Helen Black

A Place of Safety

Copyright

AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2008

Copyright © Helen Black 2008

Helen Black asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook edition © 2008 ISBN: 9780007328864

Version: 2017-06-26

Praise for Damaged Goods:

‘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

Dedication

For Mum

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Acknowledgments

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

There are 9.2 million refugees worldwide.

The UK offers a home to 3%.

Of those seeking a place of safety in the UK, a fifth

are unaccompanied children.

Prologue

Things, as Luke Walker’s mother is fond of saying, are getting out of hand.

The voices of his friends jar his ears as they stumble through some song by Lily Allen, clapping out of time, urging her on. Tom whoops with glee like a small child at Christmas, saliva dribbling down his chin. Charlie digs Luke in the ribs and shouts something in his ear but the words are lost in a fit of giggles.

The girl is in the middle of their ramshackle circle, her laughter almost hysterical. She says something none of them understand and spins round and round so that her skirt flares up and the boys can see her knickers.

Tom reaches out to touch her. ‘Yeah baby,’ he brays, but the momentum makes him lose his balance and he falls over, bringing Luke down with him.

Tom gropes the ground and swears.

Luke feels sick. He wants to go home. He would go home but he’s boarding tonight, and if the house master catches him in this state he’ll be in detention for a month.

And anyway, the field is spinning and he doesn’t think he can stand.

‘You like?’ the girl asks them.

The other two applaud but Luke can’t even nod his head. He doesn’t like, not at all.

That night had started the same as any other. With prep finished and Mr Philips dealing with one of the homesick new boys, Luke and his friends sneaked out of school to mooch around the village. They pledged how different their lives would be when they could drive.

Charlie’s the eldest and is getting lessons for his seventeenth, but that’s not for over two months.

Luke should be next, but every time he mentions it his mum gives him the look and talks about how many young people die in road accidents.

Tom is the youngest of the group but will probably still be first to pass his test. His dad already lets him drive an old Jeep across their land.

They wandered down to the off-licence. Luke didn’t know why they bothered because Mrs Singh knows they’re all from the boarding school and under age. Tom called her a ‘fucking Paki’ and knocked over a rack of crisps. Luke hates it when Tom does stuff like that.

They finally dragged Tom out with Mrs Singh threatening to call the police, and there was the girl, leaning against the Post Office window opposite. She was one of that lot from the hostel. You could tell by the way she dressed, the way she wore her hair. And she stood like they all do, hunched in on herself, as if trying to disappear.

‘Hey you,’ Tom shouted.

She looked startled at being spoken to and was about to move on when Tom dashed across the street and caught her arm.

‘Do you want to earn some money?’ he asked.

She didn’t answer, her face a blank canvas.

‘Money,’ he repeated, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as if she were deaf or an imbecile. So they paid her five quid to get them some bottles of cider and headed to the park.

It was built for the local kids but they’re all at home on their Nintendos. Only the boarders use it when they manage to slip out of evening prep. It’s cold and deserted, but at least they can get pissed in peace.

Luke doesn’t know why the girl came with them. Maybe she liked the look of Charlie, who’s tall and dark—all the girls fancy him. Or maybe Tom talked her into it. He’s ginger and has a big gap in his front teeth, but he has a way of getting people to do what he wants. ‘Leadership qualities’ his mum calls it.

Either way, she sat on the swings and shared their booze. She barely said a word, except that her name was Anna. Luke thought she was very pretty in a weird sort of way.

When she started dancing you could tell she didn’t really know what she was doing, that she was drunk. He should have told her to sit down. Why hadn’t he told her to sit down?

Now things are going pear-shaped. Tom has managed to pull Anna onto the floor. She’s still laughing but trying to push him away.

‘No no no,’ she says.

Tom mimics her accent. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

She tries to push him away but she’s not very strong, and Tom’s the captain of the rugby first eleven. Luke notices how tiny she is and Tom easily holds the sticks of her arms above her head. Her sweater has ridden up and Luke can see her ribs protruding through her skin.

‘Come on, Tom, leave her alone,’ he says.

Tom’s breath comes in hard pants. ‘Fuck off.’ His forehead is greasy with sweat and the unmistakable bulge of Tom’s cock pushes against his trouser leg.

Luke feels the acid burn of bile in his throat and tries not to retch.

The girl struggles to free herself.

‘Give me a hand, Charlie,’ says Tom.

Charlie seems unsure and hovers above them.

‘Hold her arms,’ Tom grunts.

When Charlie still doesn’t move, Tom snarls at him.

‘Hold her fucking arms, you queer.’

Charlie steals a glance in Luke’s direction. He’s terrified of what’s about to happen, but more terrified of defying Tom. Luke wills him to walk away, to make a joke out of the whole thing. He doesn’t. He kneels above Anna’s head and presses firmly on her wrists.

Luke realises now that she is screaming. The air shatters around him.

Tom clamps one hand over her mouth and uses the other to pull at his flies. Luke tries to get to his feet to help the girl but falls sideways and ends up flapping like a fish in a net.

Tom laughs. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn, Lukey boy.’ He thrusts his hips forward and Anna’s eyes shoot open. He knows he has to do something. Anything. So why doesn’t he move? Why is he still lying on the hard autumn ground? He closes his eyes, disgusted at himself and wishes for tomorrow morning.

Chapter One

The sky outside the office was clear and welcoming. The pale October sun attempted to make its presence felt and Lilly longed to take her lunchtime walk. She’d instituted a daily turn around Harpenden Park after a four-week contested divorce case that had frazzled her mind. She found that the fresh air calmed her, and it stopped her from wolfing more than a sandwich for lunch.

She turned her gaze from the window back to her client and sighed. Mr Maxwell was so absorbed in his story he had failed to notice his solicitor’s evident lack of interest.

