I start to get second thoughts when I reach her neighbourhood. It’s all detached houses, big ones, with electric gates. Is this really where Sarah lives? I know she comes to school in a posh car, I’ve heard people talking about it, but this is something else. I can understand why she’d want to stay here instead of coming to school. If I lived somewhere like this, I’d never leave.
Number six is hidden behind a high brick wall with two scanners perched on the top. The gate is metal, solid, so you haven’t got a clue what’s behind there. There’s an intercom grill with a button under it. It’s the only way I’m going to get in, so I press the button. A woman’s voice comes through almost straight away.
‘Yes?’
I clear my throat.
‘I’m here to see Sarah. I’m a friend from school.’
‘Which school?’
‘Forest Green.’
There’s a long pause. Then the gate starts swinging open. I take it that’s an invitation to go in and start crunching up the gravel drive. The house takes my breath away. It’s painted white, with big pillars propping up a porch at the front. There’s a black Mercedes parked by the door, next to a red Porsche. Jesus! Her family isn’t just loaded, they’re super-rich!
The front door opens as I get close, but it’s not the woman who spoke to me on the intercom, there’s a man standing there. He’s a big bloke, tall, looks taller because he’s standing in the doorway, and I’m at the bottom of the steps. His shoes are black slip-ons, shiny and expensive. He’s wearing dark suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. He’s yanked his tie loose around his neck. He looks at me like I’m something his cat’s just dragged in and I clock his number. 112027. Another one. Sarah’s dad.
He don’t ask me in.
‘You know something about Sarah?’ he says. ‘Have you seen her?’
So she’s not here either. She’s run off.
‘No,’ I say, ‘I haven’t seen her for days. I thought she might be here. I wanted to talk to her.’
‘Talk to her?’
‘Yeah, we’re … we’re friends.’ It sounds lame as I say it.
‘She’s friends with you?’ He don’t believe me or he don’t want to. I don’t like him, don’t like his tone.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘we sit together in Art.’
‘And you like her, do you?’ What’s he getting at?
‘Yeah. Like I said, we’re friends.’
He steps out of the doorway and starts down the steps towards me.
‘She was only there a few days,’ he says, ‘and now she’s run away. What did you do to her? At school. What did you say?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t say nothing. We were just friends. That’s all.’
I’m picking up on his body language and I know I should get out of here. I start backing off, but I’m not quick enough. A hand shoots round my neck and pins me up against one of the pillars. He leans in so his face is close to mine, puts his weight into his hand so I start to choke.
‘You touched her, didn’t you? You got your filthy hands on her, my daughter.’
‘No.’ I force the words out. ‘No, I never.’
‘You couldn’t keep your hands off her, could you? You’re disgusting. Disgusting.’
His number’s in my face now. He’s a twenty-seven, but not like the others, there’s something different about his death – it comes from inside him, pain radiating through his body, shooting down his arm, crushing him.
‘Gary? What is it?’
Over his shoulder, I can see a woman just inside the doorway. Must be Sarah’s mum. She’s in her dressing gown, with bare feet.
‘What is it? Have they found something?’
Her dad loosens his grip.
‘No,’ he calls back to her. ‘It’s nothing.’
I twist away from him, holding my hands up to my neck, my chest heaving as I try to get some air.
‘Nothing,’ he says. He watches me stumble down the drive and break in to a run. The gates are still open, thank God, and I’m out of there and running down the road. I don’t stop until I’m shot of that whole hateful estate and back to a place where there are shops and cafes and houses that open onto the street.
I go into the first paper shop I find and buy a Coke, opening it as soon as I’ve paid.
‘’Ere, not in the shop! Take it outside,’ the guy behind the till shouts at me. I take no notice. The sugar in the drink is hitting my bloodstream, and my shakes are starting to go. God, I need this. I thought he was going to kill me. What a wanker! Okay, he’s worried about his daughter, but that’s not normal, going off on one like that, nearly choking the breath out of me.
I drain the can and hold it out to the shop-guy. He tips his head towards the recycling bin and hands over my five cents, like it was killing him to do it.
