To Catch a Rabbit (15 page)

‘…it’s not happening.’ Trisha lowered her voice and Karen realised she’d missed the first part of what Trisha had said. ‘Paul’s got to go for some tests and then me. But I bet it’s me, I mean he’s already got the
twins from his first marriage, so it’s bound to my fault.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s found a really good man, very high success rate. I just don’t know if I can face all that prodding about and the hormones make you go really fat.’

‘You poor things.’

‘I know and some people just seem to pop them out and then they can’t look after them properly. You hear such terrible stories of babies dying from neglect.’

Karen watched Trisha open and shut her mouth like a fish, as if her words could return to her unspoken.

‘Oh, God Karen! That came out all wrong, I didn’t mean…I never thought …’

‘Time to go babe, I’ve got to get on a plane to Frankfurt tomorrow.’

‘I’ll ring you, Trish,’ Karen was saying. She didn’t want her to leave now, halfway through this conversation. They would never be best friends but they got on all right, muddling along on the surface. The cold air from the open front door raised the tiny hairs on one side of her face and she shivered.

Bonfire Night: 2.45
pm

Driving east, Phil saw how the colour was fading from the sky. The day had barely warmed up before it was starting to cool again. The
heater in the van competed with the music and finally he turned them both off and just listened to the engine. He flicked the side-lights on, although it wasn’t quite three o’clock. He reckoned he’d need full headlights soon.

He turned on to the Clive Sullivan Way as the traffic was starting to slow into an endless trail of red tail-lights. He wondered what time he would make it home. Stacey would have to take Holly with her to the pub if he was late. He didn’t like his daughter sitting on the bar being treated like a doll by the regulars, while her mother worked. It wasn’t healthy. He’d rather be there himself, see the fireworks and get Holly home in good time for bed. The burger van on the industrial estate was closed. Just beyond it a man was sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. As Phil drew level with him the man jumped up and waved the newspaper above his head. It was Len. Phil pulled up and waited for him to catch up.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Len’s faced was reddening and Phil could smell whisky on his breath. ‘I’ve been sat there for an hour.’

‘Sorry, mate.’

‘I’m not your mate,’ Len said and climbed in, stretching across to switch the heater on full, ‘and I’m nithered.’

Phil waited for him to do his seat belt up, but it didn’t look as if Len was going to bother, so he moved off in the direction of the freight container at the back of the concrete sheds. Above the noise of the fan heater Phil asked him why he hadn’t stayed in his car.

‘Had to move it out. Plod’s been sniffing around. Two constables. I thought this might happen if we didn’t get a move on. They’ll probably come back with a warrant. You’ll need to stay off the motorway on the way back to Donny.’

Great, Phil thought, that would make him even later. The rising heat in the van and the smell of Len’s breath began to creep over him like a series of new anxieties. He’d made a decision several hours ago not to ask too much, but now he was beginning to worry about what he’d say if he did get stopped. He wasn’t sure that ignorance was any defence if he had a van full of knock-off laptops.

‘Get as close in as you can,’ Len said. ‘We don’t want to be seen from the end of the road.’

Phil straightened the van up in the narrow space in front of the container, leaving just enough room to open its doors. It would be a squeeze for him and Len to get the boxes into the back of the van, but he wasn’t going to argue. They worked quickly, each carrying four or five laptop boxes in a stack. Phil stopped to take his jacket off and Len barked at him to get a move on. He wasn’t laughing now and the gold tooth stayed hidden.

It was getting hard to see inside the container but as Phil moved further towards the back he was aware of several competing smells. The most dominant was a strong smell of over-ripe oranges, musty and acrid as if some of them had started to rot. But there was another smell, more human, like a bedroom that hasn’t been aired. It reminded him of the staff cabin on the ferry. He’d shared it with the Abba cover band’s drummer: a man with only one pair of socks. He couldn’t see to the back of the container because there was a wall of pallets, stacked with shallow cardboard boxes. This was the source of the rotting fruit.

‘Bit late for this lot, isn’t it?’ he said over his shoulder to Len, who’d just come back from the van for another load.

‘Leave that,’ he snapped at Phil. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘It’s only fruit. Calm down!’ Phil laughed. When he turned round Len was standing in the entrance of the container arms by his sides and fists tight as if he was squaring up for a fight.

