A Place Of Safety (2 page)

The People of Britain Have Had Enough!
Skin Lick at 15.22

I know what you mean, Snow White. My home town has three mosques. Three!!!

We truly are living in Englastan.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough!
Snow White at 15.26

I read that some schools are forced to celebrate Eid and Diwali but the children aren’t allowed to send Christmas cards to one another. I don’t want my children bringing up that way.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.38

It’s a scandal.

The white indigenous population of this country will soon be in the minority and then we’ll lose all our heritage and culture.

Prepare to say goodbye to Easter, New Year’s Eve and Bonfire Night.

The People of Britain Have Had Enough!
Blood River at 15.46

I for one am not about to surrender everything I hold dear.

Mass immigration has been a disaster and it’s got to stop.

We are at saturation point.

Write to your MP saying you will no longer tolerate being a second-class citizen in your own home.

Boycott shops owned by in-comers.

Fly the flag of St George with pride.

Snow White closed the lid of her laptop. She hated to leave a live discussion but she needed to pick up her husband’s shirts from the dry-cleaners’. She checked the clock. If she didn’t dilly-dally she’d still have enough time to pop into the butcher’s and get home in time for the live podcast.

A hostel had recently opened in Manor Wood, within half a mile of Sam’s school. The building, Hounds Place, had previously been a police-station house but had been bought up by a professional landlord who saw the potential for squeezing five desperate refugees into each room.

The influx of nearly thirty foreigners into a small village like Manor Wood had not been greeted with overwhelming delight. The infamous hospitality of the English countryside did not, it seemed, extend to the raggle-taggle bunch of young men and women who had risked everything to leave their wartorn homelands.

Lilly had begged Rupes to let her represent two fourteen-year-old boys who had fled the Taliban. Without any relatives in the UK care orders had been made without fuss or objection so the use of Lilly’s time had been negligible. Two had become four, then a teenager from Bosnia arrived and another from Uganda. Although she kept the increasing numbers quiet, particularly from Rupes, Lilly now represented at least half the kids in there. It didn’t take up too much of her energy, she told herself, as she checked her watch.

As soon as she crossed the threshold a young man in a checked shirt and denim jacket sidled over.

‘Hello, Artan,’ said Lilly.

He should have been a good-looking boy with his full pink lips and the blackest of lashes, but something about him always unnerved Lilly. His entire family had been killed in Kosovo, but he never seemed angry or sad or even confused. He was cold.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

Artan shook his head to indicate that things were not good. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘I’ve got twenty minutes,’ said Lilly.

They went to the kitchen and the few residents who had been sitting around chatting got up and left. Something was very wrong.

‘Have you been arrested again, Artan?’ Lilly asked. A month ago she’d got him off with a warning for shoplifting.

‘It is nothing like that.’ His eyes were vacant, devoid of any clue as to what lay beneath.

‘Are you in trouble?’ she asked.

‘Something has happened to my friend,’ he said.

‘Something bad?’

‘Very, very bad,’ said Artan.

Alarm bells started to ring. ‘Has he been hurt?’

‘It’s a girl,’ said Artan. ‘And yes, she has been hurt.’

The alarm bells were pounding out now. The three-minute warning.

‘Go on,’ said Lilly.

‘Some boys from the village have taken advantage of her,’ said Artan.

‘You mean she’s been raped?’

Artan nodded.

‘Has she been to the police?’ asked Lilly.

‘It is not so simple,’ said Artan. ‘She doesn’t trust them.’

Lilly nodded. Despite special suites and task forces, most rapes continued to go unreported, and refugees were even less likely to take their chances with the authorities.

‘She doesn’t think the police will believe her,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘She drank alcohol with these local boys and went to the park with them,’ he said. ‘They will say she wanted to have sex.’

‘Why did she go with them?’ asked Lilly.

‘Because her mind is not clear,’ he said.

The silence was thick between them. Lilly knew all their stories were horrific. That none of them were unscathed.

‘Can you promise these boys will be convicted?’ he said.

‘No one can make a promise like that.’

Artan leaned towards her, his voice dropping. ‘Is there a good chance?’

Lilly weighed her words very carefully ‘Rape is one of the most difficult offences to prove, and in a case like this where it’s one girl’s word against three presumably squeaky-clean schoolboys it would be even more difficult.’

Artan closed his eyes, his breathing slow and heavy.

Lilly shivered. ‘But that’s not to say she shouldn’t report it.’