‘I simply cannot justify another penny,’ he said. ‘And I cannot see why she should be allowed to sit at home all day while I work my socks off.’

Lilly wondered why a man with such a profound lisp would choose so many words beginning with ‘s’, and pretended not to notice the spittle that was accumulating on his tie.

‘She has three children to care for,’ said Lilly, ‘and they are your children.’

‘We have an au pair for them.’ He fixed Lilly with eyes that bulged like marbles in an otherwise flat face. ‘You have a child, Miss Valentine, yet you seem to manage to work without too much trouble.’

Lilly thought of her ridiculously complicated child-care routine, involving her ex-husband, friends, and anyone prepared to offer a lift to school.

‘What do you think she could do to earn some money?’ Lilly asked.

Mr Maxwell gave a dismissive shrug. ‘She used to be a model.’

Lilly tried to hide her shock. What beautiful woman would go for this unappealing specimen of manhood? Mr Maxwell gave a tree-frog blink. The sort who would be happy to sit on her bony arse all day and count his money was the obvious answer.

‘As galling as it seems, Mr Maxwell, the court has ordered you to pay maintenance to your wife and children,’ said Lilly.

‘Ex-wife.’

Lilly nodded. ‘So you will have to pay.’

Mr Maxwell shuffled his whinging backside out of Lilly’s office, his eyes pulsating.

As he left the building she watched him limp up the road. Lisp, blinking eyes, a limp—maybe she was being too harsh on the poor man. Then a blonde bounced towards him, her plastic breasts fighting to escape. She covered his bald head in tiny kisses and squealed.

Mrs Maxwell Mark Two was waiting in the wings. Some men never learned.

Lilly checked her watch and groaned, realising that her next client was due any minute. She tried to leave a gap between them but divorce cases always overran. These people paid by the hour, so it was their funeral if they blabbed over their allotted appointment, which invariably they did. When it came to splitting up the marital assets, this lot would argue over the contents of the hoover bag.

Lilly missed her care cases. Stroppy teens who might spare you ten minutes between shoplifting in Tesco’s and meeting their mates in the arcade. Sometimes they didn’t turn up at all but left convoluted messages about ASBOs, social workers and pregnancy tests.

God, she missed it.

She pulled a Kit Kat from her bag. Chocolate and no exercise, a double whammy As sugar and hydrogenated fat entered her system, she realised that the only thing keeping her sane was the weekly trip to Hounds Place. At least there she could do some good. Some real good.

‘Might pop over there after this client,’ she mused.

‘Don’t even think about it.’

Lilly turned to the door, where the ever scowling secretary-cum-receptionist, Sheila, had appeared.

‘You don’t even know what I was talking about,’ said Lilly.

Sheila crossed her arms. ‘You want to go running off to the Dogs’ Home.’

‘It’s called Hounds Place,’ said Lilly. ‘As you bloody well know.’

Sheila scooped up some papers fanning the floor and slid them back into their file. ‘Do you keep your house as tidy as this?’

‘Did you just come to annoy me or did you get bored with filing your nails?’

Sheila tried to put the file back in the drawer but the runners were jammed. She pushed and pulled, the metallic groans matching her own.

Lilly sighed. ‘Do you actually want something, Sheila?’

‘The powers-that-be want to take you for a drink after work,’ she said, without turning around.

Lilly put her head in her hands. ‘Bloody marvellous.’

‘Stop whining,’ said Sheila, and thrust her arm into the cabinet. It disappeared like a vet’s arm in a cow. ‘They probably want to thank you for your hard work and good attitude.’

‘In my new role as advisor to the rich, ugly and divorcing I make them shitloads of money. Good attitude is not part of the package.’

Sheila was now virtually inside the cabinet, her shoulders and chest lost in its recesses, her face pushed against the handle.

‘I don’t know why you’re so miserable. You’re making good money, aren’t you?’

It was true. Lilly’s wage had increased by fifty per cent since the firm had reallocated her caseload.

‘The root of all evil,’ she said.

Sheila’s cheek was contorted by the pressure of the metal. ‘You weren’t saying that when you didn’t have any, you just moaned endlessly about the state of your house, how your car was knackered and you couldn’t afford Sam’s school uniform.’

‘But it’s so boring.’

‘Grow up,’ Sheila grunted. ‘It beats the bunch of no-hopers that used to come here thieving the staplers.’

‘Vulnerable kids,’ Lilly sniffed.

‘Junkies, most of them,’ said Sheila. ‘Like that bleeding nutter who drank the bleach.’

‘Kelsey was not on drugs,’ said Lilly. ‘It was her mother who was addicted.’

‘Whatever.’ Sheila shook her head as if the details were unimportant. ‘The point is it nearly bankrupted the office.’

‘We got paid,’ said Lilly.

‘Legal Aid scraps, and you know it,’ said Sheila. ‘And as for those scroungers at the Dogs’ Home, I don’t know why you bother.’

‘Because it stimulates my intellect,’ said Lilly. ‘Something you wouldn’t understand.’

‘I understand that having kids means making sacrifices.’ At last Sheila withdrew her arm, bringing with it a battered book. ‘This was stuck at the back.’ She threw it onto Lilly’s desk. The Art of Positive Thinking.

‘Something to stimulate your intellect.’

Lilly put her head on the desk. ‘Do I really have to go for a drink?’

Sheila’s laugh was nothing short of cruel. ‘Rupinder says it’s a three-line whip.’

It’s been a horrid day. A nightmare. Mr Peters had bawled Luke out for not paying attention in Latin. He’d said he was wasting his talents, and that it was nothing short of criminal. Luke had wanted to tell him how close to the mark he was.

