No Place of Safety (13 page)

‘So you were going to stay at the Centre?'

‘Yes. Ben had been doubtful about that before. I'm not really homeless in the usual sense, not in the sense the rest are, and once my father had found out where I was, Ben felt that it made sense for me to move on.'

‘But he'd changed his mind?'

Midge's face, what they could see of it, assumed an expression that could only be described as inscrutable.

‘I suppose so . . . I suppose my father saying he'd given up the marriage made it less urgent for me to move.'

‘So Ben believed him?'

‘Well, I don't know about that. He gave him the benefit of the doubt.'

‘When we talked I emphasized the need to stay on your guard,' Charlie put in. ‘He seemed to agree with that.'

‘Oh, he did . . .' Midge hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. ‘I think he'd got to like having me around. While we were talking he put his hand on mine – oh, not trying anything on, I don't mean that, but sort of fatherly. I think he felt affection for me is what I'm trying to say, though I don't want you to get the wrong impression. Definitely fatherly. I appreciated it, though I didn't want it to go too far. I have a father. Up till now I've loved him very much.'

‘How were you sitting, when he was holding your hand?' Oddie asked.

‘His hand was
on
mine – that's different,' Midge corrected him. ‘I was sitting at the table nearest the door, looking towards the window. He'd pulled his chair out from the table, and was sitting looking straight at me.'

‘With his back to the door too?'

‘Yes. We were both at the same side of the table, with our backs to the door.'

‘Had you seen anything through the window – anyone arrive at the house maybe?'

‘No. I was too interested in what we were talking about.'

‘Now, the attack, when it happened. How much did you see?'

Midge looked as if she would like to have screwed her face up, the memory of it paining her, but knew she mustn't.

‘We were just sitting there talking quietly, unemotionally. The door was partly open – there was nothing secret about the talk. Then . . . it must have been opened further, someone must have come in . . .'

‘Must have,' put in Charlie. ‘You weren't conscious of it?'

‘No. I saw no one, sensed no one, till – till I felt this terrible pain down my left cheek, and I just keeled over.'

‘So you were attacked first?'

‘Yes.'

‘But if . . .
when
we talk to Ben Marchant, the likelihood is that he will have seen nothing either?'

Midge considered this.

‘Maybe. I can't tell. Because there may have been a moment or two, between my getting slashed and him getting attacked, when he could have turned and caught a glimpse . . . But I was holding my head in my hands, not knowing what had happened to me, and I wasn't aware of what happened next. Not till I was holding him in my arms and – '

Mike Oddie held up his hand, and the two men got up. There was every reason not to distress her further that night. It must already have been the most traumatic day of her young life.

 • • • 

It was very late when they got back to Portland Terrace, but everyone was still up. WPC Gould had talked to most of them, or had had reports from the other uniformed constables, and she had prepared a little chart of who was where, at least notionally. Of course in a hostel such as this one they didn't stick to their rooms like prisoners in cells.

‘Downstairs in number twenty-four, as you know, is the
kitchen, the dining room and the lounge with television – the communal area. Upstairs on the first floor there's a bedroom with Katy and Mehjabean in it, one with Zak, and one with Jezebel. I thought it would be easier if I used the names they're going under, sir.'

‘Sure,' agreed Oddie. ‘We may well have difficulty getting their real ones.'

‘Then in the attic there's two bedrooms, one that had the boy they call Mouse in it – '

‘I've seen that one,' Charlie said.

‘Grateful little sod, wasn't he? And the other has a
very
young boy called Tony. I think we ought – '

Mike Oddie stopped her.

‘Maybe. But first things first. What about number twenty-two?'

‘Most of them are there, of course. The front room is split into two, and one has a boy called Simon in it, the other a girl called Rose – nicely spoken, but quiet.'

‘Right. I've got that.'

‘On the first floor upstairs Ben has one room, then there's a boy called Splat in one, and a girl called Bett Southcott in the other. Alan has one of the attic rooms, and a guy called Derek the other – probably the oldest here, I would guess.'

‘They move in with each other now and then, I suppose?'

