

#  BY ANDREW D. KEIGHLEY

PROLOGUE

The writer sits at his desk gazing out of the large sheer-curtained window in front of him. It is June and as the light gradually fades from the street outside, the North London dusk descends on Hampton Row. Streetlights come on and the sounds of evening on a quiet Hackney residential street are heard; but still he sits on, gazing at the laptop computer in front of him, and the half-written page of text, which stares back at him, implacably.

*

The words of an Elvis Costello song come into his head.

What can we do with all this useless beauty? (A1)

It _is_ beautiful. His neck hurts, his back is sore, he needs a drink of water and some food and his haemorrhoids are playing up, and the novel mocks him again, but...evening is so haunting, its sadness arising like mist from the past.

A small scratching noise on the roof above directs his attention to the ceiling; he can just make out the pattern of the cornice round the edge, reflecting the orange light of the street lamp outside. Through the wall, up and onto the slate roof, between the two dormer windows on the top floor of the house, sits a young squirrel, alternately scratching itself and trying to prise a seed out of the guttering. The squirrel looks down briefly as a car passes on the street below, then up at the sky, where one bright star hangs low above the rooftops. A gust of wind ruffles his fur and he returns to extracting the seed from the gutter.

Back on the first floor, Jude hears the family next door starting their evening routine. A child is crying and someone or something is setting up a steady thumping on the common wall which divides the two three storey, semi-detached houses. The vibration rouses Jude and he stands up rapidly, then leans on the desk a moment, as his head spins from the sudden movement. Lights are coming on in the block of flats opposite. The room is getting a little chilly in the early summer evening and he will switch on the convection heater later. He turns slowly and walks out of the room.

Outside is a small landing with a large chest standing against the wall to his left. In front of him a wooden staircase rises to another small landing where a dog-leg turn takes the stairs up to the top storey. On the half landing, is a late Victorian stained-glass window showing St George astride his horse, in full armour, holding his lance. In the dim city glow from outside he can just make out the shape of the design. Turning to the left he glances inside the room next to his own. It is the same size, with a double bed, some basic furniture, and heavy curtains on the window. These are drawn back and white sheer curtains protect the room from curious eyes on the street. He flicks on the light briefly, glances at the dusty carpet and the huge dark wardrobe on the adjacent wall, then extinguishes the light and withdraws.
Ignoring the bathroom on the first floor he climbs the staircase to the top storey, where he is presented with a landing and the two doors of the rooms on this floor. He turns the handle of the door on the left and flicks on the light switch. Built into the roof space of the redbrick Victorian house, the room's ceiling slopes up on either side of the dormer window, which looks down onto the street below. A small double bed lies against the wall on the left, which is covered in a heavy flock wall paper whose design stands out off the wall in relief, so thick is it. A small wooden desk, wardrobe and chest of drawers occupy wall space around the room, and the heavy curtains on the window are again drawn back, leaving the window to the feeble protection of the same white sheer curtains. There is a slight musty smell, but the original fireplace is still there, giving the room a homely look and feel, even though the night chill is setting in.

He raises bushy eyebrows, then turns off the light, before withdrawing back to the top landing. The other room, adjacent, is very similar, but with inferior furnishings. He glances quickly into the small bathroom that is slotted into the space between the stairwell and the outside wall of the house. Long and narrow, it has a heavy old-fashioned sink, an even heavier bath on lion's claw feet, and at the far end, a toilet with a cracked wooden seat. He wonders how many bums have sat on that wood since the house was built in the 1880's? Originally servants' bums, almost certainly, but later....who? How many? He shakes his head with a wry grin and turns away, dousing the feeble light .

Descending the four short flights of stairs to the ground floor, he turns right, passing the kitchen on the right, then left into the entrance hall, almost entirely in darkness now. Opening a door on the left, he slips into the spacious front ground floor room, which sports the large bay window visible from the street. Then leaving the light off, he allows the glow from outside to reveal the two large armchairs either side of the fireplace, the bookshelves, table in the window, large double bed to the right of the door and enormous dark wardrobe to the left. It is cold and shadowy, yet mysterious in the light shining through the window, waiting for its next occupant. Jude goes out into the hallway again and closes the door.

Following the passage to the kitchen at the back of the house, he passes straight through this and down the four steps into the conservatory, built onto the back of the house. Opening the door at the rear of this, he steps out into the garden and the suburban night.

Looking up, the house, with its twin next door, seems to tower above him. Against the silhouette of the old chimneys, which still rise from the rooftops, he can see a clear sky, where a few stars manage to break through the city's electric radiance. A sudden gust of wind rustles the leaves of the beech tree which stands opposite the conservatory. He turns slowly and looks up, seeing more of the sky, framing the blackness of the tree, with nearby rooftops all around. He walks slowly along the concrete path, which dissects the long, thin garden, to where some enlightened previous owner has constructed a sort of leafy bower in the far right hand corner of the garden. He sits down on a low bench, under a wooden lattice archway, backed by a miniature weeping willow tree and gazes back at his property.

*

The solicitor had been young and efficient, congratulating Jude effusively, as if he had won the national lottery, by inheriting the house from his deceased Uncle Geoffrey.
He had sat back in his sumptuous soft leather office chair and placed the ends of his fingers together, looking at the older man over the top of them, as if he were some elderly, benevolent grandfather.

"Oh yes, Mr Morrow, it's a _fine_ property in its way. A little run down, of course, but it's quite a piece of history, you know. Built in..." he consulted the file in front of him, "1880 by a certain Matthew Jenkinson, who apparently had a string of butcher shops which did a roaring trade all around this part of London. He built the entire building and rented out the other half, naturally. Stayed in the family until," he consulted again, "1923, when it was sold to....well, anyway...it's had several owners since then. Your uncle acquired it as part of a property deal he made in 1971, and he rented it out, as you might know; first as a complete property, then in 1982 he decided to divide it up into separate rooms for rent, put in an extra bathroom on the first floor and refurbished the kitchen and that's how it's been ever since. Lots of different tenants, naturally." He waved his hands dismissively. "These sorts of people tend to come and go... but with 8 rentable rooms, and now _three_ bathrooms," he moved his head sharply forward to emphasise the number, "it's generated a reasonable rental income."

He stopped and took a breath, looking at Jude, who said nothing. "Of course you have some options in terms of your own disposal of the property. You may wish to sell, although," he raised a cautionary finger, " my advice there would be repair and refurbish first. In the current state of repair you would _not_ get a very attractive price for it. Of course that would take capital. I'm not sure how you're placed there, Mr Morrow?"

Jude smiled bravely across the desk at the young pup. "I'm not a wealthy man, Mr Maughan. In Australia I've been a... a writer and a relief school teacher for many years. I've made ends meet, but well, you know how it is..." He gazed at the steel-rimmed glasses and dark striped suit of the solicitor. "Well, perhaps you don't, but anyway..."

"I see." Maughan smiled back, glancing at the digital clock on his desk. "And will you be returning to Australia? Would you like my colleagues here to arrange for the sale of the property? We'd be happy to do that for you, if you wish."

"No, thank you. I've decided to stay on in London. I have no particular....well, anyway I've decided to stay on here for a while."

"And will you be selling the property?"

"Er, no. I'll be keeping it going, renting the rooms out, as my uncle did."

"I see," Maughan said mysteriously, as if the plot were definitely thickening. "So, will you be requiring a residence for yourself in London? We have many contacts in the real estate business, if we can be of any assistance there."

"Oh no, thank you. I'm going to live in the house myself."

The solicitor had been writing something in his notes, but looked up sharply at this. "Did you say you were going to live in the house yourself?"

Jude nodded.

"In one of the rooms?" He nodded again.
"Are you aware Mr Morrow...? I'm trying to put this delicately. While the property is in a currently quite, um, _desirable_ part of the city, given the fact that you are offering single rooms, with shared bathrooms, you will not be able to charge what we might call, 'top end market rates', which means the clientele you are likely to attract are going to be..." he was searching for appropriate words.

"A bit rough? A bit multi-cultural, as we say back home? Is that what you're worried about?"

"I'm not _worried_ , Mr Morrow, I'm simply pointing out that you will attract a," he made a gesture with one hand, "...variety of _different_ tenants, and you may prefer to let a real estate company handle the business side of things, rather than live there yourself, as the landlord."

"No. I've thought about it. I don't really have any capital or income of my own, so it suits me to stay there as well. I'm a writer, and a single man. I think I'd rather like to live with other people, in a big house like that." He smiled. "It will be interesting."

Maughan was gazing at him with a slight frown on his face. "Yes; of course. As you wish. It's entirely _your_ decision and, I wish you luck!" He smiled broadly. "Now, shall we go through to the other room and sign some documents?"

*

From where he sat on his bench at the far end of the garden, he could see the tall brick wall beside him; about 25m long, it stretched down to where the other end met the beech tree and the glassed-in conservatory. He reached out a hand in the dark and ran his fingers along the bricks, some of them chipped and crumbling at the edges, the cement between them rather old and flakey. Some ten metres away was an identical wall, parallel to the first, the two joined at right angles by the end wall. Between them was lawn, with the concrete path down the middle. Someone, at some time, had attempted to make some borders for flowers, and a dug up patch down at the house end might have been a vegetable patch once, but now the grass was reclaiming it. The grass needed mowing, he noticed.

There was a loud beeping noise and he fumbled to get the mobile phone in his pocket out in time.

"Yes, Jude Morrow here."

The voice at the other end was male, with a deep resonance and an upper class London accent. "Yes, good evening. I'm sorry to call so late, but I'm ringing about the advertisement you have on the 'London Rooms for Rent' website."

"Yes, that's right."

"Now, you say there are seven rooms available?" "That's right."

"One large for £140 per week and the others for a hundred."
"That's correct." "All bills included?" Jude sighed. "Yes."

"What is different about the more expensive one?"

"It's bigger, nicer. It has a large bay window on the ground floor."

"Really? What's the view like? And bathrooms? A shared kitchen I assume?"

Jude had just about had enough. "Let me make a suggestion. Come along and see the place tomorrow morning, then you can decide for yourself. The address is on the ad. I'll be here all day. How's that?"

"I say, are you an _Australian_?" "Yes. What's your name please?

"Austin. Reginald Austin. Yes, Rightio. I'll come round in the morning. Cherio!"

Jude put the phone back in his pocket, smiling secretly. His caste of characters was beginning to assemble. He stood up and admired the miniature weeping willow tree behind the lattice archway. Delicate, nebulous branches with tiny leaves on them were waving gently in the night breeze. He thought about shrubs and flowers he might plant in the garden, to turn it into a riot of colour in the spring and summer. He had a vision of flower beds and a fountain and more trees – a delightful garden paradise in the heart of Hackney. Then he stepped back and returned thoughtfully to the empty house.

He received two more calls that evening which he answered briefly and advised the callers to come around the next morning, which was Saturday. Later he lay in bed reading a novel on his tablet. After a while he laid it down on top of the covers and listened to the noises of the night. He tried to identify them one by one. The traffic was easy, music, noise from nearby televisions, the odd voice raised in anger, or ecstasy; but the house itself seemed to be slumbering peacefully. He lay down and as he drifted to sleep he reflected that this might be the last night he would spend alone in the house, if things worked out tomorrow.

# SATURDAY MORNING

Always an early riser, six am found Jude standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom on the first floor in his shorts, looking critically at his reflection. The grey, almost white hair was somewhat long, hanging down well over his ears and reaching his neck. He raised a hand and rubbed it ruefully over the very large bald patch, which extended from the forehead to just past the crown and half way to his ears at the sides. It was scattered with longish single hairs, which stood up in a ridiculous fashion, he realised. The face carried a line down each side of the cheeks, while the nose was rather large and somewhat bulbous at the end. Dark brown eyes were cradled by 2 large puffy pouches, greyish in the early morning light, a legacy of years of insomnia, while the fairly full lips were surrounded by two days' whitish stubble. The shoulders were somewhat slumped and a chest sporting just a very few white hairs descended to a medium-sized potbelly above his shorts.

He did his morning exercise, puffing out his chest, dropping the shoulders hard, tummy in and head raised, giving himself a fierce, defiant look in the mirror. Yes, definitely much better, but difficult to hold _._ A physiotherapist had once told him that a lot of his sore neck condition was due to poor posture. He was meant to do yoga each morning, but the chest and dropped shoulders routine was what passed for his exercises.

