headed upstairs. ‘Everything is going to be fine,’ she said to herself. But who was she trying to convince?
In court, when the entire system—no, the world—seemed to be against Anna, she had jumped into the fray, thinking only of how she could help, how she could make amends. Now, as she smoothed her son’s duvet over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, drinking in his warmth, she questioned the sense of her actions. Yes, the girl had been through hell, but did Lilly really need to bring her into her home? Sam’s home?
As she moved down the hall she heard the sharp plink of a dripping tap and turned back to the bathroom. The tap needed a new washer, but judicious pressure normally did the trick. As she pulled it to the left she noticed a black tidemark around the basin. Not the usual ring of dirt but a slick line, almost purple. Had Sam been washing paintbrushes upstairs again? She’d have to have a word with him in the morning. Artistic license was one thing, but he brushed his teeth in here.
Then she saw the plastic tube in the bin. Hidden under a wodge of tissue, only the end peeped out. Lilly would have missed it but for the airbrushed picture of some impossibly glossy-locked model.
It was hair dye.
Since even Sam would struggle to find a use for a tube of dye, it must be Anna’s. But why would a sixteen-year-old girl facing a murder charge worry about that? And why would she try to hide it?
She was still contemplating the tube when Anna came in. They both blushed.
‘I once went green,’ joked Lilly. ‘Now that was a mistake.’
Anna didn’t smile. ‘This is my natural colour,’ she said. ‘Before I go grey.’
‘Oh, you poor, poor girl,’ said Lilly, and enveloped her client in her arms. Anna stiffened, but Lilly didn’t let go.
Sometimes doing the right thing wasn’t convenient, but that didn’t stop it being right.
* * *
The landlord called time and Jack waved for another pint.
He’d overreacted again, stomping out of Lilly’s like a Hollywood diva. He’d made himself look foolish in front of David and your man Milo, yet he hadn’t been able to help himself.
He’d wanted to explain to Lilly that the shooting had crystallised his thoughts, made him realise that she and Sam were all he wanted. It had been so important to him to make her understand that. Instead he’d been faced with the usual maelstrom of Valentine mayhem. In what alternative universe did Lilly think it was sensible to have her client in the house? Surely she could see that it would ruin everything between them? Maybe she just didn’t care enough about him to give his feelings a second thought. Maybe this whole relationship was purely one-sided?
He sighed and sipped his lager. He knew full well that that was not how Lilly saw it. She saw no choice between Jack and Anna—she simply saw a girl who needed help.
He drained his glass and knew he’d regret this last drink in the morning—that and not buying a loaf for breakfast.
The walls of the bridge smell of pee. It’s so strong Luke feels like he can taste it at the back of his throat. Caz pushes a pallet against the wall and throws an old sheet over the top.
‘Carry on camping,’ she grins, but Luke can’t even smile.
Ever since he left the Peckham Project he’s been thinking about the police and what they’ll do if they catch him. Will the people in prison be like Teardrop Tony? Will they force him to have sex in the showers like people say and will he be as frightened as the girl in the park?
He desperately wants to tell Caz, to ask her what he should do, but even though she’s the nearest thing he’s got to a friend here, so far from his home, he’s only known her a few days.
She crawls into the lean-to and pulls her sleeping bag over her legs. Luke follows her in. A shiver runs down his back and he stuffs his hands in his pockets.
‘Cold?’ asks Caz.
He nods.
‘Wait ’til January’
But it’s not the weather that is making his bones ache.
‘Why are you here, Caz?’ he asks.
‘Because it’s bleeding well pouring out there, and that Russian bitch won’t let us back in the squat.’
‘I mean why are you here, living like this?’ he says. ‘Why aren’t you at home?’
She pulls an old tobacco tin from her pocket and unwraps her gear. A square of tin foil, a disposable lighter, a steel tube. And a bag of heroin. She says she’s not addicted, that she just does it to pass the time, but Luke’s seen the plastic sheen of her face in the morning.
‘Do you really want to know?’ she says.
He nods.
Caz sighs and sprinkles a couple of pinches of powder onto the foil.
‘My stepdad was proper handy with his fists,’ she says. ‘Gave my ma some right beatings.’
She flicks the lighter and Luke sees the flint ignite.
‘She always said he was as good as gold until he had a drink inside him.’
She puts the flame to the underside of the foil and makes a circular movement. ‘Trouble was, most days he had a drink inside him.’
‘Couldn’t she leave him?’ asks Luke.
Caz looks up from her fix and a wry smile plays on her lips. ‘And go where, soft lad?’
He shrugs, an admission that he knows nothing of that sort of life.
She goes back to the foil. The powder is beginning to cook, bubbles popping.
‘When she died he started on me.’
She puts the tube in her mouth and inhales the smoke.
‘I stayed for a bit, for my little sisters, but when they got taken into care I legged it.’
‘I’m sorry, Caz,’ says Luke.
Her mouth has gone slack and her voice when it comes is a rasp. ‘What about you? What brings you to the Costa del Shit Hole?’
He looks down at his feet and pulls the lace of his trainer. ‘I got involved in something bad. Somebody—a girl, I mean—got something terrible done to her.’
‘Raped?’ asks Caz.
Luke nods, shame burning hot on his cheeks.
‘Three of us took her into a park,’ he says. ‘She was terrified.’
‘That’s rough,’ says Caz.
‘I didn’t help her,’ he says. ‘I did absolutely nothing to help her.’
Caz puts the flame under the foil again and chases the smoke around the edges.
‘Do you hate me?’ he asks.
‘We all do stuff we’re not proud of,’ she says.
His eyes sting. ‘But what I did is so disgusting.’
‘Not for me to judge.’
He looks up at her, relieved by her words—but terrified her eyes will betray them as lies. He’s glad when he sees her chin has gouched onto her chest.
‘Thanks for this,’ said Lilly, and strapped Sam into the back of Penny’s new Range Rover. ‘Can I give you something towards the petrol?’
Penny crossed her arms. ‘My husband is a hedge fund manager and I drive past your house on the way to school.’
‘It’s