Dishonour (2 page)

Lilly felt heat rising up her neck. David’s girlfriend, Cara, and their child always seemed to take priority and it infuriated her. Truce or not, she opened her mouth to remind David that he had two children.

‘I’ll take him back to the cottage with me,’ said Jack. ‘You’re cool with that, aren’t you, Sam?’

Lilly mouthed her thanks.

‘Can we call at the shop for crisps?’ asked Sam.

‘Sure,’ said Jack.

‘And in the baker’s for a cake?’

‘Why not?’

David pointed to Lilly’s bump. ‘I suspect you won’t be following the school of firm parenting, Jack.’

Lilly gave her ex-husband a cold stare. ‘I’ll settle for the school of just being around.’

Aasha knows she should be listening to Mr Markson. Maths is her worst subject. She’ll definitely get As in everything else. Maybe even A
^*
s in geography and art. But maths has always puzzled her. Who really cares how you work out the average score on dice? And why would
you ever need to calculate the average speed of a train from London to Inverness? She’d been to Scotland once for a cousin’s wedding and it had taken eight hours in the car to get there. She and her brothers had bickered most of the way, and she’d been sick in a lay-by near Birmingham, but no one had asked her to work out their average speed.

But as her dad is constantly reminding her, she needs to get at least a B.

‘Or no good university will even look at you, and what then?’

What then, indeed.

She tries to drag her attention back to the lesson but in seconds it’s wandered back to where it was before. Ryan Sanders.

Aasha can’t believe she’s giving him head space. He’s such a loser, in the bottom sets for everything. He’ll be lucky to scrape any GCSEs, never mind a good grade in maths. The only thing he’s any good at is art, and then he doesn’t turn up most of the time. Not that she’s noticed him. Or even cares.

‘An ASBO kid,’ her dad would call him.

Not that Ryan has an ASBO, or at least not one that Aasha knows about. But he’s that type. A bad boy.

‘Bet I know who you’re thinking about,’ whispers Lailla.

Aasha feels the heat creep around the base of her throat. ‘I’m not thinking about anyone.’

Lailla giggles. ‘So why are you writing his name all over your notebook?’

Aasha looks down and gasps. She’s doodled Ryan’s name all down the margin.

‘Your brothers will kill you,’ says Lailla.

Aasha turns over the page and smooths it down. ‘Shut up, Lailla.’

She forces her eyes back to the white board but she can still hear Lailla laughing—just like she can still see Ryan’s name through the paper.

‘Any chance of a coffee?’

The engineer was once again prone on the brand-new carpet in Lilly’s office, ferreting about in the socket and squinting like Popeye.

Lilly indicated her espresso maker still in its box, and turned her attention to the printer. She lifted the lid and rooted around. Where the hell did you put the ink?

‘You ain’t really cut out for this,’ the engineer observed.

Lilly bristled. ‘Just fix my phone.’

But he was right. Of all the people best suited to organising things, Lilly had to be at the bottom of the list. She was a litigator, a case lawyer, a court-room brawler.

She pulled out her mobile and called her old boss.

‘Rupes, it’s me.’

Rupinder laughed. ‘How’s it going?’

Lilly poked suspiciously at her printer. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare.’

Rupinder gasped. ‘Is something wrong with the baby?’

‘Oh, that.’ Lilly patted her bump. ‘No, everything’s fine.’

‘So what’s the matter?’

‘I just don’t know how you did it.’ Lilly looked mournfully around the office. ‘How did you run everything so efficiently?’

‘Ah,’ Rupinder caught her meaning. ‘Well, for one thing, I had help.’

Lilly nodded. When she’d worked for Rupes there’d been three partners, a handful of secretaries and the old bulldog on reception, Sheila. Lilly never thought the day would come when she missed the interfering old battleaxe, but at least she could work the photocopier.

‘I can’t afford to hire anyone,’ Lilly said. ‘Not until I’m up and running.’

‘And how will you manage that on your own?’

Rupinder’s voice was, as always, the epitome of calm. Lilly wished she were still around, that they could work together.

‘I miss you, Rupes.’

‘I miss you too.’ Her words were like balm. ‘But you still won’t manage on your own.’

Lilly pushed out her lip. ‘I’ll just have to.’

Sam licked the sugar off his fingers and eyed the last doughnut.

‘Are you eating that?’ he asked.