Having brushed his teeth, followed by a wet shave with a razor, he reached a momentous decision. A new life needed a new look. He padded back into the room, found his slippers, because the floors were bloody cold, even in June, and rummaged in the bottom of the wardrobe until he found a scrunched up plastic bag. Returning with it to the bathroom, he removed a gadget from the bag and fiddled for a moment, choosing an attachment and fitting it on; then plugging it into a socket beside the mirror, he switched on, to the accompaniment of a loud buzzing noise. Grimacing defiantly at himself, he raised the electric hair-cutter and moved it slowly backwards through the hair over his right ear. This left a shaved gap through the hair about an inch and a half wide. Grunting with satisfaction, he continued the process all round his head, taking great care not to miss any bits, spending a full fifteen minutes ensuring that the number one cut was even all round.

When he'd finished, his head felt wonderful; the cool morning air penetrated right to his scalp, which was now covered with a whitish stubble 3 mm long, while the bald patch in the middle was virtually clear and smooth and shiny. He grinned evilly at himself. Yes, definitely on the scary side! Children would run away from him now, but it wasn't children he was concerned with; it was the rough, tough, gritty stuff of adult humanity that he was dealing with, and a somewhat intimidating appearance could only be an advantage, when confronting that abrasive, beguiling, perilous commodity.

*

The doorbell rang at 9 o'clock precisely and when opened it revealed a middle-aged man in a well-worn black suit, standing on the step holding a rolled up umbrella. He had a ridiculous amount of white hair, for a man of his age, cut short but styled well, with steel rimmed glasses on a smooth, shiny, rather long face.

Jude raised his eyebrows. "Reginald Austin?"

"Indeed. We spoke on the phone last night." He tapped his umbrella on the step and stretched his lips in a thin smile.

"Please come in. Let me show you around the place."

They started in the big downstairs room with the bay window, where Austin examined everything minutely. He carefully inspected the view from the window, which consisted mainly of the bottom end of the two bushy cypress trees which grew in the tiny front garden; although to the right side of these one could see up the street, almost to the railway bridge. The newcomer admired the large padded armchairs either side of the fireplace, itself containing a large electric fire with simulated burning logs at the front of it, which Jude had remembered to turn on earlier, making the room warm and cosy. He also admired the two stained wood bookshelves, one to the left of the window, the other on the opposite wall, near the door. The double bed only received a cursory glance.

"Yes; somewhat dark. The view, shall we say, leaves a little to be desired?" He looked at his host over the top of the steel rimmed glasses.

Jude merely smiled inanely and said, "Would you like to see the rest of the house?" "Hmm. Yes, all right. Lead on!"

He poked his head around the door of the room at the back, then cast a quick glance around the large, well-appointed kitchen, with its rectangular, solid wooden table and chairs in the middle, surrounded by sinks, stoves and appliances round the outside.

"Um...bathroom on this floor?" he asked hopefully.

"No, there's one in the basement, another on the first floor and another on the top floor, but... not here, no. Let me show you."

Austin sighed and followed Jude down the wooden staircase to the basement bathroom, then up to the first floor, his other option. They even went up to the top floor, where he looked with interest into the two rooms there.

Back down in the kitchen and slightly out of breath, the visitor sat down in a chair and accepted the offer of tea from Jude. Looking around him vaguely he said, "So, nobody else here then? Do you live here yourself?"

"I do; room on the first floor."

"Really? Why didn't you take the big one."
His back turned, making the tea, Jude nearly said he hadn't liked the view, then decided against it. "Oh, I like to be up off the ground. Maybe it's an Aussie thing. A lot of our houses are elevated." He carried a mug over to the other man. "Floods and all that."

Austin looked up at him. "Yes, of course." He stirred the tea thoughtfully. "So, you're the owner? Manager?"

"Owner." He came and sat down. "Just recently arrived; you can tell where from," he added with a grin. "Inherited the place. Decided to live here myself."

"I see. Bit of a....windfall for you."

Jude leaned back and looked at the wall opposite. "Yes, I suppose it is. Mind you, the building needs some, well, you know, just routine maintenance; nothing serious, but a building this old...naturally, in this climate..."

"Yes. I see what you mean." "What do _you_ do for a crust?"

"Sorry, er...oh, I see what you mean. I'm a teacher. English and History, at the Technical College down in Shoreditch. Spotty 14 and 15 year olds being trained to work in 'Silicon Roundabout'," he said the words with disdain, "as it's so poetically called round here. But they have to do some 'real' subjects as well, so I get the pleasure of trying to teach them how to read and write, and correct their horrible essays on 'What I want to achieve in the next 5 years' and 'Why did Cromwell's Commonwealth fail?"

He looked hard at Jude. "I wasn't always a teacher, you know. Used to have a different life altogether. Might tell you about that someday."

Silence fell between them. Then the Australian cleared his throat, had a sip of tea and asked whether his visitor wanted the room.

"Oh, ah, yes. Well, I do _like_ it. I mean, shame about the view, and the bathrooms. Still, we can't have everything in life, can we! I think I....can I see the garden? Is it through here?" He rose and was just descending the four steps into the conservatory when the doorbell rang.

"I'll have to get that. Please..." Jude gestured towards the garden. "Help yourself," and he went to answer the door.

On the step outside stood a young, dark-skinned woman dressed in black pants and a blue anorak; over her head was a light grey hijab. Her face, however, was exposed and Jude could see how pretty her delicate features were. On her hip she carried a child of indeterminate gender, of perhaps two or three, well wrapped up, with the hood of its anorak pulled up over its head. The woman wore a tired and worried expression, as if she didn't expect anything good to come out of the meeting.

She spoke English haltingly, with a heavy South Asian accent. "Good morning sir, I am here about rooms you advertise on internet." The child seemed rather scared of Jude, and turned and buried its face on its mother's shoulder.

He smiled at them. "Yes, of course. Please come in." He stood aside and after a moment's hesitation the visitors entered the hallway.
He indicated the door to the front room. "I _think_ this one's already taken. I've got someone here for it right now, and I _think_ he's going to take it. But there are six others I can show you."

She pointed to the door in question. "This one, hundred forty?" "Yes, that's right. The others are all a hundred a week."

She gave a nervous little smile, obviously relieved.

"Anyway, here we go." He led the way to the back room, next to the kitchen. "This is one."

She looked in shyly, noting the rather old furniture and the low double bed, which seemed to have lost its legs at some point in the past.

She gave her little smile again and bobbed her head in thanks, looking at him expectantly. "OK, so there are two more in the basement; this way," and they clumped down the stairs.

He found the light switch for the laundry and storage area, directly below the kitchen. She looked round admiringly at the two large washing machines and the two concrete sinks around the walls. Then he showed her the small room at the back, which she regarded without comment, followed by the small bathroom next to it, and finally the large room at the front, which also had a bay window, directly in line with the bay window above it.

She walked inside, put the child down, saying something quietly to it in her own language, then proceeded to make a close examination of the furniture and fittings. She opened the large wardrobe, looked inside the drawers of the chest of drawers, sat down on the bed and felt the mattress, looked at the electric fire which stood in front of the sealed off fireplace, then finally she went and stood in the bay of the window, looking out. The view consisted of a narrow, dusty, enclosed area populated only by a couple of very tired looking pot plants. This was reached by a flight of spiral stone steps, which wound down from the street level above. Someone had placed the plants outside, perhaps to get some air and sunshine; but the cure had not worked, as now the plants appeared to be almost dead.

She looked intensely into his face. "This room one hundred?" "Yes."

She nodded, then struggled for the right words. "Er....other money?" "Ah yes. Two weeks rent as bond, and two weeks rent in advance."

Her face fell then seemed to shut down, showing no emotion at all. She bent down and picked up the child and turned for the door. "Sorry sir, have only two hundred. Cannot."

She was in the passageway, making for the stairs when Jude caught her. "Hey, listen. Don't just go like that. Why don't you....Why don't _we_ go up to the kitchen and have a chat about it? Maybe we can sort something out?"

She turned and looked at him sharply, silent for a moment. "I tell you, have only two hundred; more later."

"Alright, well, come upstairs anyway. Do you drink tea? Will you have a cup? I....I might have some juice for the little one."
She raised her eyebrows slightly and bobbed her head again, then followed him upstairs to the kitchen.

Austin was just coming in from the garden.

"Austin, this is...." He turned to the woman. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name?" She looked down and mumbled something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

She looked up at him in desperation. "My name is Rupa."

"Ah, Rupa, this is Austin; well, Reginald, actually. He might be going to take the front room."

"Yes, how d'you do?" To Rupa. "I've been thinking it over. D'you know, I think I _will_." He smiled at them. "So it's two weeks rent as bond, and two weeks in advance? Is that right?" Jude nodded. "Ok, so...." He took out his wallet and counted some notes. "There we are, five sixty," and he handed them to Jude. "So that's settled then." He waved a hand. "You can give me a receipt tonight. Have to rush now and do a few things. I'll come back later with some of my stuff." He gave another quick smile and bustled out, heading for the front door, which they heard close behind him. A moment later a car door slammed, an engine revved and he was gone.

Jude turned to Rupa, who was standing, still holding the child, embarrassed during this exchange. "Come, sit down, please. Take a seat." He pulled one out for her. She sat down gratefully, obviously tired from carrying the child. "Now, I've got tea, or coffee, but only instant, sorry about that. Which would you prefer?"

She had placed the child on her knee. "Tea, please. Very kind."

Jude moved around the kitchen, organising drinks. "What about your, um, child? I have some apple juice?"

She said something to the little one, who whispered back to her; then she gave her little nervous smile. "Lunah say yes, apple juice good."

"Aha, that's the way! Lunah, pretty name. Is it a...?" Rupa smiled. "Girl, yes. She is girl."

When the drinks were made, he sat down at the head of the table, with Rupa and Lunah at the side, on his left. While she helped the child to a drink of the juice, he said, as gently as he could, "So...money's a bit of a problem, is it?"

Rupa put down the glass of juice and made sure that Lunah was settled on her knee, then she looked up at Jude. "Sir, you...you are kind man. I try to explain."

He nodded and smiled encouragement at her.

"Two month ago my husband he..." she looked down, then up again, "he divorce me." She paused a moment. "Yes...Talaq, Talaq, Talaq...like this."

"That's how he divorced you – just saying that word three times?"
"Yes! Is law...Muslim law." "I see."

"He bad man. His family very... nasty to me. Treat like....like servant." She stroked Lunah's hair for a moment, remembering. "Rich family...him. My family...poor, back in Sylhet, Taherpur. Make me work, work, work!" She was angry and bitter, almost shouting the last words.

Jude was cradling his coffee cup between two hands. "Well, sounds like you were better off out of there, away from them!"

She looked up at him hopelessly. "But go where?" "Hmm....do _you_ have any family over here?"

"Have sister in Birmingham, but she scared of family. _His_ family very..." She clenched two fists and raised them above the table.

"Right. I see what you mean."

"She tell me....go back to Taherpur, to family; but I say no, nothing for me there. Would be..." She cannot find the words. "Very bad."

"Ok, so you've been staying with your sister in Birmingham?" "Yes, but she have no room. Three children, small...flat. No good." "Right, so you came down here."

"Yes, have friend here. Help me." She reached into a pocket of her anorak and took out a grubby envelope. "She work for Social Security. Help me get money. Look." She held out the envelope to him.

He took it and read the document. Sure enough, as a British Citizen with the Right of Abode in the UK she was entitled, as an active job seeker, to £67.50 and £20.30 for Lunah, a total of

£87.80 per week.

She reached out and touched the sleeve of his cardigan. "But can work too. Can earn money also. Can earn more money!" She laid an exquisite hand on his arm. "Later will get job. More money!"

He gave her back the letter, which she replaced in her pocket. Feeling in the other one, she produced a bright red purse, from which she extracted some bank notes. "Here....two hundred pounds. Get money soon." She offered them to him, her dark eyes seeking his out frantically.

Jude didn't move; frozen with indecision, caught between competing emotions. Then he forced himself to look at the woman.

"But if you give me this, what will you live on? Is this all the money you have?"

She shrugged. "Have little more. Have some food at friend house. Is enough." Suddenly, she looked round at the kitchen and had an idea. Her face brightened and her dark eyes sparkled. "Can cook! Am _good_ cook. Can cook for _you_. Can cook for _all_!" She looked at Lunah, then at him, her face glowing. "You like curry?"
He laughed aloud, mainly at the sudden change in her mood. "Yes, I love curry. But..."

She was on a roll and interrupted him. "I clean too! This big house. I clean all time at home. I clean big house for you!"

"Hey, calm down, will you....!" The doorbell rang. "Oh, I need to get that." He rose and her eyes followed him to the door. He turned back to her. "Ok, Rupa, you can stay. We'll...work out the details later. Don't worry. It'll be fine." And he fled to answer the door.

A tall, skinny black youth in faded jeans, a checked shirt and a beanie stood on the step with his hands in his front pockets. "Mornin' Guvnor. I'm 'ere 'bout a room. Saw your ad online." He was bending a little at the waist and doing little hops from one foot to the other. "You got any left, or wot?"

