A Place Of Safety (5 page)

She turned the car around to head back when she saw it. A small patch of nettles well trodden down. She parked close by and inspected the trampled weeds. Then she checked she wasn’t being watched and pushed the plank of wood nearest to the ground. It fell with ease, as did the one above and the one above that. Alexia smiled at the small opening to the Magic Kingdom and ducked inside. She found herself within two hundred yards of the main building.

The sound of a cello floated from a window but apart from that all was quiet. She sneaked around but still nothing. No police tape, no sign whatsoever that anyone had been killed. Maybe it was a hoax.

Alexia was about to go home when she saw a white tent flapping in the wind on the far edge of a football pitch. It might just have been a marquee left over from Speech Day, but it was very small.

Her pulse quickened as she got closer and she pulled out her phone.

‘How are things in the country?’ asked Steve, phlegm rattling in his throat.

Alexia pulled a clod of earth from her heel. ‘Wet.’

Steve let out a laugh that soon gave way to a barking cough.

‘Those fags will kill you,’ she said.

‘Not before you do, Posh,’ he replied. ‘Got anything for me?’

‘I’m inside the school.’

‘Ain’t it closed at this time of night?’

‘It’s a boarding school.’

‘Poor little rich kids whose parents don’t want ’em,’ he said.

‘Do you want to know what I’ve found?’ she asked.

‘Go on then.’

She tried to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘From where I’m standing I can see something that looks distinctly like a forensic tent.’

Steve let out a low whistle. ‘So it’s true.’

‘Can we help you?’

Alexia looked up. Three women were striding across the field, their breath white in the dark air. The leader had a fierce look in her eyes, frizzy hair and a wax jacket. The other two looked like they’d fallen out of a Boden catalogue.

‘I said “Can we help you?”’, Frizzy stomped towards Alexia. The accent was cut-glass and Alexia followed suit. She usually took the edge off for Steve.

‘I thought I might lay flowers.’ She rhymed ‘flowers’ with ‘vase’.

Frizzy raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘My niece, Emily, said we simply must do something,’ Alexia continued.

‘Emily?’ asked Frizzy.

‘Royston-Jones,’ Alexia was banking on Frizzy not knowing everyone in the school. ‘She’s been very upset and her parents are in the Maldives.’

Frizzy gave nothing away, her shins solid in their tan tights.

‘I came straight here when she called.’ Alexia turned to the other two. ‘What do you think? Is the school organising a tribute?’

‘I think they’re waiting to see what the Stantons want to do,’ said the first.

‘Of course,’ said Alexia. ‘They must be devastated.’

The second pursed her lightly glossed lips. ‘They’re beside themselves. Charlie was such a treasure.’

‘Appalling, isn’t it?’ said Alexia, careful not to push too much and risk giving her game away.

Glossy Lips threw up her hands. ‘Those people have to be stopped.’

Frizzy glared at her. ‘We’re under strict instructions not to discuss this with anyone, particularly outsiders.’

‘She has a niece at the school.’

‘Loose lips sink ships,’ said Frizzy.

‘I’m sorry if I caused any offence. I fully understand your position.’ Alexia tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘I deliberately came out of hours. I mean, one doesn’t want to be showy.’

Frizzy gave a curt nod and turned to leave. ‘I think we’ve all said enough on the subject.’

Too late, love. Charlie Stanton. Bingo.

The air was redolent with the smell of rubber and chalk dust as forty feet beat out their muffled rhythm on the mats.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Lilly, and squeezed onto the bench beside her friend. ‘Had to drop off the boy wonder at his dad’s.’

‘Good day at the office, darling?’ said Penny. Lilly stuck out her tongue and they waited for their turn to warm-up.

After Lilly had been attacked by a maniac and had managed to save herself only by the fortuitous use of a vase, she had decided to take up self-defence. Penny had suggested Tae Kwon Do, and the pair came to practise each Tuesday evening.

