A Place of Safety

Lilly shook her head. ‘We can’t bow to this sort of pressure.’

‘I agree,’ said Rupinder, ‘but I’m not going to pretend that it isn’t unnerving.’

Lilly hugged her boss. She smelled of cocoa butter. ‘It’s just racist crap.’

‘I know that, but if you hadn’t noticed, Lilly, I’m not exactly white.’

Both women laughed until Lilly’s mobile rang. It was Milo.

‘Thank God I’ve got you. I don’t know what to do,’ he said.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Lilly.

He was breathing hard into his phone. It crackled into Lilly’s ear. ‘I’m at the court with Anna. There are lots of people here, shouting and screaming.’

‘How’s Anna? Is she okay?’

‘She’s terrified. She won’t speak to anyone but you,’ he said.

‘Hang on.’ Lilly looked at Rupes. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

Lilly didn’t break eye contact with her boss and handed her Anna’s file.

‘Read this—and if you still don’t want me to take on this case you can sack me.’

The Tennent’s is thick and gloopy and it coats Luke’s tongue. It doesn’t taste like anything he’s drunk before. He takes small sips and the can is still half full.

Tony pulls the ring on his second. He makes room for Luke on his filthy blanket and Luke gladly sits down. He ignores the brown stains, which may or may not be shit, just glad for the chance to be with another human being.

As the booze works into his system, Tony becomes chatty. He tells Luke he’s from Wales but hasn’t been back since he left the army.

‘Why not?’ asks Luke.

‘Drugs, drink, prison,’ says Tony. ‘A full hand.’

Luke doesn’t know how to respond. People on the streets talk openly about stuff like that, stuff that would make his mum have a fit. And Luke never knows what to say. He could just join in, that’s what Tom would do, but these people would suss he was faking in a heartbeat. Like the time Caz asked if he needed any gear and he’d nodded, thinking she meant grass. When she poled up with a bag of heroin he’d tried to hide his shock and simply pocketed it, but Caz had laughed and called him ‘a silly get’.

‘They say I have a problem with my temper,’ says Tony.

‘Right,’ says Luke.

Tony twists his mouth into a smile. His front teeth are missing. ‘They say I’m unpredictable.’

‘Better than being boring, I suppose.’

Tony’s eyes close into two black slits. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘No,’ says Luke, and searches for safer ground. ‘Where did you serve?’ he asks.

Tony takes a long swallow and bares his gums with an audible sigh.

‘Bosnia, Macedonia,’ he says. ‘Would have been shipped out to the desert but they said my head was mashed.’ He drains the last dregs and lets out a belch. ‘Post Traumatic Stress they called it. Offered me counselling, like, but it didn’t work. Once you seen them things you can’t un-see them, can you?’ He taps the side of his head. ‘No matter how much bloody talking you do, it’s all still in here.’

He closes his eyes and Luke’s not sure whether he’s wrestling with his demons or if he’s just nodded off.

‘Made yourself at home, I see.’

It’s Caz, with her big toothy grin and grubby parka. Luke’s heart swells.

She points to the remaining cans. ‘Give us one, will you?’

Luke hands her one and she snuggles between him and Tony.

‘How’s business?’ says Tony, his eyes still shut.

‘Slow,’ says Caz. ‘But I got enough for today.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I need a shower after that lot.’

‘Where?’ he asks.

‘There’s a few places.’ She nudges him with her elbow. ‘You weren’t planning on smelling like that forever, were you?’

He doesn’t deny how badly he needs a wash. Even the foul stench of Tony’s breath doesn’t mask Luke’s own body odour.

She pecks Tony on the cheek and scrambles to her feet. ‘Thanks for looking out for him.’

Tony nods gently. ‘Not a problem.’ His eyes remain shut.

Caz presses the buzzer on a door in Peckham. It looks like it might be a village hall or something. Not that Peckham’s a village. Luke’s heard of it—well, everyone has after that poor little kid got stabbed on some stairs—but it’s different to anywhere he’s ever been in his life and he’s been abroad loads of times.

The high street is lined with stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Gargantuan black women haggle over things that look like giant spring onions and bunches of leaves tied with string. Rude boys hang around, tracks cut into their hair and eyebrows, their accents dense. Sometimes Tom would put on a voice that he thinks sounds Jamaican. He says ‘ting’ instead of ‘thing’ and calls everyone in the dorm ‘bredren’. The other boarders would laugh, but Luke thinks it makes him look like a twat.

He becomes transfixed outside a Caribbean takeaway, the smell of patties rooting him to the spot.

‘On your way,’ shouts the cook from behind the counter. They’re not welcome.

Caz is impatient and presses the buzzer a second time. Luke can’t believe they’ll get a shower in here.

‘Don’t look like that, soft lad,’ says Caz. ‘Have I let you down yet?’

A woman opens the door, a fag between her lips. ‘The lovely Caroline.’

Caz grins. ‘All right, Jean.’

‘And who’ve you got with you this time?’ asks Jean, smoke causing her to squint.

‘This is my mate, Luke,’ she says. ‘He’s new.’

Jean nods and lets them pass.