon of coffee, and not even a heaped one at that. What sort of life was it when she couldn’t even stretch to a mug of Kenco?

  Alexia supposed some people, probably lots of them, lived like this all the time, but she’d had everything she’d ever needed without ever needing to ask. A pony; a princess party; a walk-in wardrobe of designer clothes. She tried not to think about the approach of Christmas, the parties she would miss, the trips to Courchevel.

  She sipped her weak coffee and reached out for the bills. Credit card, telephone, electricity.

  Her hand wavered over the last envelope. It was brown like the rest, but it was handwritten.

  Dear Miss Dee,

  A mutual colleague has informed me that you wish to discuss the solicitor Lilly Valentine.

  I am not sure that I can be of any assistance but I am agreeable to meet on the assurance that it is in the strictest confidence.

  You may not reveal my identity, nor may you quote me in the press.

  On the assumption that this is acceptable, I shall be in Dunstable library at 3 p.m. sharp.

  Snow White

  Alexia pushed away her mug and smiled. The game was on.

  Lilly had awoken with a feeling of trepidation that rippled through her entire body. She’d had cramp in her hands and feet, and her legs felt feeble, as if they weren’t strong enough to hold up her torso—which might very well have been the case, considering how huge she felt.

  Jack had advised her repeatedly that there was nothing she could do about this morning’s hearing. Catalina’s refusal to give instruction was not Lilly’s fault. It was, of course, true in the strictest sense, but Lilly hated to feel powerless. Loathed it.

  ‘Sometimes, woman, you have to accept that you cannot control everything,’ Jack had said, his hands on her shoulders.

  Lilly wished he were here now, but he couldn’t even stay the night. If he was caught with Lilly again he would lose his job.

  ‘I can’t believe we still go to court,’ said Milo, pointing at the hazy photograph of the fatal aeroplane.

  Lilly looked up at him. She had almost forgotten he was there. He’d arrived at her house as promised. As reliable as ever.

  ‘The world keeps turning,’ she said.

  He cocked his head to one side, his hair falling over one ear. ‘Not for those poor people.’

  She looked at the list of names of those who died but felt totally disconnected.

  ‘I have absolutely nothing to tell the judge,’ she said.

  ‘You will think of something.’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘I wish I had your faith.’

  They get up, they steal, they sleep.

  Up, steal, sleep.

  Weeks have gone by like this.

  Catalina has no idea how many, she has lost all track of time.

  At night, when they are huddled under an old coat, she wonders if they will live like this forever.

  ‘Will they let us go when we are grown up?’ she whispers to Emil.

  He shrugs.

  ‘When you are a man, they will have to set you free,’ she says. ‘When I am a woman…’

  ‘Listen,’ Emil looks deeply into her eyes. ‘There are worse things than this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He turns over and burrows into the itchy grey wool. ‘Go to sleep.’

  Catalina pushes her hair out of her eyes. Her scalp itches and she rakes it with her nails. She is cold, hungry, and she is sure she has nits. What could possibly be worse than this?

  In the morning, Daniel throws open the curtains and the room floods with light. ‘Get up,’ he says, and gives Catalina a nudge with his foot.

  She and Emil drag themselves to the sink and splash water over their faces. Nicolae is whining. Honestly, that boy never learns.

  ‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘My head is hurting.’


  Daniel throws off the threadbare towel that Nicolae uses as a blanket and pulls the little boy to his feet.

  ‘Don’t ever answer back,’ says Daniel.

  Nicolae begins to cry. In fairness, he does look sick. His face is covered in pink blotches and his hair is dark with sweat.

  Daniel looks at him as if he were a rat.

  ‘Come here,’ Emil pulls Nicolae to the sink ‘A wash will make you feel better.’

  Daniel grunts and walks away, leaving Emil to wipe a cloth over the back of the younger boy’s neck. Nicolae sways on his feet. Catalina can feel the heat radiating from him.

