Until Death (12 page)

Mo was nodding. ‘I hear you, sister.’

Anila bowed her head towards him.

‘The thing is,’ Georgie began, ‘we’ve impounded an illegal shipment of tropical hardwood at the port of London that was going to be delivered opposite the Lost Souls Foundation, to that vacant lot.’ Anila looked blank. ‘It’s a Malamatos shipment.’

Anila shrugged helplessly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You’ve never seen what comes in to that lot opposite?’

‘The lot? We don’t face it.’

All three of them looked out of the dirty window. The view was uninspiring to say the least: a high brick wall with green stains from a constant stream of water that trickled across it. A lone plant clung to the brickwork. The drilling from the big machines building a new wing to the shopping centre made the floor vibrate.

‘Tell me what Mr Malamatos does for the charity.’

Anila smiled. ‘No charity can survive without money, and Mr Malamatos has been very generous in providing that support to us. We couldn’t continue our work without him. He has a talent for fundraising at charity events.’

‘Does his wife get involved?’

She shook her head. ‘She’s not involved in the day to day running and she’s not a director, but she helps with the Halloween party we have every year because she’s a mask maker.’ Anila changed the subject. ‘It’s not the grandest of HQs by any means, but it’s convenient. We’re in this building because the play centre down the road is a good place to hold fundraising events and to organise days out for the children we’re supporting. And it’s cheap.’

Georgie began to walk around the small room.

‘We’ve been running for forty years now, we’ve helped hundreds of children, placed tens of children with new families.’

Georgie had come to a shelf that held certificates and photos. She picked one up and turned to Anila. She tapped a finger against one of the faces. ‘This blonde with the short hair. Who’s she?’

Anila smiled. ‘One of the directors here. She’s been a huge asset over the last two years. She’s been invaluable, has really taken the fundraising to a new level. I asked her once how she was so successful. “I have the balls to ask, and if that doesn’t work, I demand.”’ She smiled. ‘It’s a skill not many have.’

Georgie put the photo of Sylvie back on the shelf.

‘We’re having a fundraiser for Halloween at the play centre on the 31st. It’s nice to bring a bit of joy.’

Something struck Georgie. ‘How often do you hold charity events there?’

Anila thought for a moment. ‘About every six months.’

‘When was the last one?’

‘Just a moment.’ Anila consulted a diary and sat back. ‘May 3rd. They’re quite grand affairs. Guests get a tour of the docks – Christos takes them – so they can see where all the problems stem from, the scale of the business waterside, before they are brought back to the play centre for a party.’ She smiled as if remembering a private joke. ‘Christos said that watching poor children play was the easiest way to get rich women to open their purses. It was more than enough compensation for having to come all the way out here to east London.’

‘Have you got a guest list?’ asked Mo.

She nodded, printed out a few sheets of paper and handed them over.

‘Have you ever seen any trucks or vehicles in the lot opposite?’ Georgie asked.

Anila sighed and shook her head. ‘Never. It’s only ever used when we do the charity events. Then all the catering vans and the set people take it over. It looks like a gypsy encampment then.’

T
he next day Kelly sat in the chair by the lawyer’s large desk. The same law books sat on the same shelf, still unopened, but Mr Cauldwell had greeted her with great warmth and had scolded Bethany into bringing coffee straight away. They sat chatting almost as if they were friends.

‘You look tired, if you don’t mind me saying. It’s been nearly three weeks now since I saw you, are you ready to move on to the next stage?’

She changed the subject. ‘How’s business?’

He screwed up his face. ‘It’s the worst I’ve ever seen it. In a recession as deep as this, people have to stay together, they can’t afford to part. It’s caused some pretty horrendous situations, I can say.’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘So, did you tell your husband about wanting a divorce?’

‘No. A divorce isn’t possible, it turns out.’

He splayed his hands in disappointment. ‘Oh.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear you made up with your husband.’

‘No, you’re not.’ She paused and pulled something out of her bag. ‘We haven’t made up, either.’ She handed him two pieces of paper. ‘I wrote this. I want you to keep it.’

‘What is it?’