During Information Technology he’d surfed the Net to see how long people got for rape, how old he’d be when he got out of prison. He couldn’t breathe when he saw life was an option. He’d seen a politician on the telly saying the government were cracking down, that ‘life should mean life’. He’d bitten his lip until it bled, terrified he’d burst into tears in front of the whole class.

Worse still, Tom had been acting like nothing was wrong. He’d even boasted in the common room about meeting a ‘right little goer’.

The other boys had laughed at him, said he was talking bollocks.

Tom leaned over the snooker table and potted the black.

‘Ask Lukey boy, he’ll tell you what she was like,’ he said. ‘Gagging for it, wasn’t she?’

Luke smiled weakly, but he could still hear the girl screaming and see her slender wrists being held so tightly that they seemed to turn blue-black. A bit like the sky before a storm.

Now the bell is ringing and Luke can finally escape. Thank God he’s not boarding tonight. He wants to go home, to throw himself onto his Arsenal duvet and let it all out. Maybe he should tell his mum. Maybe she could help. Even if she can’t it would stop the whole thing running through his head like a bad film on a loop.

He sees her car parked by the cricket pitch and bolts towards it. Inside it smells of clean washing.

His mum smiles. ‘Had a nice day, love?’

He can’t answer and squeezes his eyes shut.

‘Is everything all right, love?’ asks his mum.

He stirs his pasta with a limp wrist.

‘Luke?’

Her voice is so very gentle. He feels wrung out like a damp cloth, all the moisture down the sink.

She lifts his chin and looks into his eyes. ‘You would tell me if something was wrong?’

He sees in her familiar face a lifetime of wiped noses and birthday teas. This isn’t a broken window or a bad school report. How can he tell her what he has been part of, what he has done? She can’t make it better. No one can.

He forces some words out. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘You look peaky,’ she says, and presses a cool palm against his forehead. ‘You’re not hot but you’re obviously coming down with something.’

He pushes his bowl away. ‘Yeah. I feel sick.’

Relief plays at the corner of his mother’s mouth. This is her territory.

‘Better lie down, love,’ she says. ‘Will you be all right while I collect your sister?’

The thought of Jessie, a year younger than Luke, fills his mind. What if some boys took her to the park…held her down…

He runs from the room, his hand over his mouth, acid bile running through his fingers.

* * *

His bedroom is spinning and Luke concentrates on a small brown water stain on the ceiling.

‘I’ll be twenty minutes,’ his mum calls from the bottom of the stairs. ‘How about I call at Waitrose for some Lucozade?’

Luke doesn’t answer.

When he hears the front door close he lets the tears spill. He curls into a ball and weeps, snot pooling under his nose, sliding onto his lips, until it becomes clear what he has to do.

He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and packs a bag.

Lilly had tried, she really had. She’d put on her coat and fully intended to head to the bar where her boss and the other partners were waiting for her. But when it had come to it, Lilly had made a sharp right turn and jumped into her new Mini Cooper. Sheila was right about some things. A car that started first time, every time, was a joy on a par with a night with George Clooney.

As she sped down the A5 she pulled out her phone.

‘Rupes, it’s me. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the pub but I need to collect Sam. He said he’d leave home if he had to go to after-school care again.’

It was true that Sam preferred not to stay late at school with the boarders. He said the common room smelled and tea in the refectory was always the same. ‘I don’t know how they do it, Mum, but whatever day you go it’s always some sort of mince,’ he’d said. ‘They give it different names but it doesn’t fool anyone.’

To say he hated it was perhaps an exaggeration, but extreme times called for extreme measures.

Rupinder said nothing. Lilly could imagine her pursed lips and tried to make light of it. ‘You can give me my bollocking tomorrow and save yourself the price of a pint.’

‘Just get your backside over here.’

Lancasters had changed hands again. Now a franchise of a famous chef who had never stepped out of the West End, it had restyled itself as a gastropub. What this meant in reality was sage-green walls by Farrow & Ball and steaks costing fifteen quid a pop. As usual, it was almost empty.

Rupinder and the others were congregated at the far end of the bar. Lilly heard the pop of a champagne cork and her heart sank. Had she missed something important? Whose birthday was it?

‘What’s the occasion?’ she called, all faux bonhomie.

Rupinder held out a glass of bubbly. ‘Your application for rights of higher audience. You passed.’

Earlier that year, Rupes had come under pressure from her colleagues to give Lilly the boot because of her propensity to speak her mind and take on cases that would add little to their pension funds. Rupes had resisted but had agreed to improve her bottom line. One suggestion was that money should stop being wasted on barristers and that Lilly should handle her own advocacy wherever possible.

‘Wow,’ said Lilly. Drowning in the sea of divorce cases, she’d forgotten all about the exams she’d taken that summer.

‘Wow indeed.’ Rupinder’s tone was cold. Lilly was obviously not forgiven for her attempted escape. ‘Congratulations.’

Sheila drained her glass and helped herself to a refill from the jeroboam. She didn’t tilt her glass, and the expensive froth flowed down the stem.

‘I suppose you’ll be in the office even less now,’ she said. ‘And muggins here will get all the extra paperwork.’

‘Every cloud,’ said Lilly.

‘Perhaps we could all put our differences aside and pull as a team,’ said Rupinder, ‘just this once.’

Lilly girded herself for a lecture but was saved by her phone. ‘I told you Sam would get the hump.’

Rupes looked gratifyingly crestfallen so Lilly didn’t mention that football training wouldn’t finish for another hour.

She stood away from the others.

‘Miss Valentine?’

‘That’s me,’ she said.

‘I’m from Hounds Place. I wonder if you have any time to speak to one of the residents.’

Lilly looked over at Rupes and gave her best contrite parent face. ‘I’ll be right there.’

This 7 message thread spans 2 pages: [1] 2 ≪

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Blood River at 15.05

This country used to be something to be proud of.

