If You Were Me (20 page)

ALIYA

 

 

 

E
verything seemed to change, the smudged light through the windows grew clearer and the ache in my heart lifted away. This truth he was telling me, and I knew from the agony on his face that this time it really was the truth, was like a lifeline dragging me out of a dark, stinking cave into warm, sweet sunshine. Now I could prove to the police that Behrouz was innocent, that he'd been kidnapped and set up to die like a bomber. The feeling of release lasted less than a second before it was smothered by a rush of hatred so intense I wanted to strike the boy with my fists. I let out a scream that bounced off the walls. ‘Why didn't you get help? You could have saved him!'

The boy bowed his head and blurted out a muddled
story of stolen washing machines, drugs hidden at Meadowview, a lost phone and Behrouz getting beaten with a gun. Then he raised his tear-stained face, looked straight into my eyes and told me how he had lied about everything, how he had allowed Behrouz to be kidnapped, injured and arrested in order to protect his father. A man who was a liar just like his son, and also a thief and a seller of drugs. A man I had liked and made tea for and who had smiled at me when he came to our flat.

So many liars: the boy, his father, my own instincts – they had all lied to me. Nothing was real. Even the floor felt as if it might suddenly give way beneath my feet and drop me into emptiness. When I finally forced myself to look at the boy, he was still hunched over, watching me, as if he wanted me to punish him, scream hatred in his face or throw him out of the flat. Maybe it would have made us both feel better. But a cold calm was slowly smothering my anger like damp leaves on a fire. The fury still smouldered, but giving way to it now wouldn't help Behrouz. First I needed to piece things together, fill in the final blanks in the story and decide what to do. My words, when they came, were clipped and stiff.

‘Did your father know about the kidnap?'

He closed his eyes. ‘I . . . I don't know . . . I don't think so.'

‘Why did you delete those photos from my phone?'

‘The white van in it was my dad's and the man helping Hamidi to load it up was Dad's partner, Jez Deakin.' He
paused. ‘I'm sorry.' He crumpled forward as if he knew how pathetic those words sounded to my ears. ‘I thought I could make it right. I thought I could find a way to prove Behrouz was innocent that would keep my dad out of it. It'd kill my mum if he went to prison. I . . . I'll go now.' He pulled himself up, gripping the arm of the sofa.

‘You can't leave,' I said. ‘You are my proof, my witness, and you owe me. Is that what they say?'

‘I s'pose.' He was watching me carefully, still waiting for my anger to erupt.

‘You smell bad,' I said. ‘Wash yourself and put on these.' I threw him a bundle of clothes I'd found in Behrouz's room. ‘When you are dressed, we are going to find the colonel and you are going to tell him everything that you have told to me.'

I held on to my tears until the boy had hobbled out of the room and then I let them fall. As I cried myself out I felt as if a wire was unwinding from my heart, letting my blood flow freely. The need to trust him had been confusing me, holding me back, and now that I knew the truth, I felt wretched and lonely but in control.

Calmer now, I called the colonel's house, using the number Captain Merrick had sent to Behrouz. I walked up and down as it rang. A woman answered, a maid or a housekeeper.

‘Hello. Please can I speak to Colonel Clarke?' I said.

‘The colonel and his wife are away. Can I take a message?'

‘Do you know where I can find him?'

‘Who is this?'

I opened my mouth to say my name. I shut it again. ‘It's urgent, I . . . I really need to talk to him.'

Her voice grew sterner. ‘Where did you get this number?'

‘I need his help.'

‘If you want to contact the colonel, I suggest you write to him at the House of Commons or contact his constituency office.' She hung up.

Now I knew exactly how my brother had felt: blocked, frustrated, lonely and scared. I longed to hear the colonel's firm, powerful voice assuring me he would get Behrouz released and stop the press from printing their hateful lies about my family. But even the colonel had problems with the press. I remembered the shame I'd felt when I read the mean gossip about his wife in that magazine, how they'd tried to turn the photo of her and her assistant into something bad when all she'd been doing was working on her new movie. A thought crept into my head, a tiny wisp, like smoke. I stared through the window and tried to catch the name of the place where she was filming. I ran down the hall and beat on the bathroom door.

‘Hever Castle,'

I shouted. ‘Where is it?'

I heard a splash and a gurgle as if the boy was lifting his head from under the water. In a flash of panic I saw his cold tilted face and the dark canal water lapping against his cheek.