‘Why?’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘So that she can be humiliated again and again?’

When he opened his eyes they seemed even more desolate than before.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lilly.

She thought she saw a flash of anger skitter across his face.

‘We are not animals,’ he said. ‘These boys must be punished.’

*  *  *

Twenty-four pounds.

It was daylight robbery.

Still, it was the best organic beef from cows allowed to roam freely around their farm in Sussex. Mr Simms even had photos of ‘the girls’ above his counter, all doe eyes and bell collars. Some thought that was a step too far but Snow White saw nothing wrong with it. Grandpa had kept chickens and had slit their throats in front of her for Sunday lunch. She could still hear the damned squawking.

People these days had no respect for the provenance of their food. They wanted everything clean and shrinkwrapped.

She had taught her children that life just wasn’t like that. When a fox had killed every last one of their pet bunnies she had told them to stop crying and let them sit up with her until midnight when she took him out with her shotgun. ‘Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.’

She put the meat in the fridge and logged on to her laptop.

Welcome, Snow White—today’s live podcast will start in five minutes.

Excellent. She hadn’t missed it.

Humming to herself, she made a pot of Darjeeling.

Lilly’s mind was still heavy with what she had heard. When she pulled into her son’s prep school she almost hit a Mercedes and its driver hooted. Lilly was tempted to give her the finger, but such a gesture would be considered rude and vulgar, an unforgivable sin for the middle-class parents among whom Lilly already had few friends.

She was about to berate herself once again for giving in to her ex-husband on the subject of schooling when her mobile rang.

The voice was Irish honey. ‘Hello, gorgeous. Got time for a natter?’

Lilly got out of the car and smiled. ‘For you,’ she said, ‘I’ve always got time.’

It was Jack McNally, a copper Lilly had known for years, and had flirted with for nearly as long before he’d finally made a move.

‘What are you wearing?’ he asked.

Lilly laughed. ‘I’d like to say a basque and fishnet stockings.’

A passing parent wrinkled her nose. Lilly wanted to stick out her tongue.

‘But,’ said Jack, ‘I’m sensing a “but”’.

‘To be honest, I’m at school, and even I’m not brazen enough to parade around here in my undies.’

‘You wouldn’t want to make all those yummy mummies jealous,’ he said.

‘Now I remember why I like you.’

She sauntered to the football pitch where Sam, in goal, was in position to save a penalty. Lilly hardly dared watch, even though it was only a practice session. ‘So how’re things?’

‘Same old, same old,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she groaned, as Sam batted the ball clear of the goal, the slap of the leather against his skin audible even from the touchline. Though it was undoubtedly uncool for a nine year old to show any pain his middle-aged mother couldn’t help herself.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You sound a bit distracted.’

‘I had a funny meeting just before you called.’

‘Funny ha ha, or funny peculiar?’

‘Funny disturbing,’ she said. ‘A girl from the hostel has been raped.’

‘One of the asylum seekers?’

‘Yeah. Her friend wanted to know what would happen if they got the police involved.’

‘And?’ Jack asked.

‘And I told him the truth.’

The referee blew his whistle and ten boys ran towards Sam, who had clearly saved the day.

‘I’ve got a bad feeling that he might do something stupid,’ she said.

Ever the professional, Jack’s tone was serious. ‘Like what?’

Lilly waved at her son, who shook hands gravely with the other side and then scampered towards her, wind-milling his arms.

‘I don’t know, it could be nothing. Ignore me.’

‘It doesn’t sound like nothing, Lilly.’

Sam was almost upon her. ‘You know how I overreact. He was probably just upset. Anyone would be.’

‘Lilly, you don’t overreact,’ said Jack. ‘You have excellent instincts, and if you think something is going down you need to tell someone.’

‘I will, well, I might. I need to think it through.’ Sam jumped into her arms, nearly knocking her off her feet. ‘Look, I have to go, Peter Shilton needs his tea.’

*  *  *

Welcome, members. Today’s discussion will feature regular contributor Nigel Purves.

Snow White helped herself to a Garibaldi and settled down. Nigel was always good value.

…I want to talk to you all about diversity and I want you to think about whether this is a good thing.

Snow White dunked her biscuit and smiled at her screen. Nigel was such an articulate man, able to make his point with a clarity and conviction that was sadly lacking in most politicians. And he knew how to work a suit and tie. The Des Lynam of the Far Right.

…On the face of it we might find difference a good thing—after all, who wants everything to be the same? Diversity makes life interesting, no?

