“Let me make a bed up for you. Hassan can move in with us and you’ll have his room.”
Rita closed her eyes. Her breathing was shallow and slow. “Thanks.”
Jennifer heard movement on the stairs, Yusuf going up to change Hassan’s bed. She decided to wait here with Rita until he came down.
The living room door opened. Jennifer turned.
“That was quick,” she said.
But it wasn’t Yusuf. Instead, Meena rounded the door, her face falling when she saw Rita.
Rita stiffened. “You,” she croaked.
Meena frowned. “Rita?”
Rita put her hand to her chest. “Please don’t take me back.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rita woke with a start. Afraid, she jerked into wakefulness, checking her surroundings.
But she wasn’t under the motorway, or tucked into the wall of a church. She was in a living room.
She rubbed her eyes. Her body ached all over. Her left cheek was sore. Her head felt like it had had concrete poured into it.
Then she remembered. Jennifer. This must be her house. How long had she been here? Had she slept the night on this sofa? A duvet with the silhouettes of blue cats had been laid over her and her head was supported by a soft white pillow. Her hair was tangled and dirty. She felt sudden shame at soiling Jennifer’s clean bed linen.
She pulled herself into a sitting position, her legs still along the sofa. It was soft and beige, a bit like the rest of the room. The walls were off-white and over the mantelpiece hung a photo of Jennifer with her family. Her husband and two boys. The oldest looked about twelve. That must be Samir. She wondered if he was here, if Jennifer had found him.
She heaved her legs to the floor and sat facing forwards. She felt shaky, as if she might faint. Had she fainted in Jennifer’s arms, out there on the street? Had Jennifer carried her in here?
She wanted to stand but wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. Instead, she took deep breaths, enjoying the clean air of this house, the distant smell of brewing coffee. As her senses became attuned she heard voices.
“She was walking from the bus stop. Looking for me?”
“How did she get here?”
She tried to call out, not liking to eavesdrop, but her voice was hoarse. It didn’t do any harm to listen and find out what was going on.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing behind them.
“She escaped. When she was being transported.”
“D’you think they’ll come here, looking for her?”
“We can’t kick her out, just because we’re worried—”
“I know. She’s your friend. We’ll get her better, then work something out.”
“I wonder how long she’s been like that. Sleeping rough.”
“A while, I think. Judging by the state of her clothes.” He lowered his voice. “And the smell.”
Rita lifted her sleeve to her face and sniffed. She recoiled; he was right. She had to get up, find her way to a bathroom.
“I’m worried they’ll be looking for her. They know you just got out. They’ll put two and two together, eventually.”
Another voice, a woman. Higher pitched than Jennifer’s; a young woman. Rita looked at the photo again. Did Jennifer have a daughter?
Then she remembered. Meena. Meena Ashgar. Her old counsellor.
She breathed hard, in and out, trying to hold onto consciousness. She stared at the photo, focusing on the little boy’s smile. He was eight or nine, Year Four by the looks of it. He was missing a front tooth.
After a few moments she felt her breathing return to normal. She forced herself to be quiet. Why did Jennifer have one of the counsellors here? Had she come for Rita? Was Jennifer helping her?
Jennifer had been speaking; Rita had missed what she said. Then Meena spoke again.
“What did Catherine Moore say?”
Rita frowned. She didn’t remember that name from the centre.
The blood was coming back to her legs now. She stood, pushing up with her hands like a pregnant woman. She teetered in front of the sofa, wishing there wasn’t a coffee table in her way. She kept her eyes on the photograph, the boy’s gap-toothed smile, using it for balance.
“It wasn’t good.” Jennifer again.
“How?” Yusuf asked. The voices were becoming sharper now. Rita wasn’t sure if it was because she’d stood up or if the fog was clearing from her brain.
“I told her I’ve got the note. I showed her the copy. She said it meant nothing. It doesn’t have her name on, or mine. Or Samir’s.”
“Even so,” said Meena.
Rita was puzzled. Why was Jennifer talking to Meena about her son?
She shuffled sideways between the sofa and the coffee table, her gaze fixed on the photo. It was in a gilt frame, dented in one corner.
At last she reached the end of the sofa. She could see out of the window. Sheer curtains obscured the view but she could still make out the shapes in the street outside. Cars, more houses. It was daylight.
“I say we go public with it,” said Yusuf.
“I’m not sure,” said Jennifer.
“Why not? You’ve tried your way. She won’t see reason.”
A pause. “I already brought one government down, love. I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to do it again.”
“So how are we going to get Samir back?” asked Meena.
Rita frowned. Should she go in there, tell them she was awake? That she’d been listening? She wanted to know what Meena was up to.
Maybe she should get out of here.
She cleared her throat. “Hello,” she said to herself, relieved to find her voice coming back.
“I’ve got another idea though,” said Jennifer, in the other room. Rita frowned, feeling guilty at eavesdropping.
Rita caught movement from the corner of her eye, in the street outside. She turned and placed her hands on the windowsill through the curtains. She froze.