WPC Gould pursed her lips dubiously.

‘A degree of that, but apparently not as much as you might expect. Ben, apparently, has always insisted on them having a room to themselves because they need their privacy after living communally on the streets. It seems that he is right. They value it.'

‘Well, that's pretty clear. Thanks. We can't do much more that's serious tonight, but maybe we could talk to one or two. Makes sense to start with number twenty-four. We'll go up and chat to this Zak and his girlfriend. Tell all the others to go to bed. Tell them, if they're nervous, that there'll be a guard on the house – on both houses. We'll talk to them tomorrow.'

Then he looked at Charlie and the two of them went upstairs, Charlie leading the way to Zak's bedroom. Jezebel
and Queenie were still there, but the two humans were sharing a companionable nightcap, while the two dogs were watching, waiting for night. Mike was getting a good look at them for the first time. Jezebel was wearing a long skirt, a black jumper with a hole in it over a T-shirt, and bright plastic beads. Zak had on dirty khaki trousers and a mud-smeared sports shirt: he had tattoos up one arm and a stud in his nose. His hair hadn't seen a comb in weeks, it seemed – in fact Pal was very much more kempt than his master, though not so spruce as to put off potential contributors to his welfare. Zak was very aware of Mike taking all this in.

‘Me best clothes is in the wash,' he said. Mike grinned, and while Charlie sat on the floor, he took the one armchair.

‘Any news of Ben?' Jezebel asked.

‘Not good,' said Charlie. ‘Touch and go. But they haven't given up hope.'

‘That's diabolical,' said Zak. ‘'E were a great bloke.'

‘Still is,' said Jezebel. ‘Don't you bury him if the doctors haven't.'

‘And what 'appens to this place if 'e dies?' Zak wanted to know.

Nobody knew the answer to that.

‘How did you hear of it?' Mike asked, to stay on the subject.

‘'E cum round himself, talking to people on the streets. Gave out little bits o' paper wi' th'address on. Talked to us about ussel', and our lives and that.'

‘Is that how you heard?' Mike asked Jezebel.

‘No, that was word of mouth. There's this foul-mouthed old tart called Red Sal, sleeps up around the university science buildings. Claims to have once slept with the whole Bayern München football team of nineteen-whatever-it-was. Bet some of them took back a holiday souvenir they could have done without. Anyway, she was effing and blinding about people doing everything for the young homeless (I hadn't noticed) and nothing for the old ones. She'd got hold of one of those bits of paper with the address on it, and the words “Centre for the Homeless”. I thought: “I'll try that.” '

‘Was that when the refuge first started?'

‘Later,' said Zak. ‘I bin 'ere from the start, but Jezebel, she cum later.'

‘How did you both come to be on the streets?' Charlie asked. They treated it as the most normal question in the world.

‘Me dad died when I were ten,' said Zak. ‘Pit accident. I loved me dad. Then me mam took up wi' this bloke, and 'e were no good, an' before long 'e started knocking 'er about, an' I tried to 'elp, but she wouldn't let me – made up silly stories as to 'ow she'd got 'er cuts an' bruises. 'Fraid she were going to lose 'im, though that'd 'a been the best thing that could 'appen. Eventually I thought “Stuff this”, and o' course there were no work in the mining villages, so it sempt the only thing I could do was to come to Leeds to look for a job. Didn't find one.'

Mike's eyes shifted to Jezebel.

‘Fancied getting away from home. Wanted my freedom. Mum's OK, but she had all these rules and regulations at home, and they riled me. So I just took off. I knew I could survive – not like some. I give her a bell now and then, and I suppose some day I'll go back. It's no big deal.'

No big deal – except that she had probably incapacitated herself for work, for any kind of settled life.

‘Has the hostel made a difference?' he asked her.

Jezebel was positively enthusiastic.

‘It's great! It's like having a bedsitter, without having to pay rent, and without any obligations or sweat. I think Ben's done a great job – and those kids are good too.'

‘There's several as 've found jobs from 'ere,' said Zak, ‘settled down. Not that 'e puts pressure on anyone to do that, but if that's what you want, 'aving this place is a big 'elp.'