Penny crossed her legs, toned calves peeping out from her karate suit: smooth brown skin against white cotton. Each toenail was round and pink, a shimmering shell. Lilly looked down at her own legs. Red indentations from her socks made perfect circles around each hairy shin. A plaster peeled away from her ankle.

Lilly wondered if she could ever look like her friend.

‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ her mum used to say but Lilly never seemed to have enough time to keep up with the preening.

‘How’s life on the domestic front line?’ asked Lilly.

‘Bonkers,’ said Penny. ‘We’ve got a new boy coming at the weekend.’

‘How many’s that now?’

‘Four. Two come for respite care one weekend a month, and Rachel comes every Thursday.’

‘Is she still traumatised?’

Penny see-sawed her hands. ‘It has got better, but I’m still stripping and washing the beds till Saturday.’

‘Have I ever told you how much I admire you?’ asked Lilly.

‘Only twice a week.’

The sensei called them to the dojo and they began their stretching.

‘I should do something like you,’ said Lilly.

Penny stamped hard with her left foot and punched with her right. ‘You don’t have time.’

‘But all I do now is commercial stuff. I don’t make a difference to anyone’s life.’

‘Oh, Lilly, stop beating yourself up. Everyone has to make a living.’

Lilly kicked out and grunted hard.

‘I just wish I could do something to help those that need it most.’

‘We can’t help everyone,’ said Penny. ‘And frankly there are a lot of people who should jolly well help themselves.’

The sensei clapped his hands. ‘Ladies, you may spar.’

The two friends turned to one another and bowed deeply in respect. Then they proceeded to kick the shit out of each other.

Lilly plotted the rest of her evening with precision and relish. Sam was at his dad’s, torturing the new baby, so she would bathe at length and make the most of the unopened basket of Jo Malone oils that Jack had bought for her birthday. At the time she’d thought it a ludicrous extravagance, but she had to admit they were so much better than the cheap crap she usually picked up in the supermarket. She would paint her toes a glamorous shade of crimson and then cook herself a feast. Steak Béarnaise. Blood oozing from the meat into the eggy sauce, the tang of tarragon vinegar piercing its unctuous blandness.

She would not give a moment’s thought to Anna Duraku.

When the bath was run, she lit a candle and sank into the oily heat until only her nostrils cleared the surface. Bliss.

Ring ring.
The phone. She’d ignore it.

Ring ring.
Worse than the phone, it was the bloody doorbell. Who the hell could it be? Jack was still mad at her for going down to the station and had gone out for a drink with an old mate who’d quit the force to open a dry-cleaners’.

Lilly pulled a towel around herself and padded downstairs.

Ring ring.

‘Keep your hair on, will you,’ she shouted, and yanked at the door handle. After three firm tugs the door opened a few inches.

‘You need a new frame.’

It was Milo, his breath white against the cold.

Lilly dripped and blinked. ‘How do you know where I live?’

‘Everyone knows everything in this village.’

Milo looked her up and down. From her ragged toenails to the towel barely covering her arse and back down to the pool of water gathering on the floor below her.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I needed to speak to you about Anna.’

Lilly cringed with embarrassment and ran for the stairs.

In her bedroom she threw open her wardrobe doors in search of her good jeans. They were snug at her hips but not at her thighs, and the style magazine Penny passed on each week had declared them the hottest jeans of the season. Lilly had found a bargain pair in TK Maxx and they looked great with a black V-neck jumper. She scraped her wet hair into a knot at the base of her skull. No time for makeup, maybe just a slick of mascara. At least she smelled good.

Lilly stopped in her tracks. What the hell was she doing? Why was she in a tailspin because an attractive man had turned up at her house? She reminded herself that she had Jack. A good, kind and decent man. A man her son adored. A man who thought oral sex was part of the deal and not just for anniversaries and birthdays. A man who had stood between her and a bullet.