‘My will. In case something happens to me.’

He raised his eyebrows and took the papers. ‘Of course. May I ask, are you ill?’

‘No. I’m in perfect health – whatever he might say.’ She took a sip of coffee, then stared at her cup, surprised. ‘This is good.’

He frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t it be? Bethany used to be a barista at Caffè Nero.’ He looked down at the sheets of paper. ‘Let me have a look at this.’

She watched him as he read through her words. He was calm, methodical. She warmed to him even more.

After a few moments he put the papers down and gave her a level look. ‘These are quite … extreme allegations.’

‘Do I strike you as a hysterical kind of person?’

He shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite.’

‘Do you believe what I’ve written there?’

‘Every word.’

‘I think he’s going to kill me. I want to make provisions for my children.’

‘So you say.’ He adjusted his bulk on the chair, holding the papers as if they were an unexploded bomb. ‘I strongly urge you to contact the police.’

She gave a thin smile. ‘They act after the event, as you know.’ He didn’t disagree. ‘I want custody to go to my mother.’

‘At a trial, rest assured all your wishes will be taken into consideration.’

‘And if there isn’t one?’

‘Isn’t what?’

‘A trial.’

He paused and stared at her for a moment, drumming his fingers on his lips. ‘I’m not going to sugarcoat it, he is their legal father, it would be difficult.’ He paused. ‘We need to witness this.’ He pressed the intercom. ‘Bethany, get in here.’

The door opened and Bethany poked her head in. ‘Yeah?’

‘Bethany, sign here.’

She did so, added the date, then left the room. Kelly stood up. She had to get back before she was missed.

‘Is there another copy of this?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘I’ll keep it safe, then.’

‘Do you read the papers, watch the news?’

‘I’m addicted. All human nature is there. It makes my job easier, understanding the depths to which people will go to get what they want.’

‘I need you to keep an eye on the press. He’s an important person. The death of his wife, so young and healthy, will be news.’

‘Again, the police are your best option.’ She didn’t reply, watching him glance out of the window and up at the Gothic spires of St Pancras Station, wondering for a moment at the man who lived there. ‘I liked you from the first moment you walked in here. I’ll keep an eye out for you. You’ve got a lot about you. One day I predict you’ll come through this door and I’ll get you the divorce you want so badly. The freedom you deserve.’ He came round the desk and shook her hand, holding her last will and testament in the other. ‘Good luck, Mrs Malamatos. One more thing.’ He hadn’t let go of her hand, was almost clinging to it. ‘Don’t run. In my experience, that makes it worse. Don’t think running will free you or the children.’

T
hat evening Kelly sat listening to metal forks against china, the chinking of glasses as they were set down too hard on the unyielding slate table in the kitchen. Every few moments Medea scraped her chair across the marble floor, moving with the evening sun, wanting every last ray to drill into the leathery skin on her face. The house had so many hard, brittle surfaces, echoing like the inside of Kelly’s head did. The sounds were like the clanking of huge metal chains, scraping and rubbing against each other … She felt the panic rising in her and she tried to focus on Christos’s mouth and the way he ground his teeth together as he ate, the way small globules of food would cluster at the corners before he wiped them away.

‘These are good stuffed peppers,’ Christos said, nodding as he chewed through one. Kelly murmured her agreement, realising that this would be the last time she would eat her mother-in-law’s food. This was their last meal together. This was a day of endings: she had gone to the lawyer and Jason had come round and collected the masks that she’d finished. He had revved away in the van with hardly a backwards glance. She had waved after him, a tear cresting, realising he was the closest thing she had to a friend. She would miss him.

She glanced at the clock. Six twenty-three. She had memorised the time of every train that ran to Exeter via Tiverton Parkway, knew which Underground train they needed to take to get to Paddington Station. They would be in danger for no more than three or four minutes.

‘Eat your pepper.’ Christos pointed his fork at his son.

Kelly was unsure how she could swallow, her heart was doing a crazy jump round her ribcage. The passports were like a huge brick on her backside, so heavy and obvious they felt. She poured a glass of wine from the bottle Christos had opened. He was faithful and respectful to the memory of the country of his parents, but he drew the line at Greek wine, calling it vinegar with syrup thrown in, and drank expensive French red instead.

