Strangers

by Carla Banks

  The woman leaned over the paper he’d given her. ‘Do you have the mother’s maiden name?’

  ‘It’s Johnson, and she was married to a man called Martin Fenwick before she married Jesamine’s father.’

  ‘You don’t know which area?’

  He shook his head.

  The woman bit her lip as she thought. ‘We could do a search, but it’s going to take us a bit of time. We’re very busy. And we might not find anything.’

  ‘I’d be grateful for any help you could give me.’ He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  ‘I’ll find it,’ she said. ‘If it’s here.’

  He filled in the application form she gave him and paid the required fee. He remembered the ease with which Nazarian had tracked him through the streets of Paris, and left the name ‘David Johnson’. The clerk wanted postal details, but he explained he was a visitor who would be moving around. ‘I’ll be back in a week,’ he said. ‘I’ll call in then.’

  ‘If we don’t find it,’ she said, ‘you could try the Family Records Centre. They would do a search for you. I’m not saying they’ll have more success, but…’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.’ He made a note to do that when he got back to London, and left the building. He walked briskly towards the main shopping area, aware of the chill cutting into him. His arm was aching and his hand was starting to throb with pain. He needed to get out of the cold. He found a café–one of the ubiquitous chains that had sprung up all over the country–and ordered the smallest cup of coffee he could. It came in a huge, heavy mug, a bucket of indifferent grey fluid. He sat down by a window, looking out at the street. The window was partly obscured by condensation, and every time someone came in to the café, a blast of cold air cut through the dank humidity. The British had no talent for comfort.

  The café was quiet enough. He took out his phone and checked his messaging service. There was one message for him from Rai, an impenetrably cryptic reference to ‘revolver doors going round and round’, and something about ‘more people than you see’. He tried returning the call, but there was no reply. He’d have to try later.

  Roisin had asked him a good question: If she doesn’t want to see you, then why…? Why was he looking for Amy? Because she had left Riyadh so suddenly, because Roisin had said she sounded frightened, because Nazarian was looking for her–and because he had things he needed to say to her. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for the way things had been, and he wanted to tell her that, if what she had said was true, if she had really wanted it to work, then that was what he wanted too. They could go somewhere else, somewhere they could make a life together. They could give it a chance.

  And if she said No? Then at least he would have tried. For once in his life he wouldn’t have walked away from something that could have been valuable.

  But in the meantime, he had to make sure she was safe. She had got herself involved with Nazarian. She knew something or she had found something out, something that had driven her out of Riyadh, shortly before an attempt was made on the lives of the other people involved in the Patel case. And whatever it was, it was keeping her away not just from the Kingdom, but from her friends and her work.

  He stared out through the misted window, letting his mind work through the problem. But in all his calculations, he had forgotten the one crucial thing about the northern cities. You could lose yourself for ever in London, in Paris, in New York, if that was what you chose to do. But Newcastle was a village by comparison. As he pushed aside his unfinished coffee and stood up, he could see the street outside more clearly. And there, looking into a shop window, veiled in scarves against the cold, her bright hair a beacon in the grey day, was Amy.

  42

  ‘Amy.’

  She spun round. The bag she was holding dropped to the ground. Her face was white with shock, and she stepped backwards, her hands held up as if she was warding him off.

  ‘Steady.’ He put his hand against her arm and she stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Damien! I thought it was…Oh, God, you gave me a fright.’ He could feel her shaking.

  ‘Thought it was who?’

  ‘No one! It was just…I didn’t expect. Oh, God.’ The blankness of shock was gradually leaving her face as she looked at him. ‘Damien. It’s really you. I was so…when I heard. I thought you were going to die.’

  ‘I’ve got a thick skull. I’m not easy to kill. Look, we can’t talk here. Do you want to get some coffee?’ Her eyes followed his to the steamed-up window of the café. That was no place for the conversation they had to have. ‘I’m staying in a hotel about five minutes down the hill. We’ll be better there.’