It used to stand for something around the world. Its people knew who they were.

Can we say that any more?

The People Of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.12

No we can’t.

The country has gone to shit with all the bending over backwards for immigrants.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Snow White at 15.15

What really annoys me is when you walk down the street and every other person is a foreigner. I went on a train to London last week and heard about twenty different languages. I began to wonder where I was…

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.22

I know what you mean, Snow White. My home town has three mosques. Three!!!

We truly are living in Englastan.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Snow White at 15.26

I read that some schools are forced to celebrate Eid and Diwali but the children aren’t allowed to send Christmas cards to one another. I don’t want my children bringing up that way.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.38

It’s a scandal.

The white indigenous population of this country will soon be in the minority and then we’ll lose all our heritage and culture.

Prepare to say goodbye to Easter, New Year’s Eve and Bonfire Night.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Blood River at 15.46

I for one am not about to surrender everything I hold dear.

Mass immigration has been a disaster and it’s got to stop.

We are at saturation point.

Write to your MP saying you will no longer tolerate being a second-class citizen in your own home.

Boycott shops owned by in-comers.

Fly the flag of St George with pride.

Snow White closed the lid of her laptop. She hated to leave a live discussion but she needed to pick up her husband’s shirts from the dry-cleaners’. She checked the clock. If she didn’t dilly-dally she’d still have enough time to pop into the butcher’s and get home in time for the live podcast.

A hostel had recently opened in Manor Wood, within half a mile of Sam’s school. The building, Hounds Place, had previously been a police-station house but had been bought up by a professional landlord who saw the potential for squeezing five desperate refugees into each room.

The influx of nearly thirty foreigners into a small village like Manor Wood had not been greeted with overwhelming delight. The infamous hospitality of the English countryside did not, it seemed, extend to the raggle-taggle bunch of young men and women who had risked everything to leave their wartorn homelands.

Lilly had begged Rupes to let her represent two fourteen-year-old boys who had fled the Taliban. Without any relatives in the UK care orders had been made without fuss or objection so the use of Lilly’s time had been negligible. Two had become four, then a teenager from Bosnia arrived and another from Uganda. Although she kept the increasing numbers quiet, particularly from Rupes, Lilly now represented at least half the kids in there. It didn’t take up too much of her energy, she told herself, as she checked her watch.

As soon as she crossed the threshold a young man in a checked shirt and denim jacket sidled over.

‘Hello, Artan,’ said Lilly.

He should have been a good-looking boy with his full pink lips and the blackest of lashes, but something about him always unnerved Lilly. His entire family had been killed in Kosovo, but he never seemed angry or sad or even confused. He was cold.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

Artan shook his head to indicate that things were not good. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘I’ve got twenty minutes,’ said Lilly.

They went to the kitchen and the few residents who had been sitting around chatting got up and left. Something was very wrong.

‘Have you been arrested again, Artan?’ Lilly asked. A month ago she’d got him off with a warning for shoplifting.

‘It is nothing like that.’ His eyes were vacant, devoid of any clue as to what lay beneath.

‘Are you in trouble?’ she asked.

‘Something has happened to my friend,’ he said.

‘Something bad?’

‘Very, very bad,’ said Artan.

Alarm bells started to ring. ‘Has he been hurt?’

‘It’s a girl,’ said Artan. ‘And yes, she has been hurt.’

The alarm bells were pounding out now. The three-minute warning.

‘Go on,’ said Lilly.

‘Some boys from the village have taken advantage of her,’ said Artan.

‘You mean she’s been raped?’

Artan nodded.

‘Has she been to the police?’ asked Lilly.

‘It is not so simple,’ said Artan. ‘She doesn’t trust them.’

Lilly nodded. Despite special suites and task forces, most rapes continued to go unreported, and refugees were even less likely to take their chances with the authorities.

‘She doesn’t think the police will believe her,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘She drank alcohol with these local boys and went to the park with them,’ he said. ‘They will say she wanted to have sex.’

‘Why did she go with them?’ asked Lilly.

‘Because her mind is not clear,’ he said.

The silence was thick between them. Lilly knew all their stories were horrific. That none of them were unscathed.

‘Can you promise these boys will be convicted?’ he said.

‘No one can make a promise like that.’

Artan leaned towards her, his voice dropping. ‘Is there a good chance?’

Lilly weighed her words very carefully ‘Rape is one of the most difficult offences to prove, and in a case like this where it’s one girl’s word against three presumably squeaky-clean schoolboys it would be even more difficult.’

Artan closed his eyes, his breathing slow and heavy.

Lilly shivered. ‘But that’s not to say she shouldn’t report it.’

‘Why?’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘So that she can be humiliated again and again?’

When he opened his eyes they seemed even more desolate than before.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lilly.

She thought she saw a flash of anger skitter across his face.

‘We are not animals,’ he said. ‘These boys must be punished.’

* * *

Twenty-four pounds.

It was daylight robbery.

Still, it was the best organic beef from cows allowed to roam freely around their farm in Sussex. Mr Simms even had photos of ‘the girls’ above his counter, all doe eyes and bell collars. Some thought that was a step too far but Snow White saw nothing wrong with it. Grandpa had kept chickens and had slit their throats in front of her for Sunday lunch. She could still hear the damned squawking.

People these days had no respect for the provenance of their food. They wanted everything clean and shrinkwrapped.

She had taught her children that life just wasn’t like that. When a fox had killed every last one of their pet bunnies she had told them to stop crying and let them sit up with her until midnight when she took him out with her shotgun. ‘Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.’

She put the meat in the fridge and logged on to her laptop.

Welcome, Snow White—today’s live podcast will start in five minutes.

Excellent. She hadn’t missed it.

Humming to herself, she made a pot of Darjeeling.