"Um, yes I do. Come in." The youth obliged. "It's, er, turning into a busy morning here," he said with a chuckle.

"You 'ad a lot of interest then, 'ave ya?"

"Yeah. Two have gone already, but there's....five more. Let me show you." "Fanks guv'. You an _Australian_ , are ya?"

"Haha. How did you guess? Do I have a big stamp on my forehead: 'Australian!'?" "Um." He had a look. "Nope. I can tell from yer accent."

"Ah, is _that_ what it is? Maybe I should disguise it?"

"Ha! You couldn't disguise _vat_ if ya tried. Sticks out a mile! Oh 'allo!"

Rupa had sat Lunah up on the edge of the table and was playing a game, holding her hands. The little girl was laughing and showing her white teeth. They both turned to look at the two men.

"Yes, this is, Rupa and...Lunah. They've just moved in, down in the basement. Rupa, this is....?" He turned to the youth.

"Arnold. Call me Arnie. Prescott. Pleased ta meetcha."

She bobbed her head in greeting and turned shyly back to the child.

Jude directed him to the room adjacent to the kitchen and opened the door. "Anyway, _this_ room is free."

"Free? Vat mean I don't 'ave to pay for it?" He laughed. "I fink you mean 'vis room is _available_ '". Jude regarded him stoically. "Sorry Guv'." Arnie had a quick look at the room then turned back to him. "Ok. Any more?"

"Sure. Come down to the basement."

Again he put on the light in the laundry and storage area and indicated the front room. " _That_ one's just been taken, by Rupa, and Lunah. _This_ one is ... available."

"Hmm. Ok."
"There's a bathroom here next door, as you can see. No bathroom on the ground floor." "Yeah. I see. You got more up top?"

"Sure. There're three more. Follow me."

On the first floor landing Jude indicated the left hand room. " _That_ one's mine." "Oh! You live 'ere yerself ven?"

"I do. _This_ one is empty; and there's two more on the top floor."

Arnie peered inside with interest, then walked all around the room, looking inside drawers, the wardrobe, under the bed.

"Um...where are you staying now?"

The visitor was checking out the view from the window, looking up the street, to the right. "Wiv' me Mum. But she's got a new boyfriend, and me an' him, _you_ know. Anyway, I wanna move out of 'ome. Want me own place, know wot I mean?" He turned to look at his host.

"Yes, I do. Sure. And, are you working?"

"Oh yeah! Course I'm _working_!" Arnie seemed to think the suggestion that people didn't work was ludicrous. "I'm a mechanic; garage up the Stoke Newington Road." He waved his arm to the left. "Well, 'prentice, actually." He looked at Jude again in that direct sort of way he had. "But I do uver jobs, work in pubs, drive minicabs, lotsa fings."

"Ok, as long as you can pay the rent."

"Guvnor!" He placed his hand over his heart. "On my honour as an Englishman! You will never 'ave any trouble wiv my rent." He grinned broadly. "No, seriously. I'm a worker, and I pay me bills. I'm not one of vose fuckin', sorry Guv', not one of vose dole cheats vat lives off the state and does nuffin' all day." A train rushed by over the bridge at the end of the street. "By the way, I like vis room. Can I take it?"

"Yes, you can. Two weeks rent for bond and two weeks up front. So £400 in cash. Is that alright?"

Arnie reached round to his back pocket and took out a smart looking leather wallet, counted out a handful of notes and handed them over. "Came prepared, see. That's me. No muckin' around. Told ya I could pay."

"Thanks. I'm going to get a receipt book later and, an accounts book. I'll give you a receipt later on today. That alright?"

"No worries, mate! Haha, 'ow was vat? Pickin' up the lingo off ya." Jude grinned and left him to enjoy his new home.

Back in the kitchen, Rupa was pacing up and down, admiring the two gas stoves, while Lunah was playing with a tiny toy, sitting on the edge of the table. She came up to him and determinedly shoved two hundred pounds into his hand.

"I give you more later. Promise. Can take big room downstairs?"
"Yes, course you can. But, you might need some of that. Why not give it to me later?"

She shook her head firmly. "No. Must pay for room. Now, go back to friend, get things. Come back soon."

"Ok. Listen, how did you get here?" "Bus."

"Oh, that's a fair walk to the bus stop. How many buses did you have to catch?" "Mm. Three."

"Three buses, and with Lunah too. That's crazy. Let me give you a lift. I've got a car here."

She looked at him softly. "You very kind man. Why so kind?" Then she smiled quickly, showing her white teeth and her mischievous eyes. "Thank you. Would be, much appreciated." She articulated the words slowly.

Jude laughed. "Good. Let's go then. I'll just go and get my keys. Oh, wait a minute. Arnie's still upstairs. I'll have to give him a key for the door." He went to his room and carefully took four keys out of the locked box where he kept all the keys he had had cut for the house.

He was just about to knock on Arnie's door when it opened and the boy was there, all wide eyed and anxious to speak to him. "Ah, _ver_ you are. 'Ave ya got a door key for me?"

Jude produced two keys and held them out to him. "This is for your room and this one is for the front door. Don't go giving them to any strangers, will you!"

"Nah, course not, Guv'. You can rely on me! Fanks. I'm going to go back to Mum's place now and organise to get me stuff over 'ere. I'll be back a bit later."

"No worries. I'm going out myself just now, too. Hmm. Austin hasn't got his keys yet. I'll have to give him a call."

They descended the stairs to the kitchen together, where Jude made a quick call to Austin, who said he wouldn't be back till the evening. As long as there was going to be someone in then, it would be fine.

He looked up at Rupa, who was holding Lunah in her arms expectantly. "OK. These are your two keys. This one for the room and this is for the front door. Alright?" She nodded seriously and took charge of the keys. "Let's go. The car's round the side in the driveway."

As he got into his battered old Peugeot 505, which sat in the driveway at the side of the house, he noticed Arnie unlocking a bike that was chained to the front fence. The boy straddled it effortlessly then rapidly disappeared up the street.

Jude edged the car out onto the road and pulled up in front of the house. He rolled down the window. Rupa was standing on the pavement, holding the child.

"Now, where are you going to sit? I don't have a child seat, unfortunately. Do you think you'd better sit in the back with her?"

She made a face. "Can sit in front? Lunah with me?"
"Well, I'm not sure how safe that is."

"Wait. Show you." She opened the passenger door, got in and carefully arranged the seat belt around both her and Lunah, who looked at her mother, then at Jude and began to giggle. She was excited about traveling in the car.

"Hmm. I'm not sure if that's really legal. Anyway; let's give it a go. Now, where are we going?" "Enfield. 10, Gordonia Street. You know?"

He smiled. "Um, no. I'm pretty new here, but..." He produced his I-phone. "I do have this, which will tell me exactly where to go!"

She watched as he punched in the address, then laughed as a woman with a decidedly Dutch accent started to give him directions. He pulled out from the kerb and got onto Amhurst Rd, which took them all the way to the Saturday traffic on the A10. The woman told them to stay on that road for 8.7 miles, before turning off to the left.

She watched the passing houses, shop fronts, car sale yards, industrial premises and high rise blocks with interest, while Lunah played with her head scarf, and cast occasional shy glances at Jude.

"So, er, how old is Lunah?" "Two, last week."

"Right." He drove round a roundabout, listening carefully to the directions coming from his phone. "And her father, your...ex husband. Was he Ok with you, er, taking her with you?"

"He bad man. Not care for anyone, anything, only money. He never love me, never love Lunah. He not care."

"Hmm. Well, at least you didn't have to battle him for custody." She looked blank at him.

"I mean, you were able to take her with you, without a fight."

"Yes. _That_ was good. Allah Akbar." He looked sideways at her. She smiled. "Sorry. Mean 'God is Great'."

"Ah, yes, of course."

The A10 had become the Great Cambridge Rd and now they were turning off onto Church St. Within fifteen minutes they were pulling up outside a tiny pink terraced house on a long suburban road.

He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to her. "Do you want me to come in with you?" "No. Stay here. We go in. Come out soon."

"Ok."

She released them both from the seatbelt, opened the door, lifted Lunah out onto the pavement carefully then got out herself. A large woman in an ankle length robe and a grey hijab was coming out of the house and embraced Rupa briefly, then picked up the little girl, who squealed
with delight. The woman looked with interest at Jude, before the three of them disappeared into the house.

Five minutes later his mobile phone rang. "Hello. Jude Morrow."

"Good morning, I'm calling about the rooms at number 15 Hampton Row. Am I talking to the right person?" The voice was female, with a slight accent.

"Yes you are."

"Good. So, are there still rooms available?"

"Sure. There's four left. Would you like to come and see them?" "Yes, I would. When? Are you there now?"

"Ah, no. I'm out at the moment, but I'll be back soon. Say, an hour, hour and a half?" "Yes." She sounded unsure.

"How about I give you a call back when I get home? I'm just not sure exactly what time I'll be..."

"OK. You have my number?"

"I do. And what was your name?" "Anna."

"Alright Anna. I'll call you back soon. Sorry about that." "No problem." She rang off.

Rupa was coming out of the house with her friend. He got out of the car to meet them. The younger woman was holding the other by the arm and looking towards him. "Mussah, this is kind man who....helping me." She was embarrassed as she didn't know his name.

"Jude Morrow. Pleased to meet you." He could feel her soft dry flesh as she clasped his hand.

"And I'm pleased to meet _you_ , Mr Morrow. Rupa has been telling me all about how helpful you've been to her." She beamed at him. Her English was excellent.

"Well, I mean, it's nothing really. You...you've been helping her out yourself."

She was older than Rupa, nearer his own age. She looked at him steadily out of dark eyes. "When some people behave very badly towards other people, and there are religious rules which allow them to get away with such behaviour, well, we have to support the victims. I sometimes feel ashamed that such things can happen within my faith." Her face broke into a smile. "There are a few things inside which Rupa would like to take back to the house. I wonder if you could help us?"

"Sure."

In the narrow hallway Lunah came out of a room holding a bun in one hand. Jude could see cartoons playing on a small TV behind her . There were a few small boxes in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. He picked up two of these, and the women brought the rest. He placed
them on the back seat of the car, then turned to see that the women were embracing and talking in their own language. Mussah was speaking very earnestly, holding onto both of Rupa's hands. Then she picked up Lunah and kissed her on both cheeks, making her laugh. Finally the older woman turned to him.

"Thank you again, Mr Morrow. May God reward you for your kindness. Rupa knows she can always come to me in an emergency. But she's very independent you know, and wants to be able to support herself. Anyway..." She took his hand again. "I'm here to help out whenever she needs it."

"Thank you. I can see you're a good friend. Um, maybe you'd like to come and visit her sometime?"

She smiled at him. "Maybe I will?"

Rupa and Lunah were already getting into the car. He got in beside them, and they waved as he drove off.

Stuck in traffic on the Great Cambridge Rd, he asked Rupa if Mussah were married. She turned to him with her soft eyes. "Not married. Husband dead, mm..."

"Widow?"

"Yes, widow."

"And does she have kids?"

"One son. Live with her, with wife and two children. Small house. No room for me and Lunah." "But you _were_ staying there?"

She nodded. "Only few days. When came from Birmingham. Sleep in lounge room." "Ok, so they weren't there today?"

"No, visiting family. Only Mussah today." She turned back to Lunah, who was playing with the zip of her anorak. "Why ask?"

"Nothing. Just wondered."

Rupa smiled a little dreamily. "She like you. Can tell....Jude." She added, trying the word out for the first time.

He slipped the car into first gear, as the line of vehicles started to move again. There seemed to be a lot of football traffic. People in red beanies and scarves were waving out of windows and shouting. Arsenal, that was it! They must be playing at home today. Thousands of people were making for the Emirates Stadium.

"I had a call while you were in the house." "Somebody for room?"

"Yes. They're going to come round when we get back." She nodded. "How many left?"
"Well, there's eight altogether. I've got one, then there's Austin, Arnie and you.... so four left. One in the basement, the one next to the kitchen, and the two on the top floor.

She smiled. "Soon house will be full, and you rich man!"

"Ha, ha, not really. There's a lot of bills to pay, and some repairs to be done as well. That's going to be expensive."

She turned back to Lunah, and started to sing her a song in Bengali, while Jude drove the car and listened happily.

#  SATURDAY AFTERNOON

"Hello, is that Anna?" "Speaking."

"Jude Morrow here, about the rooms. I'm home now, so did you want to...?" "Yes, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"See you then."

Anna turned out to be young, and very slim, dressed in jeans and a green wooly jumper and holding a bike helmet.

"Hi, I'm Anna. You called me, about the rooms."

