Rich Promise (8 page)

Back?

“Mrs Kirk. Hello. No, I just called to see—everyone. But they seem to be out. Do you know when they’ll be home?”

“You tell me, love. Your mum won’t be back for a good while, from all accounts. Don’t know about the two little ’uns, though.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about? Do you know where they are?”

“Your mum’s locked up. About time too, if you ask me. Still, it was hard on those girls. They was took away by them social workers. Don’t know where they are. Oh, must be nearly six weeks ago now.” She makes no attempt to conceal the smug, gloating expression as she imparts her news. Why is it that some people seem to get such pleasure out of being the bearer of bad tidings?

What?
I stagger backwards, lurching against the rough stones of the house wall. I’m staring at Mrs Kirk, shaking my head in disbelief.
Six weeks.
My family has been gone for six weeks and I never knew. Carted away by the police, by social workers. And I never had an inkling.

“Why? What did she do?”

“Your mum? Drugs, illegal immigrants. And the usual, I expect.”

The usual. That’d be soliciting then. Prostitution. Living off immoral earnings. Whatever permutation, it amounts to much the same thing. But what’s all this other stuff?

“Mrs Kirk, please tell me what you know. I’ve been working away. I haven’t been in touch with my family for a while.” Tears are pricking my eyes, my mouth is already quivering. Any second now I’m going to sink onto my mother’s doorstep and weep.

The neighbor’s ruddy face softens. As far as I recall, I never had any run-ins with her. Well, nothing serious anyway. She has no reason to be hostile to me. This thought seems to penetrate her brain too, perhaps a little belatedly.

“Come inside then, pet. I’ll tell you what I know, what I saw. Would you like some tea?”

Half an hour later I climb back into the Discovery, my brain reeling. Mrs Kirk’s account is by no means complete, but she’s able to provide a decent framework. It seems my mother was arrested about six weeks ago, caught by the police driving a van with seven Eastern European refugees huddled in the back—all females, aged between fifteen and thirty-two, Mrs Kirk is convinced they were headed for the sex trade. I fear she may be right about that.

Christ, what has she sunk to, that amoral mother of mine?

The police searched the house and discovered several kilos of cocaine too, with a street value of over a hundred thousand pounds. I’m stunned. I never imagined any of this. I thought things were quite bad enough as they were, I should have known there was always some way it could be worse. My mother certainly found that way.

I’m reasonably certain drugs were never part of the set-up while I lived here or if they were, I had no clue at all. And I would have, surely. She made no serious attempt to shield me from her other activities. Why would she have hidden that? No, this, and the imported sex workers have to be a new development, a recent expansion of her business portfolio. Whatever, it sounds to have gone horribly wrong for her. According to Mrs Kirk, the police and social services arrived early one morning. Lucy and Maisie were still in bed, but the police pounded on the door until the whole street was awake. The two girls were taken away in the back of a social worker’s car, Mrs Kirk has no idea where they were placed.

I’m shocked, mortified even, that all this has happened I hadn’t a clue. But at least it sounds as though my sisters are safe. Somewhere. And first thing Monday morning, as soon as the County Council offices in Carlisle open, I’ll be on their doorstep wanting to know where.

The drive back to the animal park passes in a blur. I pull up in a far corner of the car park and turn off the engine. I sit for maybe twenty minutes, trying to process all that I’ve learned, turning over the ramifications of this in my head. It’s no good. I’m getting nowhere. And by now Dan will be wondering where I’ve got to. If there’s one thing I’m glad of in all this sorry mess, it’s that I went to Barrow alone today. There’s no need for Dan to ever know about what’s happened, the depths my mother has sunk to. I was always embarrassed by her, for as far back as I can remember.

Then came shame. I was ashamed of her and of myself for ever being drawn into her sordid way of life. I hated it, and for a while I hated her. I got past that—or I tried to. She’s my mother, and somewhere, somehow, I do love her. But I loathe what she is, what she does. And I loathe what I did ever so briefly. I’m determined to keep it buried—it was then, it was yesterday, in the past. It has no place in my shiny new life—it’s not part of my today.