Lilly’s mind was still heavy with what she had heard. When she pulled into her son’s prep school she almost hit a Mercedes and its driver hooted. Lilly was tempted to give her the finger, but such a gesture would be considered rude and vulgar, an unforgivable sin for the middle-class parents among whom Lilly already had few friends.

She was about to berate herself once again for giving in to her ex-husband on the subject of schooling when her mobile rang.

The voice was Irish honey. ‘Hello, gorgeous. Got time for a natter?’

Lilly got out of the car and smiled. ‘For you,’ she said, ‘I’ve always got time.’

It was Jack McNally, a copper Lilly had known for years, and had flirted with for nearly as long before he’d finally made a move.

‘What are you wearing?’ he asked.

Lilly laughed. ‘I’d like to say a basque and fishnet stockings.’

A passing parent wrinkled her nose. Lilly wanted to stick out her tongue.

‘But,’ said Jack, ‘I’m sensing a “but”’.

‘To be honest, I’m at school, and even I’m not brazen enough to parade around here in my undies.’

‘You wouldn’t want to make all those yummy mummies jealous,’ he said.

‘Now I remember why I like you.’

She sauntered to the football pitch where Sam, in goal, was in position to save a penalty. Lilly hardly dared watch, even though it was only a practice session. ‘So how’re things?’

‘Same old, same old,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she groaned, as Sam batted the ball clear of the goal, the slap of the leather against his skin audible even from the touchline. Though it was undoubtedly uncool for a nine year old to show any pain his middle-aged mother couldn’t help herself.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You sound a bit distracted.’

‘I had a funny meeting just before you called.’

‘Funny ha ha, or funny peculiar?’

‘Funny disturbing,’ she said. ‘A girl from the hostel has been raped.’

‘One of the asylum seekers?’

‘Yeah. Her friend wanted to know what would happen if they got the police involved.’

‘And?’ Jack asked.

‘And I told him the truth.’

The referee blew his whistle and ten boys ran towards Sam, who had clearly saved the day.

‘I’ve got a bad feeling that he might do something stupid,’ she said.

Ever the professional, Jack’s tone was serious. ‘Like what?’

Lilly waved at her son, who shook hands gravely with the other side and then scampered towards her, wind-milling his arms.

‘I don’t know, it could be nothing. Ignore me.’

‘It doesn’t sound like nothing, Lilly.’

Sam was almost upon her. ‘You know how I overreact. He was probably just upset. Anyone would be.’

‘Lilly, you don’t overreact,’ said Jack. ‘You have excellent instincts, and if you think something is going down you need to tell someone.’

‘I will, well, I might. I need to think it through.’ Sam jumped into her arms, nearly knocking her off her feet. ‘Look, I have to go, Peter Shilton needs his tea.’

* * *

Welcome, members. Today’s discussion will feature regular contributor Nigel Purves.

Snow White helped herself to a Garibaldi and settled down. Nigel was always good value.

…I want to talk to you all about diversity and I want you to think about whether this is a good thing.

Snow White dunked her biscuit and smiled at her screen. Nigel was such an articulate man, able to make his point with a clarity and conviction that was sadly lacking in most politicians. And he knew how to work a suit and tie. The Des Lynam of the Far Right.

…On the face of it we might find difference a good thing—after all, who wants everything to be the same? Diversity makes life interesting, no?

But pause for a second and ask yourself what makes family so special.

Snow White reached for a ginger snap. Nigel was on top form.

Isn’t it the fact that everyone is cut from the same cloth? That you have things in common? That you are a homogenous group?

Nigel ran a hand through his hair, still thick with flecks of grey.

Whatever anyone tells you, it is perfectly natural for each of us to want to be with our own kind. Some might call that racist. I say it’s just common sense…

‘Mum, I’m starving.’

Bugger. Snow White shut down the podcast.

‘Is there anything to eat?’

The girls were home early. Nigel would have to wait.

‘I have scones,’ she said. ‘Or crumpets. You choose.’

‘I know a man who knows a man. He’ll get you what you need.’

Artan nods and hands the money to the Albanian.

He doesn’t ask any questions. Knows he wouldn’t get any answers. He’s thought about this and nothing else since he met with the solicitor.

These boys must pay.

Chapter Two

‘You will be there, Mum?’

Lilly looked up from the washing-up bowl and smiled at her son. ‘Yes, Sam.’

He stuffed the last spoonful of porridge into his mouth and beamed. ‘Sometimes you get held up at work.’

‘I’ve already squared it with the office and marked myself out in the diary with a fat red pen.’

‘But stuff comes up on those big children cases,’ he said.

‘I’m not doing those any more, as well you know,’ she said. ‘And would I miss the semi-final?’

Placated, Sam collected together his kit bag and three bananas. ‘For energy,’ he said.

Unable to find a tea towel, Lilly wiped her hands down her jumper. Suds accumulated across her chest. She tried to rub the bubbles away with her elbow but only managed to smear them around. ‘Damn it.’

‘Why don’t you get a new dishwasher, Mum?’ asked Sam.

‘I will,’ she said, and grabbed her car keys. She pulled at the front door with both hands but it wouldn’t budge. A wet November had swollen the wood of both it and the frame. Superglue couldn’t have attached them more firmly. She braced her foot against the wall and heaved. The door opened about a foot and she ushered her son outside.

‘We need a lot of stuff doing to the house, don’t we?’ said Sam.

Lilly squeezed through the gap then braced herself again, this time with the heel of her boot against the stone of the cottage. She slammed with all her might. The door shuddered to a close, showering plaster from the roof of the porch.

‘One or two odd jobs,’ she said, and shook the masonry from her hair.

‘When I play for Liverpool I’ll be rich,’ he said. ‘But I suppose we need the money now.’