‘Thanks, mate,’ I say and I wander out of the shop and start heading for home. My legs are tired and slow, but my mind’s still racing. She’s not at home. She’s not at school. Where the hell is she?
Chapter 12: Sarah
It’s a two-bedroom flat, and six girls sharing, including me. It’s okay. They’re friendly enough, show me a corner in one of the bedrooms where I can put my bag.
Meg introduces me to the others, then takes me into the kitchen and cooks us both egg and oven chips. I’m starving. I can’t eat in the mornings, but by the afternoon, I’m ravenous.
‘One good meal a day,’ she says. ‘Other than that, it’s the rock-chick diet – fags, vodka and … well, you know.’ The thought turns my stomach. I’ve never drunk alcohol, never smoked, and I’m even less likely to now.
I must have pulled a face because Meg says, ‘You’ll have to have a drink. Everyone drinks. It’s the only way to survive here. Not today, though, not on your first night.’
‘Survive? It doesn’t look that bad …’
Her face doesn’t move a muscle, but there’s something, a flicker behind her eyes. What’s going on here? The front door opens as a man lets himself into the flat and breezes into the kitchen. He’s not very tall, a few centimetres taller than me, but he’s thick-set, with muscular arms bulging under the cloth of his denim jacket. He’s got a cigarette in one hand and car keys in the other.
‘All right?’ he says to Meg, and leans forward to kiss her on the lips. At the last minute, she tilts her head and gives him her cheek instead. ‘Don’t be like that, you silly bitch,’ he says, and the coldness in his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Then he notices me and his body language changes. ‘Who’s this?’ he says, and now his whole focus is on me.
‘This is Sarah. She needs a place to stay.’
‘Right, right.’ He looks me up and down, then holds out his hand. ‘Shayne. Welcome to our humble home.’
I take his hand – it would be rude not to, and I’m not sure enough of myself to be rude to him, yet – and we shake. He holds on just a little bit too long for comfort.
‘Bet there are people looking for you,’ he says.
I shrug.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe here. No one’s going to rat on you. I’ll need a contribution to the rent though. Not tonight. First night’s free. Tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Okay.’ I’ve got my money – he hasn’t said how much, but I’m only going to stay for a day or two and it’s not going to be more than fifty Euros, is it. Or a hundred?
The girls are getting ready to go out, doing their hair and make-up. Shayne’s in and out of the bedrooms. I’d tell him to get lost if I was them, but none of them do. Meg settles down on the sofa and pats it, inviting me to sit next to her.
‘Not going out?’ I ask.
‘No, not tonight. I’ll stay in with you.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
She gets out a tin of weed and some papers and starts rolling a joint. We watch the telly, and when Shayne comes back into the lounge, she passes the joint to him and he stands at the side, smoking. He’s looking at us, not
at the telly. Then he looks at his watch, a big, flashy gold thing.
‘Come on, girls!’ he shouts. ‘Time to go.’
The others all start filing out of the flat. Shayne’s the last to leave.
‘Vinny will be round in a bit. You’re all right to see to him, aren’t you?’ he asks Meg.
‘Sure.’
He steps forward, hands her a wad of cash. She stuffs it into her bra.
‘Okay, see you later, girls,’ he says, and then he winks at Meg and gives her the thumbs up.
The door closes behind him.
‘He seems … nice,’ I say. ‘Taking everyone out.’
She snorts, reaches down to the floor beside her, grabs a bottle of vodka and takes a swig.
‘He’s a dick. But he’s less of a dick than some of them. Here …’ she holds the bottle out to me.
‘No thanks,’ I say.
‘Go on.’
‘No, it’s all right, I don’t drink.’
‘Some of this? It’s the good stuff.’ She wafts the joint under my nose.
‘No. Thanks.’
Meg looks at me, and her face goes softer. She reaches out and smoothes my hair around my face.
‘How old are you?’ she asks.
‘Eighteen,’ I say. She smiles.
