Stitch-Up (6 page)

My parents always got what they wanted in the end.

Why put off the inevitable?

But another, louder, more insistent voice in my head wouldn't hear of it. If I went back now, I would never forgive myself. I had a chance to change my life in so many ways, and I mustn't blow it. I had to get match tough. Once again the image of my mother in the hallway popped into my head – the memory that had haunted me every night for the last month. I checked my new look in the compact mirror once more. It was unreal how similar we looked. But I was glad – my face was my passport to my new world. I snapped the mirror shut. I had to find her. She held all the answers.
Well, an escape at least. My resolve strengthened. I had to discover the truth. The question was
how
I was going to do it. Not if…

Laughter from outside made me look up. Latif was ribbing the cabbie in the biker jacket, who took a playful swing at him. Latif dodged his fist, then, tipping his hat to the guy, headed back into the hut.

My next thought took me by surprise. Latif would be the perfect person to help me find my parents. He knew his way around the city and was totally at ease with lurking in the dark. I studied his loose-limbed coolness for a few seconds. Dream on. Why would someone like him help someone like me? But the idea seeded itself in my brain. I had to find a way…

I smiled when Latif entered the room and studied him with new interest.

“Beware of the builder's. It's like a blow to the head.” He plonked two chipped mugs down onto the table, slopping tea over the yellow Formica. “Jeannie's tea is knock-out strong.” His overalls swished as he sat down opposite. I couldn't help noticing his hands were soft, his nails clean. They didn't look like worker's hands.

“Thanks.” I cradled the cup in my hands. I found the warmth against my palms comforting. The heat spread up my arms. I took a slurp and relaxed a little. I prayed he'd keep the banter coming, because right now jokes were better than questions.

And he did.

I sat back and let him chat away. I liked the way he spoke
about nothing in particular, cracked jokes and seemed totally uninterested in any of the usual stuff – parents, school and celebrities. I also loved the way he was behaving as if rescuing a girl under a railway bridge was just part of an ordinary day. I listened, nodded and smiled. Although I felt shy and out of my depth, there was a leapiness in my stomach and excitement ballooning up inside me. It was all so different from what I was used to.

After a while I asked casually, “What's the news on the train?”

“Two glob-girls have been kidnapped. The media's gone mad for it.”

“Have they been named?”

“No names.” His eyes pierced through me. “Those kidnap guys are getting real slick. Holding up the Bullet is smooth.”

“I hate those kidnap guys,” I said with a little too much feeling. “They're out of control. Those kidnap videos give me the creeps.” My mouth was running away from me again. I stopped abruptly. My eyes slid towards the door, searching the night for a second or two. I shivered. It was dark out there.

“It's all about the money.” He shrugged. “The girls' parents will pay. Then, boom, they'll go back to their safe little lives. Nobody's ever been murdered. It's a game.”

“Great game.”

My friend Georgina had been kidnapped on Christmas Eve the year before last. In the video, her kidnapper had
stood at her side dressed in a Santa suit with a gun pressed to her head. A tinny version of ‘In the Bleak Midwinter' had been playing in the background. Her parents had paid over a million pounds to get her back. Now another of my friends had been snatched. I shut my eyes and massaged my temples with the tips of my fingers. It could have been me. And Latif would have shrugged, wouldn't have cared. I was shocked to find this bothered me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah.” I stuttered. Quickly reminding myself that he was asking about the attack, I raised my head slowly and said, “No. Not really. Every time I close my eyes I see that creep. It's like his ugly mug has been tattooed beneath my eyelids.”

“It's dodgy down by the river at night.” Latif tilted his head and gave me a sideways look. “Why were you down there alone and that?”

I hesitated. My eyes slid towards the door again. Then I heard myself explaining that I'd decided to walk from Tate Britain to my friend's house on Royal Hospital Road because the river had looked so beautiful with the full moon glinting on its surface. Well, it was half-true, I thought, as I spun the story out.

“What was on at the Tate?”

