If You Were Me

by Sam Hepburn

  ‘We are still not safe. They will kill us both if they can. And I don’t want your thanks. I want to know why you met that man with the freckled face. What were you telling him?’

  I struggled to sit up and had to breathe in small gasps because of the searing pain in my ribs. Still, it gave me a few seconds to think how best to tell her. ‘His name’s Mark Trent.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s a policeman.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said crossly. ‘I saw him at the police station when they questioned me. He also works for Hamidi.’

  ‘I didn’t know that till yesterday. I swear.’

  The look she gave me withered my insides. ‘Don’t you lie to me. You were working for Hamidi too!’

  ‘What?’ I was seriously shocked. ‘Course I wasn’t.’

  ‘I heard them talk. You saw something you shouldn’t, so he ordered Mark Trent to kill you.’

  ‘No . . . I mean, yes, but it’s not what you think. I wasn’t working for Hamidi. No way.’

  ‘So why did you meet with Trent?’

  ‘To tell him Behrouz was innocent.’

  She looked away as if the sight of me made her sick. ‘Why would he believe you? You said yourself we have no proof.’

  ‘We have now. I found some. Well, not proof exactly, but I know who wanted him dead. And I know why.’

  ‘What reason?’ Her eyes flicked back to mine, still accusing.

  ‘That man smoking outside Hardel’s with Hamidi. It was Farukh Zarghun.’

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I should have been telling her this in the same breath as I told her Behrouz was free, all charges dropped, while the newspapers grovelled and printed headlines saying they’d got it wrong.

  She scowled and shook her head as if I’d totally lost it. ‘I know you are a liar but I did not think you were stupid. Farukh Zarghun is dead. He died in prison. You read it yourself on those websites.’

  ‘He’s got two missing fingers. It’s definitely him. And when I told Trent about it, he started pouring all this sugar in my drink. Only it was doped.’

  She was glaring at me, getting angrier every time I opened my mouth. ‘Zarghun? In the UK? How did he rise from his grave? How did he get out of prison?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m telling you he did. He’s moved his drug operation to London and he’s got Hamidi, Trent and . . . and . . . loads of other people working for him.’

  She sat back on her heels, her pale-green eyes never moving from my face, but there was confusion in them as well as contempt. ‘If this is true, do you know how many powerful people must have helped him to do this?’ Her voice was slowly losing its edge, as if she was thinking it through. ‘Not just Afghans, Americans and British too.’

  ‘Yeah, all getting their cut of the drug money, and if Trent’s involved, you can bet your life half his bosses are in on it too.’ She was really listening now, so I kept talking. ‘Look. I’ve worked it out. Behrouz took those shots of Hamidi, recognized Zarghun, and panicked when he realized they were after him. He worked out there were bent cops in on it, so the only person he trusted to help him was Colonel Clarke. That’s why he asked Merrick to get him the colonel’s home number.’

  She was frowning but taking in every word. ‘That would explain why he was so upset when he heard that Colonel Clarke was away.’

  ‘He wasn’t upset, he was scared stiff.’

  ‘So he got a gun to protect himself until Clarke came back.’

  ‘Exactly. So we go to Clarke and we tell him everything. He’s the only person with the power to cut through the corruption and get us protection.’

  She’d stopped glaring at me and started squeezing her hands in excitement. ‘That’s what Behrouz was telling me in the video. He said, “I have a plan . . . to seek out Colonel Mike Clarke so that justice can be done.” He wanted me to ignore all the horrible words they made him say about killing people and get Clarke to help me uncover the truth.’ Her hands grew still. ‘But none of this proves that Zarghun put Behrouz in that garage with those chemicals.’

  ‘Clarke will believe us, I promise.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  I had to tell her, but I couldn’t look at her. ‘Because . . . there’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A witness. Someone who saw Hamidi kidnap Behrouz at gunpoint a couple of hours before the explosion.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Who? Who is this witness?’

