In Servitude

by Heleen Kist

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, as he saw me deep in thought.

  ‘Did you guys decide to go after them?’

  ‘What? No. What do you mean?’

  ‘There are pictures on Glory’s phone from around that time. It looks like she was documenting the goings-on at the wholesaler. Like it was evidence for something. I figured maybe you were building your own arsenal to fight back with. I don’t know, to stop the blackmail and save your job.’

  He looked bewildered, which I put down to his being unaware of the photos and faced with my fanciful fabrications. But then he said, in a hurt voice, ‘You’ve looked in Glory’s phone?’ If I could have crawled under the floor, I would have. I’d been so consumed with proving a plot, that I never stopped to think how unreasonable, how distasteful, it was to keep the phone. There were family photos on there he deserved to have.

  Ashamed, I admitted, ‘Yes, Adam managed to unlock it. And I found these photos of the men at the wholesaler. She was onto something, Stephen, and I’m trying to find out what. I think she was protecting you.’

  ‘But this has nothing to do with the wholesaler. It’s that son of a bitch Brian Scott who has me by the balls. His property company is part of the consortium behind the riverside development. I don’t understand what you’re getting at with this story of photos. Of the wholesaler.’

  The landlord’s name invoked a bitter taste. That bastard. My lips curled at the repugnance of his actions: first he sells off Glory, then he uses her for a loathsome double-dip. It seemed that this duplicitous lech would stop at nothing. ‘We can’t let him get away with this.’

  ‘We have to, Grace. I need to let them win. And I’ve already told them I’ll do it. The approval is due to go through next month.’

  But I was still caught up in my revulsion for the blackmailer. Fragments of cause and effect, of relationships and betrayal collided in my brain and pointed, in lines I could not explain, to Glory’s death. Maybe it was Brian. Maybe Glory had confronted him, when she found out. Maybe she got in the way. I stooped forward and pulled at my hair in frustration. I was certain she’d been murdered, but there were now two possible culprits, and a jumble of motives.

  The words rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them. ‘I think they killed Glory.’

  ‘What? How can you say that?’

  ‘I do. I can’t explain it, but I do.’

  He reached over and placed his hand on my arm.

  ‘Listen, I know Glory’s death has been really hard on you. It’s hard on all of us. And despite what I said earlier, I’m really grateful for everything you’re doing to help us. It sounds like you’ve been under a lot of pressure. But it’s nearly over now. Trust me. And once this is done, we can move on. But no more snooping into her business, Grace. And no more wild theories of murder. We need closure. I need closure. It’s not good for the boys.’

  I sighed and nodded. We’d get there. One step at a time. He didn’t believe me now, and I could see why. I hadn’t proven it to myself yet.

  I wish you could tell me what happened, Gi.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I’d blown it with Dave so there was no need to rush back home. ‘Is it okay if I hang out with the boys?’ I asked Stephen.

  ‘Sure.’

  I investigated the content of the freezer, and it took only a single shout of ‘ice cream’ for their little legs to sprint to my side.

  Noah’s white school shirt was adorned with an orange-red motif twinned by the splotch on his chin. ‘Oh my goodness, Noah, did you actually get any of that spaghetti in your mouth? Look at the state of you.’

  He pointed at his brother. ‘He pushed me when I was trying to eat.’ In return, Adam made a Pinocchio-nose gesture with the associated trumpet sound.

  ‘Okay, okay. Well, let’s take our bowls through, and I can assess the damage. Stephen, would you like some ice cream?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ve got work to do, so it would be great if you could put them to bed later.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He fetched his laptop and disappeared. The three of us went into the living room, closing the doors to contain any noise.

  ‘What are we watching?’

  ‘Five Children and It. We’ve seen it before, but it was Noah’s turn to choose.’

  ‘I don’t know that one. What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s about children who get sent to live with their uncle during the war and they can make wishes because there’s a hairy creature called It.’

  ‘And a dinosaur!’ Noah was never one to miss an opportunity to see his favourite reptile.