“An opening,” I said a fraction too late, praying he wouldn't ask the artist's name. I felt the full beam of his interest for a few seconds. He seemed to be going to ask another question, but decided against it.

I stirred two heaped teaspoons of sugar into my tea to hide a slight exhalation of breath.

“More tea with your sugar?” he joked.

I laughed a little too loudly. “I'm not allowed sugar usually.”

“
Damn!
” he said. “Now
that's
what I call rebellion.”

I took a gulp of the sugary liquid, cringing inwardly at my comment.

Latif slipped a cheap mobile from beneath his waterproofs. “I'll give Mum a bell. She'll give you a ride home.” He held out the phone. “First you'd better call the feds. Report him. You know, so he can't try it again. Another girl might not be so lucky.”

Home? Police?
The words jolted me straight back to my dilemma.
The life-changer
. I stared at the phone but didn't take it. Once again I was overwhelmed by a desire to go home, curl up in my heart-shaped bed and fall asleep in front of my plasma TV with Bling, my Dalmatian. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I couldn't chicken out now.

I studied Latif for a few moments. That crooked smile again. Suddenly my earlier recklessness was back. It was a gamble. What the hell? I didn't make a habit of cosying up to strangers. But Latif seemed cool. He knew the city and seemed like the kind of guy who was up for adventure. Things would be a whole deal easier if I could hook him into my quest. Hope surged through me for a minute, then fizzled out. I frowned. It was going to take all my powers of persuasion.

“I can't go home.” I met his eyes with unwavering resolve. “And I don't want the police involved.”

Latif narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked after a few long seconds.

“I'm on the run, sort of,” I said, keeping the details as vague as possible. I could feel a blush rising up my neck.

“What? Murdered your maid or something?” A hint of a smile twitched his lips.

“Is it that obvious?” I laughed, wanting to keep it light. “And I thought I was coming across so street.”

“Yeah. About as street as a Chihuahua.”

“Thanks a bunch!” I traced the wet rings left by my mug on the table. “Look, it's parent stuff. It's complicated.”

“Why so secretive,
chica
?” Latif narrowed his eyes again. “Don't think it makes you seem mysterious because it don't. But if that's the way you want to roll…”

“I'm not trying to be mysterious.” I shrugged a little too carelessly. I made a swift calculation about how much I should tell him. However friendly, he was a stranger, and a stranger who wasn't exactly a big fan of globals or celebrities, so the less he knew about my background for now the better. In a couple of hours, I would be named as one of the kidnapped girls, and if my parents thought me kidnapped there would be a massive reward – a million pounds at least. I studied him for a few more minutes. My guts were saying he was a good bloke, but even a saint might be tempted to hand me in for that kind of money. For that reason, I had to remain anonymous for the time being at least – until
I'd had a chance to work out whether I could trust him a hundred per cent.

“Honestly, I'm not trying to be mysterious,” I repeated nervously, desperate to fill the silence.

He raised an eyebrow, but took the hint and eased off the interrogation gas.

The silence crackled with static.

I took a few more moments to work out my approach. I'd tell him half the story – the half that might win him round.

I cleared my throat. “I haven't told anyone this before.”

Immediately I had his full attention. Lowering my gaze, I continued in a sad, small voice. “I'm adopted. I only found out recently.” I paused for effect. “By mistake.” Another long beat. Then, when he didn't speak, I carried on in an even softer voice. He leaned forwards to catch my words. My heart leapt. I was reeling him in. “It's an odd story. All I know is a woman showed up at our house a month ago, looking for me. I just happened to see her when my parents were hustling her off the premises. They never mentioned it, but since that night I've thought of nothing else. I'm trying to track her down. That was why I was down by the river.”

I lapsed into silence.

He didn't fill it.

I looked up. His eyes lasered me.

I took a few seconds before continuing. “Since this mystery woman showed up, I've been waiting for the right moment to disappear. Tonight down by the Tate, everything fell into place. I knew that it was now or never. It's a quest,
I guess. I know that sounds cheesy, but I'm deadly serious about it. My parents are going to freak out when they discover I'm missing. They've probably called the police already. I hate them…” I tailed off, as if I had found it too painful to discuss. I was good at acting roles.

