A Place Of Safety Page 7

  ‘I just wondered if you know where Caz went?’

  The woman shakes her head, then almost as an afterthought shouts behind her in a language Luke doesn’t understand. A voice shouts back.

  ‘Gone for make money,’ the woman translates.

  ‘Where?’ Luke asks.

  The woman shrugs. ‘Streatham, maybe.’

  Luke doesn’t know where that is but maybe he can catch a bus. He’s got a map in his rucksack. Maybe he should make his way over there, see if he can spot her. Then again maybe he should stay here.

  The figure under the blanket pokes out his head and vomits onto the floor. A pool of brown viscous liquid meanders towards Luke. The decision has been made for him.

  The tube rattles and shakes as it passes through the belly of the capital. Luke has grown used to the way people avoid him. To be honest he would do the same, given that he hasn’t had a bath in three days.

  He can see now why tramps hunch in on themselves. It’s the shame of being dirty, of being different. They don’t want to be noticed.

  He gets off at Balham and blinks into the daylight. Where should he start to look for Caz? The woman at the squat had said she’d gone to get some money. Most likely she meant begging.

  He looks around the entrance of the station and catches sight of a man sat on a blanket, a teardrop tattooed under one eye.

  ‘Spare some change.’

  Luke shakes his head. ‘Do you know Mad Caz?’

  ‘Cocky Scouser?’

  Luke laughs. ‘That’s right. Have you seen her?’

  The man eyes Luke’s dirty trainers and rucksack. Caz has tried to make Luke understand the rules of the street. Never take someone else’s spot, never move someone else’s stash, and never give anyone up.

  ‘If Caz wants you to find her, you will,’ says the man.

  Luke’s desperate, he doesn’t know what he’ll do without her.

  Perhaps it shows in his face, because the man’s harsh eyes slacken—or perhaps that’s just what Luke wants to think.

  ‘I haven’t seen you around before.’

  Luke shakes his head in answer.

  ‘Caz showing you the ropes, is she?’ the man says to himself. ‘I’ll tell you what. You get a couple of tins from the Twenty-Four-Seven and you can wait with me. If she comes back this way you’ll find her.’

  Luke doesn’t need to be asked twice.

  ‘Tennent’s Super,’ the man calls after him. ‘And make sure they’re fucking cold.’

  Luke scuttles across the road into the shop and heads for the freezer. He tugs at a can of Tennent’s but it is held tight in plastic to another three. Maybe you can only buy them in packs of four. He left home with what his dad had given him for a new computer game and there isn’t much left. Mum always goes potty, saying Dad should spend more time with them and less with his fancy woman, then he wouldn’t feel the need to bribe them.

  He did the maths in his head. The beer would leave him with six quid. Not much, not even enough for a McDonald’s for him and Caz. Maybe he should leave it. Then again, the bloke at the tube would be pretty pissed off if he came back empty-handed. Maybe he could say they wouldn’t serve him. Luke watched a girl who looked about ten years old getting twenty Bensons and knew that would never fly.

  ‘Do you want those?’

  Luke realised the man behind the counter was speaking to him, although he was still having a conversation with someone else on the phone.

  He took the money without touching Luke’s hand.

  The face in the mirror told the sorry story. Lines etched around the eyes, skin as colourless as the sky. Lilly hadn’t been to bed the night before.

  She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Is Sam there?’

  ‘Nice to speak to you too,’ said her ex-husband.

  It wasn’t so long ago that all their conversations went like this, each sentence tight with accusation.

  ‘Sorry, David, bad night.’

  His voice softened. ‘I’m not surprised. I bet you can’t stop thinking about what happened up at the school.’

  Lilly’s finger grazed Anna’s file. ‘Something like that.’

  A silence stretched between them. David had never been comfortable with sadness or fear. In fact he was pretty useless with emotion full stop. When Lilly could no longer tolerate his affair with Cara and had kicked him out his relief had been palpable. He could have refused, promised to give up his mistress, but no, he simply couldn’t bear a scene—and so had all but run away.

  ‘I’ll fetch Sam,’ he said at last.

