A Place Of Safety (22 page)

Lilly punched forward and snapped her arm back. Once. Twice.

‘Three times, Miss Valentine,’ shouted the coach. ‘One, two, three.’

Lilly performed the sequence again, counting each punch under her breath. She waited until he had begun to berate another paying member of his class and whispered to Penny.

‘There were three boys there, the night of the rape.’

‘And?’ Penny continued her movement.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Lilly. ‘One was Evelyn’s boy and one was Charlie Stanton.’

‘The first you don’t want to speak to and the second you can’t.’

‘Give me thirty press-ups.’ The coach’s voice floated across the room.

‘Thank you, Lilly,’ said Penny. ‘I’ve known air-raid sirens quieter than you.’

They got down on their hands and knees and began hauling themselves up and down.

Lilly groaned. Her puny forearms were not designed to bear the full weight of her breasts and arse.

‘But there were three boys there,’ she wheezed. ‘So all I have to do is track down the third.’

Penny finished her thirty and sat up, panting. Lilly had only got as far as eight.

‘Luke Walker,’ said Penny.

‘What?’

‘The third boy,’ said Penny. ‘I bet it’s Luke Walker. Those three were in the same house and as thick as thieves. Apparently, Luke’s been off sick since Charlie was killed.’

Lilly collapsed onto the mat. Her friend’s ability to name every parent and child at Manor Park was a mystery. But then, it was a small school and very tight knit. Perhaps it was Lilly who was out of the loop.

The coach loomed above her like a storm cloud. ‘You haven’t given me thirty, have you, Miss Valentine?’

Lilly remained prone. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

She dragged herself to her feet, leaving a wet smear of sweat across the rubber. ‘I guess I’m just not built that way.’

The coach shook his head in disgust. ‘Maybe you spend too much time in the hairdresser’s, Miss Valentine.’

Lilly held his gaze, willing him to stop before she lost her temper.

‘Maybe you spend all day watching soap operas, Miss Valentine, and the only use these get,’ he lifted her right wrist between his thumb and forefinger, ‘is flicking channels.’

He let her hand fall. And it would have fallen to Lilly’s side if she hadn’t snapped it back to her waist and punched him in the mouth.

Her fist made a satisfying smack against the coach’s lips and, although it wasn’t a right hook Prince Naseem would have been proud of, it took the coach by surprise and he toppled backwards to the floor. Maybe she had learned something from the classes after all.

Everyone gasped except Penny, who choked down a laugh, and Lilly turned tail to the changing room.

‘Where are you going?’ Penny called.

‘I thought I’d get a quick pedicure before
EastEnders
.’

*  *  *

Most Muslim Men Are Paedophiles
Skin Lick at 17.04

Why else do Arabs and Pakistanis marry girls as young as ten?

Alexia sighed. She’d been trawling the racist chat rooms for over an hour. When Blood River spoke, most of what he said made perfect sense. Well, some of it anyway. The UK was full of foreign workers while there was still a substantial number of British citizens unemployed. Surely it was wrong to spend tax money on benefits while jobs were being scooped up by the Polish? And when there was so little social housing in the first place, did it make sense to give some of that provision to new arrivals, while those born here might have to wait years?

And yet…a slight scratch of the thumbnail on the surface and the true face of these people bared its ugly yellow teeth.

Why Are the Nurses in this Country Paid So Little?

Fire Starter at 17.30

It’s because half the NHS budget is spent on translators.

The other half is used to fight diseases that foreigners bring into the country.

Alexia sighed again. It would be laughable if it weren’t so bloody depressing.

Why did Blood River and his followers feel so threatened?

‘Luton’s a ghost town,’ Blood River had told her.

‘Alexia had thought he meant it was dead, but her time on the Net revealed that ghosts’ were the white working class, and the term ghost town’ alluded to the lack of white faces.

It was true that Luton was a mixed bag. Asians, Africans and Eastern Europeans had all made there homes there, but white people were evident in every shop and bus shelter—at least as far as Alexia could tell. As her father repeatedly explained, truth and facts are not as important as what people
perceive
to be truth or facts. She remembered the time he punched someone for taking his parking space. Not because there was nowhere else to park or because he particularly wanted that spot. ‘But because my staff need to believe that I care about every detail,’ he said.

