A Place Of Safety Read online

A crowd had congregated outside the Magistrates’ Court. The usual gaggle of smokers that gathered whatever the weather had been pushed to one side by a group of twenty or so dark-skinned men in checked shirts and women in headscarves. Lilly assumed they were Albanian. A hundred feet away a smaller group of white men shouted. One had a megaphone. Their suits were no disguise. WBA. White British Alliance. The swastika tattoos had gone but the sentiment remained.

  Sandwiched between were the police, and watching with amusement were the press. Lots of them. Thank you Three Counties Observer. Lilly had no intention of shuffling past that little lot, and headed for the back entrance.

  Inside the court, Milo was slumped in a chair. When he saw Lilly his face lit up. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  The noise of the megaphone filtered into the building.

  Milo shook his head. ‘Some of the Hounds Place residents contacted their friends. I told them not to come, that it would do no good.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Lilly.

  ‘But they’re so angry,’ he said. ‘Anna was raped and yet she ends up in jail.’

  Lilly put her hand over his. ‘So let’s try to get her out.’

  Lilly slipped into the advocates’ room and found Kerry Thomson building a glittering pyramid out of Quality Street wrappers. As always, Lilly noticed the hair sprouting from the doughy chin and wondered if Kerry knew she had polycystic ovaries.

  ‘Hello there,’ said Lilly.

  Kerry scrunched the papers into her fist, a guilty secret.

  ‘I’m here for Anna Duraku,’ said Lilly. ‘Conspiracy to murder.’

  Kerry nodded to the lone file awaiting its fifteen minutes of fame.

  ‘It’s a load of old rubbish,’ said Lilly. She knew that if it had been anyone else she would have ripped into them, but Kerry always seemed so vulnerable. Shouting at her would feel like bullying someone with Down’s syndrome.

  ‘Director of Public Prosecutions says it’s good to go,’ Kerry answered.

  ‘The fact that she looked at it in person means there are people in the mothership with doubts,’ said Lilly.

  Kerry pressed both palms on the table and heaved herself to her feet. ‘Let’s get it into court and see what the magistrate says.’

  As they made their way to court number three, Lilly didn’t know which was louder—the rumbling from outside or that emitting from Kerry Thomson’s stomach.

  She could smell them before she turned the corner. Even if they hadn’t been shouting she would have known they were there. Something about the food they ate and the clothes they wore gave off an odour. Not exactly unpleasant, just distinctly different.

  No matter how many times the liberals and leftists insisted that these people were the same as us, Snow White knew it was not true.

  Grandpa had travelled from Cairo to Soweto and back again, and he had declared the other races ‘simply not cricket’. Today, watching this dark-haired horde screaming at the court house, she knew he was right.

  ‘Terrible, ain’t it?’ said woman with a double buggy.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Snow White answered.

  ‘I thought there was a law against it,’ the woman said, feeding her twins a packet of Cheesy Wotsits.

  Snow White watched the toddlers turn their mouths and chins orange as they sucked the additives from their snacks.

  ‘Sadly not.’

  ‘It’s the same on match day,’ said the woman. ‘The skinheads hijack the whole thing with their shouting.’

  Snow White turned to defend the reasonable turnout of brothers that had come to make their feelings heard, but the woman had already pushed on to the bus stop.

  At least these comrades had the courage to stand up for what they believed in, however unsophisticated they might be in making their point. She had had some misgivings about involving them but, seeing them now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the enemy, the press documenting their every move, she knew she had done well. She wished she could join them but knew it wasn’t possible. She used to resent having to keep her views secret, but now she realised it gave her an advantage. She could infiltrate, gather information and destroy the enemy from within.

  The chanting reached a crescendo and a can was hurled at the foreigners.

  The magistrate was the intelligent and intuitive Mrs Lucinda Holmes. Many wondered why she had spent so many years in the Youth Court; certainly she could have sought out promotion. Lilly had always assumed that, like her, she just loved kids.

  ‘Before we begin,’ Mrs Holmes fixed the advocates with a steely look, ‘let’s remind ourselves that Tirana is a minor and this is not an episode of LA Law.’