But pause for a second and ask yourself what makes family so special.

Snow White reached for a ginger snap. Nigel was on top form.

Isn’t it the fact that everyone is cut from the same cloth? That you have things in common? That you are a homogenous group?

Nigel ran a hand through his hair, still thick with flecks of grey.

Whatever anyone tells you, it is perfectly natural for each of us to want to be with our own kind. Some might call that racist. I say it’s just common sense…

‘Mum, I’m starving.’

Bugger. Snow White shut down the podcast.

‘Is there anything to eat?’

The girls were home early. Nigel would have to wait.

‘I have scones,’ she said. ‘Or crumpets. You choose.’

‘I know a man who knows a man. He’ll get you what you need.’

Artan nods and hands the money to the Albanian.

He doesn’t ask any questions. Knows he wouldn’t get any answers. He’s thought about this and nothing else since he met with the solicitor.

These boys must pay.

Chapter Two

‘You will be there, Mum?’

Lilly looked up from the washing-up bowl and smiled at her son. ‘Yes, Sam.’

He stuffed the last spoonful of porridge into his mouth and beamed. ‘Sometimes you get held up at work.’

‘I’ve already squared it with the office and marked myself out in the diary with a fat red pen.’

‘But stuff comes up on those big children cases,’ he said.

‘I’m not doing those any more, as well you know,’ she said. ‘And would I miss the semi-final?’

Placated, Sam collected together his kit bag and three bananas. ‘For energy,’ he said.

Unable to find a tea towel, Lilly wiped her hands down her jumper. Suds accumulated across her chest. She tried to rub the bubbles away with her elbow but only managed to smear them around. ‘Damn it.’

‘Why don’t you get a new dishwasher, Mum?’ asked Sam.

‘I will,’ she said, and grabbed her car keys. She pulled at the front door with both hands but it wouldn’t budge. A wet November had swollen the wood of both it and the frame. Superglue couldn’t have attached them more firmly. She braced her foot against the wall and heaved. The door opened about a foot and she ushered her son outside.

‘We need a lot of stuff doing to the house, don’t we?’ said Sam.

Lilly squeezed through the gap then braced herself again, this time with the heel of her boot against the stone of the cottage. She slammed with all her might. The door shuddered to a close, showering plaster from the roof of the porch.

‘One or two odd jobs,’ she said, and shook the masonry from her hair.

‘When I play for Liverpool I’ll be rich,’ he said. ‘But I suppose we need the money now.’

They threw their bags on the back seat and got into the Mini. ‘Don’t you worry, big man, these divorce cases pay well.’

‘You don’t like them though, do you, Mum?’

Her new car purred. ‘I like them well enough.’

‘What about all those children you used to help?’ he asked.

Lilly sighed. ‘Someone else will represent them.’

‘And you really don’t mind?’

Lilly smiled and set off down the lane.

When she dropped Sam at school, he turned to her again.

‘I’ll be there,’ she laughed. ‘And I have something for you.’ She handed him a small plastic bag and watched the joy on her son’s face as he unpacked a pair of brand new Nike goalie gloves.

*  *  *

The bench is hard and cold but Artan is prepared to wait all day. Anna leans against him, her cheek against his chest, her bony arm around his waist.

They watch for the telltale green blazers that separate the boys from Manor Park from the local kids.

‘Tell me if you see them,’ he says.

She nods slightly, her cheek grazing the zip of his jacket.

The air buzzes with lunchtime chatter. Two boys in hoodies spar in the road, pretending to land karate kicks. Their friends shout encouragement and shower them with sweets and crisps. When they spot the strangers on the bench and whisper to each other.

‘What you looking at?’ shouts one.

Artan doesn’t reply, but the look on his face sees the boys off.

He feels Anna’s body tense against his own.

‘What?’

‘There,’ she says, her gaze directed towards four boys in green.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

Anna nods. ‘The dark-haired one and the redhead.’

‘I thought you said there were three.’

‘I did,’ she says. ‘He is not there.’

They let the boys buy some drinks and follow them at a safe distance.

The boys lark about all the way back to school. The redhead is in charge. His voice is the loudest and he punches his friend on the arm just a little too hard. When the other cries out, he laughs in his face and calls him ‘gay’.

‘He reminds me of Gabi,’ says Anna.

‘Don’t ever say that name.’

Anna leans against him. ‘Sorry.’