Approaching from the end of the street was a car. It was a blur through the window, but she caught a snatch of orange as it turned towards the house.
She drew closer to the window, holding her breath. She reached out for the curtain.
She stopped. If they weren’t here for her, she shouldn’t reveal herself.
She had to see.
She pulled to one side and eased it open, just a centimetre.
The car drew up outside. It slowed.
It was white, with an orange stripe along its side.
They’d found her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Jennifer!” Rita cried. Not now, she thought. Not after all she had gone through.
The voices in the other room stopped. Rita heard footsteps. She looked round. Jennifer was standing in the door, Meena beside her.
She jabbed a finger at Meena. “You! You told them!”
“What?” said Jennifer. “What’s going on?”
“She told them where I was. She’s been waiting for me here. You let her.” She bit her lip. “Why?”
Jennifer was next to her now, at the window. She smelled of floral perfume, mixed with coffee. She wore a beige suit that was a size too big for her.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What are you talking about?”
Rita didn’t take her eyes off Meena. “They sent her here to find me. I walked right into their trap.” She looked back out of the window. “Shit.”
Jennifer put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.
“I had no idea you’d come here,” said Meena. “I’m not going to take you back.”
Rita looked back at her. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s going past,” said Jennifer.
Rita spun to the window. Sure enough, the police car was passing the house. Maybe it had missed the number. Maybe it would turn round, so it was facing the right way when it had to leave.
“That didn’t mean anything,” she said.
“Look
, it’s slowing,” said Jennifer. “Oh hell, it’s going to the Taylors’. Yusuf!”
Yusuf came in, looking confused. “What’s all the shouting?” He was tall, a couple of inches taller than Jennifer, with a figure somewhere between muscle and middle-aged spread. His beard was peppered with grey hairs. He had clear brown eyes that sparkled. He looked nice.
He joined them at the window. Rita drew back, overcome by his masculine smell; aftershave, sweat. It reminded her of Ash. She felt her chest hollow out.
The car had stopped. A policewoman was getting out of the driver’s side. Her colleague, a man, was getting out of the passenger door. He opened the back door and reached inside to put his hand on the head of the occupant. A gesture Rita remembered from those two policemen who’d taken her from her classroom to the centre, months ago.
A young black woman climbed out of the back, twitching to throw off the policeman’s hand.
“Who’s she?”
“Lavonia. Our neighbour’s daughter. She was arrested a few nights ago,” said Jennifer. “I’d better go out and see—”
“No,” said Yusuf. “Let me talk to them.”
“No,” said Jennifer. “We don’t want them coming in here.”
Yusuf turned to her. “I’ve been helping them. If I don’t go out, they’ll knock on the door.”
Rita saw Jennifer deflate, but she nodded agreement. She looked between Jennifer and her husband, wondering who was in charge in this marriage. Had Yusuf been arrested too? Had he spent time at another centre?
Yusuf left the room. Meena joined them at the window. Curtains had been drawn back in the windows opposite and a thin middle-aged woman came out of her front door. A hulking teenage boy lurked in the doorway behind her.
Rita drew back. Jennifer had known about her escape; so would everyone else. She might have been recognised on one of those forays up and down the road.
Meena was right behind her, her breath hot on Rita’s neck. She shuddered at the feel of it. She turned to glare at the counsellor then slid past her to sit on the sofa. She was feeling light-headed again.
“Can I have a glass of water?”
Jennifer paled. “Of course, sorry. I’ll get you something to eat. A sandwich? And a cup of tea?”
Rita craved some of that coffee she could smell but wasn’t sure she could keep it down. She nodded her thanks.
“Where’s the toilet?”
Jennifer led her to a toilet under the stairs and went into the kitchen. Rita sat on the toilet, taking stock of her situation. Meena had done nothing so far to indicate that she was about to take her back. And the police car hadn’t been for her after all. But it had been dropping someone off. There was nothing to say it might not also pick someone up.
She stared at the walls of the confined space. They were covered in sheets of paper; attendance awards, good behaviour badges, childish drawings. It was like a living history of Jennifer’s family. She wondered where they were. She felt sick to think that the younger one might have been taken away too.
She flushed the toilet and washed her hands and arms as thoroughly as she could in the tiny sink. In the kitchen, Jennifer was standing near the kettle, stirring a teabag in a mug. She smiled to see Rita.
“Good to see you on your feet. You were in a bad way.”
“Where are your children? I mean, if that’s not a difficult question.”
A shadow passed over Jennifer’s face, then it brightened again in a way that spoke of some effort. “Hassan’s at school.” Her voice dropped. “Samir’s in a detention centre.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. We’re going to get him out. With Meena’s help, I hope.”
“I don’t understand. Why is she here, if it’s not to arrest me?”
Jennifer laughed. “Even if she wanted to arrest you, counsellors don’t have the power.” She frowned. “At least, they didn’t before I was arrested. But she’s here because she knew Samir.”
“She what?”
“Weird, I know. She was his girlfriend. It was because of that he was arrested.”