  ‘Yes, Madam,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Holmes. ‘Do we need an interpreter?’

  ‘No,’ Anna shouted.

  Mrs Holmes smiled at her, civilly but not warmly. ‘We find things work better if you address the court through your solicitor.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Anna muttered.

  ‘She neither needs nor wants one,’ said Lilly.

  Mrs Holmes made a note with a silver fountain pen. ‘Then let’s proceed.’

  ‘This is a case of conspiracy to murder,’ said Kerry. ‘The prosecution say that the defendant went with Artan Shala to Manor Park Preparatory School, each with a firearm. The intention of both parties was to kill pupils at that school. They were unfortunately successful in their plan, fatally shooting Charles Stanton before Ms Duraku was disarmed and Shala shot dead by a police officer at the scene.’

  ‘I gave the policeman the gun before Artan shot the boy,’ said Anna.

  Mrs Holmes frowned at Lilly. ‘Miss Valentine, you must keep your client in check. This is not a free-for-all.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Madam, but what my client says is true. She voluntarily handed her weapon to Officer McNally some time before Artan was killed. There is no question that he acted alone.’

  Mrs Holmes nodded. ‘That is for another tribunal to consider. Today I simply intend to transfer this case to the Crown Court. Nothing more.’

  ‘What about an application for bail, Madam?’ said Lilly.

  Mrs Holmes replaced the top on her pen before laying it gently but deliberately on the pad before her. ‘Do you intend to make one, Miss Valentine?’

  Lilly thrust up her chin. ‘Indeed I do.’

  The magistrate opened her arms.

  ‘I realise, Madam, that this is a serious matter and wouldn’t normally attract bail, but this case is unusual in any number of ways,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Go on,’ said Mrs Holmes.

  ‘You may deny bail, Madam, if you believe my client is likely to re-offend.’

  ‘Indeed I may,’ said Mrs Holmes.

  ‘Which is why I know you’ll have worked out that re-offending in this case is impossible,’ said Lilly ‘Anna is charged with a conspiracy with someone who is now dead. They could hardly plot anything else together, Madam.’

  Mrs Holmes bit her lip. ‘And what about the possibility that Anna might abscond?’

  Lilly gave her best theatrical shrug. ‘Where would she go? She has no living family and few friends. The Hounds Place hostel is her only lifeline.’

  Mrs Holmes breathed evenly, clearly thinking things through.

  ‘Who would supervise her at the hostel?’

  ‘There are social workers on duty, Madam, and Milo Hassan visits every day’

  Mrs Holmes shook her head. ‘There’s insufficient continuity for my liking. One person needs to be in charge.’

  Lilly looked over at Anna. Every molecule of her being looked terrified, and Lilly was consumed with guilt. If she had stepped in to prevent Artan taking the law into his own hands, Anna wouldn’t be here now.

  ‘She can stay with me,’ said Lilly.

  Everyone stared.

  Lilly gulped. She’d surprised herself as much as anyone else.

  ‘Stay with you?’ Mrs Holmes repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lilly. ‘I will undertake to the court to supervise her
in my home.’

  ‘That’s a huge commitment, Miss Valentine.’

  Lilly gulped. It was huge. Bloody huge. Lilly pushed the implications to the back of her mind and nodded.

  As they left court in Lilly’s car, Milo rubbed Anna’s shoulders. ‘It’s over.’

  Lilly didn’t speak but an old quote came into her head.

  ‘This isn’t the end. It’s not even the beginning of the end.’

  ‘Tell me this is a joke,’ said Jack.

  ‘Am I laughing?’ said Lilly. She stared out at the field beyond her kitchen window. The earth was brown and hard. The harvest had been and gone and nothing would grow until spring.

  ‘You can’t have her living here,’ he said.

  ‘The court says I can.’

  He groaned. ‘It’s madness.’

  And of course it was. Sheer madness. Sam would hit the roof; David would apply to have her sectioned; and Rupes…Lilly shuddered at the very thought.

  ‘I can’t let them send her to prison.’