‘How old are you really?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Go home, Sarah. Go home before it’s too late.’
‘I left home for a reason.’
‘Yeah, we all did, but this isn’t any better, trust me. I’ll help you. I’ll give you some money to get a taxi or whatever.’
‘It’s all right. I’ve got money …’ Her eyes go a little bit wider. She holds her finger up to her lips.
‘Don’t tell anyone. Don’t even tell me. I hope it’s hidden, because they’re a bunch of thieving cows here.’
‘It’s in my … I’d better check.’ I left the bag in one of the bedrooms. I jump up and go and fetch it. The zip’s open. Someone’s been through it. The money’s gone, of course. All of it. Every last note.
‘Shit! Someone’s had it. Will you help me get it back?’
She shakes her head.
‘It’s gone. You won’t see that again. If you get money, keep it on you.’ She pats her chest, where she stashed the money Shayne gave her.
‘But it’s one of the girls, or Shayne. He was in and out of the bedrooms, wasn’t he? People can’t just take stuff. It’s mine!’
‘It’s gone. There’s your first lesson. Hard, innit? Let’s hope it wasn’t Shayne, ’cause he’ll have seen this.’ She pulls my school shirt and tie out of the bag.
‘Why?’
‘He’ll make you wear it tomorrow. He can charge double for a kid in a school uniform.’
Tomorrow. Shayne wants some rent money, but some bitch has stolen mine. How am I going to get money? How the hell am I … then Meg’s words register.
They’re going to charge for me. Tomorrow.
‘The girls,’ I say, ‘they’ve not just gone out on the town, have they?’
She has another swig out of the bottle.
‘No,’ she says, ‘they’re out working. I should be too, but Shayne’s given me the night off. Wants me to keep an eye on you.’
Keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t run away. Keep me there until tomorrow. Tomorrow. Oh God.
‘Meg,’ I say, ‘I can’t … I can’t do what the other girls are doing.’
I feel sick at the thought of it. It’s what I’m running away from. I’m never going to let anyone do that to me again. I’m not going to let it happen. I’m not …
She reaches out to me again. Her hand’s on my hair, stroking, reassuring.
‘Sure you can. Everyone gets nervous the first time, but it’s okay. Have some vodka, have some weed or whatever, you’ll be fine.’
‘No, I mean, I can’t … I’m pregnant.’
She sits up in the chair, starts to frown, then tips her head back and laughs.
‘Oh, Jesus! I’m losing my touch. I never even noticed. How far gone are you?’
‘I dunno.’ I sit up and smooth my top over my swollen belly.
‘Oh Christ, look at you! Five months? Six? That’s it, I’m gonna get you out of here.’
‘Won’t you get in trouble?’
‘Yeah, there’ll be trouble, but I don’t care. Even I can’t send a lamb like you to the slaughter.’
‘But no one would want to … with me … would they?’
She unwinds her legs and gets up off the sofa.
‘Oh yeah, they’d want to, all right. There are some sick fucks out there, and Shayne knows them all. Are you sure you can’t go home?’
I shake my head. Whatever happens, however bad it gets, I’m not going back there. She comes over to me then, crouches down and puts her arms round me.
‘We’ll find you somewhere. Somewhere safe,’ she murmurs into my ear.
The doorbell rings. Meg pulls away from me, and the make-up round her eyes is smudged. She drags her finger under each eye, blinks and sniffs hard.
‘Look at me. Soft, aren’t I? This’ll be Vin. Stay here.’
She goes to the door. I hear two voices talking, hers and a man’s, for quite a long time, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Then Meg comes back into the room.
‘This is Vinny,’ she says. ‘He says you can go with him.’
The man behind her steps forward. He’s tall and gangly, eyes bulging in his skull-like head.
I don’t know what to say, what to do. I don’t know who to trust. I thought Meg was okay. Turns out she was recruiting for a pimp. Now, who’s this?
‘It’s all right,’ Meg says, ‘he won’t hurt you. I’d trust him with my life. I do trust him with my life. Every day.’ They exchange a quick smile, and then she puts her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder. ‘Sarah, he won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t do that to you.’ Wouldn’t you?