“No problem. It's your stuff. I get you, it's private.” Latif shrugged, giving a good impression of being totally uninterested. But I could tell he was intrigued.

“It's just something I need to do.”

“Find your own way.” He gave me a look as if to say, “You haven't made a very good job of it so far.”

I forced a sad little half-smile. “Up until the bridge, things had been going well. I was on a real high.” Jeannie came back inside and started wiping down the counter, but I managed to hold his gaze. “Thanks again for helping me out.”

“Pleasure,
chica
. All in a night's work.”

“Is that where you work? Under that bridge?” I asked, wanting to shift the focus onto him. But as soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to grab them back again.

“Yeah right! That's my office.” A wry smile played at the corner of his mouth as he checked the clock on the wall. “Know what? I've got unfinished business back there so I'm going to head back. I've been staking the place out for days.”

“Can I come?” I prayed my voice sounded casual.

“What,
you
?” He looked taken aback.

“Yeah. Why not?” I drew a squiggle in the spilt tea on the table with my finger. “I can't go home. I've got nowhere to go.”

“Not my problem, Dasha.”

“Okay.” I stared at the squiggle, shaped it into a question mark. I wasn't sure how to play him. After a few seconds I stood up, zipped up my coat and shrugged my bag over my shoulder – all the while staring into the night. I met his gaze and said, “Seriously, thanks for rescuing me down by the river. It's been nice meeting you.” I flashed him my best smile. “If not a little weird.”

“Are you going home?”

“No way. I'd be nuts to go back. I'm on a mission.” Then I quickly averted my eyes and looked out into the darkness, pretending to wipe away a tear. It was a pretty low-down trick to pull, but it was the if-all-else-fails part of my game plan. Playing parts was the one thing the Golds had schooled me well in. “Where's the nearest Tube?” I asked, voice trembling.

“'Sakes, Dasha. Don't be so ramshackle.” He looked uneasy.

“Seriously. I'll cope. It's no big deal,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “I know I'm gonna regret this…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You up for a bit of after-hours work?” He smiled. “No fear, I'll protect you, bubblehead.” He gulped down his last mouthful of tea. He seemed happier now there was a plan of action, and we were on the move again. “If you get freaked out, you gotta get back out there again. Soon as, get me?”

“Like when you fall off a horse?”

“Hell. Yeah! Just like that, bubblehead.” His smile split open his face. “So you up for it or not?”

Without waiting for an answer, he was up and in the kitchen rooting around in the cupboard beneath the sink, getting under Jeannie's feet and making her curse. A few minutes later, he was back, clutching a black hoodie, a baseball cap, a pollution mask and a set of street cleaner's waterproofs, identical to the ones he was wearing. The logo on the jacket read
Westminster City Council
.

“Take these.” He pushed the bundle of clothes into my hands. I took them reluctantly. The overalls were covered in mud and smelled of rubber and sweat. I wrinkled my nose.

Seeing my expression, he laughed and said, “If you wanna keep a low profile,
chica
, these are the real deal. They're essential night garms.” He pointed to the label. “Nobody sees you, you know,
really
sees you. Not as
a real person
. You're a street cleaner. A loser. People cross the road to avoid you, scared they'll catch your bad luck. I'm not joking around. It's like a passport to a parallel world. Last month I painted a statue of Winston Churchill blue. Turned him into a Smurf. No questions asked.”

I smiled. “He'd make a good Smurf.”

“So? You up for it?”

I ran my finger across the Westminster logo, pretending to turn his offer over in my mind. He'd fallen into my trap. Mission accomplished. Hopefully I'd bought myself some time. Now all I had to do was persuade him to help me out, although I wasn't exactly holding my breath.

“Yeah. Why not?” I smiled.

He smiled back.

The overalls were stiff and rustled as I went to slip them on.