"Yes." She had rather a long, pale face, with wavy, dark brown hair brushed back from her face. He could see a scooter parked in the driveway, just behind the Peugeot. "Come in."

"Thanks."

She followed him round the house, with her long strides, her knee-length boots clacking on the linoleum floors. She was unimpressed with the room next to the kitchen, and even less so with the one below it in the basement. However she brightened up when they climbed to the top floor.

"Ah, this is better. Are these both free?" "Yes."

She examined the rooms carefully while Jude waited on the landing. Eventually she emerged. "I'd like to have this one," pointing to the left hand room.

"Ok. Shall we go downstairs and have a chat about money and things like that? Then you can ask me any questions you might have."

"Sure." She followed him down.

"So it's a hundred a week, two weeks rent as bond, and two weeks in advance; so £400 upfront. Is that alright?" He motioned her to a chair in the kitchen and she sat down. "I'm going to have a cuppa. Would you like one? In fact I'm going to have a sandwich. It's been a busy morning."

She was giving him her languid smile. "OK, slow down. Yes, the rent and bond is fine, but I haven't got cash on me right now. I'll have to go and get some. And yes, I'd like some tea, thank you."
"Hmm. I can't hold the room for you until you've paid up, so don't be too long getting the cash. Anyway, I'm sure that'll be alright." Having filled the kettle, he turned to her. "Earl Grey or Tetley's?"

"Oh, Earl Grey, please! Just a quick one, then I'll go down the street and get some cash."

"There's a bank with a hole in the wall just up the road, where Shacklewell Lane crosses the Stoke Newington Road."

The doorbell rang. "Excuse me, I need to get that."

The open door revealed a white youth in pale grey trousers and matching jacket, with a white, open necked shirt and very short, spiky blond hair. He was holding a full-face motor-bike helmet.

"Afternoon." He looked at Jude levelly out of unblinking, china blue eyes. "I've come about a room. You got any left?"

"Yes, there are three left. Would you like to come in and see them?"

"I don't mind if I do. Thank you kindly." And he stepped into the dingy hallway. He had a slight London accent, but also spoke very correctly. Jude wondered if he was trying to make a good impression.

"Come on through to the kitchen. This is...Anna, and your name is?" "David. Hello Anna." He nodded to her.

"Ah, you're making the tea, thanks Anna. My name's Jude, by the way. Sorry Anna, forgot to tell you that before. Now then, there's one room here..."

Unsurprisingly David chose the other top floor room, next to Anna. He also paid the £400 in cash there and then. When asked what sort of work he did, he replied that he was a trainee manager at Tesco's, just down the road in Morning Lane.

"Yeah, they're training me up. I'm in fruit and veg at the moment." "I see. And, you obviously have a motor bike?"

"Yes. Can I put that in the driveway?"

"Sure, as long as you don't block my car in. We'll....we can probably work out somewhere for you to keep it where it won't be in the way. You've got a scooter, too, haven't you Anna?"

"Yes, and by the way I'd better get going to the bank, before you give my room away to someone else."

"Ah, Ok then. Good idea. See you."

"Bye. I'll be back very soon." She gave him a pointed look. She left and Jude and David were alone in the kitchen together. 'Um, cup of tea?"

"No thanks." He was looking around with interest. "Nice big kitchen you've got here."
"Yes. Well, eight rooms in the house. There're two big fridges, as you can see. Dishwasher, two sinks."

"Nice. And did I see washing machines downstairs?"

"Yes. And a couple of big old concrete sinks down there too. That was the kitchen, when the house was first built. Servants below stairs, and all that. It was built by a rich butcher for his family, apparently."

"Yeah. Back in the good old days, when the rich were rich and the poor knew their place!" He gave a sardonic little smile. "You've seen all those shows on TV, haven't you? 'Upstairs Downstairs', 'Downton Abbey'. All those conspiracies and intrigues, the family upstairs, and the servants all fighting each other below stairs?"

"Mmm, yes, I've seen Downton Abbey. That was good." "Yeah. Funny to think that all that was going on here too." "Well, maybe. Not necessarily quite as dramatic as all _that_."

David took a seat at the table, looking up at the high ceiling, as the afternoon sun streamed in from the two long windows set above the conservatory. "Yeah, I know, but still, imagine when the first World War broke out. All those rumours, and then it actually happened. Sons would've joined up, in all that....enthusiasm they had for war back then. Probably killed at the front, the family all in mourning. Then the same thing as they lived through the second World War. The blitz, all that."

Jude chuckled. "You should write for TV yourself."

"Ha. Not likely. Although, I did always like history at school, and those sorts of programs on TV. England was so different then, to what it is today."

"You'll get along well with Reginald. He teaches history, somewhere round here." "Reginald! What sort of name is that? Hope he isn't one of my old teachers!"

"He was the first to come this morning. Took the big bay window room through there." He indicated the front of the house.

"Oh yeah? Well, I s'pose I'll meet him then."

"Just gone to get his stuff. Be back later on this evening, I'd say." "Ok."

"I'm going to go out to the conservatory for a while. There's a few comfy chairs out there. Would you like to come?" Jude moved towards the back door, mug of tea in hand.

"Conservatory, eh? _Very_ smart. This place gets better and better! No thanks, but I _will_ have a quick look, if you don't mind."

"Be my guest." Jude left the door open for David to follow him. In the long, thin conservatory, they looked at the curved, ridged glass panels above, the large, square panes, looking out to the garden beyond, and the scattering of old wicker chairs with their dusty cushions. There was a bookshelf with some musty old children's books in it, on the back wall.
David grunted, then went out to the garden, while Jude sat down in one of the chairs, and watched him through the glass. It had been a busy day. And it wasn't over yet. Still two rooms empty. David was wandering across the grass, hands in the side pockets of his sports jacket. Down at the bench, at the far end, he turned and looked at the house, then slowly made his way back.

He nodded at Jude, who was laid back in the chair. "Well, better go and get my stuff. See you a bit later. Have you got a front door key for me and one for the room?"

Jude reluctantly rose. "Yes, I've got them upstairs. I'll go and get them."

After David had gone, he returned to the kitchen, and made himself a ham and tomato sandwich. Looking in the fridge, which contained only a few things of his own, he wondered what would be the best way to organise the two fridges. Eight people! That was a lot of food. Obviously four to each fridge, that would help a bit. A shelf each? What about the freezer sections, and the deep trays at the bottom? It could turn into a minefield of disagreements.

Just as he was returning to his chair in the conservatory, Rupa appeared, alone. He nodded to her. "No Lunah? Where is she?"

She put her two hands together against her cheek. "Sleeping." She smiled and placed a finger against her lips.

"Good. Gives you a bit of a break. I'm going out to the conservatory. Want to join me?"

She was looking at his plate, disapprovingly. "What you eat?" She studied it for a moment. "This no good. I make you something. You go outside. I bring." She disappeared down the stairs to the basement. Jude returned to his chair and took a bite of the sandwich.

Five minutes later a delicious, aromatic smell began to emanate from the open door of the kitchen. Jude, who had been lying back in the chair with his eyes closed, immediately opened them and looked at the birch tree through the glass panes. He could see a band of white cloud moving slowly across the sky, although the sun still shone. He wondered what time it was. Slowly he became aware of a crackling, spitting sound. Something was being deep fried in oil. The pungent, delectable smell continued to intensify. Two minutes later Rupa emerged and handed him a side plate with something hot on it.

"Eat this. Better!"

She had placed the food on a paper napkin. He picked it up in this and gingerly took a bite. Inside the golden brown dough was spicy meat; a heavenly flavour flooded his mouth and his consciousness.

He looked up at her, smiling. "What is it?" "Beef shingaras. Bengali food. Very good!" He nodded silently and continued to eat. "You having some?"

"Mmm, yes. I get rest." She brought through a plate with four more shingaras on it, on a layer of paper napkins, and took one herself.
They ate for a while in companionable silence, sitting in the wicker chairs, then Jude carefully wiped his fingers and mouth on some of the napkins and sat back with a satisfied groan.

"That was wonderful. Thank you, Rupa."

She made a gesture with her hand. "No problem. You eat good food, not that...English stuff." She indicated the empty sandwich plate.

"Ha. I'm not English!"

She looked at him with interest. "No? From where?" "Australia."

"Ah." She thought a moment. "So, why here?"

"This property. I got a letter telling me that my Uncle Geoffrey, my Mum's brother, had died, and willed it to me. So..."

She nodded. "And in Australia, you have family?"

He squirmed in the chair, trying to get his back comfortable. "I have two children, grown up; yes, both back in Australia."

"Wife?"

He shook his head. "No."

Someone was opening the front door.

"Hello!" Anna was in the kitchen, calling out. They could hear her through the open door at the top of the four steps that lead to the conservatory.

"We're through here, Anna," he called out. "Come and join us."

She came down, a little out of breath, clutching her bike helmet. "Sorry. That one you told me about was out of action. Had to hunt around for another one. Is the room still free?"

He smiled, to put her at ease. "Yes. Nobody has been or called since you left."

"Oh, thank God! I was thinking it might be gone by the time I got back." She was fumbling with her purse, and handing him some bank notes.

He stood up. "Thanks Anna. That's all good. And I'll give you your keys! They're upstairs. I'll go and get them for you." He looked down at Rupa in the low chair. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't run away."

He was just coming down the stairs with the key for Anna, when Arnie appeared in the kitchen. "Hey man!"

"Hey Arnie."

"Just got back with me stuff. Friend of mine brought it round for me in 'is car." "Nice. This is Anna. She's just moved in on the top floor."
Arnie looked at her with interest. "Hi Anna. Nice to meet ya." She smiled at him. "Hi! You been here long?"

"Haha, 'bout free hours longer van you. Came around to check it out this morning." She nodded. "How's your room?"

"Yeah, I like it. On the first floor, next to the Guvnor's" "The Guvnor's?" She laughed aloud.

Jude left them to it.

Rupa was bringing Lunah up from her room. She smiled at him. "She woke. I take her there," indicating the conservatory.

He followed them and sat down in the chair again. "Busy place this. All this coming and going!"

Rupa was holding the child's hands, singing a little song to her, encouraging her to move her feet to the beat. Lunah thought this a great game and was giggling at her mother.

"Yes, lot of people."

Lunah looked at Jude with her big dark eyes, then she extended one hand to him. He gave her his index finger and she gripped onto it, while Rupa still held the other hand. She stood between them, while her mother sang softly, then she sat down in a heap on the floor.

Rupa laughed and gathered the little girl in her arms and sat her on her lap. She spoke to her quietly. "This man called 'Jude'."

Lunah turned to look at her mother, her mouth slightly open. "Jude," Rupa said again, slowly.

"Joo..." Lunah whispered.

"Haha, clever girl!" Rupa hugged her close, looking at Jude over the child's shoulder. "Want her learn English, not just Bengali."

"Sure. She'll need to."

There was the sound of a heavy box being dragged down the hall and through the kitchen. A train rattled over the railway bridge, just down the road. He looked through the glass panes and realised a tabby cat was sleeping peacefully, curled up on the bench at the end of the garden. Somebody, presumably Arnie, was trying to drag the box up the stairs, but making heavy weather of it.

Jude got up. "I better go and help him with that box."

She gave him her whimsical smile. "You want help everybody." He grunted, then went up the stairs to seek out Arnie.
By the time they'd got the box, and the rest of Arnie's stuff into his room, Jude was feeling quite tired. He drifted back to the conservatory, but it was empty; so he went out into the garden, where the bank of white cloud now covered the whole sky and the day had turned dull.

The cat looked up in alarm as he approached slowly, watching him suspiciously, ready to bolt at any moment. But Jude was a cat lover, and he spoke quietly to it, and it seemed to be reassured. Eventually he was able to sit down next to the animal, and stroke it where it lay. It snuggled its nose contentedly onto its paws and allowed him to proceed.

He wondered who it belonged to. It was obviously used to spending time here, regarding the bench as its own. Probably a good refuge from the local dogs, he mused, with the high brick walls all round. He heard the front door slamming, then a scooter starting up, the other side of the garage, beside the house. There was the sound of a television from somewhere. Somebody was watching the football on Saturday Grandstand. He wanted to go and lie down on his bed, but felt too lazy to move. He closed his eyes, feeling only the wonderful softness of the cat's fur on his hand, and the fast rhythm of its breathing.

Was it only a matter of seconds, or a few minutes, before he heard the roar of a motorbike in the street, the other side of the house? It gave a final growl, then stopped. Was David back?

He thought he could just make out the front door opening, then steps in the hallway. Extraordinary how sound traveled on a quiet afternoon. He waited until the coast was clear, then slipped back into the house and up to his room without running into anyone. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Amazingly, because he hardly ever did during the day, he slept.