‘Is that what you want?' Charlie asked him. Zak waited a moment, then shrugged.

‘I've applied for one or two this past month. No go. Don't know what I'd do about Pal if I got one.'

He looked at the dog, who beat his stringy, whiplash tail on the floor, conscious of attention.

‘There's any of us would take him during the day,' said Jezebel.

‘Pal's me best mate. I don't know as I'd give 'im to anyone else, even for the daytime.'

Charlie thought he was half wanting to get a job, half fearful of the changes he would have to make to his life – and maybe feeling in his heart he could never fit into normal society again. All these seemed perfectly normal reactions, in the circumstances.

‘Let's go through what happened today,' Mike Oddie said.

Alternating and contradicting each other, they went through the various happenings, some of which they had seen, others they had heard about. Rumour went through the Centre not with the hectic, involved urgency of rumours in an English village, but with the fatalistic retelling appropriate to people who have contracted out of the usual social concerns and relationships, and in whose lives anything may happen. If the Centre were under threat, if it had to close, they would be sadder and poorer and hungrier, but life would go on. Knocks were what they were most used to. Oddie questioned Zak closely about the confrontation on the front doorstep.

‘You could see Mr Siddiq, and Mrs Ingram as well?'

‘Course I could. Siddiq were real close. ‘E weren't the sort of bloke for a cracker like Midge.'

‘Why not?'

‘Too bleedin' old, wannee? Not very nice, either. Wouldn't take 'im at 'is word, that's for sure.'

‘And Mrs Ingram you couldn't see quite so well, I suppose?'

‘Well enough. Snooty old git, and pushy with it. Pleased as Punch there was a bit of a barney going on.'

‘Have you talked over with Alan what happened while she was standing at the gate?' Charlie asked.

‘Standing at the gate? Nothing much 'appened while she were standing at the gate.'

‘What she said, then.'

‘No. Should I 'ave?'

‘No, it's a good thing you didn't. Could we have your account of it?'

‘Well . . . I don't know. Like I say, nothing much 'appened.' Zak looked at Jezebel, uncertain.

‘I was back in the hall. I didn't see anything much, though I could hear her.'

Zak pondered.

‘She sailed up, stood at the gate, saw what was going on, then said one of those phrases they use' (he could have been talking about a lost tribe of savages) 'you know, something about 'aving come at the wrong time.'

‘Yes,' said Charlie encouragingly.

‘Then she said she'd come back when . . . what was it? . . . when things were back to normal.'

‘Can you remember how she said it?'

This flummoxed Zak, and he struggled with his memories.

‘Didn't she pause before she said “normal”, like she was trying to find the right word?' asked Jezebel. ‘Or maybe the most insulting word.'

‘She
stopped
', said Zak, ‘before she said the word “normal”. But I don't know if she were trying to find the right word. It were more as if . . .' he screwed up his face, and the ring in his nose jiggled, ‘as if she'd been stopped in 'er tracks . . . surprised, like.'

Charlie would have preferred to wait until he became more specific, but with Zak you could have waited for ever.

‘What could she have been surprised at?' he asked. Zak shrugged.

‘Search me. One of us, I suppose. But it weren't me. I don't mix wi' toffs like 'er, an' I never 'ave done. So it must 'ave been Ben or Alan.'

Five minutes later, as they got into their car, Mike Oddie said to Charlie, ‘Confirmation! Alan is an observant lad. What's the odds she recognized Ben Marchant?'

‘I'd say it was pretty certain. But it's odd she hadn't recognized his voice on the phone.'

‘Or hadn't let on that she had.'

‘If she had, she wouldn't have been surprised when she saw him,' Charlie pointed out.

‘True. It's late. I'm not thinking straight. But I do know that we're going to have to face up to the fact that Ben Marchant had a life of – what? – forty years or more before he ever set up the refuge here in Portland Terrace.'

Charlie nodded.

‘And maybe Mrs Ingram is the one to tell us something about it. I think we should go and see her first thing tomorrow.'