Alexia clicked her fingers. That was it. She’d do a piece about the Pride of England. Not supporting their views, but explaining why they felt the way they did and how that translated into racism. She would show how the current government policy on immigration was nurturing such feeling, especially in a place like Luton where the indigenous population already felt threatened. Then she’d drop in the Stanton murder and highlight how such incidents fuelled the flames. Who said regional news couldn’t be serious and hard-hitting? Together with the investigative stuff she’d already done, it would show her talents as an all-rounder. Then, it would only be a matter of time before she moved up the ladder. She could see it now, a comment piece in the
Guardian
, even a talking-head slot on the
Late Review.
She smiled at the rosy future that stretched out before her.

Lilly felt a wave of nausea sweep through her. Those bloody press-ups had left her weak. Admittedly, she’d only done a few, but it was on an empty stomach. No wonder she’d lost her rag and belted the coach.

She bought a tuna sandwich from a petrol station and took a bite. It was cold and flat, as if someone had forced it through a mangle before stashing it in the freezer. She washed it down with a can of Cherry Coke. The icy, fishy, fruity mouthful was odd but not unpleasant.

She pulled up at a modest new build just off the A5 and checked the address. According to the school class lists, this was where Luke Walker and his parents lived.

Lilly had assumed herself to be the only Manor Park mum without an Aston Martin and an offshore account. Obviously not.

‘There are plenty of people who make sacrifices for their children’s education,’ David had told her, rolling his eyes when she complained she was like the poor cousin up at school. She hadn’t seen much sign of it until now, but she had to admit she had never really looked.

Lilly wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to handle this. She knew nothing about Luke’s parents or how they would react to her. Their son had been seriously affected by the shooting and they might well blame Anna for her part. Maybe they wouldn’t want to help her and maybe Luke would refuse to speak to her. But if she could make them see that she needed to know what happened the night Anna was raped, perhaps they would be willing to assist.

She knocked on the door with trepidation and was shocked when it swung open almost instantaneously.

‘Luke?’ A woman thrust herself at Lilly, her face crumpling when she saw it was not him.

‘Afraid not,’ said Lilly. ‘But I wonder if I might have a word with you about him?’

Mrs Walker led Lilly through to the sitting room, where she perched nervously on the end of the sofa. She didn’t ask Lilly to sit.

‘Are you here to give me bad news?’

‘I’m sorry?’ asked Lilly.

Mrs Walker looked up at Lilly, her eyes, already raw, welling with tears. ‘Is he dead?’

Lilly was confused. ‘Dead?’

Why would she think her son was dead?

‘What then?’ asked Mrs Walker, her voice scratchy and hoarse.

Something bad was happening and Lilly had no idea what it was. ‘Mrs Walker, I’m Lilly Valentine, the solicitor for Anna Duraku.’

‘Oh,’ cried Mrs Walker, showing no recognition of the name.

Blimey, thought Lilly, she must be the only person who hasn’t read about me in the papers.

Mrs Walker jumped to her feet. ‘I thought you were the police.’

Lilly shook her head. ‘Not the police, no.’

Colour washed over Mrs Walker’s ashen features and she threw her arms around Lilly’s neck. ‘Thank God.’

Lilly sniffed the box of Darjeeling tea bags. Her dad, who used to start each day with three cups of Typhoo and an Embassy Regal, would have shaken his head in despair. Was this the stuff you drank black? Or with a slice of lemon? She shrugged and slapped in some semi-skimmed and a heaped teaspoon of sugar.

‘I’m sorry I frightened you, Mrs Walker,’ said Lilly, handing her a cup.

‘It’s not your fault.’ She clasped her tea protectively in both hands. ‘I’m a nervous wreck since…’

Lilly’s cheeks reddened. ‘Charlie’s death has made everyone very nervous.’

‘Charlie?’ Mrs Walker knitted her brow. Evidently something else was making her nervous.

‘The shooting at the school,’ said Lilly.

Recognition passed across Mrs Walker’s face. ‘Oh, that. Yes…it was absolutely terrible…I’m afraid I’ve been so preoccupied I haven’t…’

She trailed off and stared out of the window into the night.

Lilly watched the other woman, whose mind was obviously working overtime, but apparently not about the death of Charles Stanton.