“And you let her in here?”
Jennifer shook her head. She dropped the teabag in the bin and handed the mug to Rita. “I was angry at first. I didn’t want to trust her. But she says she loves him. And she didn’t know that he’d be under suspicion too.”
“What did she do?”
“She was in a proscribed group.” Jennifer’s voice darkened. “Like Samir. But she’s left the centre. She’s on our side.”
Rita sat down at the table and sipped her tea. The warmth of it going down her throat felt like silk.
“Am I safe here? Or am I going to get you into trouble?’
“Don’t worry. We’re not going to kick you out.”
Rita nodded and drained her tea. The sandwich was next to it, on a blue and white striped plate. Tuna. She bit into it, the saltiness exploding on her tongue.
“That’s good. Thanks.”
“When did you last eat? No, I already asked you that. Sorry.”
Rita shrugged, her mouth full. She heard the front door slam, followed by voices in the hall. Footsteps went up the stairs.
“They didn’t have grounds to keep her in for any longer. Lavonia, I mean. The Taylors’ girl.” Yusuf had appeared at the door. He looked flustered.
“Good,” said Jennifer. “She’s too young.”
Yusuf sat down. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Yusuf. Jennifer’s husband.”
“I guessed as much,” Rita said, swallowing the last of her sandwich. “You don’t want me here.”
He blushed. “What made you think that?”
“I overheard you talking. After I woke up.”
“Oh.” He scratched his beard, making a rasping sound that set Rita’s teeth on edge. “Well, Jen’s talked me into it. Have you got anywhere to go, once you’re better?”
“No. I went to my house, but it didn’t feel safe. And I saw my boyfriend being arrested.”
“Oh. I‘m sorry.”
She wiped her hands on her jeans and remembered how filthy she was. “Can I use your shower?”
Jennifer stepped in, putting her hand on Rita’s chair. “Come, I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Find you some clothes.”
Rita smiled at her and stood. Jennifer headed for the door.
“Back soon,” she told Yusuf. “We still need to talk about Catherine.”
Rita followed her upstairs, wondering who this Catherine person was. How many fugitives could one house take in?
Chapter Forty
“Yonda Hughes.”
“It’s me. Mark.”
“Mark. At last. What the fuck are you playing at?”
Mark gritted his teeth. He looked around the coffee shop where he’d found shelter from the cold. In the opposite corner, two young women bent over cups of coffee, toddlers squirming in two pushchairs next to them. An old woman watched them from another table.
“I called you once already.”
“You left a voicemail. That’s not the same thing.”
“I haven’t made contact yet.”
“What? You’ve got her address. You’ve been there four days now at my expense and you still haven’t spoken to her?”
“It’s not as straightforward as that.”
“Tell me, Mark. On what planet is this simple task I gave you not straightforward?”
“She’s never alone.”
She sighed. He imagined her at her desk, fidgeting with whichever brightly coloured chain of beads she was wearing today. He wondered when she was going to tell him to give up. When he was going to hear the police arrive at his flat, to take him back.
She was right; this job was straightforward. But that didn’t make it easy.
“Who’s with her?” she asked. “Why is she never alone? Her husband’s out at that shelter every day and her son’s at school.”
Mark pulled the phone away from his ear. This wasn’t his own p
hone, it was one Yonda had given him. She was probably using the GPS to track him.
“Her husband’s at home in the daytimes. I guess he wants to keep her company.”
“Mark.”
“Yes, Yonda.” He could hear his breathing. He moved the phone away from his mouth.
“I suggest you think carefully before you lie to me.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Oh, let me think. To protect your favourite patient?”
“She isn’t my favourite.”
“I’m not talking about Jennifer.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Calm down, he told himself. His voice had become shrill. He covered the phone with his hand and took a breath.
“I can’t do this. I’m a doctor. This isn’t in the job description.”
“Very well. I’ll let management know they need to come and get you.”
He swallowed. “You do that.”
“You don’t mean that. Think very carefully about what you’re—”
“Bye, Yonda.”
He ended the call and downed his coffee. It was bitter, dragged in his throat. Outside, Erdington high street, just half a mile from Jennifer’s house, was full of shoppers. He scanned the crowds, just in case. But he knew she wouldn’t be here. None of them would be.
He walked back towards Spaghetti Junction, past the end of Jennifer’s road. He wasn’t planning on going to her house again. It had been enough seeing Meena going in. Enough to jolt him awake.
At the bus stop near the end of the road, there was a bin. He tossed the phone into it and continued walking into the city centre.
Chapter Forty-One
“She looked rough.”
Yusuf was leaning on the kitchen counter, staring out of the back window.
“A shower will do her good,” said Jennifer. “Thanks for letting her stay.”
He turned and gave her a tight smile. “We’ve got you and Meena here already. One more’s not going to make any difference.”
“Where is Meena?”
“Samir’s room.”
“Again.”
They both looked towards the ceiling. Upstairs was quiet, the only sound that of running water.
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 66