He pushes her away and wraps his hand around the handle of the gun. Its feel is familiar, like an old friend.

Jack pounded forward, the rhythm of his feet beating in his head. One, two, three, four. It was relentless. Yet oddly comforting.

He’d taken up running six months ago, when the doc told him his blood pressure was borderline dangerous. He’d also been told to curb his drinking—but you could only do so much.

He surged through puddles and oil slicks, oblivious to the mud catapulting up his calves, concentrating instead on his breathing. One, two, three, four. He thought it would lose its attraction once the summer skies had disappeared but oddly he found the grey streets and lanes even more enticing.

He’d lost nearly a stone already, which was no small feat considering how good Lilly’s cooking could be. He smiled at the thought of her licking cake mixture from a spoon.

He’d call her later, see if she and Sam fancied catching a film. She’d sounded distracted yesterday, worried about the boy at the hostel. She was always so committed to these kids she worked for. Took it all to heart. It would do her good to do less of that kind of work.

He remembered that Sam was playing a footie match at the school this afternoon. Maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he should surprise her…

*  *  *

Jack watched Lilly stamping her feet against the cold. Most of the other mothers were dressed in green Hunter wellies and puffer jackets, cashmere scarves wound around them. Lilly, however, had obviously come straight from work and was in her suit and leather-soled boots. She looked freezing and jigged from side to side. The playing fields were exposed on all sides and the wind ripped across unchecked.

‘For the money you lot pay, you think they’d give you better weather.’

Lilly smiled at Jack. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

‘Sure, I’ve been tapping your phones.’

She laughed, her breath swirling around her face.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Me coming, not tapping your phone.’

She tucked her arm through his. ‘Of course I don’t mind. And Sam will be thrilled to see you.’

‘Where is the wee man?’ he asked.

‘They’ll be on in five minutes. If we haven’t all died of hypothermia.’

He took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘You need a proper coat in this weather, Lilly.’

‘Yes, Dad.’

Now Jack was freezing but he couldn’t have cared less. He was here with his woman, and a fine one at that, watching her son play football. It felt like…he hardly dared to think it, but it felt like a family.

More parents arrived and boys from the senior school, come to cheer on the little ones. A couple were larking about, braying like donkeys. The biggest really fancied himself, despite his frizzy orange hair. He puffed out his chest like a robin, arrogance tattooed across him. Jack hoped Sam never turned out like that, but he said nothing. Lilly already tortured herself over the whole private school thing, but her ex-husband insisted. Jack knew better than to get involved.

The hedge is thin, autumn having stripped it down to its spindly skeleton. They push their way through it easily and head across the lawns.

Artan glances up to the main building. A mansion house of smooth brown stone, ivy-clad. Each wooden sash window is freshly painted white. Could this really be just a school?

To the left, three beech trees are losing the last of their leaves, the ground below carpeted in bronze and gold.

A man in uniform holds out a machine to suck them up.

‘What is that?’ whispers Anna.

‘A vacuum cleaner.’ Artan shakes his head. ‘A vacuum cleaner for leaves.’

Still this country can amaze him. Back home, his mother didn’t even have one for the house. She swept with an old broom, as her mother before her had done.

‘These people,’ he says, ‘they have no idea how lucky they are.’

‘Quick, before someone sees us,’ she says.

They march towards an outbuilding, but it’s too late.

‘Oy,’ the man shouts. ‘Oy, you two.’ He throws down the leaf machine and stamps over to them. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

Artan opens his arms. ‘Sorry. English no good.’

‘I see,’ says the man. ‘You’re from the agency. Well, you’re late.’

Artan and Anna freeze. What is an agency?

‘You’re here to work?’ says the man, and pretends to sweep up.

Artan thinks again of his mother and laughs.

‘Right,’ the man points to some sheds, ‘grab some rakes and get yourselves back out here.’

‘Rakes,’ repeats Artan.

‘That’s it. Now get a move on.’ The man shoves Artan in the small of his back. ‘Bloody foreigners.’

Artan continues to smile, but his right hand has tightened around his gun.

The crowd cheered. Not exactly a roar, more a cheerful smattering of clapped hands, but it made Sam smile all the same.

Lilly waved at her son across the pitch and his face lights up at the sight of Jack beside her.

Was it her relationship with Jack that had finally put to rest all the arguments with David about who had done what to whom? Or was it the sight of his girlfriend, bleary-eyed and exhausted from their baby daughter’s teething, that had seen off dusty resentments?