  My stomach lurched, but it wasn’t the lingering stench of canal water or stale vomit that was making me gag. It was the rotten taste of the word that I was forcing through my lips.

  ‘Me.’

  ALIYA

  Everything seemed to change, the smudged light through the windows grew clearer and the ache in my heart lifted away. This truth he was telling me, and I knew from the agony on his face that this time it really was the truth, was like a lifeline dragging me out of a dark, stinking cave into warm, sweet sunshine. Now I could prove to the police that Behrouz was innocent, that he’d been kidnapped and set up to die like a bomber. The feeling of release lasted less than a second before it was smothered by a rush of hatred so intense I wanted to strike the boy with my fists. I let out a scream that bounced off the walls. ‘Why didn’t you get help? You could have saved him!’

  The boy bowed his head and blurted out a muddled story of stolen washing machines, drugs hidden at Meadowview, a lost phone and Behrouz getting beaten with a gun. Then he raised his tear-stained face, looked straight into my eyes and told me how he had lied about everything, how he had allowed Behrouz to be kidnapped, injured and arrested in order to protect his father. A man who was a liar just like his son, and also a thief and a seller of drugs. A man I had liked and made tea for and who had smiled at me when he came to our flat.

  So many liars: the boy, his father, my own instincts – they had all lied to me. Nothing was real. Even the floor felt as if it might suddenly give way beneath my feet and drop me into emptiness. When I finally forced myself to look at the boy, he was still hunched over, watching me, as if he wanted me to punish him, scream hatred in his face or throw him out of the flat. Maybe it would have made us both feel better. But a cold calm was slowly smothering my anger like damp leaves on a fire. The fury still smouldered, but giving way to it now wouldn’t help Behrouz. First I needed to piece things together, fill in the final blanks in the story and decide what to do. My words, when they came, were clipped and stiff.

  ‘Did your father know about the kidnap?’

  He closed his eyes. ‘I . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why did you delete those photos from my phone?’

  ‘The white van in it was my dad’s and the man helping Hamidi to load it up was Dad’s partner, Jez Deakin.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry.’ He crumpled forward as if he knew how pathetic those words sounded to my ears. ‘I thought I could make it right. I thought I could find a way to prove Behrouz was innocent that would keep my dad out of it. It’d kill my mum if he went to prison. I . . . I’ll go now.’ He pulled himself up, gripping the arm of the sofa.

  ‘You can’t leave,’ I said. ‘You are my proof, my witness, and you owe me. Is that what they say?’

  ‘I s’pose.’ He was watching me carefully, still waiting for my anger to erupt.

  ‘You smell bad,’ I said. ‘Wash yourself and put on these.’ I threw him a bundle of clothes I’d found in Behrouz’s room. ‘When you are dressed, we are going to find the colonel and you are going to tell him everything that you have told to me.’

  I held on to my tears until the boy had hobbled out of the room and then I let them fall. As I cried myself out I felt as if a wire was unwinding from my heart, letting my blood flow freely. The need to trust him had been confusing me, holding me back, and now that I knew the truth, I felt wretched and lonely but in control.

  Calmer now, I called the colonel’s house, using the number Captain Merrick had sent to Behr
ouz. I walked up and down as it rang. A woman answered, a maid or a housekeeper.

  ‘Hello. Please can I speak to Colonel Clarke?’ I said.

  ‘The colonel and his wife are away. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  I opened my mouth to say my name. I shut it again. ‘It’s urgent, I . . . I really need to talk to him.’

  Her voice grew sterner. ‘Where did you get this number?’

  ‘I need his help.’

  ‘If you want to contact the colonel, I suggest you write to him at the House of Commons or contact his constituency office.’ She hung up.

  Now I knew exactly how my brother had felt: blocked, frustrated, lonely and scared. I longed to hear the colonel’s firm, powerful voice assuring me he would get Behrouz released and stop the press from printing their hateful lies about my family. But even the colonel had problems with the press. I remembered the shame I’d felt when I read the mean gossip about his wife in that magazine, how they’d tried to turn the photo of her and her assistant into something bad when all she’d been doing was working on her new movie. A thought crept into my head, a tiny wisp, like smoke. I stared through the window and tried to catch the name of the place where she was filming. I ran down the hall and beat on the bathroom door.

