She thought of Michael Stuart, his misguided attempt to derail her campaign against him by attaching the immigration vote to a vote of confidence in his government. It had almost worked – if just one more rebel had switched sides, he would have won – but ultimately, it had failed. And not just for Michael.
Against her better judgement, she delved into the pile of mail on the kitchen worktop and pulled out the letter about Samir’s deportation. Four and a half weeks away. Four days after the election.
The door banged open and she flinched. Hassan had left for school half an hour earlier. She wasn’t expecting to be disturbed till the afternoon. With Meena and Rita gone, and Yusuf working long hours at the shelter, the house echoed with emptiness. She wondered if it would ever be full again.
She looked up to see Yusuf coming in, arms full of paperwork and his laptop.
“Working from home?” she asked him.
“You could say that,” Yusuf replied. He dumped his work onto the kitchen table. “Guess who I’ve found.”
Jennifer looked up. Shuffling in behind him, her head bowed, was Rita.
She stood up. “Rita! What happened to you? Are you OK?”
Rita shrugged. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be.”
“I took Hassan’s bag. Some kids stole it from me.” Rita looked at Jennifer. “I’ll replace it.”
Jennifer put an arm around her friend. “Don’t be silly. I’m just glad you’re safe. Where have you been?”
“I tried to go to Yusuf’s shelter.” Rita glanced sideways at Yusuf. “Thought I could hide there.”
Jennifer looked at Yusuf. “And you found her there?”
“No. She got herself arrested. They called me.”
“Why?”
“I told them the shelter was my address. Couldn’t think of anything else,” said Rita.
Jennifer pulled back. “But… but why didn’t they take you back?”
Rita grinned. “I gave a false name.”
Jennifer smiled and pulled Rita to her. She felt damp and her skin was tracked with tears. “Well done.”
Yusuf started moving around the kitchen. “Anyway, you must be starving, Rita. How about eggs on toast?”
“Sounds delicious.”
He turned to her and smiled. “You go and get changed and I’ll cook. Want some, Jen?”
“Er, yes. Please.”
Rita left and headed upstairs. Yusuf cracked six eggs into a pan and left them to simmer. He turned to her.
“Have they announced it officially yet?”
She nodded. “She’s just come back from the palace. Made another speech outside Downing Street. More thinkspeak. D’you think people will buy it?”
“Does that matter?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, once they know what she did, it’ll all be over for her. Won’t it?”
She dropped into a chair. She felt tired. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”
“If she gets back in, Samir—”
“You don’t have to remind me about Samir. What are were going to do about Rita? Did anyone see you come in?”
“I don’t think so. But its impossible to tell. Anyway, she’s not going to stay here.”
“Oh?”
“I think she had the right idea,” he said as he flipped the eggs. “The shelter. I can keep her hidden away there.”
“Are you sure? If she’s found, they’ll shut you down.”
He turned to her. “She’s your friend, Jen. We need to help her. We need to help everyone we can. I’ll sort it.”
She stood and leaned into his back. He reached round and grabbed her hand. She held it then let go to wrap her arms around him.
“Watch out. I don’t want these eggs to burn.”
She pulled back and sat down again.
He swirled oil around the pan. “So what are you going to do about Catherine?” His voice was tense.
“I’m going to make a call.”
“She won’t listen.”
“Not her. Someone else.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The call was a surprise.
“What do you want, Catherine?” Jennifer asked.
“I want to speak to you. In person.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“I don’t believe it is.”
“You’ve already made it clear you’re not prepared to help me.”
“And you’ve made it clear you won’t actually carry out your threats. What was that charade on Newsnight, anyway?”
“It wasn’t a charade. If you thought that, you wouldn’t have called a snap election.”
Catherine laughed. “This is nothing to do with you. But then, you always did have an over-inflated sense of your own importance.”
“You can say that if you want. I know I scared you. But it doesn’t make any difference.”
Jennifer took a deep breath.
“You know what I want,” she said. “And you know what I’ll do if you can’t deliver.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.” Catherine’s voice sounded haughty, more strident than in her backbench days. Or was it the stress?
“Oh, don’t give me that—”
“We need to talk. Let’s work this out in person. Soon, before the campaign starts to take over.”
“I’ll come to your constituency. But this is the last time, Catherine. If you don’t—”
“No. Not there.”
Jennifer shook her head. Should she just slam the phone down?
“Are you still planning on deporting him?”
“It’s not me, Jennifer. I’m not the hand of God, you know. Come to the House. See me there.”
“The House of Commons? Not Downing Street?”
“No. Too public. Arrange a meeting with your ridiculous friend Maggie. Tomorrow morning, before Prime Minister’s Questions. Before we dissolve Parliament for the election.”
“I’m not doing this, Catherine. You’ve wasted my time before and—”
“Come. I’ll find you.”
Chapter Sixty
Rita spent the day hiding in a cupboard in Yusuf’s office.
