‘Did I hear Dad last night?’
Sam was pushing his cornflakes around the bowl.
‘Uh huh.’ Lilly tried to sound distracted.
‘Why didn’t he come up and speak to me?’
Lilly took a deep breath. Sam loved both his parents unconditionally and whatever crap she and David had been through, Lilly had always avoided saying negative things about him to his son.
‘We thought you were asleep, big man.’
Sam pushed away his breakfast. ‘I heard shouting.’
‘Must have been the TV,’ she said.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Now brush your teeth.’
To signal the conversation was over, Lilly turned her back to Sam and poured the soggy cereal down the waste disposal. The orange sludge made her gag.
‘You look terrible.’
Penny had waltzed into the kitchen to collect Sam for school.
‘Thanks,’ said Lilly.
Penny put a hand to Lilly’s forehead. ‘Are you ill?’
‘Just under a lot of pressure.’
‘What’s happened now?’
‘Rupinder is in a terrible state.’
‘And?’
‘And my ex-husband is being a total shit.’
‘And?’
‘And the judge has brought the hearing forward and I still haven’t got anything out of Catalina.’
‘And?’
‘And,’ Lilly’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t have time for this self-pity right now.’
Penny rubbed her back soothingly. ‘You need to give this case to someone else.’
Lilly pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes and inhaled through her nose. ‘What I need,’ she grabbed her car keys, ‘is to get to High Point.’
Luke’s head is swimming. The shrimps go in and out of focus as if he’s messing about with a camera lens.
He’d managed another day’s tomato picking with the help of half a tranq every two hours. He’d bought a handful from Sonic Dave, and by the time they’d bundled him into the back of the van he could barely keep his eyes open.
The men had glanced at him and muttered under their breath.
At last the Ukrainian had spoken. ‘We know you are not well.’
‘I’m okay,’ Luke had slurred.
The Ukrainian had looked embarrassed. ‘But we cannot cover for you tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
The Ukrainian had shrugged, unwilling to expand. He didn’t need to. Luke knew he hadn’t been working fast enough, that the others had taken the slack.
It’s his hand. It’s still excruciating. Without the Mogadon he’s barely able to stop himself crying out with every movement, but with it he’s incapable of doing anything. It’s like his head has been folded in a blanket and everything is soft and warm.
This morning when they arrived at the fish factory the Ukrainian patted him on the back. ‘Today you will be fine, yes?’
Luke smiled and nodded because that was all he could do. His mashed-potato brain could not command his mouth to speak.
The foreman looked shocked to see him again.
‘Hand all better, is it?’
‘All better,’ Luke mumbled, and took his position on the assembly line.
The foreman pursed his brow and pulled back his thin lips. ‘You’d better go on quality control,’ he said, and nodded to the end of the line.
‘This is much better job,’ said the Ukrainian. ‘You watch shrimp, spot one with shell and take off.’ He pushed Luke into a chair. ‘Easy.’
And it should be easy. Hundreds and thousands of shellfish trundle past him and ninety-nine per cent are pink and naked. The odd one that has missed its unveiling is obvious. The trouble is, Luke’s mind keeps shutting down.
He sees himself as if he has stepped out of his body. He’s sat on a chair and it’s one of those swivelly ones. In front of him are lots of shrimp. Lots and lots of shrimps. Is it shrimp or shrimps?
‘What the hell…’
The foreman appears in front of Luke, his arms waving like the bare branches of the trees outside.
Luke lifts up his hand. ‘All better.’
The foreman hits the emergency button and the conveyor belt grinds to a halt. He reaches into a pile of shrimp.
‘This one still has its shell.’ He holds the offending fish between his thumb and forefinger. ‘And that one.’ He nods to another. ‘And over there.’
Luke knows he should say something but he can’t engage his brain.
‘Is there a problem?’ asks the foreman.
Luke tries to shake his head but the movement knocks him off-balance and he falls off his chair.
The foreman calls over to the Ukrainian. ‘What’s wrong with your friend?’
The Ukrainian looks away. ‘He not my friend.’
Catalina thought Bucharest was busy but London is ten, twenty, a hundred times worse. The noise is like a wall and it never stops. At night it dies down a little, but it never truly stops.
And the smell. The smell is disgusting. The people eat all day, even when they’re walking down the road. Fried potatoes, meat and chicken. The air is thick with dirty cooking fat and smoke from the cars.
‘I feel sick,’ says Nicolae.
Catalina ignores him. They all feel sick. They have done since the horrific journey from Romania. Ten of them hidden in the back of a truck. No air, no light. Swaying from side to side for days, maybe weeks.
