A Place Of Safety (6 page)

Throughout March and early April we girls hardly left the house. We would take it in turns to sleep. There was almost no food available and we lived on boiled corn and wheat.

My uncle’s neighbour had forty people staying in his house, and his wife called to my mother through the window saying that their houses had been burned by the paramilitaries.

On 22 April they came early in the morning. They pointed their guns in our faces and forced us outside. The men were ordered to step forward with their hands on their heads, then they were led away. We thought for sure they’d be shot and we cried all day. That afternoon they returned, but we could not throw our arms around my father because he had been beaten with the handle of a shovel and his collar bone was broken.

That night a local Serb policeman came to the house and told us the paramilitaries were out of control. He told us to leave.

‘There is no safety for you here,’ he said.

As soon as it was light we were once again forced into the street. This time the men were ordered to sing the Serbian national anthem. I saw my brother’s jaw jut out in refusal. The soldier poked him in the back with his gun but still Brahim refused.

My mother screamed at him to sing but he would not.

‘We’ll make you do what we say,’ they said, but Brahim would not even answer.

The captain walked back to his car and pulled out a can. He shook it so we could all hear the petrol inside. Then he poured it over my mother’s head. He pushed her and my sisters back in the house, threw the can in after them and locked the door.

In terror my brother began to sing, but the captain would not listen. He lit a cigarette and smoked it.

Brahim sang for all he was worth.

When the captain’s cigarette was finished he tossed the butt into the house.

The noise was unbearable. The whoosh of the flames, my brother’s singing and the screams of my mother and little sisters as they were burned alive.

That night my father paid a man to take my brother Brahim and me away from Kosovo. To take us to a place of safety.

Chapter Five

Luke is a clever boy. Everybody says so. Ten straight A’s at GCSE. His reports always bring a smile to his mother’s face:

Walker is a model student with a firm grasp of Latin grammar. A bright pupil who fully comprehends the importance of Tudor history.

  Well, I’m failing bloody miserably on the streets, he thinks.

‘A bit slow on the uptake,’ Caz always teases.

Thank God for Caz. She sussed straight away that he didn’t know his arse from his elbow and has taken him under her wing. Why she did that is still not clear to him. Tom always says that nothing in this life is for free, that everyone is on the take, but Luke can’t for the life of him see why Caz is being so kind to a basket case like him.

‘I like a challenge,’ she says.

Whatever her reasons, he’s bloody grateful.

Hot meal—she knows where to get it. Dry place to sleep—she’ll put you right. And if you need some gear she’ll do a deal with Sonic Dave, who everyone says is a bit of a nutter but likes Caz because she reminds him of his baby sister.

This morning, when he woke up in a squat on Brixton High Road and she was gone, her sleeping bag rolled into a fat sausage, Luke was overcome with panic, gut-wrenching, sickening panic. He didn’t dare move, afraid to go anywhere without her, afraid that if she came back for her bag he’d miss her. He sat in that spot for two hours, staring wildly around him.

It had been dark when Caz had blagged them a space in the squat last night, but now he can see as well as smell the damp patches spreading across the walls and the black sack of rubbish in the corner. There’s someone else in the room, buried deep under a green blanket. Luke can’t see who it is but he can hear the coughing.

He needs a pee. It started as a vague pressure in his bladder but it’s built to a searing pain. But he’s not moving, he’d rather piss himself in his bag.

The door opens and Luke’s heart leaps at the sight of a female figure silhouetted in the doorway. ‘Caz?’

She shakes her head and Luke can see now that she’s at least ten years older. Luke thinks he might cry, and a weird strangled sound comes out as he tries to swallow down his tears.

‘You okay?’ says the woman, the accent thickly Eastern Bloc.

‘I just wondered if you know where Caz went?’

The woman shakes her head, then almost as an afterthought shouts behind her in a language Luke doesn’t understand. A voice shouts back.

‘Gone for make money,’ the woman translates.

‘Where?’ Luke asks.

The woman shrugs. ‘Streatham, maybe.’

Luke doesn’t know where that is but maybe he can catch a bus. He’s got a map in his rucksack. Maybe he should make his way over there, see if he can spot her. Then again maybe he should stay here.

The figure under the blanket pokes out his head and vomits onto the floor. A pool of brown viscous liquid meanders towards Luke. The decision has been made for him.

The tube rattles and shakes as it passes through the belly of the capital. Luke has grown used to the way people avoid him. To be honest he would do the same, given that he hasn’t had a bath in three days.

He can see now why tramps hunch in on themselves. It’s the shame of being dirty, of being different. They don’t want to be noticed.

He gets off at Balham and blinks into the daylight. Where should he start to look for Caz? The woman at the squat had said she’d gone to get some money. Most likely she meant begging.

He looks around the entrance of the station and catches sight of a man sat on a blanket, a teardrop tattooed under one eye.