I’ll have to come up with a cover story to explain my mother’s sudden absence, and the now immediate need for me to take my sisters into my home. This is not a risk-free strategy. I’ll need to coach Lucy and Maisie to maintain the façade too. Maisie will have no trouble with that. She’s good at secrets. Like me. Lucy’s the problem. She’s too open and honest for me to make a decent liar of her. Still, that’s not today’s challenge. Today’s pressing business is for me to get my head together enough to pass for normal as far as Dan’s concerned. I just have to get through Sunday, and head for Carlisle first thing Monday morning.

I sigh, lean my head back against the headrest and stare at the roof of the Discovery. Someone, I think it may have been Margaret, once said to be careful what you wish for. I wished for some way to remove my sisters from my mother’s care and influence. It seems I have it. But at what a price.

Mrs Kirk may not be the most reliable source of information. I only have her word for it that my mother has been charged with offenses connected with people trafficking or drugs. Still, it seems to be a fact that she’s been remanded in custody and my sisters have spent weeks in care, so we’re not talking speeding tickets here. Maybe the social worker dealing with my sisters can fill me in of the official version of all that, or at least point me in the direction of someone who can. It will all have to wait, though. There’s no point trying to contact anyone until Monday. My sisters are in safe hands as far as I know, no reason to suppose otherwise. Things are under control. It’s just me who isn’t, and it’s vital that I calm down before I face Dan.

I draw in several more long, deep breaths before I consider myself fit to run that particular gauntlet. I clamber from the Land Rover, lock it carefully, then make my way to the entrance turnstiles. There’s no queue, most visitors probably arrive during the morning to get their money’s worth, so I go straight to the little kiosk.

“I’m here to see Dan. Dan Riche, the vet?”

“Oh right. I saw that, there was a message…” The teenage girl behind the tiny little desk peers at me through glasses that could definitely benefit from a good clean, then leans down to rummage behind her somewhere. A few seconds later she comes up with a scrap of paper. She squints at me curiously. “Are you Summer Jones?”

I nod, not really listening, just keen for her to push the pedal or whatever and release the turnstile gate so I can get in. My brain’s still working furiously to process the whirling tangle of information, thoughts, impressions and emotions the last hour has unleashed, the last thing I need is a to make small talk with some bored adolescent.

I quash that uncharitable thought. She’s only doing her job, I suppose. She glances at me, then back at her scrap of paper. “Right, it says here you’re a friend of Dan’s. I’m to issue you with a permanent guest pass. Can I just take your details please?”

“Details?” This sounds difficult. What details?

“Name, contact details, date of birth.”

Right. Those details. Even in my present state, I can manage that. I reel off the required information and Miss Smudgy-Specs writes it down on a little card, which she shoves into a mini-laminator on a shelf behind her. Moments later she pushes my shiny guest pass across the counter. I’m reminded powerfully of the second time I met Dan. He engineered a guest pass for me that night too, to prevent the over-zealous security staff at the BDSM club from ejecting me from the premises. It seems he makes a habit of dealing with officialdom for me. Pity he can’t help with my more pressing issue.

“Enjoy your visit, Miss Jones.” The kiosk attendant is smiling brightly, and she gestures to me to push the gate. It opens under my touch, and I nod my thanks as I scurry through. Once on the other side I drag out my phone to text Dan.

I’m back. Just near front gate. Where are you?

I stroll down the main drive leading to the first enclosure. There are giraffes in there, tall and graceful, sharing their huge space with four solid-looking rhinos. The species’ seem to co-exist quite peacefully—a lesson to us all.

My phone pings and I glance at the screen.

Main building. Have you eaten?

No.

It’s getting on for mid-afternoon. I’ve not eaten since Dan shoved a bowl of Corn Flakes at me this morning. I realize I’m ravenous.

Meet me at the restaurant. Follow drive down to middle of park. Next to gift shop.

See you in a few mins.

I shove my phone in my bag and pick up the pace.

Dan’s waiting at the entrance to the restaurant. It’s an attractive place, a mix of decking with views over the giraffe and rhino enclosure and indoor seating. It’s chilly, so we opt for indoors. Dan leads the way to a corner table close to the large picture windows. We’re overlooking a field which is home to a troop of baboons. There are maybe twenty of them, assorted sizes, all piled on a huge rock and watching us through the glass. I’m not entirely sure who is the exhibit here.