  * * *

  Lilly bought a large latte from the coffee shop on the High Street. She could see her mother’s pursed lips, the click of her tongue at the extravagance of spending £2.10 on a drink when there was a perfectly good kettle in the kitchen.

  ‘Needs must,’ she whispered into the ether.

  A quick chat with Sam had cheered her a little, and now she hoped to sneak into her office, hide under her desk and let the frothy milk do the rest.

  As soon as she opened the door she knew her plan was doomed. Rupes and Sheila were both in the reception area, poring over the post.

  Lilly’s smile was weak. ‘Hi.’

  Rupes’s face was impassive. If she knew about Lilly’s trip to the police station she would be furious.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Lilly.

  Rupes said nothing. Oh, this silent treatment was worse than a bollocking.

  ‘You’d better show her,’ said Sheila, and Lilly noticed how pale she looked. Maybe this wasn’t about Anna.

  Rupes handed Lilly a copy of the Three Counties Observer.

  SCHOOLBOY MURDERED IN THE HEART OF

  ENGLAND

  The TCO can exclusively reveal that Charles Stanton, 16, was shot in cold blood at his Hertfordshire school by a crazed gunman thought to be seeking asylum.

  On and on the story went, with a grainy but still grisly photograph of the spot where Charles had been killed.

  It was bad, truly awful, but it was the final paragraph that made Lilly’s heart sink.

  The police, who have made no comment until this point, have confirmed that a teenage girl has been arrested and charged and will be brought to court at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘You should never have gone sneaking off to help that girl,’ said Sheila.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Lilly.

  ‘You had no business taking that case,’ said Sheila. ‘We don’t even do asylum stuff.’

  Lilly rounded on her secretary. ‘For one thing, this is a criminal matter, not “asylum stuff”, as you so nicely put it, and for another I have not taken on Anna’s case.’

  ‘So you went down the nick for a laugh, did you?’ said Sheila. ‘Didn’t think about us, did you? More interested in some kid who ain’t even from here.’

  Lilly’s face burned. Where was Sheila getting her information?

  ‘She has a name and it’s Anna,’ she said. ‘She came here to escape things you and I could never dream of.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Sheila. ‘And my granddad didn’t get shot at in Normandy so we could give a home to everybody with a sob story.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ said Lilly, and turned to leave. ‘I’m not being told what to do by a bloody secretary.’

  As Sheila opened her mouth for another tirade, Rupes pulled Lilly out of the room.

  ‘It doesn’t mention the firm,’ said Lilly.

  Rupinder held out a flyer. ‘This was pushed through the letterbox this morning.’

  We urge the people of Britain to stand up for what they know is right. Stop our precious resources dwindling away while our own old aged pensioners do without. Refuse to support non-English shops and businesses.

  ‘Bin it,’ said Lilly.

  ‘The other partners are worried that some clients might go elsewhere,’ said Rupes.

  Lilly shook her head. ‘We can’t bow to this sort of pressure.’

  ‘
I agree,’ said Rupinder, ‘but I’m not going to pretend that it isn’t unnerving.’

  Lilly hugged her boss. She smelled of cocoa butter. ‘It’s just racist crap.’

  ‘I know that, but if you hadn’t noticed, Lilly, I’m not exactly white.’

  Both women laughed until Lilly’s mobile rang. It was Milo.

  ‘Thank God I’ve got you. I don’t know what to do,’ he said.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Lilly.

  He was breathing hard into his phone. It crackled into Lilly’s ear. ‘I’m at the court with Anna. There are lots of people here, shouting and screaming.’

  ‘How’s Anna? Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s terrified. She won’t speak to anyone but you,’ he said.

  ‘Hang on.’ Lilly looked at Rupes. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  Lilly didn’t break eye contact with her boss and handed her Anna’s file.

  ‘Read this—and if you still don’t want me to take on this case you can sack me.’

  The Tennent’s is thick and gloopy and it coats Luke’s tongue. It doesn’t taste like anything he’s drunk before. He takes small sips and the can is still half full.