‘Spare some change.’

Luke shakes his head. ‘Do you know Mad Caz?’

‘Cocky Scouser?’

Luke laughs. ‘That’s right. Have you seen her?’

The man eyes Luke’s dirty trainers and rucksack. Caz has tried to make Luke understand the rules of the street. Never take someone else’s spot, never move someone else’s stash, and never give anyone up.

‘If Caz wants you to find her, you will,’ says the man.

Luke’s desperate, he doesn’t know what he’ll do without her.

Perhaps it shows in his face, because the man’s harsh eyes slacken—or perhaps that’s just what Luke wants to think.

‘I haven’t seen you around before.’

Luke shakes his head in answer.

‘Caz showing you the ropes, is she?’ the man says to himself. ‘I’ll tell you what. You get a couple of tins from the Twenty-Four-Seven and you can wait with me. If she comes back this way you’ll find her.’

Luke doesn’t need to be asked twice.

‘Tennent’s Super,’ the man calls after him. ‘And make sure they’re fucking cold.’

Luke scuttles across the road into the shop and heads for the freezer. He tugs at a can of Tennent’s but it is held tight in plastic to another three. Maybe you can only buy them in packs of four. He left home with what his dad had given him for a new computer game and there isn’t much left. Mum always goes potty, saying Dad should spend more time with them and less with his fancy woman, then he wouldn’t feel the need to bribe them.

He did the maths in his head. The beer would leave him with six quid. Not much, not even enough for a McDonald’s for him and Caz. Maybe he should leave it. Then again, the bloke at the tube would be pretty pissed off if he came back empty-handed. Maybe he could say they wouldn’t serve him. Luke watched a girl who looked about ten years old getting twenty Bensons and knew that would never fly.

‘Do you want those?’

Luke realised the man behind the counter was speaking to him, although he was still having a conversation with someone else on the phone.

He took the money without touching Luke’s hand.

The face in the mirror told the sorry story. Lines etched around the eyes, skin as colourless as the sky. Lilly hadn’t been to bed the night before.

She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Is Sam there?’

‘Nice to speak to you too,’ said her ex-husband.

It wasn’t so long ago that all their conversations went like this, each sentence tight with accusation.

‘Sorry, David, bad night.’

His voice softened. ‘I’m not surprised. I bet you can’t stop thinking about what happened up at the school.’

Lilly’s finger grazed Anna’s file. ‘Something like that.’

A silence stretched between them. David had never been comfortable with sadness or fear. In fact he was pretty useless with emotion full stop. When Lilly could no longer tolerate his affair with Cara and had kicked him out his relief had been palpable. He could have refused, promised to give up his mistress, but no, he simply couldn’t bear a scene—and so had all but run away.

‘I’ll fetch Sam,’ he said at last.

*  *  *

Lilly bought a large latte from the coffee shop on the High Street. She could see her mother’s pursed lips, the click of her tongue at the extravagance of spending £2.10 on a drink when there was a perfectly good kettle in the kitchen.

‘Needs must,’ she whispered into the ether.

A quick chat with Sam had cheered her a little, and now she hoped to sneak into her office, hide under her desk and let the frothy milk do the rest.

As soon as she opened the door she knew her plan was doomed. Rupes and Sheila were both in the reception area, poring over the post.

Lilly’s smile was weak. ‘Hi.’

Rupes’s face was impassive. If she knew about Lilly’s trip to the police station she would be furious.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Lilly.

Rupes said nothing. Oh, this silent treatment was worse than a bollocking.

‘You’d better show her,’ said Sheila, and Lilly noticed how pale she looked. Maybe this wasn’t about Anna.

Rupes handed Lilly a copy of the
Three Counties Observer.

SCHOOLBOY MURDERED IN THE HEART OF
ENGLAND

The TCO can exclusively reveal that Charles Stanton, 16, was shot in cold blood at his Hertfordshire school by a crazed gunman thought to be seeking asylum.

On and on the story went, with a grainy but still grisly photograph of the spot where Charles had been killed.

It was bad, truly awful, but it was the final paragraph that made Lilly’s heart sink.

The police, who have made no comment until this point, have confirmed that a teenage girl has been arrested and charged and will be brought to court at the earliest opportunity.

‘You should never have gone sneaking off to help that girl,’ said Sheila.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Lilly.

‘You had no business taking that case,’ said Sheila. ‘We don’t even do asylum stuff.’

Lilly rounded on her secretary. ‘For one thing, this is a criminal matter, not “asylum stuff”, as you so nicely put it, and for another I have not taken on Anna’s case.’

‘So you went down the nick for a laugh, did you?’ said Sheila. ‘Didn’t think about us, did you? More interested in some kid who ain’t even from here.’

Lilly’s face burned. Where was Sheila getting her information?