  She made an attempt to smile. ‘You always were a fast mover. Five minutes and you’re asking me back to your hotel. I…’ She looked at his face and the brittle smile faded. ‘Yes, OK, your hotel.’

  They didn’t speak as they walked down the hill. Damien had to resist the impulse to grip her arm to stop her from disappearing again. ‘This way,’ he said. ‘It’s just opposite the bridge, on the waterfront.’

  She stopped and looked up at the iron girders far above them. ‘I used to come here all the time when I was younger. With Roisin. You see up there?’ She pointed. ‘We used to go up on the bridge and sketch the view down the river. This was all so different then…’ She turned away. ‘Come on.’

  The hotel had a small coffee lounge that was unoccupied at this time of day. He took Amy there and put her in a seat by the fire. Then he ordered coffee from the receptionist.

  When he came back, the pinched, frightened look had gone from her face, but she kept glancing nervously round the room as they began to talk. ‘So, what brings you to Newcastle?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘Me? I live here. I told you I might not come back to Riyadh. I’ve got a job, now I’m looking for a house.’

  So simple. ‘And I’m here because you’re here. I was looking for you.’ The warmth of the fire was bringing the delicate flush to her skin that he remembered so well. Drops of water from the misty day sparkled in her hair like jewels.

  ‘But…How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘You talked about it–remember? You said it was the place you dreamed about.’

  She studied his face. ‘You remembered that?’

  ‘I remembered. And I talked to Roisin.’

  ‘Roisin…But why? Why were you looking for me?’

  ‘You know why. They killed Joe Massey. They tried to kill me and Roisin. And if you’d been at that party, they might have succeeded in killing you.’

  ‘It was a terrorist attack, wasn’t it? That’s why I haven’t gone back. I don’t want to get blown up. It wasn’t…personal.’

  He wondered if she really believed that. ‘Maybe. But everyone who was asking questions about Haroun Patel is either dead or gone from Riyadh.’

  He watched her face closely. He could see her start to say something, then she stopped. Her eyes moved away from his face. ‘That’s just coincidence. No one liked what happened to Haroun. Lots of people said things.’

  ‘That’s not what Arshak Nazarian thinks.’

  ‘Nazar…’ Her voice faded away.

  ‘I saw him in Paris. He gave me a message for you. He wants you to contact him. He said it was important.’

  She swallowed. ‘Nazarian? I thought…Why were you in Paris?’

  ‘I went to look for you.’

  ‘Christ, Damien! What the hell did you think you were doing?’

  It was like being back in Riyadh. A quiet interlude had become a battlefield.

  ‘I told you, Amy. I was worried about you.’

  She was quiet for a minute. ‘It’s just…I have some issues with my family. I don’t want anyone upsetting them.’

  ‘I didn’t meet your family. I have no idea where they are.’

  She chewed her lip, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Maybe if you tell me about it, I’ll understa
nd what’s going on here. You told me that you were leaving, but you didn’t say it was final.’ He spoke quickly as she drew a breath to interrupt him. ‘You said maybe. Amy, you don’t just walk out on the kind of position you had in Riyadh. It isn’t just the work, it’s…’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. It was her professional reputation that was at stake.

  She shrugged. ‘Sometimes you have to make these decisions.’

  ‘OK. But it isn’t too late.’ The hospital would be accommodating. They didn’t want to lose someone with Amy’s skills.

  ‘I can’t. I don’t like letting people down, but…my sister needs me closer to home. That’s more important.’ She was quiet for a moment, choosing her words. ‘I feel bad about the clinics–the women’s clinics. I didn’t tell them I might be leaving for good. When you go back…’

  ‘If,’ he said. ‘If I go back.’

  ‘You might not? I can’t believe you won’t go back.’

  He gave her her own words. ‘Sometimes you have to make these decisions.’

  Her gaze dropped. ‘I’m sorry. If it’s anything to do with me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No.’ He touched her hand. ‘It wasn’t you. What is it you want me to do?’