They threw their bags on the back seat and got into the Mini. ‘Don’t you worry, big man, these divorce cases pay well.’

‘You don’t like them though, do you, Mum?’

Her new car purred. ‘I like them well enough.’

‘What about all those children you used to help?’ he asked.

Lilly sighed. ‘Someone else will represent them.’

‘And you really don’t mind?’

Lilly smiled and set off down the lane.

When she dropped Sam at school, he turned to her again.

‘I’ll be there,’ she laughed. ‘And I have something for you.’ She handed him a small plastic bag and watched the joy on her son’s face as he unpacked a pair of brand new Nike goalie gloves.

* * *

The bench is hard and cold but Artan is prepared to wait all day. Anna leans against him, her cheek against his chest, her bony arm around his waist.

They watch for the telltale green blazers that separate the boys from Manor Park from the local kids.

‘Tell me if you see them,’ he says.

She nods slightly, her cheek grazing the zip of his jacket.

The air buzzes with lunchtime chatter. Two boys in hoodies spar in the road, pretending to land karate kicks. Their friends shout encouragement and shower them with sweets and crisps. When they spot the strangers on the bench and whisper to each other.

‘What you looking at?’ shouts one.

Artan doesn’t reply, but the look on his face sees the boys off.

He feels Anna’s body tense against his own.

‘What?’

‘There,’ she says, her gaze directed towards four boys in green.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

Anna nods. ‘The dark-haired one and the redhead.’

‘I thought you said there were three.’

‘I did,’ she says. ‘He is not there.’

They let the boys buy some drinks and follow them at a safe distance.

The boys lark about all the way back to school. The redhead is in charge. His voice is the loudest and he punches his friend on the arm just a little too hard. When the other cries out, he laughs in his face and calls him ‘gay’.

‘He reminds me of Gabi,’ says Anna.

‘Don’t ever say that name.’

Anna leans against him. ‘Sorry.’

He pushes her away and wraps his hand around the handle of the gun. Its feel is familiar, like an old friend.

Jack pounded forward, the rhythm of his feet beating in his head. One, two, three, four. It was relentless. Yet oddly comforting.

He’d taken up running six months ago, when the doc told him his blood pressure was borderline dangerous. He’d also been told to curb his drinking—but you could only do so much.

He surged through puddles and oil slicks, oblivious to the mud catapulting up his calves, concentrating instead on his breathing. One, two, three, four. He thought it would lose its attraction once the summer skies had disappeared but oddly he found the grey streets and lanes even more enticing.

He’d lost nearly a stone already, which was no small feat considering how good Lilly’s cooking could be. He smiled at the thought of her licking cake mixture from a spoon.

He’d call her later, see if she and Sam fancied catching a film. She’d sounded distracted yesterday, worried about the boy at the hostel. She was always so committed to these kids she worked for. Took it all to heart. It would do her good to do less of that kind of work.

He remembered that Sam was playing a footie match at the school this afternoon. Maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he should surprise her…

* * *

Jack watched Lilly stamping her feet against the cold. Most of the other mothers were dressed in green Hunter wellies and puffer jackets, cashmere scarves wound around them. Lilly, however, had obviously come straight from work and was in her suit and leather-soled boots. She looked freezing and jigged from side to side. The playing fields were exposed on all sides and the wind ripped across unchecked.

‘For the money you lot pay, you think they’d give you better weather.’

Lilly smiled at Jack. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

‘Sure, I’ve been tapping your phones.’

She laughed, her breath swirling around her face.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Me coming, not tapping your phone.’

She tucked her arm through his. ‘Of course I don’t mind. And Sam will be thrilled to see you.’

‘Where is the wee man?’ he asked.

‘They’ll be on in five minutes. If we haven’t all died of hypothermia.’

He took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘You need a proper coat in this weather, Lilly.’

‘Yes, Dad.’

Now Jack was freezing but he couldn’t have cared less. He was here with his woman, and a fine one at that, watching her son play football. It felt like…he hardly dared to think it, but it felt like a family.

More parents arrived and boys from the senior school, come to cheer on the little ones. A couple were larking about, braying like donkeys. The biggest really fancied himself, despite his frizzy orange hair. He puffed out his chest like a robin, arrogance tattooed across him. Jack hoped Sam never turned out like that, but he said nothing. Lilly already tortured herself over the whole private school thing, but her ex-husband insisted. Jack knew better than to get involved.

The hedge is thin, autumn having stripped it down to its spindly skeleton. They push their way through it easily and head across the lawns.

Artan glances up to the main building. A mansion house of smooth brown stone, ivy-clad. Each wooden sash window is freshly painted white. Could this really be just a school?

To the left, three beech trees are losing the last of their leaves, the ground below carpeted in bronze and gold.

A man in uniform holds out a machine to suck them up.

‘What is that?’ whispers Anna.

‘A vacuum cleaner.’ Artan shakes his head. ‘A vacuum cleaner for leaves.’

Still this country can amaze him. Back home, his mother didn’t even have one for the house. She swept with an old broom, as her mother before her had done.

‘These people,’ he says, ‘they have no idea how lucky they are.’

‘Quick, before someone sees us,’ she says.

They march towards an outbuilding, but it’s too late.

‘Oy,’ the man shouts. ‘Oy, you two.’ He throws down the leaf machine and stamps over to them. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

Artan opens his arms. ‘Sorry. English no good.’

‘I see,’ says the man. ‘You’re from the agency. Well, you’re late.’

Artan and Anna freeze. What is an agency?

‘You’re here to work?’ says the man, and pretends to sweep up.

Artan thinks again of his mother and laughs.

‘Right,’ the man points to some sheds, ‘grab some rakes and get yourselves back out here.’

‘Rakes,’ repeats Artan.