  ‘But we’re both involved in this case,’ he said. ‘Me in particular.’

  Lilly felt a stab of guilt as to how much harder this would make things for Jack.

  ‘She’s just a kid,’ she said.

  He shook her gently by the shoulders. ‘It’s not your responsibility.’

  ‘Then whose is it, Jack? ’Cos so far the “authorities”’, she made speech marks in the air, ‘have done a pretty piss-poor job of looking after her.’ She rubbed his lapel. ‘I owe her.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For not doing something before she got dragged into this unholy mess.’

  At that moment Milo waltzed in and dumped a binbag of clothes on the floor. ‘I’ll bring the rest of her things later.’

  Jack, eyes wide, watched him leave the room. ‘Is that what’s-his-name?’

  ‘Milo,’ she said.

  ‘He seems at home.’

  Lilly sniffed. ‘I’ve barely spoken to him.’

  Milo stuck his head back into the room. ‘Dishwasher still working okay?’

  Jack looked from Lilly to Milo and back again. Lilly opened her mouth to explain.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally got that dishwasher to work?’

  It was David, carrying Sam on his back. He looked from Lilly to Jack to Milo and back again.

  ‘Welcome to Piccadilly bloody Circus,’ said Jack, and pushed his way out.

  Lilly poured two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and handed one to David.

  ‘You look knackered,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Fleur’s got colic.’

  ‘Isn’t she too old for that?’

  David took a sip. ‘I think she just likes crying.’

  ‘She’s a baby, that’s her job,’ said Lilly.

  ‘I don’t remember Sam being like that.’

  Lilly laughed. Of course he bloody was. You just didn’t notice ‘cos I did all the dirty work.’

  David opened his mouth to argue but stopped. ‘You were always much better at sorting things out than me. You never seemed to mind the noise and the mess.’

  ‘I thrive on a challenge.’

  ‘I do wonder if you don’t just love chaos,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Look at the facts, Lil: things were going well with you and Jack, so what do you do? Move a Bosnian refugee into the house.’

  ‘Kosovan. And, anyway, it won’t be for long. Once I can show the court she’s not going to try to leg it I’ll get her moved back to the hostel.’

  ‘Sam’s not a happy bunny,’ said David.

  Lilly forced a smile. ‘He’ll be fine.’

  ‘He loves having you to himself,’ said David. ‘He hated sharing you with all those kids in care.’

  ‘He shares you with Cara and Fleur.’

  David finished his wine and grabbed his coat. ‘I don’t want to argue, Lil, I’m just pointing out the obvious.’

  Lilly closed the door behind him and headed upstairs. ‘Everything is going to be fine,’ she said to herself. But who was she trying to convince?

  In court, when the entire system—no, the world—seemed to be against Anna, she had jumped into the fray, thinking only of how she could help, how she could make amends. Now, as she smoothed her son’s duvet over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, drinking in his warmth, she questioned the sense of her actions. Yes, the girl had been through hell, but did Lilly really need to bring her into her home? Sam’s home?

  As she moved down the hall she heard the sharp plink of a dripping tap and turned back to the bathroom. The tap needed a new washer, but judicious pressure normally did the trick. As she pulled it to the left she noticed a black tidemark around the basin. Not the usual ring of dirt but a slick line, almost purple. Had Sam been washing paintbrushes upstairs again? She’d have to have a word with him in the morning. Artistic license was one thing, but he brushed his teeth in here.

  Then she saw the plastic tube in the bin. Hidden under a wodge of tissue, only the end peeped out. Lilly would have missed it but for the airbrushed picture of some impossibly glossy-locked model.

  It was hair dye.

  Since even Sam would struggle to find a use for a tube of dye, it must be Anna’s. But why would a sixteen-year-old girl facing a murder charge worry about that? And why would she try to hide it?

  She was still contemplating the tube when Anna came in. They both blushed.

  ‘I once went green,’ joked Lilly. ‘Now that was a mistake.’

  Anna didn’t smile. ‘This is my natural colour,’ she said. ‘Before I go grey.’