  ‘Hever Castle,’

  I shouted. ‘Where is it?’

  I heard a splash and a gurgle as if the boy was lifting his head from under the water. In a flash of panic I saw his cold tilted face and the dark canal water lapping against his cheek.

  ‘What?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Hever Castle.’

  ‘Never heard of it. Why?’

  ‘The colonel’s wife, India Lambert, is filming there. We can’t get to the colonel. But we can get to her.’ I ran back to my phone, shaking as I keyed in the name.

  The boy shuffled in, wrapped in the blanket. He was shivering and swaying and there was blood dripping from the wound on his ankle. ‘Found it?’ he asked.

  I handed him the phone and watched his fingers poke the screen. ‘It’s thirty miles from London. We’d have to take two trains and a load of buses.’ He gave me back the phone, sweaty, pale and wiping his forehead. ‘I . . . I still feel really weird. I don’t think I can make it that far.’

  ‘You have to,’ I said coldly. ‘You have to tell her what you saw. Hurry. Put on the clothes I gave you.’

  He nodded but his face was grey, his eyes were dull and when he turned away he had to reach for the wall to stop himself falling. I didn’t care that he was weak and sick but I did care if he collapsed before we got to see the colonel’s wife. I needed someone to drive us. Someone we could trust. Maybe someone from Khan’s. But everyone there thought Behrouz was guilty. Everyone except Corella and maybe that apprentice mechanic, Connor, who had seemed to be coming round to the idea that he wasn’t. I picked up the phone and dialled Connor’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered.

  ‘Yeah?’ His voice was soggy with sleep.

  ‘This is Aliya Sahar.’

  There was a pause and a grunt. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘No. It’s six-thirty in the morning.’ I cut through his groaning. ‘I know who tried to kill Behrouz.’

  That seemed to wake him up. His voice sharpened. ‘Who?’

  ‘An Afghan drug gang. They kidnapped him just before the explosion.’

  ‘Jesus. What about Arif?’

  ‘Arif?’ In all the confusion I’d hardly thought about Behrouz’s missing friend, but now the answer to Connor’s question seemed obvious. I said softly, ‘I think Behrouz told him about this gang and they took him to keep him quiet.’

  He swore. ‘Are you going to go to the cops?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous. There are policemen helping the gang. We have to tell Colonel Clarke.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Behrouz’s old boss from the army. He’s important, he works in the government now, and he’s the only person Behrouz trusted. His wife is India Lambert.’

  ‘What, that actress?’

  ‘Yes.

  You have to drive us to Kent, where she is filming.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. Come straight away. I will text you my address.’

  ‘You’re crazy. I haven’t got a car and I’ve got to go to work.’

  ‘Take a car from Khan’s, one that you are mending. Then call them and tell them you are sick.’

  ‘No way. I’ll lose my job.’

  ‘Please, Connor.’ My voice cracked. ‘This gang are after us. They are trying to kill us.’ I could hear his ragged breath as he wavered. ‘You said Arif was your friend. Don’t you want to save him?’

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Then the colonel is the only one who can help you. Please hurry.’

  I cut the call. The boy stole a questioning look at me. ‘Do you think Arif’s still alive?’

  I shook my head, feeling bad that I had given Connor false hope. I fetched a tea-towel from the kitchen and began to tear it into strips. The boy winced when I lifted his foot. I didn’t look at him while I bandaged his wound and he didn’t look at me.

  DAN

  Considering how I felt, which was pretty close to death – blurred vision, a demolition crew smashing through my skull with jack hammers and a throbbing burn in my guts – I was amazed I had the strength to stand up, let alone get dressed. It was guilt keeping me going. The jeans, shirt and trainers she’d thrown at me were the kind of cheap chain-store stuff I wouldn’t normally be seen dead in. Ironic, really. The way things were going, being seen dead looked like a strong possibility. But for once in my life I couldn’t have cared less what I was wearing or what kind of danger I was in. I just wanted to make things right.