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Yes, it hatches from an egg that Horace kept warm, but It makes it come to life.’

  Not that I really cared, but Adam seemed keen to outline the whole plot. ‘Who is Horace?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s their cousin. He lives there.’

  ‘Okay.’

  We snuggled on the sofa, me in the middle to prevent any more pushing—real or imaginary. We ate our ice cream while on the screen somehow multiple versions of the children were cleaning the house.

  ‘Now why can’t you two do that?’ I teased, gesturing towards the war zone of pasta plates on the coffee table.

  ‘It all gets messy again. The spells that It makes don’t last very long,’ said Adam.

  Noah stopped eating. ‘Auntie Grace?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Are we ever going to have a cousin?’

  His little brown eyes shone with expectation, piercing my heart as I realised that I was their only hope. Glory and I had loved visiting our cousins on the farm, stuffing home-grown raspberries down our throats and running free through the fields. Childish, conspiratorial fun could even be found in the drudgery of helping them harvest the potatoes in October. If I didn’t have children, I’d be robbing them; sawing the branches off an already amputated family tree. I’d never felt ready or wanting. Was my clock ticking? I didn’t feel it yet. But maybe Dave had his own ideas. And now…well now the pressure was on.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ll have a cousin, sweetheart. That depends on a number of things. Would you like one?’

  ‘Uhuh.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because you get more presents for your birthday.’

  ‘And we can stay at your house on the holidays and play,’ Adam added.

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’

  My thoughts turned to Dave. Would he be very angry? My phone was in my pocket, wedged between other bodies. I would call him later to apologise. But I couldn’t expect him to hang around forever with a shit girlfriend like me.

  ‘Look how rich they are,’ Noah said. The sound of children squealing came from the TV. In the film, the creature had magicked a bucket of gold. With a mouthful of brown creamy sludge, Adam informed me their joy would again be short-lived. ‘Nobody wants to take that gold because they don’t know where the children got it.’

  That pickle, I could relate to.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  At the café the next morning, I learnt that Sascha had placed Veg&Might in the hipster consciousness, and our loyal school run posse was joined by small groups of deftly coiffed friends and lone blog writers, test-driving the venue’s vibe.

  The incessant grinding of the artisan-roast beans overpowered any attempt at conversation behind the counter, so Sascha and I beavered away serving gluten-free delicacies to a colourful array of beanie hats; our movements evolving into a fluid choreography. I made a note to compliment her as soon as I got a chance.

  When the rush had passed, I stacked the dishwasher and wiped the tables ready for the second coming. This job sucked as much as the Sascha-prescribed ecological cleaning products. I reminded myself it was not forever; but it had gone on longer than expected. Even with takings improving, the place could not afford more staff any time soon. I was mentally working out the maths of when our tainted books would be superseded b
y a more accurate reflection of the business, when someone knocked on the rear door.

  ‘That’ll be the goods.’ Seeing me sigh, she justified the visit: ‘You hadn’t told me to stop working with Excelsior when I placed the order.’

  ‘I know. It’s okay. Let me come with you.’

  We walked together to the rear, and she opened the door. It was Marius, as expected, but the terror on his hollow face made us both gasp. Silent, he held out a bleeding hand, a long gash splitting his palm in two.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Sascha sprung backwards.

  The training I’d received at the gym kicking in, I pulled the man inside and pressed with a clean tea towel to stem the flow of blood. ‘Where is the first aid kit?’

  She ran off to fetch it. I guided Marius to a seat.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I trip over in van. Is sharp corner on door.’

  We hadn’t spoken before and his foreign ‘r’s made his stunted phrases difficult to understand. I proceeded with simple words and enunciated with the exaggerated mouth of a Brit on holiday.

  ‘Okay Marius, don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.’