  Tony pulls the ring on his second. He makes room for Luke on his filthy blanket and Luke gladly sits down. He ignores the brown stains, which may or may not be shit, just glad for the chance to be with another human being.

  As the booze works into his system, Tony becomes chatty. He tells Luke he’s from Wales but hasn’t been back since he left the army.

  ‘Why not?’ asks Luke.

  ‘Drugs, drink, prison,’ says Tony. ‘A full hand.’

  Luke doesn’t know how to respond. People on the streets talk openly about stuff like that, stuff that would make his mum have a fit. And Luke never knows what to say. He could just join in, that’s what Tom would do, but these people would suss he was faking in a heartbeat. Like the time Caz asked if he needed any gear and he’d nodded, thinking she meant grass. When she poled up with a bag of heroin he’d tried to hide his shock and simply pocketed it, but Caz had laughed and called him ‘a silly get’.

  ‘They say I have a problem with my temper,’ says Tony.

  ‘Right,’ says Luke.

  Tony twists his mouth into a smile. His front teeth are missing. ‘They say I’m unpredictable.’

  ‘Better than being boring, I suppose.’

  Tony’s eyes close into two black slits. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

  ‘No,’ says Luke, and searches for safer ground. ‘Where did you serve?’ he asks.

  Tony takes a long swallow and bares his gums with an audible sigh.

  ‘Bosnia, Macedonia,’ he says. ‘Would have been shipped out to the desert but they said my head was mashed.’ He drains the last dregs and lets out a belch. ‘Post Traumatic Stress they called it. Offered me counselling, like, but it didn’t work. Once you seen them things you can’t un-see them, can you?’ He taps the side of his head. ‘No matter how much bloody talking you do, it’s all still in here.’

  He closes his eyes and Luke’s not sure whether he’s wrestling with his demons or if he’s just nodded off.

  ‘Made yourself at home, I see.’

  It’s Caz, with her big toothy grin and grubby parka. Luke’s heart swells.

  She points to the remaining cans. ‘Give us one, will you?’

  Luke hands her one and she snuggles between him and Tony.

  ‘How’s business?’ says Tony, his eyes still shut.

  ‘Slow,’ says Caz. ‘But I got enough for today.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I need a shower after that lot.’

  ‘Where?’ he asks.

  ‘There’s a few places.’ She nudges him with her elbow. ‘You weren’t planning on smelling like that forever, were you?’

  He doesn’t deny how badly he needs a wash. Even the foul stench of Tony’s breath doesn’t mask Luke’s own body odour.

  She pecks Tony on the cheek and scrambles to her feet. ‘Thanks for looking out for him.’

  Tony nods gently. ‘Not a problem.’ His eyes remain shut.

  Caz presses the buzzer on a door in Peckham. It looks like it might be a village hall or something. Not that Peckham’s a village. Luke’s heard of it—well, everyone has after that poor little kid got stabbed on some stairs—but it’s different to anywhere he’s ever been in his life and he’s been abroad loads of times.

  The high street is lined with stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Gargantuan black women haggle over things that look like giant spring onions and bunches of leaves tied with string. Rude boys hang around, tracks cut into their hair and eyebrows, their accents dense. Sometimes Tom would put on a voice that he thinks sounds Jamaican. He says ‘ting’ instead of ‘thing’ and calls everyone in the dorm ‘bredren’. The other boarders would laugh, but Luke thinks it makes him look like a twat.

  He becomes transfixed outside a Caribbean takeaway, the smell of patties rooting him to the spot.

  ‘On your way,’ shouts the cook from behind the counter. They’re not welcome.

  Caz is impatient and presses the buzzer a second time. Luke can’t believe they’ll get a shower in here.

  ‘Don’t look like that, soft lad,’ says Caz. ‘Have I let you down yet?’

  A woman opens the door, a fag between her lips. ‘The lovely Caroline.’

  Caz grins. ‘All right, Jean.’

  ‘And who’ve you got with you this time?’ asks Jean, smoke causing her to squint.

  ‘This is my mate, Luke,’ she says. ‘He’s new.’

  Jean nods and lets them pass.