“How’s the jackal?”

“Hyena. And he’s okay. He’ll need to be kept apart from the others until his stitches are out, but he’ll be fine.”

“Does that happen a lot? Fights, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “No, not really. Bitches on heat cause most tension.” He grins. “Like with humans.”

I bristle. “I admit I’m easily aroused. But that doesn’t make me a bitch on heat.”

“Sorry, love. A vet joke. In poor taste. Forgive me.”

Now he has me. I expected some sort of mockery, maybe to be the butt of more teasing. His genuinely repentant expression was the last thing I thought I’d have to contend with. Did I overreact? My nerves are so frayed, I really wouldn’t know.

“Of course I forgive you. I love you. I’m just a bit touchy.”

“Okay. Is something wrong, Summer?”

“Why would you say that?” I pick up the menu and make heavy work of studying the choices, using the menu to shield my face from his gaze. So much for Lucy being a poor liar—I’m pretty crap myself. Dan is silent for several moments, but I can feel his eyes, watching the top of my head, the only part of me visible.

“The beef stew is good. Shall I order that for both of us?”

“I fancy a sandwich.” I continue to stare at the menu, seeing nothing.

“Since when, Summer? Put that down and look at me.”

“I’m just…”

“Now.” He has no need to raise his voice. It’s enough that he can just switch on that uncompromising Dom timbre that will have me melting into a puddle at his feet.

Even now, despite my whirling thoughts and confusion, he cuts through the lot with just one word. I lower the menu to the tabletop and meet his eyes.

“I’m thinking the visit home didn’t go well?” His eyebrow is raised. He’s waiting for me to elaborate.

I chew my bottom lip.
Could I? Should I?
I open my mouth to speak, still not certain what’s going to come out.

“No. We argued. Me and my mum.” There. The lies have started. So much for the promises I made only yesterday. Operation cover up starts here.

“I see. What about?” Dan’s tone is low, calm. But he seems to believe me. So far.

I shake my head briefly. “Nothing. Well, not nothing. Family stuff. We always argue. It’ll pass.”

“It’s obviously upset you. Do you want to go back, maybe sort it out?”

“No! Well, not today anyway. I’ll phone my mum next week, when we’ve both calmed down. That’s usually how we deal with stuff.” Piling the lies up, I really should stop soon. I pray silently that he’ll drop it.

“I see. But before today, how long since you spoke to her on the phone?” No such luck.

“A while. Too long.” That’s true at least.

“How are your sisters? Did you see them?”

“Yes.” I redden, my cheeks starting to flame. “They’re fine.” That’s also true, as far as I know.

Dan says nothing. He just watches me, waiting. I sit before him, in silence, withering under his scrutiny. His eyes narrow, his forehead furrowing slightly. I shift in my seat, my bottom tingling. That look, I know that look.

“Beef stew then. Chips or jacket potato?

“What? What did you…?”

“What do you want to eat, Summer?” He stands, his expression unreadable now. Whatever that was just then, the moment has passed. I relax, and sag in my seat.

“Oh, right. Yes, the stew. Jacket potato please.”

His nod is curt as he turns and strides across the restaurant to give our order at the self-service counter. I take advantage of the precious moments of respite to carefully school my features back into something resembling a woman out for a nice afternoon with a man she loves.

I must be a better liar than I thought, because he doesn’t call me on it again.

* * * *

Dan’s right. The beef stew is good. We eat in silence—or I do. Dan’s back to his normal relaxed self, passing me the salt, offering me tea or coffee after my meal. I answer in nods, headshakes, and when those fail me, monosyllables. If he notices, he lets it pass.

If? Of course he notices. But he seems to have decided to respect my need for privacy and he’s not probing for more details of my alleged domestic bust-up. I appreciate this, I really do. By the time we’re back in the Discovery and on our way to Keswick, I’ve fully regrouped and I’m determined to put on a decent show.

“What would you like to do this evening?” I turn to him, study his profile as he maneuvers through the light North Lakes traffic.