‘That’s it. Now get a move on.’ The man shoves Artan in the small of his back. ‘Bloody foreigners.’

Artan continues to smile, but his right hand has tightened around his gun.

The crowd cheered. Not exactly a roar, more a cheerful smattering of clapped hands, but it made Sam smile all the same.

Lilly waved at her son across the pitch and his face lights up at the sight of Jack beside her.

Was it her relationship with Jack that had finally put to rest all the arguments with David about who had done what to whom? Or was it the sight of his girlfriend, bleary-eyed and exhausted from their baby daughter’s teething, that had seen off dusty resentments?

Things felt right. New, somehow.

Lilly laughed aloud at her flight of fancy.

The opposing team from the village school won the toss and the match began.

‘Come on, Manor Park,’ Lilly shouted.

‘Yeah,’ shouted one of the boarders, ‘let’s show these chavs what we’re made of.’

Lilly pretended not to hear but saw a few Manor Park parents smirk. Why did these people have to be so bloody self-important? Why did they have to look down on others just because they had less cash?

‘The ball wasn’t that bad,’ said Jack.

‘What?’

‘A mistimed pass, I’ll grant you, but they’re only nine.’

It was a blatant attempt to divert her. Lilly laughed and pressed her cheek against Jack’s shoulder.

At the far side of the grounds some parents were walking towards the pitch. They were late and would get it in the neck from their son after the match. As they came nearer, Lilly could see that they were both in overalls. Not parents, ground staff. The school had an army of them to trim and mow. Never before had fifteen acres been so well manicured, and never before had Lilly seen a woman among their ranks.

‘Great save,’ shouted Jack, and Lilly tore her eyes back to the game.

‘What happened?’

‘Number eight made a great run up the wing and chipped it in the left corner, but Sam just got his fingers to it.’

Lilly smiled. ‘Since when are you into football?’

‘Thought I was a rugger bugger, did you?’

Lilly spluttered. ‘Definitely not.’

‘What then?’

Lilly pretended to appraise him with an earnest eye. ‘Fly fishing?’

‘Go on with you, woman,’ he said, pushing her away with one hand and pulling her back with the other. ‘I’m too sporty for that.’

‘Sporty?’

Jack flexed a non-existent bicep. ‘Pure muscle.’

‘From lifting pints,’ said Lilly.

She was about to make another remark when she again caught sight of the couple in overalls. They had stopped about one hundred metres away and were deep in conversation, heads bent together. Their hair was the same dark chestnut, thick and shiny, dancing in the wind. Suddenly the man pulled the woman into his arms. Not like lovers, but proprietorial, like a father with his daughter. Or a brother and his younger sister. He embraced her tightly, as if he were holding the pieces of her together. In turn she surrendered to him, wishing to be engulfed.

When the woman turned her head to the side, Lilly saw she was very young, very beautiful, and very, very frightened.

Jack felt the electric current of tension ride through Lilly’s body.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

He followed her eye-line to a couple of teenagers moving towards them. The girl was striking, with creamy skin and almond-shaped eyes. He noticed the boy too, his face grabbing Jack’s attention with its complete lack of expression.

‘Do you know them?’ he asked.

Lilly nodded. ‘From the hostel.’

‘What are they doing here?’

‘I don’t know.’

But she did know.

Maybe they had got a job at the school? It made sense, didn’t it? They lived nearby and anyone could cut grass, sweep up leaves.

‘She swallowed her alarm and waved in their direction. Artan.’

He didn’t look up, but whispered something to the girl and kissed her cheek. Then he strode off, not towards Lilly but over to the group of noisy boarders. The girl stumbled after him.

Jack looked from Lilly to the couple and back again.

‘Speak to me, Lilly. What’s going on?’

She looked into his eyes, her own shining with fear. ‘Something very bad.’

They ran towards the couple until they were almost upon them. Only then did Lilly see the gun.

The shot rang out, incongrously clear in the graphite sky.

Jack quickly assessed the situation. The girl had a gun, which she held out at arm’s length, both hands shaking around the handle. The boy held his above his head and whirled around, trying to regain his footing from the recoil of the gun and the panic that had clearly grabbed him. A kid was down. One of the boarders.

Someone screamed, then someone else, and soon the air was teeming with the horrified cries of parents surging from the sidelines towards their boys.

‘Stop,’ the boy screamed, but they ignored him and swarmed forward.

The boy pointed his weapon towards them. ‘Stop.’

‘Everyone stay still,’ Jack shouted.

One of the dads reached out to his son, caked in mud and weeping.

‘I said be still. Now.’

Everyone froze. Silence fell, punctuated only by the muffled sobs of the injured boy.

Jack opened his arms, his palms to the sky, and approached the girl.

‘I’m the police,’ he said. ‘Put down the gun.’

She panted hard. Her body convulsed. Her arms could barely hold up the gun, yet she kept it trained on a boy in the crowd. His eyes were wide in his freckled face. Not so arrogant now.

‘Put down the gun,’ Jack said.

She shook her head.

Jack held out his hand. ‘Please.’

He laid his hand under the gun and wondered if he was about to die.

He held his breath.

She dropped it into his palm.

Slowly, very slowly, Jack turned towards the other assailant. ‘And you too, son.’

The boy laughed. It was harsh. ‘Do you know what they did?’

Jack glanced towards the group of boarders. ‘Why don’t you put the gun down and tell me?’

‘She knows,’ said the boy, pointing the gun at Lilly.

Jack heard the sharp intake of her breath and terror coursed through him.

‘But she said nothing would be done.’ He looked at Lilly with pure venom. ‘That the police would do nothing.’

Jack inched between the gun and Lilly until his chest was in the firing line.

‘Maybe she was wrong,’ said Jack.

The boy shook his head and wheeled the gun back towards the boarders, his sights on the largest. The redhead.