‘I can’t make out if you’re a fool or just playing at it’, Len growled, ‘but you keep your mouth shut from now on and do exactly what I tell you.’

Phil held up his hands in submission. He decided that when he got home he would look in the paper for a proper job. He’d had enough of being part of Mackenzie’s empire; it stank.

He worked silently until the last box was in the van. He shut the rear doors carefully, taking care not to slam them, although there seemed to be no one around to notice. Then he locked up and waited for Len. He could hear him shuffling around inside the container but he was taking his time. Phil went to see if he needed any help and was struck by a new smell. Something was smouldering. He walked slowly, making as little noise as possible, into the container. He couldn’t see Len at first, but then he noticed light filtering through the wall of fruit boxes. He went closer and put his eye up to a gap where the corner of a box was crushed inward. Through a tiny triangle of space he could see an area of about eleven foot square with nothing in it except a pile of sleeping bags. The light was coming from a flame, which was curling up over a blue nylon cover. Len was holding his cigarette lighter against the fabric of another bag but he was struggling to get the flame to take hold. A part of Phil’s brain wanted to tell Len that they were probably fire-retarded so he might have a job with just a lighter, then something else clicked in and Phil felt sick. Someone had been living here, sleeping here. The other smell, of unwashed bodies in an airless room, made sense now. No wonder Len didn’t want Phil anywhere near the fruit boxes, they were a screen, so highly pungent that even a port-side sniffer dog wouldn’t know there were people in the container. Phil crept back out and stood by the van for a moment. Fuck Len, he could find his own way back, Phil wanted no more to do with this. He would get rid of the laptops at Mackenzie’s shed and go home.

There were two doorbells at number seventeen. He pressed the top one and waited. Nothing happened. If he hadn’t been looking up when he pressed it the second time, he wouldn’t have seen her. A slight shift of the curtain revealed half a pale face and an eye at the upstairs window. Then the curtain dropped. He rang again. This time a light came on and he heard footsteps on the stairs. The front door was opened on its security chain. A woman stood back from the gap.

‘What you want?’ Husky, a hint of foreign. Sean had rehearsed what he wanted to say.

‘I’m a friend of Flora’s. Is she here?’

‘No.’

‘When will she be back? I can wait.’

She came forward and looked at him, then slipped the chain off and opened the door a little wider. Her foot was behind it. She looked ready to kick it shut again.

‘You say you are friend of Flora?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where you know her from?’

‘Used to see her now and again, have a drink and that.’

‘You are punter?’

Sean had his story. He hoped it was going to work. ‘No, I’m part of a church group. We try to help, where we can. You know. We just struck up a friendship. She’s hasn’t been around for a while, I was…’

‘You can’t see her. She’s dead.’

‘Dead?’ Sean hoped he sounded convincing. ‘God, that’s terrible. How?’

‘How you think?’

‘I can’t imagine, she was so young…was she ill?’

The door opened a little wider. She was framed by the light behind her, a slim woman with dyed red hair and pale green eyes, a long brown cardigan pulled round her waist over her skinny jeans.

‘You better come in, church boy.’

He followed here up the stairs. The flat seemed bare. No television, a battered settee, but no table or chairs. A suitcase was open on the floor, half-packed.

‘Sit please. I can’t offer you drink, I just sold kettle.’ Then to Sean’s surprise, she laughed. ‘Just like home.’

‘Sorry?’

‘My home in Pristina. There was nothing left. My father sell everything for drink of brandy. My clothes even.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you, church boy? It’s shame you not a punter, I could use some money now.’

‘Tell me what happened to Flora.’

‘Overdose. Heroin.’

‘Were you with her when she died?’

‘No, she is dead when I come. You think I sit and watch my friend die? You very unkind church boy.’

What was he trying to do? He’d thought he’d find some answers but he just had more questions. This woman didn’t look like an addict, her skin was clear and she was a normal weight, but maybe she knew who her friend’s supplier was.

‘Where did she, I mean how did she, get her stuff?’

‘You really from church or from police?’ The woman fixed him with her wide eyes.

‘Look, I’m sorry. I had no business coming here.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Arieta.’

