“Lizzie? You there?”
I realised I’d tuned out. Had he been speaking to me?
“I’m here,” I rasped. My throat felt like I’d been swallowing razor blades.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I exploded. “Alexander’s—” but I didn’t get any further than that.
“Shhh!” he hissed. “Keep your voice down.” I heard more movement, the thump of feet on stairs. “Alex’s what?”
I swallowed, trying to get a handle on the adrenaline coursing through my veins, pushing me towards hysteria.
“He found me. At Mark’s. He… he… Jesus Christ!” I clamped my hand over my mouth as sobs wracked my frame. The glimpse I’d caught of Mark’s prone body, his bloodless face in stark contrast to the streak of red running down his temple, danced in front of my eyes.
“Lizzie!” Samuel’s voice dragged me back to the present. “Get it together!” He waited whilst I fought to get my breathing under control. “Now, tell me what happened.”
It was a command, and I was so conditioned to obeying that my body automatically reacted. A deadened calm flooded through me, like numbing anaesthetic injected straight into my nervous system.
“Alexander came to Mark’s flat. He shot Mark. He was going to shoot me.” It didn’t sound like me. It didn’t even feel like I was saying the words.
“You got away?”
“I climbed out of the window. Then I ran. But he knew I was there. He… he followed me into the street and he… he spoke to me.” My voice quavered as the memory of Alexander’s words murmured like deadly velvet in the back of my head.
“Where are you now?”
“Samuel, I—” I bit my lip. Was it safe to tell him?
He’d known I was at Mark’s; in fact, he’d been the only person who knew I was there. But somehow I felt positive he hadn’t told Alexander. Zane had seen me in the shop. From the sounds of it, Riley had been the one to point the way to Mark’s flat. If Samuel had told on me, Alexander wouldn’t have had to chase me around like that, wouldn’t have had to call on any of his ‘contacts’. No, it couldn’t have been him.
But could I trust him?
Did I have any other choice?
“Lizzie?”
“Uh-huh?” I chewed on my fingernail, still thinking.
“Where are you?”
I hesitated.
“Lizzie?” He sounded almost angry now, frustrated by my dithering.
“I…” I decided. “I’m at the river. At Tower Hill.”
I had to trust someone. I wouldn’t last until nightfall. Not branded the way I was.
I listened keenly to the silence on the other end of the line.
“Stay there.”
He rang off without another word. I took his advice literally, standing motionless and holding the phone tight against my cheek, hiding my face from the shoppers and workers and normal people passing idly by.
Before long, though, I started to get cold feet. My jaw clenched shut against the screams in my throat, I must have looked so weird: waiting there, not talking. My eyes darted back and forth, flickering from black jacket to black jacket, hunting for the GE officers who were bound to be patrolling this close to the Central Zone. It wasn’t safe to linger here. But that wasn’t what was frightening me.
Was it safe to wait for Samuel?
What if he rolled up with Alexander in the passenger seat? Or Zane? Or anyone else from Bancroft Road? Even alone, he could overpower me easily, drag me back to face my judgement, face Alexander. I should just cut and run, use the remaining money in my pocket to buy my way out of London, then head north any way I could. I couldn’t trust anyone except myself. I definitely shouldn’t trust someone so close to the man I absolutely had to stay away from.
Go, I told myself, the last of a hundred times. Disappear down the stairs and get on a train going anywhere.
But I didn’t. I stood there, and I watched every vehicle that drove past, hunting for the one that would bring Samuel to me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I assumed he’d come by car, taking one of the many untaxed, uninsured and untraceable motors Alexander used in his complex web of business ventures and criminal escapades, so I concentrated on the busy junction in front of me, only moving back into the shadow of a foul-smelling public toilet when I spotted the shiny emblem of a GE patrol or a police car. So when a hand clamped down on my shoulder I just about jumped out of my skin, yelping and spinning round, wide-eyed.
Samuel frowned at me, shushing me with a finger to his lips. I snapped my teeth together, swallowing back the rest of the scream. Passers-by stared at us curiously.
“Sorry,” I whispered, glancing around. Eyes drifted away as soon as they saw me looking back, but I could still feel the heat of Samuel’s disapproval.
“Come on,” he said, turning from me and heading away from the river, away from the boundary of the Central Zone, back into the maze of London streets and the safety of obscurity.
“You don’t have a car?” I asked, jogging to keep up with his long strides.
He shook his head. “Zane would have asked why I needed it.”
I made a face.
“What business is it of Zane’s if you want to borrow a car?”
“He’d make it his business.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Besides, I had more pertinent questions. “Where are we going?”
“Islington.” Samuel didn’t look at me, but continued staring straight ahead, his hands stuffed in his pockets. I felt a bit like a naughty child trotting after an angry parent.
“Right. What’s in Islington?”
He didn’t answer. I waited for a full minute, just in case, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line.
“Are we walking?”