She crouched on the floor, listening to the comings and goings of his day. Meetings, visitors, minor crises. Every time someone entered the room she held her breath, terrified they’d open the cupboard and find her.
But Yusuf had locked the door. She was safe.
By the time he let her out, the blue-white light seeping through the gap at the top of the cupboard door had turned yellow. She stumbled out, her legs seizing up with cramp.
Yusuf grabbed her arm. “Steady, now. Take a breath or two. Sorry you had to stay in there.”
She gasped in the cold air of his office, relieved at last to inhale something that wasn’t her own recycled breath.
“Sit down,” said Yusuf. He pulled out his chair. “Here.”
She fell into the chair. Her chest was tight. She felt faint. “Don’t put me in there again.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve found somewhere better. Somewhere with a window.”
She nodded. There was a carrier bag on the table: Tesco. “Is there anything to eat?”
“I brought you a sandwich, and some fruit. Chocolate.”
Chocolate. The thought of it made her dry mouth water. She raised her eyebrows at Yusuf and he gestured towards the bag. She ripped it open. Inside were two ham sandwiches, a bag of apples and a Twix. She smiled at the Twix, wondering how Sonia was, if she’d recovered from her injuries.
“Ham sandwiches?” she said. “But you’re Muslim.”
“I am. You’re not.”
“OK. They look good to me.”
She ripped the packets open and swallowed the sandwiches in a few heavy gulps. They were dry and processed but they filled her aching stomach. She ate one of the apples then opened the Twix.
After a moment’s hesitation she held it out to him, offering him a stick. He’d pulled up a chair
and was sitting on the other side of the desk, watching her eat. His eyes kept creeping towards the door.
“Are we OK here?” she asked.
“Not for long. Safest to move you. Things are quiet up here now. They’re doing dinner downstairs, everyone’s busy. But there are dorms along from here. We need to move you quickly.”
She waggled the Twix at him and he shook his head and pushed it back. “You need it more than me. But thanks.”
He smiled. His teeth were white and looked like he had a good dentist. He’d trimmed his beard since she’d run from their house. It made him look younger. She pictured him and Jennifer together, in happier times. Then she thought of Ash. Where was he?
“Can I use your phone?” she asked.
“My phone?”
“I’d like to call my boyfriend. He was arrested before I came to you. He might have been released.” She shrugged. “You never know.”
He pushed the phone on the desk towards her. She was about to pick it up when it rang.
She jumped back in her seat, almost falling to the floor. Yusuf frowned and picked it up. He licked his lips and rubbed his beard.
“Hello, Yusuf Hussain.”
Rita could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She watched him, the Twix melting in her clenched fist.
Yusuf let out a long breath and threw her a smile.
“Jen. Why didn’t you use my mobile?”
Rita let her hand relax, dropping the chocolate to the floor. She was shaking.
Yusuf nodded. “OK. Good luck,” he said, then replaced the handset.
“Everything OK?” Rita asked.
“Yes. Jen’s going to London.”
He reached into his pocket for his phone and tutted at it. He pressed a button then handed it to Rita.
“Here. Use this.”
She took the mobile from him, pausing to remember Ash’s number.
Yusuf busied himself putting files away in a metal filing cabinet. She looked around his office, noting how tidy it was, trying to distract herself from her nerves. Would Ash want to speak to her? Could his number have been diverted to the police, and they’d be waiting for her?
She pulled the phone away from her ear. She should hang up. But then there was a click.
Too late now.
“Hello?” she said, her voice small. Yusuf stopped moving and then started again, rearranging the photos of his family on top of a book case. She looked at them. Samir was handsome. She hoped Jennifer could get him back.
“This is Ash. Leave a message.”
She opened her mouth to speak. She closed her eyes, torn between telling him she was thinking of him and staying hidden.
She swallowed and hung up.
“Everything OK?” asked Yusuf.
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Fine.”
“Good. Let’s get you moving then.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Maggie pushed open the door to her new office in Portcullis House, over the road from the Commons. Jennifer was jealous, but then Maggie had more than served her time in the dingy offices in the main building.
“How did it go?”
Jennifer shrugged and dropped her bag on one of three visitors’ chairs. “Good. I think. Thanks for getting me access.”
“No problem. I think it was a bit of a surprise, having me turn up with you.”
Jennifer laughed. “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”
Maggie shrugged her jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair. Jennifer was surprised to see her taking so much care.
Maggie leaned back and pushed her chair towards a chest of drawers. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. I need it, after that.”
Maggie poured the contents of a filter jug into two chipped mugs and pushed one across the desk. “D’you think it’ll work?”
Jennifer frowned. Maggie only knew this was something to do with Samir.
She reached into her desk and pulled out a miniature of whisky. She waved it in Jennifer’s direction.
“No thanks.”
