by M K Farrar
Her stomach flipped. This person thought they could help? How was that possible?
Scam! her brain screamed. It’s a scam. Don’t reply.
Yes, it would be. It would be someone trying to get money out of her when she was most vulnerable. Bastard. She should delete the message and forget about it.
Her finger hovered over the delete button, but instead, she clicked on the man’s profile. John James. Location London. Forty-seven; his birthday on May twenty-sixth. There were plenty of photographs of him in various locations, with different people, and comments that all seemed friendly, about how they loved seeing him again, or that they must do it again some time. He was attractive, with thick, salt-and-pepper hair and a wide smile of expensively maintained teeth. She couldn’t see his job role on his profile but then she didn’t exactly advertise hers, either. Lots of people didn’t want to advertise where they worked on social media. She pressed her lips together, tension in her brow as she drew it down. It didn’t seem like a fake profile, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. These people were clever.
Though every instinct told her to delete the message and block the sender, this little voice whispered in the back of her head. But what if it’s not a scam? What if it was someone who could actually help her, and she was just going to cut the person off?
She was a sensible, educated woman in her forties. She knew better than to open herself up to random people on the internet. She wasn’t going to let someone take advantage of her when she was at her most vulnerable, or expose her daughter to someone like that either.
Frustrated, she threw her phone to one side, and dropped back down onto her back, and pulled the duvet up over her shoulders. She was never going to get any sleep now. She should know better than to look at her phone in the middle of the night.
SOMEHOW, DESPITE EVERYTHING, she did manage to sleep. But when she woke the following morning, her thoughts immediately went to that message.
When she checked, she discovered he’d sent her another one.
Please contact me. I promise I’m not a scammer. I’m genuinely trying to offer you help.
She chewed on her lower lip, picking at a piece of dried skin, until she pulled it off with a sting of pain and the taste of blood. She hesitated and then typed out: Isn’t that what a scammer would say?
Her stomach churned. Damn. She’d opened herself up now.
“Mum!” Her daughter’s shout. “Where are you?”
“Coming, love.”
The private healthcare worker who came in each day to take care of her while she was at work wasn’t here yet. Shit. She could have done without this today.
“Where’s Magda?” Milly asked.
“She’s running late.”
“You can go, Mum. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like you being here on your own.”
“It won’t be for long. I’m not a baby anymore.”
“I know that, sweetheart, but I still don’t want to leave you.”
She glanced at her watch. Her driver would be outside, ready and waiting to take her into the office. Her meeting was due to start in forty minutes, and right now, she wasn’t going to be there.
“I can always phone you if there are any problems, Mum,” she insisted.
Not if you’ve collapsed and can’t get to a phone.
“Other girls my age are left on their own. Some of them even spend all day on their own while their parents are at work.”
It would only be half an hour. Angela was torn. Maybe it would be good for Milly to have a little taste of independence.
“Okay, fine,” she relented, and Milly’s face lit up. “But you keep your phone right next to you. Don’t even go to the toilet without it.”
Milly rolled her eyes. “I won’t. You’re always saying I have it attached to me anyway.”
“True.” Angela remained rooted to the carpet. Her head was telling her to turn around and go, but her heart lay in that bed, with her sick daughter, not wanting to leave her.
Her phone buzzed, and she checked it. From Magda. Almost with you. Fifteen minutes away. Sorry!
Fifteen minutes, surely she could leave Milly alone for that long. By the time she went downstairs and picked up her bag and jacket and made it out the door, Magda would only be ten minutes away. Milly would be fine for ten minutes, wouldn’t she?
“Okay, sweetheart. I’m going now. Call me if you need anything, okay? Magda will be here soon.”
“Go, Mum. Stop fussing.”
She gave her daughter one last kiss on her forehead and then forced herself to turn and leave. With every step, an aching hole in her heart opened, and the negative thoughts piled in. Every time she said goodbye to her daughter, there was a part of her that was terrified it would be the last time. She questioned if the goodbye would have been good enough, or would she beat herself up forever that she hadn’t done more.
To lose a child was every parents’ worst nightmare, and she felt as though she’d been losing hers for years. Ever since Milly had first been taken ill, that fear had rooted deep inside her, and it had never let go.
Initially, everyone had asked her constantly how Milly was, but as the weeks turned into months and months turned to years, people just kind of forgot. It was just a piece of who she was, and they weren’t going to ask about it every other day. If there was a crisis with Milly’s health, it was brought into the forefront again, and sometimes newspapers or online magazines would decide to write an article on her—declaring her some kind of ‘super mum’ because she juggled a sick child and a career. Of course, the keyboard warriors all loved those articles, calling her selfish for not looking after her daughter full time. There was no point in trying to explain how she needed her job to put a roof over their heads, but also there was that niggling guilt that the money wasn’t the only reason she kept working. She needed this job like a lifeline. It was a place where she could feel normal.
