“Jools,” she croaked. “Jools, is that you?”
There was a pause. “No, Val, it’s me. Marcus. I was on my way into the studio and I heard what happened, it’s all over the morning news. I take it they haven’t found Jools yet.”
She sagged back against the pillows. “No. No, they haven’t. The police think she’s run away.” She raised her fist to her mouth to stop herself from giving in to hysteria. “It’s my fault, all of it.”
“Of course it’s not.”
“I was horrible when Oliver brought her home, I was angry and overworked and I lashed out at the both of them. If she’s run away it’s down to me. And I’ll never forgive myself.” She began, then, to cry.
“Valery,” Marcus reassured her, his words gentle, “you can’t blame yourself. You know what kids are like at this age – they’re difficult and impossible on the best of days. They want their independence but it scares them at the same time. You’re a good mum, you always have been. It isn’t easy being a single parent – as I know only too well.”
She sniffled and dragged in a breath. “Thanks. I just have to wait, and trust that they’ll bring Jools home again, safe and sound. I have to believe that. How’s Poppy?” she asked as she reached for a tissue.
“Upset over a break-up with her boyfriend. That’s why I stayed with her over the weekend, Val. She needed me.”
Valery sighed. “I know. Sorry I hung up on you.” She threw the covers aside and got up. “I’ve been a beast to everyone lately. It’s just so frustrating to sit and wait, wondering and worrying what’s happening with Jools, and not being able to do a damned thing about it.”
“I’ve been through it with Poppy, Val. I know just what you’re going through. I promise you, you’ll have your daughter back home before you know it. Now put on the kettle,” Marcus ordered, “and make yourself a cup of chamomile tea. No coffee, it’ll only make you jittery. And give her room a good clean. It’s in desperate need.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “You’re right. Her bedroom’s a tip.” The thought of straightening her daughter’s bed, dusting her bookshelves and tidying away the clothes and shoes strewn on the floor calmed her.
“I love you, Marcus,” Valery added softly. “I feel a tiny bit better. Thank you.”
“She’ll be home again,” he promised. “Soon.”
“Look, you needn’t stick around, Jools,” Adesh said in a low voice as he leaned across the Formica surface of the mini-mart table. “You can go home. They want me, after all, not you.”
“No, I’m fucking well not leaving you to deal with this alone!” she hissed. “Besides, if I go back to London and they see me again, they’ll want to know where you are.” She frowned. “Why are they after you, Desh? What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything.” He scowled. “I’m not selling drugs or anything like that, if that’s what you think.”
“Then why? John’s right. Gangs don’t just grab someone off the street for no reason.”
For a few minutes Desh was silent, scowling down at his trainers. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said finally.
“Try me,” Jools snapped. “Look, I’ve just been grabbed off the street, tied up and thrown into a van, and dragged halfway across England. I think you owe me a bloody explanation.”
Desh sighed. “It’s because of my dad. He owns the restaurant, right? And it does a decent business. So the local gang expects him to pay £8,000 a year… every year.”
“But…that’s crazy!” She drew herself up indignantly. “It’s extortion. Why on earth should your father have to pay them anything?”
“Because that’s the way it works. I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
“How can I understand if you don’t tell me?” she retorted.
“It’s protection money, Jools. If my dad pays up, the Bombers won’t bother him – or the rest of us. But the problem is…we haven’t got the money. My father took out a loan to buy the place, and most of what we make in profit goes right back into paying off the loan.”
“So…what happens if you can’t pay?”
He shrugged. “They’ll beat me up, or set fire to our car, or grab one of us and hold us hostage until Dad coughs up the money. That’s where I come in.”
“But that’s horrible,” Jools exclaimed,. “Why doesn’t your father just go to the police?”
“He can’t, Jools. He’s here illegally. And they know it. The police would have him deported, and then what would we do?”
She had no answer. They finished their egg and chip sandwiches and coffee and made their way back outside. “I should call Mum.”
“No, don’t.” Adesh shook his head firmly. “It’s better if she doesn’t know where we are, in case…”
“In case what?” she demanded, appalled. “You don’t think they’d do anything to hurt Mum, do you?”
“No.” He didn’t sound very convincing. “It’s just better if she doesn’t know where we are right now, that’s all.”
“But I can’t let her worry about me, either! God, she’ll be frantic. She’s probably called the police. And my dad—”
Suddenly Adesh grabbed her arm and pulled her around the corner of the building. “Shit! Our Turkish friends just pulled in.” Sure enough, when Jools peered around the corner, she saw the white van turning from the motorway onto the petrol station’s forecourt.
“Oh, fuck.” She was hyperventilating. “They’ll go in and ask if anyone’s seen us, and they’ll describe us, and the lady at the counter will say yes, we were just here, and that lot won’t give up until they find us again—”
“Shut up, Jools. I need to think.” Desh turned away to scan the Tarmac; his glance came to rest on a motorcycle parked on the gravel nearby.
She was breathless with terror. “What’ll we do, Desh, oh fuck, what’ll we do—”
But he was already crouching down next to the yellow Ducati, groping in the darkness, reaching out to find the ignition wires. “Good thing it’s an older model, or I couldn’t do this.” After a moment he touched the two wires together and the engine started with a low growl. Adesh swung his leg over the seat. “Get on!” he urged. “Hurry up.”
Crikey, he didn’t have to tell her twice. She swung herself on the bike behind him, clumsy with terror, and wrapped her arms tightly round his waist.
“Do you know how to drive this thing?” Jools called out over the roar of the engine.
“No,” he called back grimly, “but I reckon I’m about to learn.”
With a spurt of gravel and a rush of adrenaline, they were off, leaving the motorway station behind as they roared off into the darkness and headed into the unfamiliar Yorkshire countryside.
“You look like proper shit, Ollie.”
Oliver didn’t look up. He continued to stare blankly at the news ticker crawling across the bottom of the television screen.
Jack eyed his brother, whose unshaven jaw and shell-shocked expression plainly said he hadn’t slept in a couple of days. “Get some sleep, at least.”
Oliver