  ‘If…if it seems like the right thing…go to the clinic in al-Bakri and tell them I’ve gone. That I’m sorry.’

  ‘If it seems like the right thing? Amy, how in hell should I know that? That’s your decision, not mine.’ He waited, but she didn’t say anything. ‘OK. If I go back, I’ll do that. Your sister–is she here?’

  She shook her head, and reached into her bag for a packet of cigarettes. She offered him one, but he shook his head. ‘She’s in Paris.’

  ‘And she’s had the baby?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I’m an aunt.’

  ‘And it’s all right?’

  ‘Fine. So is Jassy.’

  ‘Good.’

  Amy was playing with her cigarette, pinching the end and turning it round and round in her fingers. ‘My mother…I never told you about her, did I?’

  ‘You never told me much about anything.’

  ‘I hated her when she died. Or I thought I did. I blamed her. But I still miss her. She was lovely. Her hair…it was the colour of honey, you know? And she was fun, she used to play with us–me and Jassy. She must have been very young when she had me. She liked going out, she liked dancing, but he used to stop her doing that.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘My stepfather. I never knew my real father. She married my stepfather when I was eight. We moved to London–I never told you that, did I? Our lives changed just like that. We had a house, and I went to this private school, and…He was…’ she shook her head ‘…different, I suppose. I was used to my friends’ dads back in Newcastle, they liked a drink, they watched football, they didn’t have much to do with their kids. But my stepfather…He was very generous, he used to buy me stuff. I had all the clothes I wanted. But he had to know who my friends were, he had to know exactly where I was. It pissed me off, but it made me feel as though he cared.’ She laughed without humour. ‘Or that’s what I thought at the time.’

  Damien didn’t say anything, just waited.

  ‘Then my mum left him. I don’t know why. I think it was because he wanted to live abroad and she didn’t. She went back to Newcastle and moved in with someone else, and she took me and Jassy with her. And then her new boyfriend left and Mum just went to pieces. All the things that made our home just fell apart. Mum was drinking too much and it was just row after row. Then she died in a car crash. I thought that we’d be OK, then. I thought my stepdad would come for us.’ She looked at Damien and shrugged. ‘He did, but he didn’t want me. He took Jassy, and left me behind. So I ended up in care.’

  Damien leaned forward to take her hand. ‘That was rough.’

  ‘Yeah. It was. But I wasn’t his child.’

  ‘Roisin said that you left Newcastle to find them.’

  ‘Four years on.’ She shook her head and picked up her coffee, tasted it and put it down again. Her face was averted.

  ‘You found them? You must have done. You’re in touch with your sister now.’

  ‘When I was seventeen, I found an address for them. In London. My mother had left us a bit of money, and it was due to come to me when I was eighteen. The solicitor wrote to me, and there was an address for my stepfather as well. So I went to see him. I wanted to tell him, you know, I’m an adult now, I’m not going to ask you for anything, I just want to see Jassy. After Mum left him, it was more or less me bringing Jassy up. I hadn’t seen her for four years. I missed her.’

  She looked at the cigarette in her hand. ‘It seemed like he was pleased to see me. Of course I could see Jassy. She was away at school. I was lucky I’d called that day because he was just about to leave. He was going to collect her. They’d be back in a few days. He booked me into a hotel. “You don’t want to be on your own in the flat,” he said. Actually, I’d never stayed in a hotel. It terrified me. But he was doing me a favour–or that’s what I thought. He paid the bill up front and everything. And a week later, the day he said they were due back, I went to see them. I got all dressed up–I was just a scruffy kid from Newcastle, and Jassy had been living this different life, I wanted her to be proud of me. And…’

  She sat tensely for a few seconds, her eyes focused on her hands. ‘When I got to the flat, the security guy wouldn’t let me in. My stepfather had gone. He’d sold the flat and left the country. Jassy had never even been there. There’d never been a child at that flat–it was just a place he used when he was in London. I think he felt sorry for me, the security guy, and that made me so angry. I’m fine, I said and walked out. Only I wasn’t fine. I didn’t have anywhere to stay, and I’d spent all my money. And I couldn’t come back here. I just couldn’t…The people I knew, once they found out what…How could I face them? So…’

  ‘Amy.’ Damien didn’t know if he was more shocked or angry at the story she had told. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said inadequately.