That she’d been tired for years was something she could never really explain either. No, not only tired—she’d been exhausted. Her tiredness wasn’t the kind that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep or a day off work. It went right down to her bones.
At least at work, she was forced to ignore the exhaustion. She had to act like a normal member of society—a high-functioning one at that—and it did help. Fake it till you make it, as people said. If she didn’t have to put on a suit, and her makeup, and get out of the door, she was sure she’d spend all day curled up on her bed or on the sofa. She’d end up in a downward spiral, not bothering to get dressed at all, which would lead to not showering, and then not eating. The result would be her sitting mindlessly on the sofa, day after day, and she couldn’t allow herself to go down that route. It was safer to keep going. And going. And going.
Her phone buzzed again, and she was sure it would be her driver, politely reminding her that he was still waiting. She checked the screen, and her heart sank. It was a message, but not from the person she’d thought.
It was another message from the potential scammer.
I think we should talk.
Chapter Ten
They were in the Channel Tunnel.
Though it was hard to tell in their position inside the container in the back of the lorry, something about the acoustics had changed when they’d been in the tunnel. The steady rumble of the lorry’s engine had fallen quiet, only to be replaced with the rattle of the train. The movement was different as well, a vibration rather than the roll and bump of the lorry when it was driving. It was Linh’s understanding that the freight vehicles were put on trains, which then carried them through the tunnel.
“Are we under the ocean now, Má?” her daughter asked her in Vietnamese.
Linh couldn’t see her face in the total darkness but held her closer to her side. “Yes, we are.”
It was warm inside the container and growing warmer by the minute. But despite this, Chau shivered. “It scares me to be under the ocean. What if the tunnel collapses?”
She squeezed her daughter. “It won’t, sweetheart. It’s safe.”
“Shh!” someone hissed at them from the other side of the crate.
They fell silent.
Whoever had shushed them was right, of course. They needed to be quiet. They didn’t know who might be moving around outside the lorry—officials, perhaps—who might hear them talking. They were so close now. After such a long journey, she was starting to think they might actually do this. They had one last part—getting into the UK at the other end of the tunnel, and then they’d be driven to a location not far away. The person they’d paid to bring them here would be there to meet them and take them to their new lives.
Her stomach churned at the prospect. This was what she’d been fighting for ever since the idea of coming to the UK to work and send money home to the rest of her family had been brought up, but she was still nervous about what it would entail.
Less than an hour passed of them being under the water, and then things changed again. She jumped at a loud beep, and a rumble and a clank of what sounded like a massive metal door opening.
This was it! They’d finally made it to the UK. They weren’t quite home and dry just yet, since officials did checks on this side as well, as far as she was aware. But they were so close now she could taste it. Their new lives had almost arrived.
The engine of the lorry started up around them again, and she hugged her daughter and kissed the top of her head.
She was expecting for the lorry to be pulled over again, for there to be questions asked of the driver—who they’d had no direct contact with—and for the contents to be searched, but, though the lorry slowed on a couple of occasions, it only stopped very briefly, and then they were on the move again. She sensed the vehicle gather speed and heard the roar of many other cars and lorries around them. They were on a motorway.
“We did it,” she said excitedly to her daughter. “We’re in the UK. We made it.”
There was no need to keep her voice down, since no one would be able to hear them now. The people she was sharing the crate with also seemed to pick up on her excitement and understand what it meant. She didn’t know where her travelling companions were from. A couple appeared to be Chinese, where others were most likely Eastern European. Would they be living together once they were picked up to be taken to their new home? She hoped not. Some of the men looked mean, and she didn’t trust them, especially with her daughter.
More time passed, another hour or more, it was hard to tell inside the crate.
Finally, they stopped. The bang of the cabin door slamming shut.
She held her breath in anticipation.
The engine of the lorry had been turned off, so there was no air-conditioning moving through it. The air grew warmer.
“When are they going to let us out?” Chau asked.
“Soon, my darling. Very soon. We just have to be a little more patient.”
They were out of water now. The two small bottles they’d been given upon climbing into the back of the lorry hadn’t lasted long. She needed to pee, as well, but that was the least of her concerns. All these people cramped into such a small space, with no fresh air coming through from the cabin, meant the temperature was climbing. She didn’t know what the weather was like outside, but she assumed it was warm, even though everyone had warned her how cold the British weather was. Everyone back home said it would rain every day in the UK, and she would always be cold. Right now, the opposite was true.
Sweat prickled across her forehead and upper lip. She plucked her t-shirt away from her body and wafted it back and forth, trying to create a breeze, but the air was like soup. She felt her daughter edge away from her and was aware it was because her body heat only added to the discomfort.
The people in the crate were also starting to lose patience. There wasn’t room to move, but she could hear them shifting around, trying to get comfortable, and their groans and complaints about the heat in their own languages.