He gave me a sidelong look, raising one eyebrow, then cut across me into the throng of traffic, weaving between queuing vehicles. I followed, waving apologetically at a white van that beeped angrily at me, anxious to inch forward another two feet. When we reached the pavement opposite, Samuel halted, folding his arms and leaning against the flaking paint of a bus stop pole. His left cheek was to me, and staring at him I could just see the faint outline of black moving under a thick layer of almost imperceptible make-up. I wondered if he had any with him, any for me. My hood was up, but I still felt exposed.
I moved to stand alongside him somewhat apprehensively. He looked annoyed, his mouth turned down and his forehead furrowed. Animosity seemed to roll off him in waves. I hadn’t expected him to be angry. I’d thought… I didn’t know what I’d thought. That he’d be pleased to see me? That he’d be concerned, or sympathetic? This cold indifference reminded me of the first few jobs we’d done together, before I’d got to know him. It made me want to throw myself at him and ask him to hug me. It made me want to cry.
Curling my fingers into fists, I set my face into a deep scowl and glared at the passing traffic.
It took the bus fifteen minutes to arrive, and for that whole time we didn’t speak. Several more people joined us at the stop, most of them in crumpled suits, shoulders hunched against the fatigue of another long day. It was a relief when the double-decker chugged to a stop in front of us, belching out warm smoke as the hydraulics hissed and groaned. I reached into my pocket, prepared to give away the last of my pitiful collection of change, but when Samuel climbed onto the bus just in front of me, I heard him ask for two singles, to a stop I didn’t recognise.
The lower deck was mobbed, but Samuel found a free pole halfway down, and managed to carve out enough space for him and me by glowering menacingly at the faces around. We were still squashed in like sardines, though, my nose just inches from Samuel’s chest, breathing in the heady scent of his black leather jacket. It was nice, more comforting than staring into the unfriendly darkness of his eyes.
Even though the bus was crowded, it was quiet, subdued. The tinny jingle of a mobile phone ringing cut through the
thick atmosphere. Several people around me patted coats or rifled through bags, hunting for their own devices, but the noise was coming from Samuel’s waist. I stared down towards the source, then up into his face. He was gazing back down at me.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” a sour-faced, balding man snapped from my right. Samuel silenced him with a look, then slowly drew a small black mobile out of his jacket pocket. He stared down at the screen for a heartbeat, then straight back to me.
“It’s Alex,” he said, his voice expressionless.
A sharp pain stabbed in my chest as my heart began to thump erratically. It felt like he was here, standing next to me, breathing down my neck. I resisted the urge to turn round and check.
“What are you going to do?” My voice was barely loud enough for me to hear.
Rather than answer me, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey.”
I clamped down on my lower lip, determined not to make a sound.
“I’m on a bus,” Samuel said, raising his voice slightly over the roar of the engine as the double-decker surged forward into a gap in the traffic. I felt myself toppling backwards as the floor moved oddly under me. Samuel’s free hand flashed out, grabbed the front of my jacket and jerked me to a stop, bracing his shoulder against the pole.
“Oh,” my breath exhaled in a puff. I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. Samuel glared at me.
“No, I won’t be back till later.”
My hand still wrapped protectively over my jaw, I leaned in closer, trying to hear what Alexander was saying. Samuel pushed me back gently but firmly, still gripping a handful of my jacket. He shook his head infinitesimally, ignoring me when I pouted childishly.
“I’m heading to Lewisham. I got a tip about someone who might have seen Lizzie.”
My eyes widened. What was he doing?
Lewisham, at least, was in the opposite direction to Islington. Clearly Samuel was trying to lead a false trail, but why bring me up at all?
“Really?”
I heard a layer of surprise in Samuel’s voice and I wondered if Alexander was recounting our encounter. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to know anything about it.
“Well, it might turn out to be nothing, but I thought I should check it out.” His eyes darkened as he listened, nodding subconsciously. “Yeah, I know what to do.”
Samuel dropped the phone from his ear and slid it back into his pocket. Then he turned away from me, staring over the heads of other passengers, out of the windshield at the stationary traffic ahead.
“What did you mean?” I whispered.
“Hmmm?” Samuel didn’t look at me.
I cleared my throat. “What did you mean when you said you know what to do?”
Samuel dropped his gaze to mine, just for a moment, and let his left eyebrow slide up his forehead. What did I think?
I blanched, understanding. If Samuel came across me, he was supposed to take me out. Either that or drag me back to Alexander’s so that he could do it himself.
“Right,” I mumbled, but I’d already lost my audience.
The bus had half emptied by the time Samuel indicated to me, with a jerk of his head, that it was time for us to get off. We stepped out onto a narrow pavement, potholes and cracks turning the charcoal-grey asphalt into an obstacle course. There were few pedestrians, but a long line of traffic still trickled nose to tail off into the distance. This place was nothing but a thoroughfare to better things. I noticed, as I passed them, that none of the drivers were pausing to admire the scenery, and glancing around me I couldn’t blame them. This main street was grey and depressing, as were all the narrower roads winding off it – dreary, endless rows of terraced houses with peeling paint and yellowing net curtains behind dirty windows. Gardens grew wild, or had been killed with concrete.