Jack patted his six-pack. Since the enormity of becoming a dad had hit him, he’d decided the very least he could do was try to stay alive. He’d started slowly, refusing the odd takeaway curry. He’d curbed the beer and upped the running. Before long he began to enjoy his new regime and now ate no wheat, sugar or dairy. It drove Lilly insane.

‘Fill your boots.’

He watched Sam devour it, enjoying the pale sunshine streaming in through the kitchen windows.

‘What?’ Sam spoke through a mouthful of jam and grease.

‘You’re just like your mum,’ said Jack.

Sam frowned. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

‘Your mother’s a fine woman.’

‘Whatever.’

Jack shook his head. When had Sam turned from wide-eyed boy to grunter?

‘She always does her best for you.’

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘I barely see her.’

‘All that’s going to change,’ said Jack. ‘What with the baby coming, she’s promised to take her foot off the pedal.’

Sam raised an eyebrow.

‘Mark my words,’ Jack promised, ‘things will be different.’

Sam wiped his sticky lips with the back of his hand and stood to leave the room. When he got to the door he turned.

‘Just because you want it to be true, Jack, doesn’t mean it is.’

When the engineer had finally left, Lilly put her feet up on her desk. Her ankles were swollen to elephantine proportions. She felt like an overstuffed cushion, all lumpy and uncomfortable. She didn’t remember being like this when she was pregnant with Sam. Then again, that was over ten years ago and she hadn’t yet hit thirty.

When the door opened she remained in the same undignified position. What the hell did the phone guy need now?

‘Are you open?’

A young Asian man looked at her doughy toes.

‘Not exactly,’ said Lilly, and struggled to get upright.

‘Oh,’ he said, but didn’t move.

‘Can I make an appointment for you?’

Lilly scrabbled around for the diary she’d bought especially. It was leather-bound with gold lettering and had a whole page for each day. Her plan was to colour-code clients. She’d promised herself faithfully to avoid criminal and childcare cases: there was no money in either. Red for family, green for property. It was her first step to getting organised. Now, where had she put the damn thing?

She grabbed a biro and a ticket for the dry cleaner’s.

‘Next Tuesday?’ she asked.

The young man stroked his goatee. Lilly could see now that he was in his late teens, nineteen at most. A boy really.

‘Thing is, I’ve got my mum in the car,’ he said, ‘and we really need to talk to someone.’

‘I don’t want to be unhelpful,’ Lilly smiled, and opened her arms to encompass the chaos, ‘but as you can see we’re not quite up to speed.’

He ignored the telephone wires that crisscrossed the floor and levelled Lilly in his gaze.

‘My sister killed herself and we need to know what to say to the police.’

Lilly watched the woman sitting opposite. Her body was frail, lost in the folds of her plain brown shalwar-kameez. Her eyes were downcast to arthritic fingers that lay gnarled and motionless in her lap.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

The other woman didn’t acknowledge Lilly’s words but continued staring down at her hands.

Lilly moved two phone directories, a box of manila envelopes and a broken laptop from her desk.

‘Sorry for the mess,’ she muttered. ‘Like I said, we’re not really open yet.’

The boy gave a perfunctory nod and drew himself up. Lilly could see he was barely able to contain his tears.

She opened a drawer for a legal pad. Amazingly there was one inside.

‘Can I start with your name?’

‘Anwar Khan,’ he said.

‘And your mum?’

Anwar’s eyes darted towards the woman beside him. She looked old enough to his grandmother. Strings of thin grey hair escaped from the woollen shawl draped loosely over her head. Her face was lined and worn.

‘Deema Khan,’ he said.

Even at her name Mrs Khan remained impassive. Lilly assumed she must be in shock.

‘And you say your sister died recently?’

‘Yes…’ Anwar coughed to clear his throat. ‘She took an overdose.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Anwar took a deep breath as if to steady himself. ‘It’s very important to us that she’s buried as soon as possible.’

‘I see,’ said Lilly.

‘Mum is devastated.’

Lilly cast a glance at Mrs Khan, who continued to contemplate her lap. If it were Lilly, and her son had topped himself, she was sure she’d be screaming and
wailing. But then grief did strange things to people, didn’t it?

‘And what can I do to help?’ asked Lilly.

Anwar cleared his throat again. Lilly’s heart went out to this young man, so evidently forced to take control of what must be a terrible situation.

‘The police still have Yasmeen.’ He paused. ‘You know, her body.’

