by Helen Black
‘My Lord,’ said Marshall, turning back, ‘the prosecution agree.’
Lilly breathed a heavy sigh of relief and tried to catch Kelsey’s eye, but she was staring intently at the judge. Lilly wondered if she had understood it was all over.
‘As for you, young lady,’ said Blechard-Smith to Kelsey. ‘You have suffered a terrible ordeal and I will not try to patronise you by pretending I can guess how you feel. I only hope that you leave here knowing British justice did not fail you. Please accept my sincere best wishes for your future endeavours.’
Kelsey stifled a yawn. ‘Yeah, yeah, tell it to a judge.’
The house was empty and cold. It seemed to have been not so much left as abandoned. A carton of milk stood open on the kitchen table and had begun its slow descent into cottage cheese. Two slices of bread stood erect in the toaster waiting for the golden tan they had never received. The bedroom and bathroom were a jumble of discarded clothes and cosmetics, jewellery strewn across the unmade bed. The overall scene was of a burglary, but as Jack McNally ran his finger through a trail of ivory face powder he knew the signs of a hasty departure when he saw one.
‘Hello,’ came a voice from the hallway. ‘Hermione, are you there?’
An attractive woman in her mid-twenties appeared in the doorway and let out a gasp when she saw the state of the room.
Jack flashed his badge. ‘Police. Do you know where she is?’
The woman’s hand went to her throat and she shook her head. ‘I’m her assistant, Nancy. She didn’t show up for an important meeting today and she’s not answering any of her phones. I got worried and came over.’
‘Have you any idea where she went?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Sorry.’
Jack sighed. Hermione was long gone, probably out of the country by now.
‘I told the others we weren’t close or anything,’ the woman was gabbling.
‘Others?’ Jack’s tone was sharp.
‘Secret service. They came this morning and took all Hermione’s papers.’
Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, careless of the silk shirts beneath him.
Nancy Donaldson hurried back to the station. As she reached into her bag for her ticket her fingers brushed against the stained brown envelope containing a photocopy of the girl’s handwritten statement. When Nancy first opened it two weeks ago she’d thought it was the ranting of some nut, but when the Brand story broke she’d put two and two together. At the time she’d retrieved it from Hermione’s drawer and made a copy, thinking she could sell it to the papers when Kelsey was convicted. She’d never once suspected that her boss was somehow involved. She supposed she should give it to the police now Hermione had run away, but Nancy’s job prospects would be a lot better if this whole saga died a death. Better to hang on to it and see what happened.
The next tube to Westminster was in three minutes, just enough time to buy two takeaway lattes, one for herself and one for the Right Honourable Member for Chichester South.
Wise or not, Lilly really needed to see her son. Not to beg him to come home but simply to fold him in her arms for just a moment.
When David answered his door, Lilly gasped. His shirt was stained with blood, all colour drained from his lips, his eyes hollow and dark.
‘What’s happened?’ she screamed. ‘Where’s Sam, is he hurt?’
David muttered something incoherent, and from inside the house came a shrill cry.
Lilly pushed past her ex-husband. ‘Sam? Sam?’
Her son came running to her and threw himself into her arms. She held him for only a second before pushing him from her to check for injuries. Only when she had spun him round twice did she see his eyes shining and his wide smile.
‘What’s happened, Sam? Tell me, please.’
‘I saw it all,’ he said, breathless with excitement. ‘I saw Cara having a baby.’
‘It just came,’ said David, who Lilly could see was in shock. ‘No time to get to the hospital, no time to call the midwife. I had to do it all myself.’
‘I helped,’ sang Sam.
‘I’m sure you did,’ said Lilly, stroking his head. ‘So what have you got, a brother or a sister?’
Sam’s mouth opened, and so did David’s. Neither spoke. Lilly shook her head in disbelief and headed up the stairs towards the crying.
The sight of Cara, crumpled and sobbing, her hair hanging in strings, should have filled Lilly with glee, but instead she helped her onto the bed and wiped her face with the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be one of David’s hand-stitched shirts. She peeped at the baby and kissed Cara’s head.
‘You have a beautiful little girl.’
Back in the kitchen, Lilly made tea.
‘Cara doesn’t do carbs,’ said David, his hands still trembling. ‘She won’t drink it with sugar.’
‘Trust me, she will today,’ said Lilly, and stirred in another heaped spoonful.
David took the cup and staggered out of the room, sloshing a brown trail in his wake.
‘Mummy,’ said Sam, his bravado vanished.
‘Yes, big man.’
‘I want to come home.’
Lilly’s heart leaped into her mouth. ‘Why’s that?’
‘It’s too quiet here and Cara only lets us eat green stuff.’
Lilly stifled a laugh.
‘Thing is,’ said Sam, one eye on the door, his voice dropping to a stage whisper, ‘I don’t want Dad to think it’s because of the baby.’