I didn’t bother asking where we were going again. Samuel was in a reticent mood, the hunch of his shoulders warding off unnecessary questions.
Eventually we stopped at the faded red door of a house no grubbier or nicer than the two on either side.
Samuel produced a key from somewhere and, after a brief struggle with the Yale lock, kicked the door open. There was a low scraping sound as a small mountain of junk mail slithered across a bare wooden floor.
“In,” Samuel ordered, holding the door open for me.
I stepped inside, passing through the tiny hallway into a sparsely decorated lounge. There was a sofa and matching armchair, a coffee table and an ancient television in the corner. Along one wall were several bookshelves groaning under rows of dusty volumes.
“You can stay here for now,” Samuel said, following me into the dimly lit space. He crossed to the window and yanked the curtains closed before hitting the light switch. A naked bulb flickered to life above my head. “Keep the curtains closed, keep the noise down, and don’t go outside. If anyone comes to the door, ignore it. There’s some food in the cupboard, tins and the like. Help yourself. I’ll be back. Don’t phone me.”
He didn’t look at me once. Instead he turned to head for the door.
“Samuel,” I yelped.
“What?” he kept his back to me, but at least he inclined his head.
What? I didn’t know what to say, except…
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” His voice was harsh and I cringed.
For a million different things.
“For not listening to you when you told me to get out. For making you take me to Mark’s. For getting you to lie to Alexander. For making you piggy in the middle. For calling you.”
He swivelled round and took a half step back inside the room. A ghost of a smile warmed his features.
“You didn’t make me lie to Alex. And don’t be sorry for calling me. I’ll be back, I promise.”
“When?” I couldn’t help asking.
Samuel glanced at his watch.
“Before midnight,” he said. “I’ll make some excuse.”
I nodded gratefully.
“Thanks, Samuel.”
He nodded and gave me a quick wink, but the hard, set expression was back on his face by the time he made it to the door.
Then I was on my own. Momentarily at a loss, I plopped down onto the sofa, sending a plume of dust whirling around me. I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to stem the sneezing fit that threatened, not sure if that constituted being noisy. I rubbed my forearms, feeling a shiver of goosebumps though the place wasn’t cold, and wondered where I was. It seemed odd that Samuel could have a bolthole that Alexander didn’t know about – Alexander made it his business to know about everything.
I was hungry, but the urge wasn’t strong enough to rouse me from my stupor on the sofa. Instead I wrapped my arms across my stomach and dropped my head back until it banged lightly off the backrest. I shut my eyes against the depressing seediness of the room and breathed deeply, trying to relax the knot of tension that twisted tightly between my shoulder blades. I was safe, for the moment. But I was in limbo. The ground beneath my feet was less substantial than air. It was laughable, but being with Alexander had been stability. Out of his overprotective shadow, I was freefalling. Mark had not been enough of a cushion to break my fall. I should never have let him try. Putting him in the way, I’d killed him. He was dead, and it was all my fault.
What about Samuel? Was he protection enough?
I rubbed at my temples. My head was pounding. I couldn’t believe it, but what I wanted to do more than anything was wind the clock back two, three days. I wanted to be under Alexander’s thumb, sitting on his sofa feeling uncomfortable and ignored. I wanted to be in his bed, feeling sick at myself. I wanted my life back, because, as claustrophobic and miserable and terrifying as it had been, it was better than this. I couldn’t see a future. When Samuel came back – if Samuel came back – then what? Would his offer still stand to help me get out of the country, back up to Scotland? So that I could do what…? Starve? Steal? Survive, for a while?
Did I
have another option? Staying in London, I was much too close to Alexander. How long had it taken him to find me at Mark’s? A day and a half? And if he didn’t get me, I knew who would. The GE. I’d lasted this long branded as I was, only because Alexander had the power to keep me safe.
Looking for something to drown out the thoughts echoing in my head, I staggered to my feet and plugged in the television that was sitting in the corner. It was coated in dust, edged in a mock wood that was scratched and chipped, but it zapped into life when I pushed the button on the front. There was no remote, but by prodding at four discreet buttons at the side I managed to flick through the channels. I settled on a film. I’d no idea what it was called, didn’t recognise any of the actors or actresses, but that didn’t really matter; I wasn’t going to watch it. I was just going to stare at the movement and the colours, waiting out the seconds and minutes and hours until Samuel came back and told me what to do.
It worked. With my senses occupied, my mind lulled itself into a trance. Hunger pangs came and went, but I was barely aware of them. After a while I gathered up the energy to visit the bathroom, chugging down some tepid water out of a dusty tumbler, but I was moving without conscious thought, gravitating back towards the couch, sinking back into oblivion. I wasn’t asleep, but only because my eyes were open.
So I didn’t hear the key slip into the lock, or the hand quietly turning the door handle, or the muted tread of feet stepping onto the cheap laminate flooring of the hallway.
“Hey.”
Samuel’s warm, lilting voice jerked me out of my daze. I blinked, swivelled my head to look at him. He grimaced at me, hovering in the tiny square hall. I watched as he shrugged his way out of his leather jacket and deposited it on the post at the end of the banister.
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