#  SATURDAY EVENING

When he woke it was still daylight outside, but it was the half-light of a midsummer evening. Looking out of the window he could see the sky was mostly covered in clouds; but a clear patch over to the right of the building opposite was creating a resplendent kind of chiaroscuro effect above the street, giving it a magical quality. Suddenly he longed to get away from the house to explore the enchanted world outside.

Next door he could hear Arnie moving around the room. Coming out of the bathroom, he ran into him. "Hey! You going out?"

"Yeah man. Got a shift behind the bar at the Pearl." Jude looked blank.

"Pub, just down the road." Jude shook his head in the semi-darkness of the landing. "You never been there? You should come, man. It's a cool place!" Jude could just make out that he was wearing dark pants and some sort of light coloured long sleeved shirt, with a patterned waistcoat over the top. "Hey man, I've gotta go. Bit late already. I'll see you down vere later, yeah? Just turn right down the street, under the bridge and keep going. Ya can't miss it; 'bout ten minutes walk." And he ran down the stairs and out the door.

When Jude left the house he felt odd knowing there were strangers living there. He'd been there for some weeks on his own and had got used to it; the big empty house, full of dark corners and ghosts from the past. But now, there was always going to be someone around. Well, not _strangers_ really, just people. People that he would get to know; that he _was_ getting to know. He felt comforted by the idea.

The walls under the bridge had some fancy spray paint graffiti on them, then he was walking along beside the park. A row of private houses on the right and to the left, the metal fence of the park, through which he could see a large area of grass, crossed by some tree-lined avenues, with benches along them. Above that the sky was magnificent, as rays from the lowering sun broke through the clouds, giving the park and the houses bordering it a classical, Italianesque aura.

He passed what looked like some tennis courts on the left, adjoining the park, then it was back to open grass and more expensive looking houses on the right. He could make out a busy junction up ahead.

As he approached this, he saw that across the junction two roads converged; one on the left, the continuation of the one he was on, by the park, and another. Where they met was a four- storey building, rising up like the prow of a ship. Narrow at the end, but gradually widening, he noticed some brightly painted murals above the ground floor. Below these, the pavement on both sides of the end was covered with tables and chairs, illuminated by bright signage above, which proclaimed 'The Pearl of the East – Best music, food and company in London'.
He stopped for a moment, taking in the view. The mural nearest the end depicted an oriental city, with towers and minarets rising up into the sky, while to its left, an enormous shiny pearl was emerging from a conch shell, above a curving tropical beach with palm trees. Many of the tables were filled with Saturday night revelers and a buzz of convivial conversation could just be heard over the thump of hip-hop music, which was issuing from the pub. He crossed the road and went inside.

A long polished wood bar stretched from left to right, thronged with customers, while opposite this, on both sides of the door, he could see curved wooden high backed leather-upholstered booths, around circular tables, with expensive looking padded leather chairs on the outside of the tables. Most of these were already filled with groups of patrons.

An opening appeared near him in the crowded bar and he made a beeline for this. A girl in a tight black blouse smiled at him and asked what he would like. He pointed to one of the row of brightly coloured beer taps, ranged along the bar.

"Pint of that, please."

"Sure." She poured the beer expertly. "There you go, sir. That'll be four pounds." He stared at her.

"Sir?"

He handed over a five pound note, then accepted his change and moved away, to make room for others at the bar.

Sauntering down past the door he had come in, he came to rest near a bank of poker machines, nestled next to a wooden stairway, which descended into the bowels of the building. A large man in a very tight tuxedo suit and a bald head stood at the top of the stairs, his feet planted wide apart and a bored expression on his broad face.

"Care to go down to the Dungeon Disco sir? Best dancers in London," and he winked, his pockmarked face breaking into a grin.

Jude took another swallow of the, admittedly, delicious beer. "Well, I suppose I could. How much is it?"

"Five pounds if you go in before midnight. Ten pounds after." A group of young girls in incredibly tight skirts and high heels were jostling behind him to go down.

"Alright then." He fumbled for his wallet and gave the man another of his five pound notes. Holding tight onto the handrail, he moved down the thickly carpeted stairs into the sweaty, perfumed, alcohol-fueled, ear-thumping experience that was the Dungeon Disco.

In the centre of the shadowy room was a small circular stage with a pole in the middle of it, which rose vertically to the ceiling. Around the stage was a scattering of tables and chairs, with space between them, for dancing, he assumed. Booths were ranged around the sides of the room, while on the far side was a curved bar, and in the opposite corner was a DJ's console. Here a black man with a large Afro hairdo was playing some amazing spacey music, which floated above an incredibly heavy thumping bass beat.

But all of this was absorbed in the blink of an eye, as most of his attention was drawn to the girl on the stage, who was dressed in the flimsiest of g-strings and bra, which consisted of a
rosette covering each nipple, kept in place by some invisible mechanism. She was gyrating her perfect body slowly in time to the music; and every so often she would shake her curly black hair, at the same time thrusting forward her breasts. She also had a habit of running her hands all over her well-oiled body while she moved. She spotted Jude and her black made-up eyes seemed to lock onto his, as he slowly made his way over to the bar, and planted himself on one of the empty stools in front of it.

The Dungeon was not as packed as the pub upstairs. The rush would come later, he guessed, just before midnight, when the main bar stopped serving drinks. He looked around at the booths and tables, where couples seemed to be deep in conversation, while others merely sipped their drinks, cuddled up together. Some lone men were watching the stage act, while others, in groups, were noisier, laughing and joking around with each other. The girl, meanwhile was starting the pole part of her act, rubbing her crotch up against it, leaning back at impossible angles and frequently massaging her buttocks, which she took delight in aiming at the audience. There seemed to be some tension building up over the question as to whether she was going to strip naked or not.

Jude wondered if she was going to start working the crowd and sure enough she did – moving provocatively around the groups of men, especially the rowdy ones, daring them to touch her breasts and the tiny triangle of fabric covering her crotch. Some of the men inserted money into her g-string waistband, which earned them a wicked smile from her. Looking around the room he could see a number of burly security men, who were watching her closely, ready to intervene if necessary. Then suddenly, she vanished from the scene, as the DJ played a new track, and some of the couples got up to dance.

He turned to the bar, where a barmaid was watching proceedings with a bored look on her face. He smiled at her, and she came forward, thinking he was after a drink, but he showed her his still half-full pint and shook his head.

Later on, Arnie came downstairs and grinned at his new landlord, as he moved around behind the bar quickly, pouring drinks, making cocktails and doing his best to keep the customers happy. During a brief lull, he even introduced Jude to Maisie and Dolly, the two barmaids, who shook his hand and laughed at his accent. It was about that time that he started to sample their collection of whiskeys, as he watched admiringly the way Arnie and the two girls moved smoothly around the bar, assisting and supporting each other, in their efforts to meet the needs of the increasingly drunken and demanding customers.

However, nobody seemed to mind that Jude was occupying one of the few stools at the bar. He was happily soaking up the atmosphere, and the scotch, when he realised that the girl on the stool next to him was actually the dancer from before. The hair must have been a wig, because she now had shoulder length wispy blonde hair and was dressed in a very short black number, which hung from her shoulders on spaghetti straps. She sat on the stool with her legs crossed, sucking on a cocktail while a tall man on her other side, in jeans and a skin tight tee shirt, seemed to be haranguing her. Jude couldn't make out what he was saying, but occasionally she'd turn to him to say something back, before returning to her drink and pretending to ignore him. After a while he left, and she seemed to sigh with relief.

He thought about asking her if she was OK, but then decided not to. She looked sideways at him once or twice, but when he didn't respond, she struck up a conversation with a short man in a suit who was waiting at the bar, trying to get served.
Later still, when Jude became aware that he had used up most of his cash, and had also probably had far too much to drink, he made his way upstairs and out onto the street, where there seemed to be a lot of people milling around. Two rival groups of youths were hurling insults at each other, while others were trying to flag down passing taxis.

He was just about to start for home on foot when the dancer emerged from the pub. The man in the tight tee shirt had her by the arm and was virtually frog-marching her out of the door and across the road. When they reached the other side, by the park railings, she must have said something to him, because he suddenly lost all control and drawing back his right hand, his arm straight from the shoulder, he spun her in front of him and hit her as hard as he could across the face. The smack of the impact was so loud Jude could hear it from across the street.

He had been watching the couple, and now started towards them, across the road. A taxi was just pulling away fast from the curb, having picked up a fare, and stopped with a squeal of brakes. Jude ended up on the bonnet, but was immediately thrown off when the taxi stopped dead.

However, he was too drunk to feel much at all, so picked himself up off the road and continued to the other side, just in time to see tight tee shirt punch the girl full in the face with his fist. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Perhaps realising at last that he had gone too far, the man glanced around at the crowded street, and made off in the opposite direction, following the line of the park railings.

Jude knelt down beside her and moved aside the hair, which was spread across her face. There was blood flowing from her nose and mouth. It looked as though there could have been teeth loose, or missing, and what of the nose? Surely a punch like that would break it?

He put a hand to the back of her neck and tried to raise her up a little. She opened her eyes for a moment, then shut them again.

"Hey! Are you alright?" Stupid question, he thought immediately. Course she wasn't alright! He tried again. "Um, do you need to go to a hospital?"

This evinced a response. Eyes still closed she shook her head vehemently. "Well, where do you live? You can't stay here on the pavement!"

The alcohol must have been shielding her from pain too. She opened her eyes, and gave a ghastly grin through the blood and gore. "With him!" And she started to laugh hysterically.

"Well, you can't go back to that _animal_! No way!"

"Hmm..mm.." She was giggling. "Yeah. S'pose not." Her mood changed rapidly for the worse. "Bastard!"

"So..." Jude was looking around for help, but everyone in the vicinity seemed to be studiously ignoring them. "Well...I've got a spare room at my place, if you want somewhere to rest up for the night?"

The drunk girl seemed to like this idea. "Mm, yeah. Take me home, baby!"

He stood up and hailed a passing taxi, which, miraculously, stopped in front of them. The taxi driver leaned out of his window and looked doubtful. "I don't want her bleedin' all over my back seat. Know what I mean, guv'nor?"
"Don't worry, I'm just up the road, only a couple of minutes. Just that she can't walk." He found a handkerchief in his pocket. "I'll...give her this."

"Yeah, fat lotta good that'll do. Look at 'er. 'Ere, take this," and the driver handed Jude a newspaper, which he used to catch a few drops of blood that fell, as he helped the girl into the back of the taxi. "So, where we going Guv'nor?"

"15 Hampton Row. Just along here, past the railway bridge."

"Blimey! Yer not kidding! It's gunna costya a fiver anyway, Guv'nor." Jude sighed. "Doesn't everything around here?"

It seemed like only seconds and they were home and he was helping her up the front steps to the door. After a bit of a fumble with his keys, he managed to get the door open, and help the girl inside. She was leaning heavily on him, one arm around his shoulder, and also inclined to be amorous towards her knight in shining armour, despite the fact that her face was a mask of blood.

He thought about trying to make it to the basement room at the back, but the steps would have been too much for the two of them, so instead he took her to the room beside the kitchen. Here he gratefully deposited his burden on the bed, where the girl collapsed happily, and began to snore loudly.

He went and got a wet cloth out of the kitchen, and did some emergency cleaning up of her face, while she slept on. Her teeth, miraculously, seemed to be intact, although one of the front ones was decidedly loose, while her nose too, seemed unbroken. The fist must have slid off the side of her nose, for there was a wicked bruise under her right eye. In fact the whole eye was swollen out of all proportion, such that the eyelid itself was virtually invisible. He doubted whether she would see out of it when she woke up.

He stood back and surveyed her. She seemed to be breathing normally, and as he watched, she turned sideways into a foetal position, snuggling down into the cover on the bed, in order to sleep more comfortably. She didn't seem to be in any danger, and looked as if she would sleep through till the morning. He decided to leave her, and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

# SHARON

Sharon was 21 when she met and fell in love with Bertrand. She was just finishing off her Arts degree at Sheffield University and wondering what to do next, when she was swept off her feet by this intoxicating man from Exeter who had almost completed his MA in International Criminology at the same university. It was a whirlwind romance and within six months he had proposed. Her parents, an Anglican vicar in Leeds and his wife, were very much against this match for their only child, feeling that it was all too much too soon. They distrusted this handsome, smooth talking twenty eight year old from the far South, with his well-connected lawyer father and his pretentious, expensively coiffured mother. They said he was too good to be true and they had too little in common and it would never last; but Sharon was in love and wouldn't listen to their petty arguments, so she married him anyway. Her parents came along to the lavish wedding in Exeter, tight lipped and trying to smile and be pleasant, but driving back to Leeds later, in the rain, their mood had been sombre and forboding.