‘She has a name and it’s Anna,’ she said. ‘She came here to escape things you and I could never dream of.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Sheila. ‘And my granddad didn’t get shot at in Normandy so we could give a home to everybody with a sob story.’

‘What’s the point?’ said Lilly, and turned to leave. ‘I’m not being told what to do by a bloody secretary.’

As Sheila opened her mouth for another tirade, Rupes pulled Lilly out of the room.

‘It doesn’t mention the firm,’ said Lilly.

Rupinder held out a flyer. ‘This was pushed through the letterbox this morning.’

We urge the people of Britain to stand up for what they know is right. Stop our precious resources dwindling away while our own old aged pensioners do without. Refuse to support non-English shops and businesses.

‘Bin it,’ said Lilly.

‘The other partners are worried that some clients might go elsewhere,’ said Rupes.

Lilly shook her head. ‘We can’t bow to this sort of pressure.’

‘I agree,’ said Rupinder, ‘but I’m not going to pretend that it isn’t unnerving.’

Lilly hugged her boss. She smelled of cocoa butter. ‘It’s just racist crap.’

‘I know that, but if you hadn’t noticed, Lilly, I’m not exactly white.’

Both women laughed until Lilly’s mobile rang. It was Milo.

‘Thank God I’ve got you. I don’t know what to do,’ he said.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Lilly.

He was breathing hard into his phone. It crackled into Lilly’s ear. ‘I’m at the court with Anna. There are lots of people here, shouting and screaming.’

‘How’s Anna? Is she okay?’

‘She’s terrified. She won’t speak to anyone but you,’ he said.

‘Hang on.’ Lilly looked at Rupes. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

Lilly didn’t break eye contact with her boss and handed her Anna’s file.

‘Read this—and if you still don’t want me to take on this case you can sack me.’

The Tennent’s is thick and gloopy and it coats Luke’s tongue. It doesn’t taste like anything he’s drunk before. He takes small sips and the can is still half full.

Tony pulls the ring on his second. He makes room for Luke on his filthy blanket and Luke gladly sits down. He ignores the brown stains, which may or may not be shit, just glad for the chance to be with another human being.

As the booze works into his system, Tony becomes chatty. He tells Luke he’s from Wales but hasn’t been back since he left the army.

‘Why not?’ asks Luke.

‘Drugs, drink, prison,’ says Tony. ‘A full hand.’

Luke doesn’t know how to respond. People on the streets talk openly about stuff like that, stuff that would make his mum have a fit. And Luke never knows what to say. He could just join in, that’s what Tom would do, but these people would suss he was faking in a heartbeat. Like the time Caz asked if he needed any gear and he’d nodded, thinking she meant grass. When she poled up with a bag of heroin he’d tried to hide his shock and simply pocketed it, but Caz had laughed and called him ‘a silly get’.

‘They say I have a problem with my temper,’ says Tony.

‘Right,’ says Luke.

Tony twists his mouth into a smile. His front teeth are missing. ‘They say I’m unpredictable.’

‘Better than being boring, I suppose.’

Tony’s eyes close into two black slits. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘No,’ says Luke, and searches for safer ground. ‘Where did you serve?’ he asks.

Tony takes a long swallow and bares his gums with an audible sigh.

‘Bosnia, Macedonia,’ he says. ‘Would have been shipped out to the desert but they said my head was mashed.’ He drains the last dregs and lets out a belch. ‘Post Traumatic Stress they called it. Offered me counselling, like, but it didn’t work. Once you seen them things you can’t un-see them, can you?’ He taps the side of his head. ‘No matter how much bloody talking you do, it’s all still in here.’

He closes his eyes and Luke’s not sure whether he’s wrestling with his demons or if he’s just nodded off.

‘Made yourself at home, I see.’

It’s Caz, with her big toothy grin and grubby parka. Luke’s heart swells.

She points to the remaining cans. ‘Give us one, will you?’

Luke hands her one and she snuggles between him and Tony.

‘How’s business?’ says Tony, his eyes still shut.

‘Slow,’ says Caz. ‘But I got enough for today.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I need a shower after that lot.’

‘Where?’ he asks.

‘There’s a few places.’ She nudges him with her elbow. ‘You weren’t planning on smelling like that forever, were you?’

He doesn’t deny how badly he needs a wash. Even the foul stench of Tony’s breath doesn’t mask Luke’s own body odour.

She pecks Tony on the cheek and scrambles to her feet. ‘Thanks for looking out for him.’

Tony nods gently. ‘Not a problem.’ His eyes remain shut.

Caz presses the buzzer on a door in Peckham. It looks like it might be a village hall or something. Not that Peckham’s a village. Luke’s heard of it—well, everyone has after that poor little kid got stabbed on some stairs—but it’s different to anywhere he’s ever been in his life and he’s been abroad loads of times.