  In the back of the car, Catalina tries to read the road signs. Deptford, Greenwich, Rotherhithe. Somewhere in London, she doesn’t know exactly. Nicolae is slumped next to her, his breathing ragged, his shoulders heaving. She glances at Emil. They know better than to tell Daniel or Gabi.

  They are dumped in the centre, near Tottenham Court Road underground station. This is a good place for dipping, along with Leicester Square and Oxford Street. The children rotate so there is less chance of getting caught.

  Nicolae leans heavily against Catalina. She shrugs him off. ‘Stand up, will you.’ Emil shakes his head at her and puts his arm around Nicolae. They can both see how ill he is, but Catalina can’t be like Emil. Pity and compassion have been sucked from her, leaving only fear and self-preservation.

  ‘Let’s get on with this.’ She heads down into the station.

  They choose their mark instantly. A man in his late sixties, his bald head crusted with warts and freckles, his veined hands leaning on a stick.

  ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ Nicolae sniffs.

  ‘Get on with it,’ says Catalina, and gives him a shove. ‘Then we can all have a hot drink,’ she adds, not wanting to seem like a total bitch.

  Nicolae wipes a hand across his face and staggers towards the old man. ‘Help please.’ He holds out his hand.

  The man turns a kind eye to the boy. ‘What’s that, my son?’

  ‘Help please.’

  Catalina and Emil close in, but Nicolae begins to sway violently, his head rolling back.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asks the old man, a hand on Nicolae’s back.

  Before he can answer, the little boy has collapsed at the old man’s feet. ‘Hey,’ the old man waves his stick in the air. ‘We need help over here.’

  Soon a crowd has formed around them and a guard pushes his way through. ‘Get an ambulance,’ says the old man. ‘This child needs a doctor.’

  Catalina’s eyes are wide. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears.

  ‘Come on,’ says Emil, and takes her hand. ‘We need to leave.’

  Lilly left Milo on a bench outside the courtroom and headed up to the café where she blagged some hot water and waited for Jez.

  She sipped her Ginger Zinger. It was the last one that Dr Kadir had given to her and she would need to hunt down a box of her own after the hearing.

  At last he arrived, stopping at the counter to grab breakfast and flirt with the lady at the counter.

  He took the seat opposite Lilly and peered into her cup.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jez wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  Jez picked at the edge of his blueberry muffin. ‘What’s your client saying?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  He smiled and rubbed dry crumbs through his fingers. ‘Someone’s star has lost its twinkle.’

  ‘I’m afraid that, like the music, mine died a long time ago.’

  ‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My case is terrible.’

  ‘I meant the plane crash.’

  Guilt flooded through Lilly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is your client here yet?’

  Lilly shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘You can’t take this personally,’ he said. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

  Lilly finished her tea and pushed back her chair.

  ‘But I’m not the one who’s going to spend the rest of her life in jail.’

  She went to fetch Milo, his usual patient smile intact, and together they descended the stairs to the cell area. The huge door swung open like the entrance to a cave and the corridor lay ahead, grey and bare. By now even Milo had lost his smile.

  Catalina was in cell three. She jumped up from the bench. ‘Hello.’

  Milo greeted her with a hug and whispered words of encouragement in her ear.

  Lilly stood back, her arms folded.

  ‘When we go up to court, I’m going to be asked who you are,’ said Lilly.

  ‘You know who I am,’ said Catalina.

  Lilly leaned against the cold stone of the wall. Her whole body felt leaden.

  ‘Your name is not enough,’ she said. ‘They want to know where you’re from, why you came here.’

  Milo opened his arms. ‘This is not a simple task.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Lilly. ‘Which is why I asked Catalina to write it all down for me.’

  Catalina sank back onto the bench.

  ‘Why didn’t you do that for me?’ asked Lilly.

  Catalina rubbed her finger. ‘I try.’

  The guard thumped the door. It was time.

  ‘Not hard enough,’ said Lilly, and turned away.

  ‘This is what happens,’ says Jean.

  Luke shakes his head. It’s full of cobwebs.