Vinny ruffles Meg’s hair, then disentangles himself from her.
‘You can stay in our squat,’ he says. ‘No strings. Nothing. Shayne won’t touch you there. No police. Nothing like that.’
‘Why? Why would you do that?’
He looks down at the floor, shuffles his feet a bit.
‘Meg told me. About the baby. You need somewhere to go – I’ve got somewhere. It’s simple.’
I’m pretty sure it’s not that simple, but I know what will happen if I stay here. Let’s face it, my options are limited. So I take a chance.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Are you having a drink, Vin?’ Meg asks. ‘Stay and have a drink with me.’
He looks at his watch, shakes his head.
‘Better get off, darlin’. If we’re going, we’d better go. Okay?’ he says to me.
‘Okay,’ I say.
Meg gives me another hug on the way out.
‘Take care,’ she says, and she pats my stomach. It’s the first time anyone’s done that, apart from me, patted the baby. It makes everything seem real. There’s someone growing inside me, a new person. The reality of it, what it means, makes me almost dizzy.
‘You all right?’ asks Vinny, as I stand still, swaying a little.
‘Yeah,’ I say. I take a deep breath. ‘Yeah, I’m all right. Let’s go.’
Chapter 13: Adam
Sometimes I think I made her up. Sarah. In my head, she’s so perfect – her face, her eyes. I close my eyes and I can feel that moment when her fingers touched my face. It’s like a dream, but it’s real. I know it’s real, because I wrote it all down as soon as I got home that day.
It’s here in my book, her number and everything else I can remember about her. She’s got a whole page to herself. I look at it every day, but it don’t help. It don’t bring her back.
It’s been weeks now since she disappeared. Nearly a month.
I go out on the streets looking for her. She’s got to be somewhere. I ought to have a picture of her, so I can show people, ask around, but I haven’t. All I
’ve got is a memory.
I don’t like being where there’s lots happening. Normally I try to steer clear of people, keep my head down, avoid eye contact, but this is different. I make myself go into crowds. I move through them or I stand and watch, scanning the faces that go past. Everywhere I go, I’m being watched too. It don’t usually take the police long to find me and move me on. And all the watching and waiting and hassle don’t bring me any closer to Sarah. They just bring me more numbers.
Everyone has a number. Everyone has a death.
Gasping, shrieking, shocks and pain; pain in my legs and arms; pain gripping my head; pain through my whole body. Metal slicing through me; a weight on my chest that’s so heavy I can’t fight it; blood flooding out of me, unstoppable; lungs that won’t work, battling for breath that won’t come. I feel all the deaths. They flash through me, leaving traces behind. Each one batters me. Each one shocks and weakens me.
I write them down, trying to let every single death or group of deaths disappear out of my mind and into my book. That used to work, but it don’t any more, and I can’t take more than a couple of hours at a time. After that, my head’s too full. I need to get away, away from other people, their stories, their ends.
‘Bloody hell, Adam, you look rough. Where’ve you been?’
As soon as I walk through the door Nan starts pecking away at me.
‘Where’ve you been? Where do you go? Who’ve you been with?’
I wish I had somewhere else to go, but this is it now. Home. Or what passes for it. A little box with two people in it who shouldn’t be together. I brush past her, head up the stairs to my room and close the door. It’s what I want, what I need – a closed door, no more faces, no more eyes, no more deaths.
I lie on my bed or I sit on the floor, but my mind’s buzzing and I’m drumming a rhythm on the bed-frame with my fingertips or my leg’s twitching, twitching, twitching. I can’t just sit here and wait. I need to do something.
I get my book out and flick through the pages. Places and numbers and deaths. I go over and over them. And twenty-sevens everywhere. What’s going to happen here? What’s going to happen to London that’s going to kill so many people? Some places the twenty-sevens are one in every four, others one in three. How many people are there in London? Nine million? Can three million people only have ten weeks to live? Am I one of them?