They’d locked the rear door after they’d all climbed on board so as not to alert the officials checking vehicles of their presence, but that might have been a fatal mistake.
Chau tugged at Linh’s damp shirt. “Má, I’m thirsty.”
“I know. Me, too. It won’t be long now, I’m sure.”
Where was the driver? Why hadn’t he opened the door? Where were the people who were going to meet them?
A terrible thought entered her head. What if they weren’t coming? What if this was it? They’d been brought all this way and now would be left to die. The fear in her heart was more for her daughter than for her. She’d never forgive herself if Chau died in here. All she’d ever wanted was to give her a new life, and all the opportunities she’d never had growing up.
No, they wouldn’t let them die, what would be the point in that? She still owed them money and was going to work for them to pay it back. She couldn’t do that if she was dead. And how would they explain the bodies in the back of the lorry? They’d be found at some point, and it would cause a whole other problem for the smugglers, wouldn’t it?
An argument was brewing between two of the men on the other side of the crate. Voices raised, a layer of aggression beneath it.
She tensed in response and automatically pulled her daughter closer, despite the heat.
One of the men was on his feet. He banged on the sides of the crate and shouted in English, “Hello? Who is out there? You let us out now. It’s too hot!”
Someone else joined him, also drumming on the sides.
The crates were stacked high, with only a small amount of space between the top and the lorry roof, which they’d had to climb through to get into the crate in the first place. They’d need to get out the same way, too, but without the door being open, they had nowhere they could go.
“We’re going to die in this tin can!” a man shouted, and he kicked the side of it.
“Please, stop,” she tried to say, but she knew he wouldn’t understand her. “You’re frightening my daughter.”
The men busted open the top of the container, at least helping a little with the air flow. Some climbed up in the dark, but even outside of the container, in the space between the top and the roof, there was nowhere for them to go, and hardly any more air.
He was scaring her as well. Plus, it felt like all the aggravation was absorbing what air was left in the space. As others joined in the shouting, she found herself struggling for breath, feeling like she was sucking liquid into her lungs.
“Má, I can’t breathe,” Chau complained. “There’s no air.”
“We’ll be okay, slow breaths.” But even as she said it, tears filled her eyes, and she knew she didn’t really believe what she was saying.
Someone must hear them soon. It took every ounce of self-control not to jump to her feet and join the others in the banging and screaming. But she knew how much it would frighten her daughter if she did it as well, if she started she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop, and she didn’t want to die like that, screaming and shrieking with a bunch of strangers while her daughter cried.
She put her hand to her chest and tried to inhale, but the air itself felt suffocating. Her throat seemed to have narrowed to a straw, and no matter how deeply she inhaled, she couldn’t fill her lungs. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, her hairline dripping wet. The terrible space of the container spun around her in the darkness, and she felt herself pulling away.
This was going to be all their coffins.
“Má?” Chau sounded so much younger, practically a toddler again.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby.” This had all been a mistake. A horrible mistake. And now, not only had her family used up the last of their money to send them here, they weren’t going to be able to send anything back again because they were both going to die in here.
Something heavy suddenly banged against the side of the lorry, once, twice, three times. Instead of falling quiet to listen for where the banging might have or
iginated from, the cries of those inside only grew louder, shouts of ‘let me out’ and ‘we’re in here’ in several different languages, all blending together.
She’d made an effort to try to teach herself some English before leaving her home, knowing it would help her along the way. It was very different, though, listening to something and repeating it versus actually trying to understand when a native person spoke.
The rear doors of the lorry opened with a loud clunk and swung wide. A rush of light and air filled the container, and she let out a cry of relief.
Sucking clean oxygen into her lungs, she held her daughter and cried into the girl’s hair.
“Come on now,” a voice called. “Time to take you to your new home.”
Chapter Eleven
“Morning,” Shawn greeted her, placing the customary cup of coffee he brought her each morning onto Gibbs’—no, her—desk.
She smiled her thanks. “Anything interesting happen overnight?”
“No real developments, sorry, though we’ve had the report on the DNA sample come in.”
That perked her up. “Let’s see it.”
He slid a couple of printed-off sheets of paper onto her desk. “Looks like Kim’s understanding that the body was that of a young woman was correct. DNA markers are also showing that she’s of Southeast Asian descent. Black hair and dark eyes—so either black or brown.”
Erica nodded. “Which makes sense if she’s from Southeast Asia.”
“Or at least her parents were. We can’t actually tell if she was born there or here. They’re going to put together a e-fit of her, but that’s going to take a little more time. The lab wanted us to have what they’d learned so far in case we can put it to use.”
“Well, it’ll help us narrow down any missing persons in the area.”
“We’ll need to widen our search area outside of London. She could have come from elsewhere. Plenty of young people run away to London thinking it’s going to have all the answers.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