Things felt right. New, somehow.

Lilly laughed aloud at her flight of fancy.

The opposing team from the village school won the toss and the match began.

‘Come on, Manor Park,’ Lilly shouted.

‘Yeah,’ shouted one of the boarders, ‘let’s show these chavs what we’re made of.’

Lilly pretended not to hear but saw a few Manor Park parents smirk. Why did these people have to be so bloody self-important? Why did they have to look down on others just because they had less cash?

‘The ball wasn’t that bad,’ said Jack.

‘What?’

‘A mistimed pass, I’ll grant you, but they’re only nine.’

It was a blatant attempt to divert her. Lilly laughed and pressed her cheek against Jack’s shoulder.

At the far side of the grounds some parents were walking towards the pitch. They were late and would get it in the neck from their son after the match. As they came nearer, Lilly could see that they were both in overalls. Not parents, ground staff. The school had an army of them to trim and mow. Never before had fifteen acres been so well manicured, and never before had Lilly seen a woman among their ranks.

‘Great save,’ shouted Jack, and Lilly tore her eyes back to the game.

‘What happened?’

‘Number eight made a great run up the wing and chipped it in the left corner, but Sam just got his fingers to it.’

Lilly smiled. ‘Since when are you into football?’

‘Thought I was a rugger bugger, did you?’

Lilly spluttered. ‘Definitely not.’

‘What then?’

Lilly pretended to appraise him with an earnest eye. ‘Fly fishing?’

‘Go on with you, woman,’ he said, pushing her away with one hand and pulling her back with the other. ‘I’m too sporty for that.’

‘Sporty?’

Jack flexed a non-existent bicep. ‘Pure muscle.’

‘From lifting pints,’ said Lilly.

She was about to make another remark when she again caught sight of the couple in overalls. They had stopped about one hundred metres away and were deep in conversation, heads bent together. Their hair was the same dark chestnut, thick and shiny, dancing in the wind. Suddenly the man pulled the woman into his arms. Not like lovers, but proprietorial, like a father with his daughter. Or a brother and his younger sister. He embraced her tightly, as if he were holding the pieces of her together. In turn she surrendered to him, wishing to be engulfed.

When the woman turned her head to the side, Lilly saw she was very young, very beautiful, and very, very frightened.

Jack felt the electric current of tension ride through Lilly’s body.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

He followed her eye-line to a couple of teenagers moving towards them. The girl was striking, with creamy skin and almond-shaped eyes. He noticed the boy too, his face grabbing Jack’s attention with its complete lack of expression.

‘Do you know them?’ he asked.

Lilly nodded. ‘From the hostel.’

‘What are they doing here?’

‘I don’t know.’

But she did know.

Maybe they had got a job at the school? It made sense, didn’t it? They lived nearby and anyone could cut grass, sweep up leaves.

‘She swallowed her alarm and waved in their direction. Artan.’

He didn’t look up, but whispered something to the girl and kissed her cheek. Then he strode off, not towards Lilly but over to the group of noisy boarders. The girl stumbled after him.

Jack looked from Lilly to the couple and back again.

‘Speak to me, Lilly. What’s going on?’

She looked into his eyes, her own shining with fear. ‘Something very bad.’

They ran towards the couple until they were almost upon them. Only then did Lilly see the gun.

The shot rang out, incongrously clear in the graphite sky.

Jack quickly assessed the situation. The girl had a gun, which she held out at arm’s length, both hands shaking around the handle. The boy held his above his head and whirled around, trying to regain his footing from the recoil of the gun and the panic that had clearly grabbed him. A kid was down. One of the boarders.

Someone screamed, then someone else, and soon the air was teeming with the horrified cries of parents surging from the sidelines towards their boys.

‘Stop,’ the boy screamed, but they ignored him and swarmed forward.

The boy pointed his weapon towards them. ‘Stop.’

‘Everyone stay still,’ Jack shouted.

One of the dads reached out to his son, caked in mud and weeping.

‘I said be still. Now.’

Everyone froze. Silence fell, punctuated only by the muffled sobs of the injured boy.

Jack opened his arms, his palms to the sky, and approached the girl.

‘I’m the police,’ he said. ‘Put down the gun.’

She panted hard. Her body convulsed. Her arms could barely hold up the gun, yet she kept it trained on a boy in the crowd. His eyes were wide in his freckled face. Not so arrogant now.

‘Put down the gun,’ Jack said.