Deliberately, she put her jeans back in the wardrobe and pulled on the lumpy jogging bottoms that lived on a wicker chair in the corner of her room. She zipped a beige fleece over a thermal vest and pulled on slipper socks.

The message was clear.

She found Milo in the kitchen, tinkering with the buttons on her dishwasher.

‘It’s broken,’ she said.

He laughed in the direction of the sink, where a mountain of crockery tottered. ‘I can see that. Do you have a screwdriver?’

Lilly opened a kitchen drawer and rummaged. She pulled out a knife, a hammer and a can of Mace.

‘My safety kit,’ she said, in answer to Milo’s puzzled look. She handed him a screwdriver. ‘I had some trouble on one of my cases.’

He simply nodded and went to work.

‘You’ve come to ask me to take on Anna’s case,’ she said.

‘Of course.’

No flannel, no spin. Lilly smiled. ‘I really can’t, you know.’

Milo twisted a screw. ‘There.’

‘It’s fixed?’

He shrugged a shy confirmation.

Lilly couldn’t hide her delight. ‘I could kiss you.’ She had spoken without thinking and needed to backtrack. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

‘I’m not worried.’

They looked at each other, their connection a fraction too long.

Lilly was the first to break away ‘I’ll make you some dinner.’

Milo sank back in his chair. ‘So much food.’

Lilly cleared the plates. ‘There’s lemon tart if you want some. I made it at the weekend but it should still be good.’

Milo shook his head and rubbed his stomach. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

‘Oh, you know—lawyer, cook, murderer.’

‘A person of many talents.’

Lilly stroked her dishwasher and felt its soft rumble. ‘As are you.’

‘My father taught me many things.’

The sadness was unmistakable.

‘Where is he now?’ Lilly asked.

‘Gone,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘You English people are so funny Everything is private business, you don’t care about anybody else.’

‘That’s not true,’ she said. ‘We just don’t like talking about painful things.’

He fixed her with the jewelled glint of his eyes. ‘If you don’t talk, how are you going learn?’

Lilly closed her eyes, willing herself to pull away.

‘I can’t take on Anna’s case.’

Milo stood to leave with a half-smile. ‘You are a very strange woman, Lilly Valentine.’

When he had left, Lilly noticed a package on the work surface. She opened it up and began to read Anna’s statement from her application to remain in the UK.

TIRANA DURAKU

My name is Tirana Duraku and I was born in Glogovac, some 25 kilometres from Pristina, the capital of Kosovo.

I lived with my parents, and my three sisters and one brother. We stayed in a small apartment in the Albanian section of Glogovac.

When I was a young child I was happy I went to school and was commended for my studies. I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.

I recall that there would be trouble sometimes from the police. They would round up the menfolk and take them away. When they came back they would have black eyes or bloody mouths.

My mother told me she paid them, which was why they didn’t come for my father or brothers.

In January 1999 our neighbours were arrested. This time it was not the police who took them but the paramilitaries. There were about six of them, each with an automatic rifle. When our neighbours came back they packed up their apartment and left. I never saw them again.

My mother said they didn’t have enough money to pay the police.

A few weeks later they came to us. They wore green uniforms with red bandanas. I was very frightened. My mother tried to pay them the usual amount but they laughed in her face. In the end they took all the money we had in the apartment.

The next day they forced my mother to take off her rings. She couldn’t get one of them off and had to put soap round her knuckle and force it.

That night my oldest brother, Brahim, and my father decided to stand up to the soldiers. My mother cried and begged them not to make a stand but my father said Allah would provide.

The next morning they came at six. We were all still in bed but no one was sleeping. My father told them calmly that he would pay them nothing more. The captain nodded and I thought he was agreeing to leave us alone, but he snatched my little sister and put his gun to her head.

‘Give me the keys to your car,’ he said.

My father did not want to give in, but tears were pouring down the face of my sister and my mother.

Two days later we went to stay with my father’s brother and his family. There was not enough room in the house but the menfolk said there would be safety in numbers.