‘Arieta.’ He shook her hand; it was cold. ‘Thank you for telling me about Flora. It must have been terrible to lose your friend. If there’s anything I can do.’

‘Okay. Yes, you drive me to train station. I lie on my back for bloody weeks to buy ticket. I sell everything, now I go.’

She flattened the pile of clothes in the suitcase and closed it.

‘I came on the bus,’ Sean looked down at his trainers, ‘but I can get your bus fare into town, if that’s any good.’

As she stood up, she was laughing. ‘I run off into sunset with knight in shining armour on number fifteen bus. It is not a movie, no?’

‘Not a movie.’ Sean smiled. ‘Let me take your case.’

She was twitchy as they stood at the bus stop. Her eyes flicked up and down the quiet street and she stood back in the shadows when a car passed. They didn’t speak. Even when the bus came and he paid both fares, she just went to sit in the corner of the back seat, with her suitcase on her lap. Beyond the bus windows, traffic went by, people walked their dogs and the houses were lit up against the dark evening. She watched it all as if she was drinking it in. They were almost in the town centre when he summoned up the courage to ask her another question.

‘Who are you running from?’

She leant her forehead against the glass.

‘Nobody must run. Nobody should leave,’ she mumbled.

‘What did you say?’

But she just stared out of the window at the late shoppers and early clubbers struggling against the wind.

They came to a standstill inside the bus station. He offered to take the case but she held it tightly. She looked more nervous than ever as they walked the short distance to the railway station.

‘Where are you going to go?’

‘Away from here. Far as I can.’

‘And then what? How are you going to live?’

‘Same as before. Always men to pay for sex.’

‘Please, let me help.’

‘You and your church, what can you do?’

Sean wished he really did have a church backing him up: some kind old ladies who’d donate this girl some clothes, maybe a vicar who’d offer her a room in return for some housekeeping. The only kind old lady he knew was his nan, and she wouldn’t thank him for describing her like that.

There was a queue at the booking office so they went to the automatic ticket machine. She didn’t want to hang about. Together they looked at the A to Z of station names, and Sean explained where each one was. She wanted a big city and he suggested Birmingham.

‘No way. That is where I start. Internet bride to man with teeth like a horse. Find another.’

She looked over her shoulder and froze. Then she dropped to her knees and started tugging at the zip on the suitcase. She lifted the lid and hid behind it.

‘Stand there, no there!’ she hissed. ‘So legs cover me. And look normal.’

How could he look normal with a woman’s head and torso disappearing into a suitcase between him and the ticket machine?

‘Who are we hiding from?’

‘Sh! Don’t speak. Look, on ramp. With pram.’

A mousy brown ponytail bounced over the hood of a light-blue tracksuit. The pram was top of the range, black with wheels like a mini mountain bike. Then the girl pushing it was gone, out of sight, around the corner to the platforms.

‘Who was that?’

‘She look all friendly, nice girl. But she work for Miss Estelle. She hang around. Talk to lonely girls, offer them job in massage parlour, offer them nice little something to take their mind off bad feelings. She’s going on platforms now to sniff out sad girls too late to go home.’

‘Who’s Miss Estelle?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

No, he did want to know. That was the whole point. ‘Arieta, who is she?’

‘She runs All Star Massage Parlour. She is bitch.’

Sean took her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on.’

The lid of the suitcase fell shut and without letting go of her, he leant down, tugged the zip closed and picked up the case. He propelled her across the forecourt but she tried to twist her arm out of his grip.

‘Look,’ he held tight, ‘I don’t want to make a scene, and of course it’s your life. But that girl’s on the platform, and if you’re as scared of her as I think you are, you don’t want to go that way. So what are you going to do?’

She made a grab for her bag, but he spun it behind him. It was surprisingly light. As if her whole life only weighed a couple of kilos.

‘You have to trust me,’ he hissed.

‘Okay, church boy, I don’t have choices. But where are you taking me? I have right to know. Otherwise I scream. Okay?’

‘My nan’s. Grandmother. You understand?’

He felt the muscles in her arm relax. She let him lead her outside to the taxi rank, where he was relieved to see there was no queue. He gave the address to the driver and took out his phone.