The loud crackle of fireworks echoed across the sky and Mrs Walker let out a scream. She dropped her cup, tea spilling across the carpet.

She put her hands to her ears. ‘What is that?’

Lilly led her to the sofa and forced her to sit down. ‘Just a rocket, Mrs Walker, it’s Bonfire Night.’

‘Oh,’ the woman nodded. ‘I hadn’t realised. I’ve lost all sense of time you see…’

Lilly picked up the broken pieces of china and took them through to the kitchen. When she returned with a cloth Mrs Walker had returned to her place by the window.

‘Why did you think I’d come here?’ Lilly scrubbed at the tea stain. ‘What made you think I was from the police?’

Mrs Walker didn’t look directly at Lilly but ran a finger across the glass. Another person might have repeated their question, but Lilly knew Mrs Walker was deciding how to answer.

‘Luke is missing,’ she said simply.

Lilly was shocked. ‘Everyone said he was staying at home because he’s ill.’

Mrs Walker shook her head. ‘That’s what we’ve told everyone but it’s not true. He packed some things a couple of weeks ago and no one has seen him since.’

‘Have you told the police?’

Mrs Walker brought the cup to her lips but didn’t drink. ‘They say he’s sixteen, he can leave home if he wants to. Apparently it happens all the time with boys his age.’

‘But you don’t think it’s that simple?’

Mrs Walker’s eyes cleared. ‘Come with me.’

She led Lilly up the stairs to a bedroom. There was a typed notice stuck to the door with Blu-tack.

Absolutely no admittance.
And that means you too Jessie.

‘Jessie?’ asked Lilly.

‘His younger sister,’ said Mrs Walker.

Luke’s room had all the trappings of a teenager. Arsenal duvet and pillow. Posters of Lindsay Lohan and Mischa Barton. But it wasn’t the tip Lilly had expected. Nor did it have the usual smell of testosterone and footie boots.

‘It’s very tidy,’ she said.

Mrs Walker ran her hand over his desk. ‘He was never any trouble. And of course he boarded at school, so he wasn’t here all the time.’ She picked up a book left open next to the lamp and held it to her chest. ‘I never wanted to send him away, but his father insisted.’

Lilly nodded. She’d been against prep school from the start, but David had bullied her into it.

‘He said it would build character.’ Mrs Walker’s voice caught. ‘He said it would toughen him up.’

Another flash of colour roared through the sky.

‘Luke never liked the bonfire party up at school. He said he preferred to stay home with a few sparklers,’ she said.

‘My son’s just the same,’ said Lilly.

Mrs Walker crumpled onto the bed and sobbed. ‘Why didn’t I listen to him? Why did I send my baby away?’

Lilly instinctively sat next to her and put an arm around the other woman’s heaving shoulders. They felt bowed, as if even the woman’s core were beaten down.

‘His father thought it would be the making of him,’ said Mrs Walker, ‘but I should have stood up to him.’

Lilly vowed never to allow David to do this to her, however well-meaning his intentions.

‘I keep thinking he must have been so miserable,’ she said. ‘He must have thought I didn’t want him around.’

‘I’m sure that’s not right,’ said Lilly.

‘Why else would he run away, leaving everything behind?’ Mrs Walker pulled open one of his drawers. ‘His Nintendo, his iPod, everything.’ She threw open his wardrobe and ran her hand through the rail of jeans and shirts with savage force. ‘Why did he leave his clothes? He didn’t even take a warm coat, just some stupid cagoule he begged me to buy. I told him it would never keep the rain out.’

She fell to her knees and sobbed. ‘I keep coming back to the fact that he must have thought I was rejecting him. That this is all my fault.’

Lilly’s heart ached. ‘No, don’t say that. He must have known how well-loved he was, but Charlie’s death upset all the kids.’

Mrs Walker shook her head violently. ‘It had nothing to do with that.’

‘I know you blame yourself.’ Lilly’s tone was gentle. ‘I’m sure I’d do the same. Hell, I’m a single working mum, I invented guilt.’

Mrs Walker smiled in spite of herself.

‘But think about it logically,’ Lilly continued. ‘A shocking thing happened at your son’s school. It can’t have failed to have had an impact on him.’