‘What?' he mumbled.

‘Hever Castle.'

‘Never heard of it. Why?'

‘The colonel's wife, India Lambert, is filming there. We can't get to the colonel. But we can get to her.' I ran back to my phone, shaking as I keyed in the name.

The boy shuffled in, wrapped in the blanket. He was shivering and swaying and there was blood dripping from the wound on his ankle. ‘Found it?' he asked.

I handed him the phone and watched his fingers poke the screen. ‘It's thirty miles from London. We'd have to take two trains and a load of buses.' He gave me back the phone, sweaty, pale and wiping his forehead. ‘I . . . I still feel really weird. I don't think I can make it that far.'

‘You have to,' I said coldly. ‘You have to tell her what you saw. Hurry. Put on the clothes I gave you.'

He nodded but his face was grey, his eyes were dull and when he turned away he had to reach for the wall to stop himself falling. I didn't care that he was weak and sick but I did care if he collapsed before we got to see the colonel's wife. I needed someone to drive us. Someone we could trust. Maybe someone from Khan's. But everyone there thought Behrouz was guilty. Everyone except Corella and maybe that apprentice mechanic, Connor, who had seemed to be coming round to the idea that he wasn't. I picked up the phone and dialled Connor's number. It rang for a long time before he answered.

‘Yeah?' His voice was soggy with sleep.

‘This is Aliya Sahar.'

There was a pause and a grunt. ‘It's the middle of the night.'

‘No. It's six-thirty in the morning.' I cut through his groaning. ‘I know who tried to kill Behrouz.'

That seemed to wake him up. His voice sharpened. ‘Who?'

‘An Afghan drug gang. They kidnapped him just before the explosion.'

‘Jesus. What about Arif?'

‘Arif?' In all the confusion I'd hardly thought about Behrouz's missing friend, but now the answer to Connor's question seemed obvious. I said softly, ‘I think Behrouz told him about this gang and they took him to keep him quiet.'

He swore. ‘Are you going to go to the cops?'

‘It's too dangerous. There are policemen helping the gang. We have to tell Colonel Clarke.'

‘Who's he?'

‘Behrouz's old boss from the army. He's important, he works in the government now, and he's the only person Behrouz trusted. His wife is India Lambert.'

‘What, that actress?'

‘Yes.

You have to drive us to Kent, where she is filming.'

‘Me?'

‘Yes. Come straight away. I will text you my address.'

‘You're crazy. I haven't got a car and I've got to go to work.'

‘Take a car from Khan's, one that you are mending. Then call them and tell them you are sick.'

‘No way. I'll lose my job.'

‘Please, Connor.' My voice cracked. ‘This gang are after us. They are trying to kill us.' I could hear his ragged breath as he wavered. ‘You said Arif was your friend. Don't you want to save him?'

‘Course I do.'

‘Then the colonel is the only one who can help you. Please hurry.'

I cut the call. The boy stole a questioning look at me. ‘Do you think Arif's still alive?'

I shook my head, feeling bad that I had given Connor false hope. I fetched a tea-towel from the kitchen and began to tear it into strips. The boy winced when I lifted his foot. I didn't look at him while I bandaged his wound and he didn't look at me.

DAN

 

 

 

C
onsidering how I felt, which was pretty close to death – blurred vision, a demolition crew smashing through my skull with jack hammers and a throbbing burn in my guts – I was amazed I had the strength to stand up, let alone get dressed. It was guilt keeping me going. The jeans, shirt and trainers she'd thrown at me were the kind of cheap chain-store stuff I wouldn't normally be seen dead in. Ironic, really. The way things were going, being seen dead looked like a strong possibility. But for once in my life I couldn't have cared less what I was wearing or what kind of danger I was in. I just wanted to make things right.

Connor turned up around ten-thirty, looking pretty wrecked too. Puffy eyes, spots all over his face, and the
car he'd borrowed was a heap of junk. Apart from the rusty bodywork, the seats were splitting apart, the windows had been blacked out with some kind of tinted stick-on plastic and the side one at the back had been broken and patched up with cardboard and tape.

‘Whose car is this?' Aliya asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment that he hadn't turned up in one of Khan's fast new minicabs.