So the couple set up house in Exeter, in a small villa rented to them at a reasonable rate by a friend of Bertrand's father. He went to work every day at his father's law firm in the town, while she stayed at home and was deliriously happy, for a few weeks. When she got tired of shopping every day for their dinner together and cleaning the house so it was always shiny and sparkling for him, she realised that she needed to find a job which would put to use the fine brain she possessed. After all she had spent three years at university giving it a taste of the wisdom and knowledge in the world, so it seemed silly to lock it up in a small room and throw away the key now. She had no experience, so employers were not inclined to jump at her application. However, after a while, searching the papers and writing endless letters and filling in forms, she secured a position with the environment and planning office of the City Council. It was not a high-flying position, but as a graduate, they took her on as a cadet, with the intention of giving her the skills which would eventually lead her on a career path through local government management.

Bertrand didn't mind in the least, in fact he thought it was a good idea. She was just getting settled into her new job when he announced that he had secured a position with the prestigious law firm of Lumley and Shott in London and they would be moving to the capital forthwith.

She railed at him and tearfully explained that she was just getting settled in the new town and starting to make a few friends, but he was deaf to all of her entreaties. As the major contributor to the household finances, obviously his career had to come first. There would be lots of employment opportunities for her in London. In fact she would love it. London was a different world altogether, where everything was bigger and better and more exciting. He was going up in two days time to start work. He would also look around for a house. She was to pack up here and follow him as soon as he had somewhere for them both to live. She stared at the kitchen table through tear-stained eyes, as he left the room and started packing his things upstairs. Inside she felt a cold emptiness. Recently this had begun to recede, but now it started to grow again, as fear and loneliness gripped her insides, like a cancer that would slowly but surely kill her.
However, London started well. He loved the new job and he found a house, through connections at work, without too much difficulty. It was a small semi-detached residence on Larden Rd, just off the A4020 in Ealing, West London. Most mornings he could get to work in less than half an hour, driving along the side of Hyde Park and into the city. Sharon came up and he showed her proudly round the little house. She had driven herself in her small Fiat run- around, which was parked outside, next to his Ford Corsair. He held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly in the small hallway, next to the stairs and she wondered if perhaps things might turn out alright after all.

He did have a point, in a way. It was fun to be able to drive into the city, park the car and walk around Central London. She wandered down Oxford Street, gazing in all the shop windows, then down the Kingsway to the Strand. She ducked into a pub, feeling daring on her own and ordered a drink, then sat at a corner table, and watched the unending stream of London life ebbing and flowing around her. Later she wandered along Fleet Street, then followed Ludgate Hill to St Paul's, where she paid the money and sat in a pew at the back, looking up at the vast height of the Cathedral, wondering, wondering what would become of her life.

Taking a taxi back to the multi-storey car park where she had left the Fiat, she remembered that she needed to start looking for work. This idle wandering the streets of the city in a dream couldn't continue. She had to come back to reality and build an authentic life for herself. Sighing, she bought several papers at a corner shop and drove thoughtfully home to study the Positions Vacant pages.

She had a reference from her employers in Exeter, although she had only been with them for under a year, so her attention drifted towards the pages devoted to jobs with the local councils. Again her days became filled with writing letters, filling in forms, visiting local libraries and council offices and generally doing everything possible that she could think of to secure a job for herself in the only area in which she had any experience, brief though it was.

After her fifth interview, with Acton London Borough Council, she was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter saying that on the basis of her previous work in Exeter and after a successful interview, she had been granted a cadetship with the council. She would be on probation for a year, after which, if everything were satisfactory, she would be granted a contract position for the term of three years. She rang up Bertrand immediately at work and told him the news.

That night in bed, after they had made love, Bertrand asked her if she thought they might be hearing the patter of tiny feet in the little house any time soon? She turned to him in the darkness and stared into his face, which she could just make out in the faint glow that came through the curtains. She replied that she was just about to start a new job, and would prefer to wait a while, so that she could at least get established in her career. This was followed by a cold silence. At length he asked her how long she meant by 'a while'. She told him about the year's probationary period, at which he grunted, before turning over and going to sleep.

She liked her new job. Most days she could drive there in about fifteen minutes. She loved looking out of the window of her shared office in its new, red brick building, with its adjacent rows of substantial, well to do houses, its sprays of blossom in springtime in the garden next door and its grey church across the road. The other girls were a bit standoffish at first, but gradually they warmed to this slightly timid but sweet newly-wed from the North, who seemed to carry a sadness around with her, even though she tried to be bright and cheery with her workmates.
She moved from department to department, where she was shown how everything worked. She quickly picked up the intricacies of the new computer system, the details of the restructure the department was currently undergoing, and the subtle undercurrents and nuances of the office politics of Acton Borough Council.

When her probationary year was up, Bertrand, who had been enormously patient and loving towards her, in his own eyes at least, again asked her whether she was ready to start a family. She was torn. Of course she wanted to have babies, but at the same time she was just starting to feel like a person in her own right, with her own life that meant something to her. How would it all affect her working life? With much trepidation and soul searching she stopped taking her birth control pills and waited for the inevitable outcome. After three months Bertrand gently asked her if she felt any changes in her body. Was she still regular with her, you know...? Sharon could have told him that she felt continually on edge, irritable and completely unsure whether she was doing the right thing, but instead she simply told him that there were no changes that she was aware of.

After six months and nine months and a year he asked the same question, evincing the same reply. After another six months he insisted that they go together to see a doctor, who referred them on to a fertility specialist. Following a protracted series of tests on both of them, this learned consultant concluded that there was no medical reason why Sharon should not get pregnant and have a baby within the marriage. She could feel her husband's cold, calculating eyes on her when this announcement was made. The doctor talked at length about the fact that they should relax, not worry. The tension that they obviously felt over the issue was probably the cause of the situation. They should let go of all their anxiety over the matter and simply enjoy life and let nature take its course in its own good time. He also gently suggested the name of a therapist who might be able to help them in this area. Bertrand rose and thanked the specialist for his time. In the car going home there were few words spoken between them. Sharon's attempts to break the silence were quickly rebuffed and eventually she resigned herself and withdrew into her own dark thoughts.

They did go and see the therapist once, but Bertrand was not the kind of man who was comfortable with soft relaxation music, incense, warm gentle massages and long, intimate conversations with a stranger. Afterwards he told her that she could go back if she wanted, but he would not be wasting any more time on that sort of pseudo-hippy nonsense.

After a number of impassioned and acrimonious arguments Sharon realised that her husband suspected her of still taking her birth control pills and lying to him about what she was doing. He refused to be persuaded otherwise, despite her most vehement denials, her attempts to prove to him that she had thrown the packet away, and that she no longer possessed the offending medication. He was not to be persuaded.

And so began a long and grueling sort of guerilla warfare between them, where outwardly they appeared to be normal in their relations with each other, but just below the brittle surface of their marriage was a raging sea of magma, bubbling and popping with unexpressed resentment, anger and loathing. In vain did Sharon try to plan special dinners for the two of them, in the hope of persuading him to make love to her later, upstairs in bed. In vain did she try to surprise him with unexpected outings to Covent Garden, a ride on the London Eye or a boat trip on the river. Although acquiescing to all of these advances, he was not to be taken in. Deep down he knew that she was a deceiver and a liar. For whatever bizarre reasons of her own, she had betrayed the love he had offered her and had entrapped him into marriage under false pretences.
He believed she was a totally selfish being, intent only on pursuing her own desires and interests, which apparently did not include having a family with him.

After six months of these attempts to break down the wall between them, Sharon gave up. If he was convinced she was a corrupt and evil woman, who was determined to deny him the one thing he asked of her, if she was unable to change his mind in this regard and convince him otherwise, then she would have to accept that awful fact and try to learn to live with the hideous situation she found herself in. She ceased her campaign to try to change his mind and a dark, cold, destructive indifference descended upon them. They lived in the same house, shared the same bed and budgeted their money together, but anything more than that, any spark of affection, love or tenderness, was banished from the little house on Larden Road, where they endured the living hell that their marriage had become.

How was it possible, she thought later, that she had remained in the relationship for so long? How could one live with a man whom one detested for seventeen years? It did not seem conceivable.

There were lots of reasons, of course. They were comfortably off. Bertrand progressed well in the firm. With his father's connections in the business, he was very comfortable in the shark pool that was the London legal fraternity. His career blossomed.

Before long they moved to a larger house in St Albans Avenue, Acton, which Sharon loved. In the evenings and at weekends she made it her mission to beautify this house. She spent hours in all kinds of shops, combing London for just the items she wanted: carpets, wallpaper (they had the whole house redecorated), knives and forks, kitchen utensils, paintings, and hundreds of knick knacks and antiques. She found a passion in tracking down antique shops all over the city and spending happy hours examining their stock, haggling with the owners and coming home with some new trophy: a wooden statue from Indonesia, a face mask from Africa, all kinds of miniature elephants (she adored elephants), little intricate machines made out of brass dating back to the nineteenth century, ships in bottles, ships not in bottles, daggers and swords, the list went on. Bertrand complained that she was turning their house into a museum, or an antique shop of their own, but she paid no attention. If she wasn't to have his love and affection, at least she could have some pleasure spending his money to make the house that she lived in a refuge for herself.

She stayed with the job at Acton Council, moving up the organisation, until she occupied a middle management position that she was happy with. She didn't want to become one of the 'big bosses'. They had to spend every evening in meetings, or working at home and being called on their newly acquired mobile phones at weekends, to deal with one crisis or another. No, she wanted to separate her home and her work life, so she stopped when she reached a level she was comfortable with, and settled down into a routine which suited her.

She made some close friends at work, and once a week would go out with one or another of them for a meal, or to the woman's house, or even for a day's outing with them, to Richmond, or Kew Gardens, perhaps a show in the West End. She started going to the local Anglican Church, the church of her childhood, and made more friends in the area. She participated in some Church functions: coffee mornings, progressive dinners and some of the charity events organised to help the poor in the local area; but she did not allow herself to get too involved in these things. She was good at keeping a balance in her social life, so that she still had time for herself, and her hobby of scouring, not just antique shops, but junk shops, pawn shops and markets, for the occasional treasures that she would unearth and carry home to her own enchanted sanctuary.
What of Bertrand? How did he survive the drought? He was a member of the English middle classes, a body whose capacity for enduring unhappy marriages was legendary. Not naturally a womaniser, he gradually came to understand the game that some other men he knew played, the game of affairs. It was actually one of the favourite sports of the circle he frequented. He loved the cut and thrust of drama in the courtroom, but almost equally exciting was the thrill of pursuing a new woman. Was she single or was she married? The married ones he found the most entertaining, and the most rewarding, once the final goal was achieved. In fact, a few that he met could hardly wait to jump into bed with him, so obviously starved were they of the pleasure of touching another human body. Fast or slow, he loved the subtle, intricate and delicate process of giving chase to his latest target and following the affair through until it reached its natural and inevitable conclusion.

Did Sharon know? Did she suspect? Bertrand was very circumspect in his liaisons, always giving good reasons for his absences and constructing elaborate scenarios to explain the time he was away from home. She suspected, yes, in fact she felt pretty certain that he was seeing other women. How would he not? Their own life together was a sham, played out for the sake of their families and friends, she often thought. Why else would they stay together? The life they had constructed was a good one, materially. They both had their work, and their circles of friends. Most of the time alone together they were civil to each other. Occasionally Bertrand would even display tiny sparks of friendship, little sprinkles of affection for her: taking her out to dinner unexpectedly, or bringing home a gift that he knew would please her. She accepted these graciously, even reciprocated with little gifts and gestures of her own. After all, she reasoned, why shouldn't they make their existence together at least bearable? Sometimes she wondered whether these forays into kindness towards each other would gradually evolve into a respect and friendship within the marriage, which would take them into old age. But then she quickly returned to her earlier belief that these small courtesies of his were in fact due to feelings of guilt over his latest conquest or indiscretion.

What of Sharon? Did she follow the same path as her husband, seeking out the company and bodies of other men? On three occasions she did sleep with another man. Each time this happened, it was fueled by an excess of alcohol, and the next morning she felt absurdly guilty, and immediately ended the relationship. Why? Was it because she feared to put in jeopardy her comfortable affluence with her lawyer husband? Was it because, despite all of the frigidity and polite distance in her marriage, she hoped that one day they would overcome these obstacles and at least find a small degree of happiness, in a relationship that was bearable for them both? Or was it simply that she was brought up within the Christian tradition to believe that marriage _was_ a sacred state, and not to be violated? Whatever the reason, for the vast majority of her time with Bertrand she was faithful to him, and did not indulge in the kind of affairs which were bread and butter to her husband.