Walking away
is what Medea had claimed she wanted to do. As if leaving a man like Christos was that simple. Just off you go and shut the door. Kelly took a swig of wine. It tasted like blood. The degradation had been bit by bit, almost unnoticeable, as if she had put her hand in a pan of cold water and it had been heated slowly and inexorably until it had reached boiling point and her body was a writhing mass of pain.

‘Daddy, I want to see where you work,’ Yannis said.

Christos put down his fork. ‘Now there’s an idea. I’ll take you to the docks some time. It’ll be your business one day.’

No, it won’t be, thought Kelly. She caught Florence looking at her. She often had no idea what her daughter was thinking, what those big pale eyes really saw. She might need to be prepared for some pretty tough questioning from Florence once they left.

‘Daddy, Mummy said we can go and get ice cream after dinner. Can we?’ Her daughter looked up at her father.

‘I brought baklava,’ Medea said flatly.

Yannis made a face.

‘There’s a new place I saw that’s just opened on Judd Street,’ Kelly said. ‘I thought it was worth a try. Do you want to come?’

Christos stopped chewing and Kelly wondered how she could breathe.

‘No. I can’t.’ He paused. ‘You go.’ He turned to his mother. ‘The pastries will keep. Bring me back a scoop of chocolate, will you?’

Kelly smiled, not least because Medea’s mouth had puckered to half its usual size. ‘Medea, do you want anything?’ The vigorous shake of Medea’s head didn’t surprise her. ‘Do you want sprinkles, Christos? They might do something good like sprinkles.’

She cleared up the kitchen after their meal, careful not to seem in a hurry. ‘Put your shoes on, kids,’ she called, and walked into her studio, the city light bouncing against the props and masks and throwing phantom-like shapes up the walls. She opened a drawer and scooped out an envelope of photos of Amber and shoved them in her bag, feeling the camera burning into her back. It was a danger taking them, it would alert them sooner that she had really gone, but she had to take the risk. She picked up a sweater as she left and walked into their bedroom. She glanced at the photo of Amber as a baby in the frame on the dressing table.
Goodbye, little one.
It would be the first thing he’d notice was missing. She was leaving this life with only the clothes on her back so that she could still be there to bring up her remaining children. Her eyes stayed dry.

She walked into the ensuite bathroom and casually threw the wrapped panty pad with its cashpoint card hidden inside it into her bag. She came and stood by the lift and waited as Yannis put on his shoes. ‘We ready?’ She stood by the door to the lift and punched in the code.

‘Yannis?’ Christos was walking down the stairs as she turned, the lift sliding open behind her. ‘Why don’t you stay here with me?’

Four steps, three steps, two, one. He was standing right next to them.

Yannis looked up at his father. Kelly bit her tongue till she tasted blood. She had to pretend it didn’t matter if he came or not. ‘Daddy …’ Yannis was rocking from one foot to the other, teetering between options.

‘I want Yannis to come with us,’ Florence said.

His sister pushed him into a decision. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ He jumped up and down, the pull of chocolate greater than the attractions of his father.

The lift door began to close behind them and Kelly stuck out her foot to bounce it open again. ‘See you later.’ She turned to go.

‘Just a minute.’

She turned back to him, her heart in her feet. He came close, put his arms around her and squeezed her tight. A wave of panic hit her as she realised he might feel the passports in her pocket. She pulled away and backed into the lift. As the doors began to close he blew her a kiss. And then they were gone.

She stared at herself in the mirror as the lift plummeted downwards. Terror and defiance were etched on her face. In the lobby, a caretaker she didn’t recognise nodded at her lazily as she took her children’s hands in hers and headed for the smoked-glass door.

They walked left out of the door towards the Euston Road. There was a side entrance to the station near them to the right, but she couldn’t be sure Christos wasn’t watching the security camera that guarded the exit. She tried to hurry the children to the corner. They would be out of sight then.

They rounded the corner and she started running.

‘What are we doing?’ Florence asked.