Lilly nodded solemnly and answered in hushed tones. ‘Why don’t you stay tonight so they don’t think you legged it at the first sign of trouble, and I’ll collect you in the morning.’
‘Do you think they’ll mind?’
They listened to the sound of the baby screaming.
‘To be honest, love, I don’t think they’ll notice.’
The old sofa had never been so inviting. Lilly stretched out with feline contentment, a bag of Minstrels in her hand, a glass of room-temperature Merlot on the floor beside her. Kelsey had been taken back to The Bushes by Miriam until Paul Collins could take her into his care. Sam would be home tomorrow. Everything had worked out just fine, everything except …
When she answered the door and discovered Jack slouching in the brisk evening air she imagined herself as he must see her, dressed in an ‘Axe the Poll Tax’ T-shirt she’d had since university and a pair of jogging pants that hadn’t seen the wash basket in several months.
‘Do you want wine or are you still hung over?’ she asked.
‘I’ll force it down.’
She handed him a glass and they settled down, Lilly on the sofa, Jack on a chair.
‘Hermione’s disappeared,’ he said.
Lilly nodded. Tomorrow she might care but tonight she was too tired.
‘Your instincts were right,’ he added. ‘They usually are.’
She patted the cushion next to her and he moved across the room. She put her head on his lap and he stroked her hair.
‘You know,’ said Jack, ‘I think we should go to bed.’
He looked down at Lilly and smiled. She was fast asleep.
Read on for an exclusive extract of Helen Black’s
new novel, A Place of Safety,
coming in 2009.
Things, as Luke Walker’s mum 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 the girl on. Tom whoops 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 can 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. He gropes the ground and swears.
Luke feels si
ck. 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?’ asks the girl.
Tom and Charlie applaud but Luke can’t even nod his head. He doesn’t like, not at all.
That night had started like any other. With prep finished and Mr Philips dealing with one of the new boys, homesick and in tears, Luke and his friends sneaked out of school to mooch around the village. They pledged how different their lives could 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 parents exchange the look and talk about how many young men die in road accidents. As the youngest of the group Tom will probably still be the 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 doesn’t know why they bothered because Mrs Singh knows they’re all underage. 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 him 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 themselves as if they trying to disappear. She was smoking what smelled like a spliff.
‘Let’s have some of that,’ Tom shouted.
She looked startled at being spoken to and threw what was left of her roll up into the gutter. She was about to move on when Tom dashed across the street and caught her arm.
‘Do you want to earn some money?’ he asked. ‘Money,’ he repeated and rubbed 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. 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, and 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 came and sat on the swings. She shared their booze and they shared her grass. She said her name was Anna and Luke remembers thinking how pretty she was.
Now things are going pear shaped.
Tom has managed to pull Anna onto the ground. 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 first elevens. 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,’ says Luke.
‘Fuck off,’ says Tom, his breath coming in hard pants. His forehead is greasy with sweat and the unmistakable bulge of his cock pushes against Tom’s 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 look 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, 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. Tom clamps one hand over her mouth and uses the other to pull at his flies. Luke tries to get to his feet 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 thrust his hips forward and Anna’s eyes shoot open. Luke feels his own sting with tears and wishes for tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER ONE
The sky outside the office window was clear. The pale autumn sun attempted to make its presence felt and Lilly longed to take her lunch time walk. She’d instituted a daily turn around Harpenden Park after a four week kidnapping case that had frazzled her mind. She found the fresh air calmed her mind and it stopped her from wolfing more than a sandwich for her lunch.
She turned her gaze back from the window to her client and sighed. Mr Maxwell was so absorbed in his story he’d failed to notice his solicitor’s lack of interest.
‘I simply cannot justify another penny,’ he said. ‘And I cannot see why she should be able to sit at home all day why I am working 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, and you seem to manage to work without too much trouble.’
Lilly thought of her ridiculously complicated childcare 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 fat 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,’ 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 like a dark star.
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 bleached blonde bounced towards him, her 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 learn.
Lilly checked her watch and groaned, realising that her next client was due any minute. She tried to leave a gap between them but these private divorce cases always overran. These people paid by the hour so it was their funeral if they blabbed over their allotted appointment. 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 seconds between shop lifting in Tescos 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. 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?’
‘Have you just come to annoy me or did you get bored with filing your nails and fancy a chat?’
Sheila tried to put the file back in its drawer but the runners were jammed. She pushed and pulled, the metallic groan of the drawer 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 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,’ said Lilly.
Sheila was now virtually inside the cabinet, her shoulder and chest lost in its recesses, her face pushed against the handle. ‘I don’t know why you’re so miserable. 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, her cheek contorted by the pressure of the metal. ‘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.’
At last Sheila withdrew her arm, bringing with it a battered book.
‘This was stuck at the back,’ she said and 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.’