Dishonour (38 page)

Saira’s eyes blazed and she held up the book in front of her like a talisman to ward off evil.

‘Fight and slay the pagans wherever you shall find them. Just as the prophet, peace be upon him, did then, so shall we.’ Then Saira closed her eyes and began to pray.

Taslima flashed Lilly a look. There was nothing more she could do.

Lilly couldn’t breathe. Her mind whirled. Would she never see Sam again? And what of the unborn child, kicking her now. Would she never get to see his smile?

Saira’s voice carried around the court, the words in Arabic melodious, beautiful. At odds with the horror of what was about to happen.

Lilly looked wildly around her. No one dared move. It was as if no one believed Saira would actually do it. But Lilly had watched her throughout the exchange with Taslima and had seen deep into her heart, and there was nothing there. The girl talked of religion and politics
but there was nothing but darkness and hatred. Lilly had met murderers before, however they dressed up their reasons, that was all there ever was. She had killed her sister and would kill them all.

It was up to Lilly.

The girl’s voice echoed, rising in a crescendo. Lilly knew there were only moments left. She wouldn’t even make it across the courtroom in time.

She glanced at Jack, sitting rigid next to Bell, in the seat nearest the witness box. She knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. Saira had to be stopped.

He held up three fingers. One, two, three.

Lilly grabbed for the jug of water. The glass was heavy and dull in her hand.

She held it aloft and threw it as hard as she could. It arced through the air, spraying water across the table. Again Kerry screamed. The jug hit Saira square in the face, knocking her backwards. The jug landed with a thump on the carpet.

Without a second’s hesitation Jack leaped towards her, grabbed the jug and brought it crashing down into Saira’s face. It smashed. There was an explosion of glass and blood.

The bomb squad swept the court for further devices but Lilly knew they wouldn’t find anything. Saira had turned herself into a weapon. That was all she needed.

Lilly stood outside in the sunshine, enjoying the breeze on her face, surveying the police scurrying about like ants.

‘You were unbelievable,’ she told Taslima.

She gave a modest smile. ‘You were pretty great yourself.’

‘We make a damn fine team.’

Jack appeared from the building. ‘It’s clear.’

‘Raffy?’

‘Someone’s taken him back to the nick to ask a few questions,’ said Jack. ‘He’ll need to explain how those tablet boxes came to be in his locker.’

‘Perhaps Saira put them there,’ said Lilly.

‘Perhaps,’ Jack agreed. ‘Or perhaps he guessed what had happened and hid them.’

‘So he was covering up for Saira all this time?’ asked Taslima.

‘Which is an offence,’ Lilly pointed out.

Jack nodded. ‘But he’s served a lot of time in prison already, so either way he’ll be out in an hour or so.’

Lilly nodded. The boy could go home to his mother and elder brother. With each other’s support maybe they could rebuild their lives.

‘Let’s get our stuff,’ she said, and walked towards the door.

When she put her foot on the first step she knew she wouldn’t be able to make it. The pain in her back had worsened, snaking its way around to her pelvis. She let out a guttural moan.

‘I’ll run up,’ said Jack.

Lilly snatched his arm. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

‘What?’

Another wave of pain overtook Lilly’s body.

‘I think I’m in labour.’

She sucked down the gas and air as the ambulance tried to wend its way through the police barrier.

‘Sorry,’ shouted the paramedic, ‘this whole area’s been cordoned off.’

‘Shit,’ Jack shouted.

Lilly held the mask to her face, feeling the plastic mouthpiece imprinting itself deep into her skin. Another contraction ripped through her like a wave crashing onto rocks.

‘I’m going to die,’ she screamed.

Jack pushed the hair from her face. ‘Not on my watch.’

She took another gulp from the canister; braced herself for another contraction.

‘Try to relax,’ called the paramedic.

Lilly struggled to sit up. ‘Relax? I’m about to give birth to a pumpkin—how the fuck can I relax?’

The paramedic chortled to himself. ‘Give me the drunks on a Saturday night.’

Jack pushed her back down onto the stretcher. ‘Keep calm, Lilly.’

‘Don’t you start.’

He smiled and kissed her cheek.

It was then that she knew she had to ask him about the blonde. Ridiculous, in an ambulance, about to have their baby. But she had to.

‘Jack,’ she panted, ‘I saw you at the hospital with a woman.’

A shadow passed across Jack’s face. ‘I can’t think who that might be.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Jack. I saw the texts.’

He winced. ‘I’m sorry.’

