A Place of Safety. Helen Black
Luke doesn’t answer.
When he hears the front door close he lets the tears spill. He curls into a ball and weeps, snot pooling under his nose, sliding onto his lips, until it becomes clear what he has to do.
He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and packs a bag.
Lilly had tried, she really had. She’d put on her coat and fully intended to head to the bar where her boss and the other partners were waiting for her. But when it had come to it, Lilly had made a sharp right turn and jumped into her new Mini Cooper. Sheila was right about some things. A car that started first time, every time, was a joy on a par with a night with George Clooney.
As she sped down the A5 she pulled out her phone.
‘Rupes, it’s me. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the pub but I need to collect Sam. He said he’d leave home if he had to go to after-school care again.’
It was true that Sam preferred not to stay late at school with the boarders. He said the common room smelled and tea in the refectory was always the same. ‘I don’t know how they do it, Mum, but whatever day you go it’s always some sort of mince,’ he’d said. ‘They give it different names but it doesn’t fool anyone.’
To say he hated it was perhaps an exaggeration, but extreme times called for extreme measures.
Rupinder said nothing. Lilly could imagine her pursed lips and tried to make light of it. ‘You can give me my bollocking tomorrow and save yourself the price of a pint.’
‘Just get your backside over here.’
Lancasters had changed hands again. Now a franchise of a famous chef who had never stepped out of the West End, it had restyled itself as a gastropub. What this meant in reality was sage-green walls by Farrow & Ball and steaks costing fifteen quid a pop. As usual, it was almost empty.
Rupinder and the others were congregated at the far end of the bar. Lilly heard the pop of a champagne cork and her heart sank. Had she missed something important? Whose birthday was it?
‘What’s the occasion?’ she called, all faux bonhomie.
Rupinder held out a glass of bubbly. ‘Your application for rights of higher audience. You passed.’
Earlier that year, Rupes had come under pressure from her colleagues to give Lilly the boot because of her propensity to speak her mind and take on cases that would add little to their pension funds. Rupes had resisted but had agreed to improve her bottom line. One suggestion was that money should stop being wasted on barristers and that Lilly should handle her own advocacy wherever possible.
‘Wow,’ said Lilly. Drowning in the sea of divorce cases, she’d forgotten all about the exams she’d taken that summer.
‘Wow indeed.’ Rupinder’s tone was cold. Lilly was obviously not forgiven for her attempted escape. ‘Congratulations.’
Sheila drained her glass and helped herself to a refill from the jeroboam. She didn’t tilt her glass, and the expensive froth flowed down the stem.
‘I suppose you’ll be in the office even less now,’ she said. ‘And muggins here will get all the extra paperwork.’
‘Every cloud,’ said Lilly.
‘Perhaps we could all put our differences aside and pull as a team,’ said Rupinder, ‘just this once.’
Lilly girded herself for a lecture but was saved by her phone. ‘I told you Sam would get the hump.’
Rupes looked gratifyingly crestfallen so Lilly didn’t mention that football training wouldn’t finish for another hour.
She stood away from the others.
‘Miss Valentine?’
‘That’s me,’ she said.
‘I’m from Hounds Place. I wonder if you have any time to speak to one of the residents.’
Lilly looked over at Rupes and gave her best contrite parent face. ‘I’ll be right there.’
This 7 message thread spans 2 pages: [1] 2 ≪
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Blood River at 15.05
This country used to be something to be proud of.
It used to stand for something around the world. Its people knew who they were.
Can we say that any more?
The People Of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.12
No we can’t.
The country has gone to shit with all the bending over backwards for immigrants.
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Snow White at 15.15
What really annoys me is when you walk down the street and every other person is a foreigner. I went on a train to London last week and heard about twenty different languages. I began to wonder where I was…
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.22
I know what you mean, Snow White. My home town has three mosques. Three!!!
We truly are living in Englastan.
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Snow White at 15.26
I read that some schools are forced to celebrate Eid and Diwali but the children aren’t allowed to send Christmas cards to one another. I don’t want my children bringing up that way.
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Skin Lick at 15.38
It’s a scandal.
The white indigenous population of this country will soon be in the minority and then we’ll lose all our heritage and culture.
Prepare to say goodbye to Easter, New Year’s Eve and Bonfire Night.
The People of Britain Have Had Enough! Blood River at 15.46
I for one am not about to surrender everything I hold dear.
Mass immigration has been a disaster and it’s got to stop.
We are at saturation point.
Write to your MP saying you will no longer tolerate being a second-class citizen in your own home.
Boycott shops owned by in-comers.
Fly the flag of St George with pride.
Snow White closed the lid of her laptop. She hated to leave a live discussion but she needed to pick up her husband’s shirts from the dry-cleaners’. She checked the clock. If she didn’t dilly-dally she’d still have enough time to pop into the butcher’s and get home in time for the live podcast.
A hostel had recently opened in Manor Wood, within half a mile of Sam’s school. The building, Hounds Place, had previously been a police-station house but had been bought up by a professional landlord who saw the potential for squeezing five desperate refugees into each room.
The influx of nearly thirty foreigners into a small village like Manor Wood had not been greeted with overwhelming delight. The infamous hospitality of the English countryside did not, it seemed, extend to the raggle-taggle bunch of young men and women who had risked everything to leave their wartorn homelands.
Lilly had begged Rupes to let her represent two fourteen-year-old boys who had fled the Taliban. Without any relatives in the UK care orders had been made without fuss or objection so the use of Lilly’s time had been negligible. Two had become four, then a teenager from Bosnia arrived and another from Uganda. Although she kept the increasing numbers quiet, particularly from Rupes, Lilly now represented at least half the kids in there. It didn’t take up too much of her energy, she told herself, as she checked her watch.
As soon as she crossed the threshold a young man in a checked shirt and denim jacket sidled over.
‘Hello, Artan,’ said Lilly.