  He nodded and kept his eyes on me, the eyes of a pleading child. How old was he? His skin was haggard and dry, and paler than others of Mediterranean origin. Conflicting signals thwarted an exact guess. His forehead was furrowed, and crow’s feet radiated from the corners of his eyes. Yet the hairstyle was youthful, and the hair full and black. I judged him to be in his early twenties, with features ravaged by a hard life. I’d seen the conditions at his workplace—in fact, I recognised him from one of the photos—and I sympathised with his plight.

  The box of bandages was well-stocked and once I wiped the bulk of the blood from the wound, it didn’t look as deep as I’d feared. But I preferred to play it safe. ‘We should take you to A&E.’

  He’d concentrated on my lips when I spoke but hadn’t caught the words. ‘Aynee?’

  I made driving gestures and pointed at myself. ‘Hospital. I take you to hospital.’

  Alarm spread across his face. ‘No, no hospital. Please.’ He pulled his hand away and with the other reached into the bandages, waving me away. ‘I fix. Is not bad. Is small.’

  My curiosity screamed at me to find out why he seemed so spooked, but first he needed care. I gently recaptured his lacerated limb and gave him a comforting nod. Examining the cut again, I gauged I’d be able to do a reasonable job and relented.

  ‘Okay, Marius. No hospital. I help you.’

  Colour came back to his cheeks, and he let me take over. As I worked on him, I wondered if perhaps he worried about the cost. Then I remembered Sascha saying he’d been here for years, so he would be aware of the free NHS by now. Was it immigration? Romanian, he was part of the EU so there shouldn’t be a problem; but then again, after the Brexit vote, it seemed they were being made to feel more and more unwelcome every day.

  I could hear Sascha unloading the boxes on his behalf. I hoped there would be no surprises this time. Worried about potential new star-covered boxes, I sped up. Marius remained stoic throughout my bandaging, but the wound was bound to be sore.

  ‘Do you want a pill for pain?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  When I passed him a glass of water and a paracetamol, he smiled. I pushed the rest of the pack towards him, to keep.

  ‘You have a good family,’ he said.

  How odd. Maybe it was an expression from home?

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Your mother and father are good teachers. Glory was very nice with me. And you very nice.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I loved hearing him speak fondly of her, and with mutual warm, wistful smiles, we bonded briefly. As we stood, I noticed he kept raising his eyes to me with a hopeful glance and then cast them down again, as though waging an internal battle. With my gentlest gaze, I offered an opening. ‘Everything all right, Marius?’

  For a moment, his lips parted, only to be pressed shut again. ‘Yes. All okay. I must go to work.’ He made inroads to leave, but I held onto his arm.

  ‘You cannot lift boxes. You are hurt. You must tell Mike it needs a week to heal.’ At the sound of his boss’s name, the poor guy turned to stone. Although I didn’t relish the prospect of going ahead with it, I felt I should offer help. ‘I can tell him, if you like.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I must work.’ He tried to pull himself free.

  ‘Marius, talk to me. Are you okay? I can help.’

  ‘No. Glory help me and now she is dead.’

  The shock from his comment made me let go. But he stayed. He swayed, and his eyes darted between me and the door.

  ‘What are you saying? What did she do?’ I stepped towards him and held his shoulder for reassurance. I needed the truth.

  ‘Glory saw I am not free. Like the others. We must work.’ He hesitated. ‘We are like slaves.’

  It took a second for me to make sense of his statement. The photos shot to mind. He had his shirt off and was smoking a cigarette. ‘Are you being held against your will? In the caravans?’ He nodded, flinching as though his masters could punish him even here.

  Human trafficking? Wasn’t that young girls? For sex? These were men. Big men. Grown men. How do people hold power over grown men? Not that I didn’t want to believe him. It just seemed so improbable. Why not run?

  But Glory had seen his suffering and taken his side. Whilst one thousand questions ransacked my brain, I couldn’t get away from how he’d said, ‘and now she is dead.’

  ‘What did Glory do?’

  ‘She said to be patient. She work a plan.’

  ‘Did she explain the plan? She took pictures of the men at work, yes? Who for?’