‘Karim's. He's Mr Khan's nephew and he'll kill me if he finds out I've taken it.' He saw the look on her face and grinned. ‘Don't worry. It's a good little motor. It's got him out of plenty of trouble.'

He got worried when he saw me sweating and swaying. ‘You're not going to puke all over the seats are you?'

‘No,' I said, but I was swallowing down lurches of vomit before we'd even gone a mile down the road. Too sick to talk, I left it to Aliya to give him directions and tell him what we'd found out. She went through every detail, checking her facts against a new grid she must have drawn up in the night. When she got to the kidnap and told him why I'd lied about it, Connor caught my eye in the mirror. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me like he was wondering if he'd have done the same. Then she asked him straight out if the gun was Arif's.

Connor tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. ‘That's none of your business.'

‘It is my business if he gave it Behrouz.'

He slid her a sideways glance. ‘Did the police find it?'

‘No. I hid it before they came.'

He grunted. As if he was surprised and a bit impressed.

‘It was Arif's, wasn't it?' She pointed to her grid. ‘He and Behrouz must have gone to get it when they left Khan's together on Tuesday afternoon.'

He slowed for a sudden curve in the road. ‘Arif's not into shooters.'

‘So where did he get it?'

Connor dragged a grimy hand across his face. ‘If you must know, it was off a punter.'

She wasn't going to let him off that easily. ‘What punter?'

‘He said it was some crazy who got in his cab one night, off his head on God knows what.'

‘Why would this crazy man give Arif a gun?'

‘He didn't. He was puking so badly when he got out of the cab he left his bag on the seat. And when Arif drove back to his house to hand it back, the whole place was swarming with cops. So he took the bag apart and found a gun stuffed in the lining.'

‘Why didn't he get rid of it?'

‘He was worried about his visa. He didn't want the punter turning up and giving him grief if he handed it in to the cops, and he didn't want the cops doing him for having a firearm if he hung on to it.'

‘So what did he do?' she asked.

‘Me and him drove out to Epping Forest and buried it.

But don't you dare tell that to this colonel or his wife.' He glared at me over his shoulder. ‘You too, Abbott. I'm doing this so we can find Arif, not stitch him up.'

‘Sure,' I said.

Aliya was agitated, chewing her cuff. ‘Look . . .' she said, as if she was about to admit her fears about Arif. But she stopped herself and as she looked away her eye caught mine. Grubby grey lies. We were both telling them now.

Connor rammed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward so fast it threw us back in our seats. I didn't want to know what sort of trouble it had got Khan's nephew out of but from the smirk on Connor's face you could tell he was the one who'd souped up the engine. I wished he hadn't. I didn't know what to do. If I closed my eyes, I saw weird lights flashing through darkness, faces looming down at me then melting away, but if I opened them, the world whizzing past the windows made my stomach heave and my head swim. Still, it was better than trying to drag myself on to trains and buses and after nearly two hours of torture I finally saw the first signs to Hever Castle. By then we'd hit real countryside, the sort Mum used to get Dad to drive us to when she wanted to give my nan a treat. Cream teas, rolling hills, narrow winding roads and me in a strop in the back playing games on my phone. Wondering if that was ever going to happen again tipped me into places I didn't want to go.

The lane where Connor parked the car had woods down one side and a high, moss-covered stone wall along the other. We walked back towards the main road, following a line of yellow arrows nailed to the trees that said
FILMING
. I was weaving a bit, lagging behind, and by the time I got to the entrance a harassed man in headphones was shooing Aliya, Connor and a half-dozen other people away, shouting, ‘No fans on set, can't you read?'

Aliya didn't move. ‘We have to see Miss Lambert. It's important.'

‘You got a visitor's pass?'

‘No.'

‘Then you must be joking. Go on, clear off, we've got props coming through any minute.' He scanned the road, raising his clipboard as a truck rumbled towards us. A uniformed security guard came out and herded us further back. ‘You heard him. Move away from the gates, please!'

Aliya ducked under his outstretched arm and we followed her as she made for Clipboard Man. ‘Please. Could you give her a note?'

‘I'm not a ruddy postman.'

‘Her husband, Colonel Clarke he . . . he knows my family.' Tears misted her eyes. She wiped them away. ‘Please, it is urgent . . . a matter of death and life.'

He darted her a suspicious look, but anyone could see she was serious.

‘Oh, give it here, but get away from the gate.'