  Connor turned up around ten-thirty, looking pretty wrecked too. Puffy eyes, spots all over his face, and the car he’d borrowed was a heap of junk. Apart from the rusty bodywork, the seats were splitting apart, the windows had been blacked out with some kind of tinted stick-on plastic and the side one at the back had been broken and patched up with cardboard and tape.

  ‘Whose car is this?’ Aliya asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment that he hadn’t turned up in one of Khan’s fast new minicabs.

  ‘Karim’s. He’s Mr Khan’s nephew and he’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve taken it.’ He saw the look on her face and grinned. ‘Don’t worry. It’s a good little motor. It’s got him out of plenty of trouble.’

  He got worried when he saw me sweating and swaying. ‘You’re not going to puke all over the seats are you?’

  ‘No,’ I said, but I was swallowing down lurches of vomit before we’d even gone a mile down the road. Too sick to talk, I left it to Aliya to give him directions and tell him what we’d found out. She went through every detail, checking her facts against a new grid she must have drawn up in the night. When she got to the kidnap and told him why I’d lied about it, Connor caught my eye in the mirror. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me like he was wondering if he’d have done the same. Then she asked him straight out if the gun was Arif’s.

  Connor tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is my business if he gave it Behrouz.’

  He slid her a sideways glance. ‘Did the police find it?’

  ‘No. I hid it before they came.’

  He grunted. As if he was surprised and a bit impressed.

  ‘It was Arif’s, wasn’t it?’ She pointed to her grid. ‘He and Behrouz must have gone to get it when they left Khan’s together on Tuesday afternoon.’

  He slowed for a sudden curve in the road. ‘Arif’s not into shooters.’

  ‘So where did he get it?’

  Connor dragged a grimy hand across his face. ‘If you must know, it was off a punter.’

  She wasn’t going to let him off that easily. ‘What punter?’

  ‘He said it was some cr
azy who got in his cab one night, off his head on God knows what.’

  ‘Why would this crazy man give Arif a gun?’

  ‘He didn’t. He was puking so badly when he got out of the cab he left his bag on the seat. And when Arif drove back to his house to hand it back, the whole place was swarming with cops. So he took the bag apart and found a gun stuffed in the lining.’

  ‘Why didn’t he get rid of it?’

  ‘He was worried about his visa. He didn’t want the punter turning up and giving him grief if he handed it in to the cops, and he didn’t want the cops doing him for having a firearm if he hung on to it.’

  ‘So what did he do?’ she asked.

  ‘Me and him drove out to Epping Forest and buried it.

  But don’t you dare tell that to this colonel or his wife.’ He glared at me over his shoulder. ‘You too, Abbott. I’m doing this so we can find Arif, not stitch him up.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  Aliya was agitated, chewing her cuff. ‘Look . . .’ she said, as if she was about to admit her fears about Arif. But she stopped herself and as she looked away her eye caught mine. Grubby grey lies. We were both telling them now.

  Connor rammed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward so fast it threw us back in our seats. I didn’t want to know what sort of trouble it had got Khan’s nephew out of but from the smirk on Connor’s face you could tell he was the one who’d souped up the engine. I wished he hadn’t. I didn’t know what to do. If I closed my eyes, I saw weird lights flashing through darkness, faces looming down at me then melting away, but if I opened them, the world whizzing past the windows made my stomach heave and my head swim. Still, it was better than trying to drag myself on to trains and buses and after nearly two hours of torture I finally saw the first signs to Hever Castle. By then we’d hit real countryside, the sort Mum used to get Dad to drive us to when she wanted to give my nan a treat. Cream teas, rolling hills, narrow winding roads and me in a strop in the back playing games on my phone. Wondering if that was ever going to happen again tipped me into places I didn’t want to go.