  ‘Oh, you poor, poor girl,’ said Lilly, and enveloped her client in her arms. Anna stiffened, but Lilly didn’t let go.

  Sometimes doing the right thing wasn’t convenient, but that didn’t stop it being right.

  * * *

  The landlord called time and Jack waved for another pint.

  He’d overreacted again, stomping out of Lilly’s like a Hollywood diva. He’d made himself look foolish in front of David and your man Milo, yet he hadn’t been able to help himself.

  He’d wanted to explain to Lilly that the shooting had crystallised his thoughts, made him realise that she and Sam were all he wanted. It had been so important to him to make her understand that. Instead he’d been faced with the usual maelstrom of Valentine mayhem. In what alternative universe did Lilly think it was sensible to have her client in the house? Surely she could see that it would ruin everything between them? Maybe she just didn’t care enough about him to give his feelings a second thought. Maybe this whole relationship was purely one-sided?

  He sighed and sipped his lager. He knew full well that that was not how Lilly saw it. She saw no choice between Jack and Anna—she simply saw a girl who needed help.

  He drained his glass and knew he’d regret this last drink in the morning—that and not buying a loaf for breakfast.

  The walls of the bridge smell of pee. It’s so strong Luke feels like he can taste it at the back of his throat. Caz pushes a pallet against the wall and throws an old sheet over the top.

  ‘Carry on camping,’ she grins, but Luke can’t even smile.

  Ever since he left the Peckham Project he’s been thinking about the police and what they’ll do if they catch him. Will the people in prison be like Teardrop Tony? Will they force him to have sex in the showers like people say and will he be as frightened as the girl in the park?

  He desperately wants to tell Caz, to ask her what he should do, but even though she’s the nearest thing he’s got to a friend here, so far from his home, he’s only known her a few days.

  She crawls into the lean-to and pulls her sleeping bag over her legs. Luke follows her in. A shiver runs down his back and he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Cold?’ asks Caz.

  He nods.

  ‘Wait ’til January’

  But it’s not the weather that is making his bones ache.

  ‘Why are you here, Caz?’
he asks.

  ‘Because it’s bleeding well pouring out there, and that Russian bitch won’t let us back in the squat.’

  ‘I mean why are you here, living like this?’ he says. ‘Why aren’t you at home?’

  She pulls an old tobacco tin from her pocket and unwraps her gear. A square of tin foil, a disposable lighter, a steel tube. And a bag of heroin. She says she’s not addicted, that she just does it to pass the time, but Luke’s seen the plastic sheen of her face in the morning.

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ she says.

  He nods.

  Caz sighs and sprinkles a couple of pinches of powder onto the foil.

  ‘My stepdad was proper handy with his fists,’ she says. ‘Gave my ma some right beatings.’

  She flicks the lighter and Luke sees the flint ignite.

  ‘She always said he was as good as gold until he had a drink inside him.’

  She puts the flame to the underside of the foil and makes a circular movement. ‘Trouble was, most days he had a drink inside him.’

  ‘Couldn’t she leave him?’ asks Luke.

  Caz looks up from her fix and a wry smile plays on her lips. ‘And go where, soft lad?’

  He shrugs, an admission that he knows nothing of that sort of life.

  She goes back to the foil. The powder is beginning to cook, bubbles popping.

  ‘When she died he started on me.’

  She puts the tube in her mouth and inhales the smoke.

  ‘I stayed for a bit, for my little sisters, but when they got taken into care I legged it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Caz,’ says Luke.

  Her mouth has gone slack and her voice when it comes is a rasp. ‘What about you? What brings you to the Costa del Shit Hole?’

  He looks down at his feet and pulls the lace of his trainer. ‘I got involved in something bad. Somebody—a girl, I mean—got something terrible done to her.’

  ‘Raped?’ asks Caz.

  Luke nods, shame burning hot on his cheeks.

  ‘Three of us took her into a park,’ he says. ‘She was terrified.’

  ‘That’s rough,’ says Caz.

  ‘I didn’t help her,’ he says. ‘I did absolutely nothing to help her.’

  Caz puts the flame under the foil again and chases the smoke around the edges.