  She smiled, a bleak, bitter smile. ‘Why? You didn’t do anything.’

  ‘I’m sorry that it happened to you.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. I survived. You do.’

  At the moment, she didn’t look like a survivor. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘It was all in the past by the time I met you. It didn’t matter, not any more.’

  ‘Of course it mattered.’

  ‘It’s not something I want to remember. I had to do some pretty dodgy things to survive. That first night, I had nowhere to go. This guy picked me up and took me back to his place. In the morning, he gave me money.’ She shook her head. ‘I was lucky it wasn’t worse.’

  ‘You were seventeen, Amy. Someone who was supposed to have responsibility for you left you with nothing. OK, you did something stupid. So did I when I was seventeen. And after.’

  She smiled with genuine humour. ‘Christ, Damien, don’t tell me you sold your arse on the streets.’

  And he found he could laugh. ‘No. Nobody made me an offer. But I’ve done other things. One day, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘OK. One day. I’ll hold you to that.’ She touched his injured hand. ‘Something hurt you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think anything could hurt you.’

  ‘Does that make you like me better?’

  ‘It makes you more real.’ She ran her fingers over his and he registered the spreading numbness in his hand. ‘After all of this, do you still…?’

  ‘Love you? Of course.’

  Her eyes were shiny and he saw the colour flood her face. ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I thought I told you every time I saw you.’

  ‘Maybe. But not in a way I could understand. It’s too late now.’ Her tone was final.

  ‘Is it?’ There was a moment of silence, then he quickly moved them away from the dangerous ground. ‘Did I tell you I’ve seen Roisin?’

  ‘How is she?’ Her voice was
oddly incurious.

  ‘Not too good, but she’s getting there.’ He planned to call her later, bring her up to date with what was happening. ‘I think she’d like to hear from you.’

  ‘I know.’ Amy studied the carpet. ‘I have a track record of letting Roisin down. I’ll call her. I will.’

  He knew her well enough to know that she’d told him everything she was going to. ‘I wish you’d trust me. I wish you’d tell me what you’re so frightened of.’

  Her response was instant. ‘I’m not frightened. Get out of my head, Damien.’

  He didn’t say anything, just watched her in silence as her eyes moved away from his and back. She flushed. ‘I decided not to go back because I’m afraid I’ll get killed. Is that clear enough?’

  He smiled faintly and shook his head. It was a good enough reason, but it didn’t explain the fear he’d seen in her eyes when he’d first spoken to her.

  43

  Roisin wandered restlessly round the flat, checking her e-mail periodically. Each time something arrived, she checked it eagerly, but each time it was spam. It was almost nine before the chime from her computer signalled the reply she was waiting for. Najia had e-mailed back.

  Dear Roisin

  I am glad you are getting in touch, and I am very sorry about your husband. I hope you be better soon. The person you ask about, it doesn’t matter. But she went in Shawwal. I don’t know when that is your month.

  I have no news about Yasmin. She doesn’t contact anyone. I am coming to classes again, but I cannot study English no more. My brother say I have enough English because I will not be working anywhere but maybe small things in KSA so perhaps he is right. I don’t know.

  Thank you for being good friend to me. May God bless you.

  Najia

  Roisin sat staring at the screen, then sent back, Please send me Yasmin’s new e-mail address. She couldn’t believe these two women had retreated into silence. They had been so different that day at the mall. Najia had been angry at the restrictions that were being imposed on her. Roisin could remember her voice, low and tense, as she argued her case. Yasmin’s eyes had been scanning the floor behind Roisin, looking out for the returning Bakul.