  ‘We came for a clean bandage,’ says Caz. ‘Not a bleedin’ lecture.’

  Jean nods and reaches into a cupboard for a blue Tupperware box full of plasters and tubes of Savlon. The smell of disinfectant intrudes into Luke’s mind.

  ‘I’m just pointing out that this life pulls everyone down eventually.’

  Caz sneers at Jean and slopes off to the bathroom.

  Luke can feel his hand as Jean wipes it clean. It grumbles at him. The pills must be wearing off.

  ‘There’s a rule of thumb,’ says Jean. ‘If we can help kids like you within six weeks we can really do some good.’

  ‘What happens after that?’ asks Luke.

  Jean pours TCP onto a ball of cotton wool. ‘Drink, drugs, glue.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Luke laughs.

  ‘Violence, abuse, prison.’

  Though she doesn’t know it, Jean has hit home. The fear of prison has been what brought him here in the first place.

  She dabs the ball onto the wounds and Luke can definitely feel the sting. He wonders if Caz has any of the ketamine left that she swapped for an iPod this morning.

  Jean lifts up his hand and inspects it closely. ‘How on earth did you do this?’

  Luke can see no reason to lie. ‘I was working in a factory’

  She wraps his hand back up. The new bandage feels clean and firm. His wound should now at least stand a chance of healing.

  ‘I hope it was worth it,’ she says.

  And for the first time Luke realises that he hasn’t been paid a penny.

  ‘All rise.’

  Lilly’s rubber knees almost gave way as Judge Roberts entered court. When he gestured for everyone to sit, Lilly gladly fell back onto the bench.

  ‘I’m sorry we have had to come to court on such a tragic day,’ said the judge. ‘But the bench have taken the view that we will not be cowed by these criminals. The wheels of democracy and justice must prevail.’

  ‘Indeed they must,’ said Jez.

  Lilly nodded feebly.

  ‘We all know why we’re here today,’ said the judge. ‘So I suggest Miss Valentine addresses us.’

  Lilly sighed and heaved herself to her feet.

  ‘I’m afraid, Your Honour, that taking instructions has been difficult.’

  ‘I myself ordered High Point to ensure you had access to the defendant,’ he said.

  Lilly nodded slowly. ‘Access was not the problem, Your Honour.’

  The judge looked over his glasses and waited.

  Lilly gulped back her distaste. Betraying a
child was anathema to her.

  ‘My client has not been forthcoming.’

  ‘Please expand,’ said the judge.

  ‘She has been unable to answer my questions,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Because she doesn’t understand them?’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘Because they are too painful.’

  ‘Is she from Kosovo?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is she a refugee?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How did she come to use the name Anna Duraku?’

  Lilly sighed. ‘Your Honour, I don’t know.’

  The judge removed his glasses and leaned forward.

  ‘Do you know anything at all, Miss Valentine?’

  ‘My client’s real name is Catalina Petrescu.’

  ‘And she would tell you nothing further?’ asked the judge.

  ‘No.’

  The judge looked directly at Catalina. ‘This is most unhelpful.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said.

  Jez rose to his feet. ‘Your Honour, I’m wondering if my friend feels that she must withdraw from the case.’

  ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to think about it,’ he said, and waltzed out of court.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Lilly hissed.

  Jez led Lilly into the corner. ‘It makes perfect sense, Lilly. You’ve been out of your depth from the start.’

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  Jez waved away her anger. ‘This way you get to bow out gracefully and no one can criticise.’

  Lilly glanced over at Catalina, engulfed in her prison dungarees.

  ‘You can’t help her,’ said Jez, and Lilly knew it was true.

  Alexia hated libraries. It wasn’t the books that bothered her, it was the people. ‘The great unwashed’ her father called them, and he avoided places where there was any danger of interacting with the public. Strange then, that he had made so many millions publishing the rubbish they wanted to read. Of the hundreds of magazines and newspapers he published around the world not one of them had anything of importance to say.