And so they might have continued indefinitely, living together, in their carefully constructed separate existences, if it hadn't been for Doris. Burdened with a ridiculously old fashioned name, but nevertheless a formidable, sexy and talented new recruit to the firm, she made very clear to Bertrand, immediately after their first sex together, that she was no casual affair for him. She laid out very plainly before him her plans for the two of them. He must leave his wife and marry her. In return she would take ten years out from her working career and give him the children he so longed for. After that, she would return to the profession and pursue her own career. In return, he would be utterly faithful to her and provide for the family. If she suspected for one moment he was deviating from their agreement, she would divorce him in style, ruin his career and take him for every penny he had. As he lay in bed next to her, running his fingers over her delectable breasts and her slim, firm stomach, it was a bargain he could not refuse.
Where Bertrand and Doris disagreed was over the kind of settlement they should leave Sharon with. Naturally Doris wanted to keep as much of his wealth as she could for herself and their future family together. Bertrand, despite the years of acrimony between himself and his wife, was inclined to be more generous, preferring to leave her the means to continue the kind of life style she had become used to. However, there was no doubt who wore the pants in this new relationship; so Doris prevailed and they engaged a friend of theirs to ensure that Sharon's share of the spoils would be as small as possible. This worthy gentleman would make much of the fact that either Sharon knew that she was barren, _or_ she continued to take birth control pills, while knowing that her husband desperately wanted to have a family. Either way she was guilty of deceit and betraying the sacred vows of marriage, which were to facilitate the creation of children.

When Bertrand presented her with the paperwork she was naturally stunned. It was true she had become comfortable in the life she had built for herself out of the ruins of their marriage. Somehow she had come to believe that Bertrand would gradually cease his pursuit of other women, as they got older, and would return to her. Slowly they would piece together a ramshackle but still workable relationship, inside which they could shelter from the storm outside and live out their senior years together. However, this was not to be. She looked at her rather sheepish husband, who had told her the bare bones of the new reality, and realised that she had lost him.

From that point onwards Sharon stepped into a new country, which she had not known existed. While on the outside she appeared able to deal with lawyers' letters, with stilted, acid-laced discussions with Bertrand about property and with deciding how to tell her friends the news, inside she felt a seething, all-consuming cauldron of hatred, loathing, self-doubt and fear, which would give her no peace. It kept her awake most of the night, it accompanied her to work, and it boiled and popped all day long inside her head until she honestly felt that she was going insane. Many times she considered ending her life, only drawing back from the brink due to compassion for her parents, and some of her own dear friends. They didn't deserve the kind of never-ending misery, which that selfish act of hers would generate for them. And so she continued with all the things that had to be done to extract her from her present life and start her on a new and unknown journey, which seemed to hold nothing but loneliness and a terrible, deadening despair inside her deepest being.

#  SUNDAY MORNING

And so it was that Sharon found herself picking up her mobile phone and punching in the numbers she read off the advertisement on her computer screen. It rang six times before a sleepy, grumbly voice answered her.

"Yes, um...Jude here."

"I'm...I'm phoning to enquire about the rooms you have advertised. I'm..." she felt as if she were going to burst into tears, but took a deep breath and got a grip on herself. "I'm looking for somewhere to stay."

"Ah, yes. Now, there is one room left, possibly two. I did have seven, but there was a big rush on them yesterday." She hadn't been able to place the accent immediately, but now she knew what it was; she was talking to an Australian. There was the sound of bedsprings creaking, and something that could have been the man scratching himself. "Sorry, you caught me at a bad time. I'm just....waking up."

"Would you rather I called back later? It's just that the terms did sound rather attractive, and I'm sure there would be lots of people after them. Could I come round and have a look?"

"Yes, of course you can. You know where we are?" "15 Hampton Row, Hackney?"

"That's the one."

"I'll find it. I'm in Ealing, so it will take me a little while. My name's Sharon. I really am interested. Could you, this probably sounds cheeky, could you hold the room for me until I get there?"

"Sure. No problem."

She rang off. It was a Sunday morning and the traffic wasn't too bad. She used the GPS on her phone to give her the route. Driving along the Westway and up Euston Rd, she wondered what the place would be like. The man was obviously in bed when she rang. Well, Sunday morning; still it _had_ been after nine. Was he a drinker? She imagined a scruffy man in shorts and a dirty vest, with a mop of unkempt hair, scratching his chest and wiping his nose on his arm. What of the house? At that price it would have to be a dump, wouldn't it? Visions of dirty back alleys and urine smelling stairways filled her mind. By the time she crossed the A10 into Dalston Lane she was a nervous wreck, so she was pleasantly surprised to draw up outside a large, obviously old, red brick, three storey (no four, counting the basement) semi-detached Victorian House. It had a bay window on the ground floor and basement and a bushy tree growing out of a tiny patch of ground at the front, which partially blocked her view of the property.
Getting out of the car and climbing the six steps to the impressive front door, she felt ridiculously nervous and clenched her fists discreetly to stop her hands from shaking. She rang the bell on the right hand side of the door. There seemed to be movement and noises coming from behind the door. After a short while a tall man in jeans and a rumpled shirt, with an almost bald head. opened the door.

She tried to smile. "Hi, I'm Sharon. We spoke on the phone." "Yes, come in, please. I'm sorry I was a bit...."

There seemed to be some sort of argument going on in the kitchen at the back of the house. Somebody was saying, "What the bleedin' 'eck is _she_ doin' 'ere?"

Someone else replied, "Dunno. She looks pretty badly beaten up." "Shush! She'll hear you. She's just through the door there!"

They entered the kitchen, where there seemed to be two young men in the process of having an animated discussion, while they moved around the kitchen making themselves breakfast.

Her host made a motion as if wanting to dismiss this scene, as being an unwanted distraction. "Don't worry about them. Let me take you downstairs to the room. I'm afraid the only one available, um...at the moment...is the back one in the basement." He led her down the rather dark stairway and they emerged into an even darker corridor. "Sorry. Let me find the light." They emerged into a large basement open area where she saw some washing machines and concrete sinks round the edge.

"Bathroom there," he pointed, "and this is the room."

He led her to a door at the far side of the area and opened it, indicating that she should enter. She went in and stood in the middle of the room and looked around her. A rather low double bed with a wooden frame stood along the wall next to the door. She lifted up a faded cover to reveal what seemed to be a fairly new mattress, judging by its bright colour and lack of stains. The head and base of the bed were solid wood, carved in a simple design and varnished. She replaced the cover and sat down on the edge of the mattress. On the opposite wall stood a small bookcase, empty; next to that a chest of drawers with a woven runner along the top of it. To the right was a large wardrobe, which seemed to be leaning forward slightly. This was of dark wood and looked as if it might have been there as long as the house. The walls behind these furnishings were covered in a faded brown wallpaper on which could faintly be seen a whirling sort of abstract design. At the top of the wall behind her was a long thin window stretching most of the length of the small room. Just above ground level, this was obviously designed to provide daylight to the room; but, due to its being located in the narrow gap between the house and the garage, it provided only partial light, giving the room a dull and dingy aspect.

Her host, who had been hovering outside the room, suddenly switched on the light and said, "I've got to go upstairs for a minute, sorry. Have a look around. Come up to the kitchen if you like and have a cuppa. I'll be back in a minute." She continued to sit on the bed and contemplate the room.

It was...what? Horrible? Depressing? Miserable? On the other hand she liked the bed. She ran a hand over the carved wood. Simple work, but beautifully made. The wardrobe and chest of drawers were ghastly, but she could get rid of them and bring in some of her own furniture, of
which she had a large quantity to choose from. Perhaps she could see it as a challenge to her ability as an interior designer, to transform this drab and dreary small room in the basement into a place where she could live, surrounded by the elegance and artistry she craved? She had taken some leave of absence from work, so she would have the time available to devote to such a task. It could be just what she needed at the moment, something simple but creative to focus her mind on.

She became aware that a very small child was standing in the doorway, looking at her with large dark eyes. The child was dressed in a very small pair of green dungarees and a bright red tee shirt. She had a tiny pair of slippers with turned-up pointy ends on her feet. Her skin was brown and she had a mop of black curly hair.

Sharon smiled at the child. "Hello."

The visitor put one finger into her mouth and continued to stare at her. Sharon extended a hand. "What's your name?"

The child didn't move, but looked at the outstretched hand doubtfully.

"Come here. I won't hurt you." She realised it was a long time since she had smiled at anyone in the way she was doing now. Slowly the child shuffled forward until she was standing in front of her. Sharon put one hand on the child's shoulder gently.

"So can you tell me your name? Mine is Sharon."

The little girl slowly squeezed her lips from the sides, as if trying to speak, but no sound emerged. There was a loud squeal from somewhere nearby and Sharon heard steps approaching fast. They both looked towards the door as a young woman appeared, wearing black pants, a baggy jumper and a hijab. The child looked worried as the woman said something sharply to her in her own language.

"No, please, it's my fault. I asked her in. I'm sorry." She stood up as the child ran back to her mother. "I'm Sharon. I might be moving in here." She extended a hand tentatively.

The woman picked up the child and placed her on her hip. She looked shyly at the newcomer then took the proffered hand gingerly and shook it.

"Rupa."

"Pleased to meet you. And who is this?"

Rupa looked at her daughter and said quietly, "What is your name?"

She looked from one to the other, then whispered very slowly, "My name is Lunah."

Rupa dissolved into smiles and hugged the child, kissing her enthusiastically. "Clever girl! Clever!"

Lunah grinned then hid her face in her mother's shoulder.

Sharon was beaming at them. "She's learning English. That's great!"

Rupa became serious. "Yes, very important she learn English. Of course." She looked at the drab surroundings. "You take room?"
"Yes, I think so."

Rupa frowned. "Dark, small. No good room."

Sharon's heart sank, but she replied, "Well, yes, you're right, but...I think I can change it, make it better." The younger woman looked doubtful. "Have you been here long?"

"No. Yesterday." She smiled conspiratorially at the other woman. "You want see my room?" "Yes, I'd love to. Thanks." She picked up her handbag.

Rupa led the way along the passage to another room. At the end, in the gloom, she could see where a door obviously opened to the tiny yard and the steps leading up to the street, but it looked bolted, as if it were never used.

The younger woman opened her door and stepped aside. "Please," motioning her to go in.

Sharon found herself in a much larger room. The old, heavy furniture was the same, but the bay window let in a pleasing amount of daylight, even if the view from it was limited, to say the least.

"This is nice!"

"Please. Sit down." Rupa indicated the small armchair by the boarded up fireplace. She herself sat on the bed with Lunah beside her.

Sharon accepted the offer and admired the room again. "Well, it's a good size for the two of you. I....sorry... _is_ it just the two of you?"

Rupa nodded at the older woman. "Yes."

"And...do you like living here? Is it a nice house to stay in?"

Her host made a 'don't know' gesture with her hands. "Only here one day. OK so far." She frowned . "Lot of talking upstairs this morning. Something happen. Don't know."

"Yes, there seemed to be a bit of a commotion just now when I arrived. Something about someone in the room next to the kitchen?"

"Yes...something happen. People not happy." She moved to a small table, picked up a plastic container and offered it to her visitor. "Please. Have some. Later go upstairs for tea, when... people gone."

"Thank you." Sharon looked carefully at the snack mix in the plastic bowl and took a small handful.

They could hear someone coming down the stairs with a heavy tread, then move to the back room. They heard the landlord say tentatively, "Sharon? Are you still here?" through the door.

Rupa grinned at her and opened the door. "Jude. Is here. My room. Come in."

Hesitantly, a bald head looked around the open door. "Ah. There you are. I see you've met Rupa."

"Yes."
Rupa was bustling around, quite the welcoming hostess. "Jude, come in, come in!" She patted the end of the bed.

He stretched his lips in a nervous smile and sidled into the room, lowering himself onto the end of the bed. Rupa sank easily onto the carpet, opposite Sharon. Lunah got herself off the bed and ran over to join her mother.

"So..." Jude looked across at Sharon. "What did you think? It's not the best, is it?" "No, it's not the best...but I think, maybe..."

"It's a pity you've come today. All the good ones went yesterday...more light...bigger rooms upstairs..."

Sharon said nothing.

"I'm sorry, you were saying? I interrupted you. Truth is I went out to the pub last night and had a bit too much...Got a sore head this morning. Few bruises too." He rubbed his right shin tenderly. "Serve me right, eh?"

They both looked at him, then Sharon roused herself.

"Yes, it _is_ rather small and dark, but I've got some things of my own which I can put in there... _if_ that's alright?" He nodded vigorously. "And I'm off work for a while, so..." She looked at him. "I...I mean I can pay the rent; money's no problem..." She glanced at Rupa. "Well, what I mean is, I think I can turn it into a much nicer room."