‘When did she die?’ Lilly asked.

‘Two days ago.’

Lilly smiled kindly. Two days wasn’t very long in the circumstances, though she understood it must seem like for ever to the family.

‘Have they given you any indication when they will release it?’

Anwar shook his head. ‘That’s why we’re here. We want someone to speak to them, make them understand how important this is.’

Lilly looked from Anwar’s poor stricken face to his mother, who seemed oblivious to her surroundings. Her heart sank. She had promised Jack that there would be no more stress. No more clients needing to lean on her. She had to think of the baby.

‘I’m not sure you actually need a solicitor,’ said Lilly. ‘Can another family member not help?’

Anwar pushed the heels of his hands into his forehead. ‘Mum can’t deal with this, Miss Valentine.’

A cursory glance told Lilly he was right. Deema Khan was nothing more than a shell.

‘What about your father?’

‘He’s dead,’ said Anwar. ‘I’m the head of the family
so it falls to me to ensure my sister has a proper Islamic funeral.’

Lilly saw that the burden of responsibility was physically weighing the boy down, and sighed.

‘Give me the officer’s details and I’ll see what I can do.’

Lilly parked in a side road and walked towards the police station, wondering why the Khans hadn’t chosen a local solicitor. Perhaps they thought she might have more sway with the police. The idea made her laugh out loud. Still, there were plenty of others she could have redirected them to.

She swallowed down her guilt, telling herself this wasn’t going to be a difficult case. It wasn’t even a proper case. Just a chat with a copper. Absolutely nothing stressful. She knew Jack wouldn’t be pleased but if he’d seen the look on Anwar’s face he’d understand.

The High Street in Bury Park was throbbing with shoppers laden with carrier bags and trolleys. Grocers piled their stalls high with melons, oranges and custard apples, their skins covered with indentations like a thousand dirty fingerprints. Lilly stopped to smell a plastic container of lemons, their leaves still attached.

‘A pound a bowl,’ the shopkeeper called from inside.

A woman reached past Lilly for a handful of okra. She was enshrouded in black, even her eyes covered. Only her toes were naked, brown and soft, peeping out from under her burka, in leather flip-flops.

Behind her, a girl of about sixteen rattled into her phone in Urdu. The startling cerise of her hijab matched her nail varnish and handbag. She handed
over a pound and took her fruit without stopping for breath.

The traffic crawled to a standstill as drivers stopped on double yellow lines to collect waiting relatives or chat to friends in the street. The smell of incense wafted through the air.

After the stuffy environment of Manor Park it made Lilly smile. It made her feel alive.

‘Saag, very good for baby,’ the shopkeeper shouted, waving a bunch of spinach at Lilly.

He wore a beige Afghan-style hat that Lilly was sure he didn’t need in the May sunshine.

‘How can I resist charm like that?’ Lilly laughed.

By the time she arrived at the station she had spinach, ginger, a can of coconut water and an interesting fruit called a pow pow. And it had taken a lot of willpower not to buy a jewelled sari in peacock blue.

At the front desk she looked at the notes she had taken during her meeting with Anwar and pressed the buzzer.

A blonde WPC came into the reception. Her shirt was tucked neatly into her trousers and displayed a tiny waist and flat stomach. Lilly stood as near to the counter as her own pumpkin-sized belly would allow.

The WPC’s eyes couldn’t resist a flicker towards Lilly’s girth. It was quick but Lilly clocked it. When she’d been pregnant with Sam she’d bloomed. The apples of her cheeks had a rosy glow and she’d worn her jeans until the sixth month. This time, she felt like the bloated corpse of a humpback whale.

‘Can I help you?’ The WPC’s smile was as perky as her chest.

‘I’d like to speak to DI Bell,’ said Lilly.

‘Is he expecting you?’

Lilly tried a smile. ‘I called to say I was on my way.’

The policewoman nodded and skipped away. Lilly lowered herself into one of the metal-framed seats. She could feel the steel tubes tattooing their pattern onto her bum.

At last the WPC returned and ushered Lilly through. She gave a puzzled look at Lilly’s shopping, shrugged and led her through the corridors at such a sprightly pace Lilly could barely keep up. When they arrived at the foot of a steep staircase Lilly let out a groan. Plastic bag in one hand, she grabbed the banister and hauled herself up. By the time she arrived at the inspector’s room she was gasping for air.