‘I’m hungry,’ Nicolae wails.
Emil checks what they’ve made. On days when the work’s been good he might take a note from one of the wallets and buy them all some food. Gabi and his brother Daniel would beat them if they found out, but sometimes the hunger makes them take the risk.
‘We don’t have enough,’ says Emil, and Nicolae begins to cry.
Honestly, that boy is becoming a pain.
‘Let’s do another one, then,’ says Catalina.
They head down into Leicester Square underground station and watch. At this time in the morning the place is packed with workers and shoppers pounding through the ticket machines. Emil nods at a woman by the map. She’s wearing an off-white coat, the colour of sleet, and a thick brown scarf that looks so soft Catalina is tempted to run her cheek against it. The woman is checking her journey, running her finger along the red streak of the Central line.
The ones who don’t know where they’re going are always the best. The easiest to distract.
Nicolae approaches.
‘Help, please,’ he says, his arm outstretched. ‘I lost.’
He hasn’t asked for money but with any luck she’ll subconsciously touch the pocket or bag where she keeps her purse.
‘Where’s your mummy?’ she asks, a gloved hand hovering over a patent black shopper.
Nicolae’s eyes become glassy with tears. ‘Help, please.’
Emil closes in on the bag, while Catalina blocks the view of any nosy passers-by and keeps a lookout for the police.
‘Are you here on your own?’ asks the woman. ‘Is there an adult with you?’
Emil nods that the job is done and walks towards the exit. Catalina follows suit.
‘Mummy,’ says Nicolae, and points to the exit.
The woman looks over and nods. She can’t see anyone but she’s just glad to be rid of this dirty, cold little boy. That’s London for you.
‘It’s full,’ says Emil, holding open the red wallet full of crisp twenty-pound notes.
Catalina looks up and down Charing Cross Road. There’s no sign of Daniel or Gabi. ‘Let’s get some food.’
Calm, calm, calm.
Lilly breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth.
As soon as her client arrived empty-handed, Lilly could feel the panic swell in her chest.
Calm, calm, calm.
‘Did you get the paper?’ Lilly asked. ‘I handed in more and had a bit of a spat with the guards about it.’
‘I got the paper.’
So where the hell was it?
‘Did you do what I asked?’ Lilly smiled at Catalina and tried to control her increasing fear. ‘Did you write down everything you could remember about Artan?’
Catalina rubbed her finger.
‘Tell me you did,’ said Lilly.
A silence stretched between them, as dark and cold as an ocean.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Catalina.
Lilly shook her head as if to discard what her client had said.
‘I can’t go to court tomorrow with nothing.’ Lilly’s heart was pounding. ‘I just can’t.’
Catalina’s eyes filled with regret. Lilly had never seen anything more pitiable.
‘I’m sorry,’ Catalina repeated.
When Lilly got back to the car park she locked herself in the Mini, turned the heat up and let the tears come. Her shoulders heaved as the sobs wracked her body. She cried for Rupinder; she cried for Charlie Stanton; and she cried for Artan Shala. But most of all she cried for Catalina. Poor Catalina was locked in her own private hell and Lilly had failed to find the key. The kid would end up serving years for a crime she hadn’t committed.
Her misery was interrupted by her mobile.
‘How are you?’ said Jack.
Lilly’s voice cracked. ‘Terrible.’
‘What’s the matter, Lilly?’
‘I miss you, Jack,’ Lilly wailed. ‘I miss you.’
* * *
He smoothed her hair off her face and wiped her snotty nose. Trust Jack to be the sort of man who would drive twenty miles to meet Lilly in a prison car park.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she snivelled.
‘Sure, I was bored with Keira Knightley. Yap, yap, yap.’
Lilly sniffed.
‘And her cooking,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me started on her cooking.’
Lilly smiled in spite of herself.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘So why don’t you tell me what this is about?’
‘I have to go to court tomorrow and tell the judge I have no idea how or why Catalina came to be in this country or why she was calling herself Anna Duraku.’
Jack shrugged. ‘Not your fault.’
‘I know, but it won’t make the fact that she has to stay in jail any easier.’
‘Like I said—not your fault.’
Lilly threw back her head and laughed. Her lips were so dry they cracked.
‘You make it sound so easy.’
He kissed her gently.
‘It is easy. You say you tried your best, but your client isn’t playing ball.’
He was right. She knew he was right. And yet.
‘Perhaps I can ask for another week.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Now that I’d like to see.’