‘This piece of shit does not deserve to live,’ he spat.

A stain spread across the redhead’s groin. ‘Don’t shoot me.’

‘Put the gun down,’ Jack shouted.

The boy shook his head again. Almost imperceptible, but Jack caught it. There was a shift. Conversation was at an end.

Jack watched the boy’s finger touch the trigger as if in slow motion. He knew what he had to do. He raised the gun in his own hand, conscious of its weight, its girth. He closed his eyes and discharged two rounds. When he let the light in, the boy lay on the ground. His shoulder gaped, blood and bone splattered over his overalls. An ugly wound, enough to disarm him, not fatal. But the boy didn’t move until Jack turned his lifeless head and saw the second wound, clean and perfect at the left-hand side of his temple.

‘Are you okay?’

Lilly stood in the doorway of her cottage, bewildered.

Penny Van Huysan stood in the dusky shadows and pushed her carefully highlighted hair behind her ears.

‘Are you okay?’ she repeated gently.

Penny was another Manor Park parent. She was girly, giggly and chichi. She knew what everyone’s husband did for a living and could spot a Christian Louboutin pump at two hundred yards—yet she chose to spend her time with Lilly rather than the other Yummy Mummies.

They had formed a bond during the Kelsey Brand case, when Lilly’s life imploded and Penny had proved an unlikely form of support. She was flanked by Luella, who had all Penny’s shallowness but none of her charm or compassion.

‘Lilly?’ said Penny. ‘Can you hear me?’

When Lilly didn’t reply Penny and Luella exchanged glances and ushered her inside.

‘Is Jack here?’ asked Penny.

Lilly shook her head.

Penny ran a glass of water and pushed Lilly into a chair. Lilly gulped it down. She hadn’t even realised she was thirsty.

‘He had to go back to the station, to explain what happened.’

‘And what did happen? People are saying a gang from the hostel tried to shoot everyone?’ said Luella.

‘No, no,’ said Lilly. ‘There were two, a boy and a girl, just kids.’

‘But there was a shooting?’ Luella asked.

Penny put her hand on Luella’s knee.

‘The headmaster specifically told us not to gossip about this.’

‘We’re not gossiping,’ said Luella.

‘He doesn’t want the press getting hold of this and descending on us.’

‘No one wants that,’ said Luella.

Lilly could see she was desperate to extract information. That was the only reason she had come.

‘Is Sam in bed?’ said Penny.

‘Yeah, he didn’t really see what happened, but he was shaken all the same,’ Lilly replied.

Luella persisted. ‘So what did happen?’

Penny frowned a warning but Luella waved her away.

‘We’ve a right to know.’

Lilly sighed. Luella would not be put off, so Lilly might as well fill her in before the school bongo drums went into overdrive.

‘Like I said, they were just kids.’

‘But they were armed,’ said Luella.

‘Yeah. Jack disarmed the girl, but the boy wouldn’t…’ She paused, unsure how to explain. ‘Jack had to shoot him.’

‘Dead?’ Luella almost screamed.

‘I don’t suppose Lilly took his pulse,’ said Penny.

Lilly smiled. ‘You’re right, I didn’t, but I’d say he was dead. The wound to his head was too serious to survive.’

‘Jack must have thought the situation was pretty grave,’ said Penny.

‘It was. The boy might have shot someone else,’ said Lilly.

Luella could barely contain herself. ‘Someone else! You mean he’d already killed someone?’

‘I don’t know. They took someone off in an ambulance.’

‘Who?’ asked Penny.

Lilly squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the boy, white and still on the stretcher. ‘A pupil. One of the boarders. Charlie Stanton.’

Silence fell on the three women as the enormity of what had happened at their children’s school sank in. At last, Luella stood up and dusted down her skirt. She had obviously processed the information.

‘I’m sure we’re all agreed that something must be done.’

‘The police are dealing with it,’ said Penny.

‘I mean about that hostel,’ said Luella.

Lilly was puzzled. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

Luella’s jaw was firm. ‘I mean we must get it closed down.’

Lilly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘It’s nothing to do with the hostel or the other people staying there,’ she said.

Luella’s eyes were glinting. ‘How can you say that when those animals went up to our school with the sole intention of murdering our children?’

‘That’s not how it was,’ said Lilly. ‘I don’t think the girl intended to hurt anyone.’

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ said Luella. ‘People don’t carry guns unless they mean to do some damage.’

Lilly looked to Penny for help but she shook her head. ‘It’s a fair point, Lilly. I mean, how would you have felt if Sam had been hit?’

‘I know what you’re saying, but you can’t lump the other residents together,’ said Lilly.

‘They sound dangerous,’ said Penny.

Lilly was shocked. She expected reactionary politics from Luella, but Penny?

‘There were only two involved and they had their own reasons,’ said Lilly.

Luella’s nostrils flared. ‘Like what?’

Lilly knew she could not mention the rape. That information had been given to her in confidence and, anyway, she didn’t know for certain that it had anything to do with what had happened today

‘You see,’ Luella lifted her chin in triumph, ‘there is no explanation for what happened, other than the obvious. Those people are not like us. They hate us. And I for one am not going to stand around while another gang of them does any more damage.’

Jack was still shaking when he got into bed.

He’d been over and over it at the station. With a man down and the boy still wielding the gun, he had had no choice.

‘Couldn’t you have disabled him?’ asked the investigator.

Jack shook his head. ‘I couldn’t take the chance. If I’d missed he would have killed me.’

On and on it had gone, until they finally let him go at two in the morning.

‘You’re lucky,’ said the investigator. ‘He doesn’t have any family so no one’s likely to complain.’

In the dark, his duvet wrapped around him, shivering uncontrollably, Jack didn’t feel bloody lucky.

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