Aliya had a pen on her but for paper she had to make do with a grease-spotted food wrapper I snatched out of the gutter. Using Connor's back to rest on, she wrote:

Dear Miss Lambert,

I am the sister of Behrouz Sahar. I am at the gate. I have proof that my brother is innocent and I must talk to Colonel Clarke. I am in danger. Please help me. If you cannot talk to me now, please phone me very soon.

She scribbled her number, signed her name and handed it to Clipboard Man. As soon as he'd checked the truck over he stomped away across the field, shouting orders to a bunch of workmen in overalls and grabbing a bottle of water from a stand under the trees. I half expected him to chuck the note in the rubbish but he made his way to a row of trailers and knocked on the door of a luxury model, twice the size of all the others, standing on its own at the end. The door opened. The three of us sucked in our breath as he talked to someone inside, willing him to walk back and let us in. But the door of the trailer banged shut and he hurried off towards the castle, pressing on the mouthpiece of his headset. The uniformed guard walked towards us, walkie-talkie crackling.

‘He says it's a no. Go on, hop it.'

We shuffled past the rest of the crowd.

‘Now what?' I asked.

Aliya shook her head, totally dejected. ‘That was my last hope.'

Connor strolled off towards the lane where we'd parked, kicking a stone around, trying not look as if he was checking things out. He circled back. ‘We could have a go at climbing over the wall and knocking on the door of her trailer.'

I couldn't see myself making it over a wall that high, but Aliya was totally up for it, telling me I didn't have a choice.

We were heading down the lane looking for the best place to climb when her phone buzzed. Her eyes widened as the screen flashed up ‘number unknown'. She flicked on the speaker. Connor and I crowded round as a man's voice said her name. ‘Aliya?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm Miss Lambert's personal assistant. She says she'll see you but she's only got a few minutes, so I'll come and pick you up, it'll save the hassle of getting you a pass. There's a bus stop on the main road, past the pub. Wait there and I'll bring you round to the cast entrance. I'll be in a silver Range Rover.'

Before she could say anything he hung up and she started to run back to the main road. I hobbled after her on legs that felt like mush. She was nearing the bus stop when the silver Range Rover came swinging round the corner. I put on a spurt and tripped on a crack in the path. Connor grabbed my arm, helped me up and dragged me
to the car. Dizzy and breathless, I peered inside. The dark-haired, square-jawed driver was leaning over, looking up at us through the open window – designer stubble, white teeth and an expensive white shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing off tanned, muscular arms.

‘This boy is Connor and this one is Dan,' Aliya was saying. ‘They have important things to tell Miss Lambert too.'

The man hesitated, his eyes on me. Something flickered in his face. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or just surprised that she hadn't come alone.

He said, ‘OK. But I'll need your full names in case security stops us at the gate.'

I leant against the side of the car, trying to catch my breath. ‘Daniel Abbott.'

Connor ducked his head so the man could see his face and muttered, ‘Connor Mackay.'

‘I'm Steve Hutchins, call me Hutch. Hop in the back and make sure you stay down when we go past security.' We slid along the seat, breathing in the powerful smell of his aftershave.

‘You from Kabul, Aliya?' he said.

‘Yes.'

‘I did a couple of tours in Afghanistan with the colonel.' He was reaching for his phone and calling a number.

‘Hey, Ind— Miss Lambert. Aliya's got a couple of friends with her . . . two boys . . . Daniel Abbott . . . yes . . . yes . . . that's right . . . and . . . Connor Mackay. They've
been helping her find out about her brother. They seem like decent kids, so I thought it'd be all right to bring them along . . . yeah . . . no . . . No problem.'

He headed for a side entrance, barking, ‘Heads down,' drove through very fast and sped down a muddy track that led behind the trailers.

‘Go easy when you see Miss Lambert. She's been working since dawn and she needs to catch some rest before they start shooting again this afternoon.'

He swung the car around and pulled up in front of her trailer. The field we were in was packed with trucks and tents, and beyond the catering van on the other side you could just make out the castle's turrets sticking through the trees. It was like a circus – people running in all directions, guys leading horses around, actors wandering past in old-fashioned costumes, some of them with curlers in, even the men, and one bloke had a sword in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Hutch barely knocked on the trailer door before he pushed it open and stood back to let Aliya pass.

OK, I thought. This is it.