  He shrugged and shook his head in ignorance. Nine hundred and ninety-seven questions remained, but there was really only one that mattered.

  ‘Marius, did your boss kill Glory?’

  My thunderous heartbeat nearly drowned out his answer.

  ‘I do not know. Is possible.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Dave was raging. He popped round to my flat after work to have it out with me for abandoning him at the restaurant. Or so was his stated purpose when he barged through the door, leaving a trail of squished blossoms on my floor. Irked by my silence since last night’s only text, he told me we needed to discuss our relationship. That I couldn’t expect him to stick around if he always came second. But we didn’t get to that. Instead, I landed him with the fresh pile of revelations and complications; and he’d had enough.

  ‘Bloody hell, Grace, let it go.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? This isn’t your problem. None of this is. Didn’t you say even Stephen didn’t want you meddling now?’

  ‘That’s not what I said. He only confirmed he didn’t need my help. That he would take care of the planning permission and that would be the end of it.’

  ‘Great. And then you give him the café to deal with—his wife, his mess—and get on with your life.’

  I scowled at him for making it sound simple, when it really wasn’t. Everything was linked. Every stone turned loosened another. Every decision determined a fate. For Glory’s sake, I had to see things through. Finish her work. And not only that.

  I’ll punish the bastard, Gi. I will avenge your death.

  ‘And what about Marius? Don’t you see? Glory was onto their slavery racket and they killed her for it.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ He sighed and grabbed my shoulders. ‘Babe, you have to stop. First it was the evil Mike, then you thought it was Brian who killed your sister for interfering in his blackmail, now it’s Mike again but with another motive. Who’s next?’

  I smacked his hands away. ‘Don’t be such a dick, Dave. You’re painting me like some sort of conspiracy theorist.’

  Whether he agreed he was a dick or merely retreated to prevent a further escalation wasn’t clear, but he softene
d both his stance and tone.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I know you’re hurting, but you must accept Glory’s gone. Whether it was an accident or not, we’ll probably never know. But one thing we do know: nothing you do will bring her back. It’s time to think about you. About us.’

  Reluctantly, I slipped into his arms. I longed to have that luxury. Of thinking about myself. Of having a normal relationship with a normal man—one that wasn’t dysfunctional like with my previous boyfriends. But had I not always picked men who needed fixing? Unlike Dave. My handsome, independent man with a clear sense of self and purpose. Would things work out better with him?

  He kissed my hair. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’ By not moving, I hoped he’d see that as agreement. I didn’t want to lie out loud. ‘Grace?’

  I had one more job.

  ‘I can’t leave Marius and his friends there. I owe it to him to do something. He trusts me.’

  ‘You don’t owe him shit. How many times do I have to say it? Not. Your. Problem.’ He toned down when he felt me recoil. ‘Listen, I get it. You’re a helper. It’s your natural instinct—it’s one of the things I love about you. But it’s not your job to save every stray. This is dangerous. You keep telling me you think they killed Glory. What’s to stop them hurting you?’

  His protectiveness was warming as much as it was annoying. I squirmed and admitted to myself he had a point.

  ‘Sweetheart, if you feel so strongly about the Romanians, call 101 and leave an anonymous tip.’

  ‘It’s a thought,’ I conceded.

  ‘I’m serious. Let the professionals deal with it. They’re bound to have a special department that deals with trafficking. It’s rife.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  That seemed sufficient, for now, and we stood, holding onto each other. I felt a closeness I’d only ever felt with Glory before.

  ‘It’s nothing like they say, you know,’ I said after a while.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘When someone you love dies. They always say you can feel their presence. That they never leave you. Angels looking over you. But it’s bollocks. I wanted to believe it—I opened myself up to any sort of sign. I even talk to Glory in my head, hoping she’ll hear me. She had a plan, Dave, and I couldn’t see it. I longed for her to tell me how to make things right. Why she’d involved me. How I could help. But she’s not there.’