Maggie shrugged and poured a tot into her own coffee. She sealed the lid and slipped the bottle into her desk then took a gulp.
“Better than the fags, at least.”
“You’ve given up?”
“Trying.” Maggie rolled up a sleeve to display a nicotine patch. “Three weeks and counting.”
“Well done.”
“Three weeks, two days and…” she examined her watch, “…five hours. Not bad.”
She put the mug down, placed her elbows on the table and gave Jennifer a look that said I hope you know what you’re doing. “It’s time.”
“Oh.” Jennifer put her mug down and glanced at the door. “I’m not sure what…”
“You going to PMQs?”
A grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Jennifer nodded. Prime Minister’s Questions was due to start in an hour and a half.
“D’you want to watch too?” asked Maggie.
“I can’t.”
“I’ll take you up to the Strangers’ Gallery.”
“You sure? You don’t want to be on the floor? You don’t want to ask your own questions?”
“I don’t think they’ll need me.”
There was a knock at the door. Just one short rap. Jennifer stood and smoothed her skirt.
“No,” said Maggie, rushing round the desk. “I want to do this.”
She hurried past Jennifer and flung the door open. Her shoulders fell at the sight of the man standing in the corridor; young, besuited. An aide.
“Who are you?”
“I’ve come to fetch Jennifer Sinclair. Is she here?”
“I am.” Jennifer approached him. “Who wants to know?”
He frowned, not expecting the question. “The Prime Minister.”
Maggie grabbed her hand. “Go get ’em, kid.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Rita followed Yusuf along a corridor, towards an open doorway at the far end. She could hear voices from below, smell the roasted meat from the kitchen. Those ham sandwiches had staved off the hunger pangs, but the smell of hot food made her mouth water.
“Where are we going?”
“Just up ahead. Not far. Shush.” Yusuf looked past her towards the stairwell. He was moving in sharp bursts, like a frightened animal.
“You OK?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes. It’s just, you can’t be found here. The shelter is under constant threat of closure as it is.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
So even here she was unwelcome. At Jennifer’s she would put the whole family at risk; at home she would be arrested, and at Ash’s – well, Ash’s flat was empty.
Would she ever stop running?
They stopped at the doorway and Yusuf stood back for her to pass. She gasped.
It was a bathroom.
Visions of the basement bathroom at the centre flashed through her head. The darkness. The scurrying sounds of rodents. The beatings.
She tried to breathe.
“I can’t go in there.”
“What?”
“I just can’t.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Look, this is the only place I can put you. The loo here is always playing up; I’ll just say it’s out of order and no one will come in. I’ll lock it from the outside.”
“No!”
“You can lock it from the inside.” He held out his hand. “Here’s the key.”
She reached for it, tentatively as if it was on fire. It was large, made of a dark metal. Old.
“I can get out at any time?”
“Theoretically.”
“What do you mean, theoretically? You’re not holding me prisoner up here.”
His eyes crinkled. “Of course I’m not, Rita. You’re free to go if you want.”
“Good.”
“Only, I wouldn’t advise leaving unless I come to tell you it’s safe.”
She drew a deep breath. She could do t
his. There was a window in there. The tiles were clean. And she couldn’t hear any tap dripping.
“Can I have a chair or something?”
“Of course. I’ll fetch you one. Get inside while I do it. You can lock yourself in and I’ll knock four times.” His eyes roamed her face. “OK?”
She nodded. Her chest felt tight and her legs weak. She pushed herself across the threshold, forcing her feet to move. Focusing on the window, and the obscured light filtering in from the street. The toilet was old, with a high cistern. The sink was large, with a line of yellow stain under the tap. Other than that, it was clean. No smell.
She turned to see him walking away from her. Gulping down shallow breaths, she fumbled the key into the lock and shut herself in.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The aide led her to the lift. She stood sideways-on in silence as they descended. Should she make small talk? Check where he was taking her?
She opened her mouth to speak then decided against it.
At the ground floor they headed for the escalator, then down the tunnel to the Houses of Parliament. Jennifer expected one of the guards to stop them any moment; she was a visitor, accompanied not by a Member but an anonymous aide.
In the back corridors of the House of Commons, the man didn’t break stride or even look back to check that she was keeping up. Jennifer’s legs were longer than his and she could easily match his pace. She glanced at her watch, wondering how long this was going to take.
They came to a door. The man knocked then pushed it open. Jennifer walked in after him. She was reminded of Hassan’s tenth birthday, the day of the Waterloo bomb. John had brought her to a room very much like this. She half expected to see a bank of security cameras and a disgruntled civil servant. She wondered what John was doing now. Whether he was ready for what was about to come.
There was no bank of screens or civil servant. Instead, Catherine sat alone in the centre of the room. She inhabited one wing-backed armchair, incongruous in this small space, while another sat next to her, at diagonals.
The aide muttered something then left, closing the door, remaining outside, no doubt.
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 72