She didn’t want to, but Lilly could feel tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Do you love her?’

‘God, no. It was never anything like that.’

‘Then what?’

He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Stupidity, a flirtation, nothing.’

‘Did you have sex?’

‘No.’

‘Did you want to?’

He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

He took her hand gently and kissed it. ‘Can you forgive me?’

She was about to answer when pain coursed the length of her torso.

‘Oh my God.’

The paramedic climbed into the back and rolled up his sleeves.

‘What are you doing?’ Jack asked. ‘We need to get to the hospital.’

The paramedic smiled. ‘No time for that, my friend. This baby’s coming now.’

If you were stranded on a desert island, which book would you take with you?

Trainspotting
by Irvine Welsh. The first time I read it I was blown away and every journey through it since has brought something new.

Where does your inspiration come from?

Everywhere. Literally. The newspapers and radio are rich fodder, as are overheard conversations. Almost daily, I see or hear something and think ‘that would make a great story’. I have to be very careful that the latest sparkle doesn’t derail the project I’m working on.

Have you always wanted to become a writer?

I always enjoyed writing but never saw myself making a living from it. To be honest, before I had my children I was far too busy saving the world and downing tequila slammers. But once I had babies I had the sudden urge
to do something creative and started writing my first book
Damaged Goods.

Now, I can’t imagine not writing.

What’s the strangest job you’ve ever had?

Well I’ve done all the usual grotty numbers: waitressing, cleaning, pot washing in a pub. And I did a stint at a fizzy drinks factory that opened my eyes as to why orangeade and electric wires do not mix.

But by far the strangest experience was when I trained in the City. The hours, the money, the strong personalities all made for a dizzy mix. Like day care for the terminally ambitious.

When you’re not writing, what are your favourite things to do?

Like my main character, Lilly Valentine, I love to cook. I’m at my happiest surrounded by cookery books and a fridge full of good ingredients.

I also love bubble baths, so hot they can give you a heart attack. Up to my neck in Chanel No 5 wouldn’t be a bad way to go, would it?

What is a typical working day like for you? Have you ever had writer’s block? If so, how did you cope with it?

I do the school run, then take an hour or so to walk in the countryside with a friend. When you spend a lot of time at a computer you need fresh air and a few laughs.

Once home I eat, then work until it’s time to collect the kids from school. Some days will be spent researching, some writing, some editing. Either way it’s important to put in the hours.

I’m not sure I believe in writer’s block. All writers get stuck and the challenge is to come up with the way around a problem. Often I just move on and come back later. Forward motion is hugely important when you’ve 90,000 words to produce.

Do you have any secret ambitions?

Lots.

Each New Year I write a list of all the things I’d like to do. Turning the Lilly Valentine series into a television programme is high up there. As is living somewhere sunny.

What can’t you live without?

Books. Roast chicken. Silence.

When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When I was ten, my mum took two photographs of me.

One was outside number ten Downing Street, the other was outside RADA.

I had big plans.

Which five people, living or dead, would you invite to a dinner party?

Irvine Welsh because he sounds like a riot.

Nigella Lawson to share the cooking.

Julie Burchill to spice up the conversation.

Fatboy Slim to bring the music.

JK Rowling to talk me through how she did it.

And my dad. Because he always did love a party.

I can’t believe this is my third book. The time has raced away in a haze of drafting and editing.

Once again I must thank those who have given generously of their time, energy and support. First up, the Buckman posse, who unfailingly smile at my plans for world domination.

Then of course there is everyone at Avon, particularly Sammia Rafique, who helped with cultural inconsistencies. Salaams, girlfriend.

To the boys at HUG I send a salute. Keep on keeping on, comrades.

Last but by no means least I want to thank my fabulous family. Living with a writer can’t be easy but you guys take it in your stride. Every day I count myself lucky that I am able to do what I love, surrounded by the people I love.

Helen Black was brought up in a mining town in West Yorkshire. She moved to London in her twenties and trained to be a commercial lawyer. On qualification she shifted lanes and has practised criminal and family law for over ten years. She specialises in representing children in the care system. She now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young children.

For further information on Helen Black, visit her website at www.hblack.co.uk. Helen Black blogs at StrictlyWriting.

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Praise for Helen Black’s books:

‘A fantastic first novel.’

Jane Elliott, author of
The Little Prisoner

and
Sadie

‘A dark and gripping read that will have you on the edge of your seat…this terrific debut novel is full of intrigue and a real page-turner.’
Closer

Damaged Goods

A Place of Safety

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