The back of the van stinks of sweat and stale tobacco. Luke doesn’t care. He squeezes into the far corner—happy to have been picked for another day’s work.
The Ukrainian nods his head in acknowledgement and Luke smiles back. The journey is hot and cramped. At least fifteen of them are crammed in, squatting on the floor. Luke imagines how horrified his mother would be. She doesn’t even let him sit in the front seat because she read some article about air bags setting on fire.
The men chat quietly. Though Luke can’t understand what they say he can tell by their glances in his direction that he is the main topic of conversation.
‘They want to know why you’re doing this,’ says the Ukrainian.
Luke shrugs. ‘I need the money.’
The Ukrainian translates to an eruption of laughter.
‘They mean this type of work.’ The Ukrainian smiles. ‘Why not do with papers?’
Luke closes his eyes. He can’t explain that he’s wanted for rape. That he’ll be arrested on the spot if he does anything official.
‘It’s complicated,’ he says.
The Ukrainian nods. ‘Life is always complicated.’
Luke keeps his eyes tight shut. Sometimes his situation makes his head feel like it might explode. Sometimes he’s wondered if he’ll just go mad. He’s seen plenty of people on the street who’ve totally lost their grip on reality. They lurch about, deep in conversation with unseen demons. A year ago Luke might have laughed at them; now he wonders if he’ll end up the same way.
‘You haven’t time for a meltdown, soft lad,’ says Caz. ‘Not now you’re a wage slave.’
‘You won’t take the piss when I get us somewhere to live,’ says Luke.
Caz cocks her head to one side like a tiny bird. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.’
And it’s true. Exams, footie matches, arguments with his mum, they all seem trivial now.
‘I’m going to take care of you,’ he says.
‘I can take care of myself,’ she replies. ‘I’ve been doing it since I could walk.’
Luke kisses her gently on the cheek. ‘Now it’s my turn.’
The van comes to an abrupt stop and Luke is propelled into the Ukrainian’s lap. The doors are thrown wide and Luke tries to untangle himself.
The Ukrainian clambers outside and groans.
‘What’s up?’ asks Luke.
The Ukrainian points to the grey building belching smog from a handful of chimneys.
‘Fish factory.’
Luke breathes in the stench of dead prawns and smiles. He’s on a mission.
‘You’ve got a bleeding nerve.’
Lilly exhaled loudly. She’d been at Luton General most of the night, pacing the corridors while her boss had emergency surgery. Rupinder’s husband, Raj, had finally convinced her to go home at four, but she’d come straight back after Sam had left for school. She was exhausted. Her scalp screamed where her hair had been wrenched. She just didn’t have the energy to deal with Sheila.
Ignore her. Ignore her.
‘I said you’ve got a bleeding nerve.’
Lilly walked slowly around the irate secretary and made for the ward sister’s desk.
‘Can I have an update on Rupinder Singh?’ she asked the nurse.
‘Are you a relative?’
‘No, she ain’t,’ Sheila shouted.
Lilly sighed. ‘I came in with her yesterday evening.’
‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ said the nurse, and disappeared into the office behind.
Sheila pressed in against Lilly, wobbling on unsteady heels. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’
‘One of my closest friends is critically ill and I had the shit kicked out of me,’ said Lilly. ‘Out of interest, why do you think I’d be pleased?’
‘This is your doing, this is.’ Sheila spread an arm around the ward as if Lilly had personally caused the accident of every patient in there. ‘This is all your fault.’
Ignore her. Ignore her.
‘I warned you this would happen,’ Sheila snorted. ‘I told you that we shouldn’t take on that bleeding case.’
‘We don’t know that this has got anything to do with Anna.’
Sheila threw back her head and laughed. The sound was hollow.
‘That’s what you said about the letter. Then you said it again about the graffiti.’
It was true. Despite niggling doubts, Lilly had denied a link. She hadn’t wanted to believe there was one.
‘I didn’t think we were in any danger.’
Sheila shook her head. ‘You didn’t bleedin’ care.’
Lilly opened her mouth to object, but the nurse returned.
‘Mrs Singh is still in theatre,’ said the nurse. ‘Perhaps you could come back in an hour.’
Lilly nodded and shuffled to a row of chairs. Sheila hovered over her, every muscle in her body rippling with anger.
‘And what are these nutters going to do next?’
Lilly put her head in her hands. She felt crystalline, as if she might shatter at the slightest touch.
‘What are they going to do when they find out the little cow has been lying all along?’ Sheila persisted.
‘It’s confidential,’ said Lilly.
‘No, it bleeding ain’t,’ roared Sheila, and threw a copy of the Daily Mail onto Lilly’s lap.
The woman couldn’t resist being the bearer, or more accurately hurler, of bad news.
Lilly read the headline.