  The washing machine is hypnotic. Luke watches his clothes spin round and round. For the first time since he ran away he feels calm. It’s not that he’s forgotten about Anna and Tom and Charlie and all that stuff. It’s more like it’s pushed to the back of his mind. He’s had a shower and has seized the opportunity to wash his jeans and hoodie. He offered to stick Caz’s parka in but she declined.

  ‘It’s only the stains holding it together.’

  ‘So, Luke,’ says Jean, an unlit cigarette between her lips. ‘Got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ he says.

  Jean pats her pockets until she finds a lighter and gives it a shake. ‘Do you want something to eat while you’re waiting? Make yourself a sandwich if you fancy it.’

  He’s not sure if he should. He’s already had a shower and used the washer. His mum always says you shouldn’t take advantage. But the woman seems to expect it. Earlier, when two boys asked if they could take some milk with them, she just nodded and gave them one of the cartons out of the fridge. As for Caz, she’s made herself right at home. Half a bottle of Radox in her bath, then she’d crashed out on one of the sofas in the common room. She’s still in there, fast asleep.

  ‘There’s plenty of ham,’ Jean says. ‘Or cheese if you prefer it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Luke repeats, and Jean laughs.

  ‘Someone taught you good manners,’ she says.

  Luke blushes. He’s not sure whether she’s taking the piss. ‘My mum says they maketh the man. Manners, that is.’

  Jean just smiles and nods in the direction of the bread bin. Luke takes two slices and butters them. The bread’s springy like it was bought fresh that morning.

  ‘When d’you last see your mum?’ asks Jean.

  Luke grates some cheese. Red Leicester, his favourite.

  ‘A few days ago,’ he says.

  ‘So you’re still in touch?’

  Luke gives her a puzzled frown, then realises Jean has no idea how long he’s been on the streets.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, we don’t have nothing to do with your parents unless you want us to. Nor the social or the police for that matter.’

  Luke takes a bite but it’s hard to chew. His mouth has gone dry at the mention of the police and all his fears come rushing back. What if the police have already arrested Tom and Charlie? And what if they’re looking for Luke right this minute?r />
  ‘What’s your business stays your business. We’re just here to help if we can,’ she says.

  Luke forces the lump of bread down his throat. ‘I don’t think anyone can help.’

  Jean stubs out her cigarette. ‘You’d be surprised.’

  Kerry Thomson was fat. Properly fat. Not half-a-stone, jeans-a-bit-too-tight fat, but can’t-reach-your-feet-to-pick-up-your-sandwich fat. Rolls of flesh began at her neck and fell down her body in waves. Her head seemed too small for the monstrous body as if it belonged to someone else completely. And that was how Kerry liked to think of it, a pleasant—some said pretty—face that ought to have attached itself to a smaller person. Not necessarily a thin person, but not the hulk of blubber that was Kerry Thomson. She shunned full-length mirrors, preferring a pocket compact to isolate the one part of her body that she didn’t hate. When had she started doing that? In her twenties when she last wore official sizes? In her thirties, when her periods dried up?

  To be honest, she’d always been overweight. A podgy toddler wobbling around in her terry nappies making her brothers laugh, her sticky fingers outstretched for a custard cream. At school she didn’t mind her ‘puppy fat’, at least not much, and in her mid teens she wore it quite well. While the other girls were all straight lines and right angles, Kerry had tipped into womanhood, breasts, hips and arse. It had been a window of opportunity and she’d used it to full advantage. Kerry had had more sex between the ages of fourteen and sixteen than she’d had in the rest of her life put together.

  Some of her so-called mates had called her a slag; others more kindly pointed out that Kerry was having a rough patch, what with her mum dying. Either way Kerry had enjoyed those wet fumblings in the back of Ford Cortinas.

  She looked at the clock and sighed. She’d zipped her way through six burglaries, four common assaults, two possessions and a pile of traffic including a drunk in charge of a bike. Only one case left, but the solicitor for the defence hadn’t turned up yet. If they didn’t get here soon the court would have to sit through the lunch break.

  She felt in her pocket for a sweet.