The man was smiling slowly at her. "Well, that's good then. I'm glad you're going to stay."

Rupa was wearing her worried frown. "Jude, want to go and make tea, offer to visitors, but have no milk...people there..."

"It's OK Rupa. I'll go upstairs in a minute myself and do that. I can bring it down here, if you like, if it's still busy up there."

He turned back to Sharon. "So, you probably know already, it's a hundred a week; two hundred as bond and two weeks rent in advance, so a total of four hundred up front when you move in. Is that alright?"

"Yes, that sounds fine. Would you like the money now?" She reached for her handbag on the floor beside her.

"Oh, well...if you like. Let me go and get you a receipt and some keys." He accepted the money from her. "Will you stay for a cup of tea? I know...Rupa would like that, if you did."

She smiled at him. "Well, since we're all going to be living together, that would be nice, thank you."

"Righto. Back in a tick," and he disappeared out the door.

Sharon glanced across at Rupa, who had Lunah ensconced safely on her lap. "He seems like a nice man?"

The other woman was smiling down at her daughter, watching her play some private game. "Yes, very nice man. Yesterday help bring my things from friend's house in car. Very...good
man." There was silence for a few moments. "Think he... lonely. Like people in house. Likes...."

"Company?"

"Yes, likes company. Can talk to people."

"Right. So is he...on his own? Is he married, partner? "Partner?"

"Like a... girlfriend?"

Rupa looked at her sharply. "Don't know. Didn't ask, but maybe no. Nobody here with him."

"Right." They both watched Lunah, who was playing a game interlacing her fingers, mouthing something inaudible. "And yourself? Is Lunah's father...?"

The younger woman looked down. "Divorce." "Oh really? I didn't realise that..."

"Yes, Muslim husband divorce wife very easy. Say three time 'I divorce you' and finish!" "Really? But that's horrible! How can that be?"

Rupa shrugged. "Muslim law. Can be."

"Oh, but that's awful! You poor thing! Did he... provide you with money?" "No money. Nothing."

"So, how...?"

Rupa was slowly stroking the little girl's hair, over and over, brushing down the curls, then watching them spring back into shape. "Have social security. And will get job." Her eyes met the other woman's. "Will work here – cook, clean house. Help Jude."

"Ah, I see. That's...a good idea. It would certainly take a lot to keep a place like this clean." "And you? Why you come here?"

Sharon gave a bitter little laugh. "Same as you. Divorce." "Yes?"

"Yes." She didn't trust herself to say much more. "You divorce him, or he...divorce you?"

Sharon was staring hard into the boarded up fireplace, with the tiny electric fire in front of it. "He...he got rid of me, so he could marry a younger woman." There was a tremble in her voice.

Rupa carefully lifted the toddler from her lap and moved so she could kneel in front of her visitor. She placed her arms around her neck and laid her head on the other's shoulder.

"Sorry. Very sorry."
Sharon was so surprised, she couldn't stop the sobs that were welling up from deep inside her. She burst into tears and held the other woman close, as the tears fell down her face and dripped onto Rupa's back. She cried like a baby, like a child who had lost its mother. She cried for all the years of hurt and misunderstanding and coldness and indifference; for all the love that had shrivelled and died. She cried for all the suffering in her being that had been denied for so long, but now suddenly welled up and demanded to be heard. Through it all Rupa held her close.

After a while the storm subsided; she patted Rupa on the back and they separated. She fumbled for a tissue in her bag and tried to dry her face, which, she was sure, was all red and blotchy. A heavy tread was coming down the stairs, slowly, carefully. It approached the door and Sharon started to panic. The younger woman laid a hand on her shoulder.

"OK, I stop him."

The Muslim woman rose and approached the entry. Through the door she said loudly. "Jude, please, you wait few minutes. We come up to kitchen after." There was a confused silence. "Please, Jude?"

"Er...OK. I'll...see you up there," and he withdrew, back up the wooden staircase.

Rupa returned to her seat on the rug, close to Sharon, who sat with a tissue in her hand, far away in thought.

"See? He good man."

#  SUNDAY, LATE MORNING

When Jude returned to the kitchen it was empty except for Anna, who had just got up and was making herself a filter coffee. She had forsaken her jeans and boots of the previous day for a loose fitting knee-length dress with an orange and white floral design and flip flops. He noticed that she also wore a long sleeved, tight, grey jumper over the top.

As he placed the tray on the table, she looked up from her coffee making and smiled. "Hello. Jude, isn't it?"

He sighed. "Yes. How are you today?"

"I am good, thank you." He realised she had a slight accent, but couldn't place it. "And you?" "Hmm, OK."

She looked across at him sharply. "You don't look so good. Are you alright?"

He sat down at the table and picked up a mug of tea. "Went to the pub last night." "Aha! The demon alcohol!" She grinned at him.

"Yes, something like that."

She turned around to face him, leaning against the kitchen top. "What was all that noise, earlier? Some sort of an argument?"

He got up and moved to a chair closer to her, then spoke in a low voice.

"There was a woman being beaten up by a man on the street last night, outside the pub. She was in a bad way and didn't have anywhere to go, except back to his place, so I brought her here. She's in there," he indicated the adjacent room with a nod of his head.

Anna nodded slowly. She spoke almost in a whisper. "And the other people...didn't like that you did this? Why?"

He sighed again. "Arnie knows her, and knows her boyfriend. Apparently he's bad news, and so is she. He's worried about what's going to happen."

"Ah, OK." She nodded again. "He is worried this guy might...what? Come around here? But does he know where she is?"

Jude shrugged. "Not at the moment, probably, but, he might find out. The pub's only at the other end of the park."

She sat down next to him at the table. "But how would he find out?" She put her hands around her mug of coffee. He noticed it had a picture of some European city printed on its side. "None
of us would tell him. We don't even know him. London is a big place! Arnie is worrying about nothing!"

Jude realised he needed something to get rid of the headache which he had been trying to ignore ever since he got up. "Yes, but apparently he's a regular at the pub and Arnie knows him a bit. He's sure to ask _him_ if he knows where she is."

"Ah, so Arnie tells him no. He knows nothing."

"Hmm, sure, but according to Arnie, he's a scary guy. He's worried about lying to him." He got up from the table. "Have to go and get something from my room."

She watched him leave the room and head for the stairs. "Ok."

In his room he took four tablets from a blister pack in his bedside drawer and swallowed them down with some tea. He sat down heavily on the unmade bed, then remembered that Rupa and Sharon would be coming up to the kitchen. He thought about leaving them to it, but then got up and went slowly back downstairs.

Anna had gone and there was still no sound of movement from the bedroom next door, so he went out to the conservatory and sat in one of the wickerwork armchairs there. Through the glass panes, the Sunday morning garden was a dark green in the overcast light from the cloudy sky. He could see the backs of some of the houses on the next road over. Somebody had hung a mat out of a window. There was the usual sound of music coming from somewhere. A train rushed over the bridge, down the road. He could hear it for a few moments as it travelled North, then the sound faded and it was gone. He closed his eyes and watched the darkness behind his eyelids. His head was still aching and there was something wrong with his right shin. Now he came to think about it, there was also a dull ache on the left side of his abdomen. He desperately wanted to get back to the novel, but there was legal stuff about the house he had to find out about. He could hear movement on the stairs, then voices in the kitchen.

Rupa was saying. "No, this cold. Don't drink, I make fresh." He opened his eyes and saw a dark face wrapped in a hijab looking down from the top of the four steps, which led down to the conservatory. "Ah. You here." She withdrew and spoke to Sharon, who carefully descended from the kitchen.

He knew he should stand up, but couldn't find the energy. Instead he indicated a nearby armchair. "Please. Have a seat." He noticed her face seemed red and a little puffy. She had been crying.

"Thank you." She gave him a brittle smile. "Well, this is a nice place to sit. I imagine it gets quite warm here when the sun shines."

He looked at her jeans, her tan-coloured sandals with their solid block heels, her white lacey top and short little cardigan, her burgundy-coloured bag on the floor beside her. She was stylishly dressed. Her dark hair was coiffured into neat waves and curls, which sat attractively round her face. He felt dirty and dishevelled beside her.

"Yes. It is nice. Peaceful." He smiled at her, despite the headache. "Ah! I need to get you your receipt and keys." He jumped up suddenly and strode past her to the steps, through the kitchen and up to his room.
By the time he returned, Rupa had made fresh tea and the two women were sitting comfortably, chatting like old friends. Lunah was sitting on the floor between them. He handed Sharon the receipt and two keys on a ring.

"This one's the front door, and this one's the room. Sorry the receipt is only a homemade job. I'm going to get a proper receipt book tomorrow." She took the items from his hands. "The door at the bottom doesn't open; well, it does, but I usually keep it bolted." He looked up, thinking. "Hmm, wonder if we should open it up? Might be best, as a fire exit for the..." She was gazing up at him. "I'll have to look into that. I'll see if the front door key fits it, if not...."

He drifted to another chair and sat down. They were both still watching him. He smiled wanly at them. "Such a lot of things to think about with a house like this. I need to talk to someone about insurance, too; something about third party indemnity. Don't know. I need to look into it."

"I know a bit about insurance. We deal with that all the time in my job at the Borough Council. Maybe I could help out?"

His face brightened. "Would you? That would be great! There's so many things like that; and I'm new to all this."

She shifted in her chair. "Well, I'm not an expert, but I can probably point you in the right direction."

"That would be...well, thank you. I need to get myself an accountant, and, some sort of adviser to help me with all these things. Normally a property manager would do it all, but since I'm looking after things myself...I guess I didn't really realise how much I was taking on."

Sharon nodded. "Yes, it _is_ a big job." She smiled. "I suppose that's why there's a whole office full of people like me looking after that sort of thing at Acton Borough Council."

"That's right. You're from Ealing, aren't you? So why the move over this way?"

She was looking down into her mug. "Well, it's a...family situation. It's...I don't really want to..."

He leaned forward. "I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I...I keep saying the wrong thing today. I _am_ sorry."

She gave that little laugh again, the one that seemed to suggest she was keeping her emotions on a tight rein. "No, it's alright. It's natural that you should ask." She looked at him directly this time. "The fact is that my husband and I have just divorced and...and I need to be somewhere else for the moment."

"Right. I understand. I mean, of course I don't _fully_ understand but..."

Rupa stood up. "Excuse me, I go." She made a praying motion with her hands. Lunah was looking up at her mother.

Sharon got up too. "Thank you for all your help, Rupa. It was lovely to meet you!" The two women embraced briefly. "I'll talk to you again soon."

They exchanged a glance, then Rupa took Lunah by the hand and slowly walked her up the steps to the kitchen.
Sharon sat down again. "I can't stay long either. I need to go back and get some things." "Sure, but finish your tea."

There was silence for a moment, as they looked through the glass to where the cat was slowly walking across the lawn.

"Yours?" She asked him.

"No. He just passes through. But he's very friendly. We met yesterday." "You're a cat lover? How interesting. So many men seem to hate cats."

He grinned. "Yes, I am. We always had cats when I was a kid. I do like them."

She looked at him sideways. "You're a long way from home yourself, aren't you? When did you leave Australia?"

He considered. "About three months ago."

She smiled at him. He could see she was beginning to relax. "So let me ask you the same question. Why the move?"

"Ha. You won't believe me if I tell you. It all sounds too, er, Agatha Christie." "Really? Try me."

"My rich Uncle Geoffrey left me this property in his will."

"You're right! It _does_ sound like the start to a detective story. So..." He could see she was enjoying herself now. "You left your old life in Australia and made the move back to old Blighty, to come and be a landlord, and meet all of these strange people who want to live in your house."

"That's about it." He was nodding and smiling at the same time, watching the tiny crows feet around her eyes when she smiled.

"Well, I hope there isn't going to be a murder in the house, which some fat, smarmy Belgian detective is going to come along and solve!"

He looked at her, suddenly serious. "I hope not too!" And then they both dissolved into laughter.

She laughed until tears started from her eyes. She took a tissue from her bag and dabbed at them. "Oh dear. Today seems to be a day for tears." She looked across at him. "Do you know, I haven't laughed like that for...I don't know how long? And Rupa, she was wonderful too."

He said nothing, watching her.

"What _is_ it about this place? I already feel at home here, and I've only been here five minutes."

He shrugged and raised his hands. "Maybe it's the house. It's a special place, where special things can happen."

There was the sound of a door opening and someone was moving slowly through the kitchen.
"'Ello! Anyone 'ere?"

A woman appeared at the top of the steps and looked down at them. One eye was almost invisible, surrounded by purple bruising, which extended down to her mouth where a split lip was starting to ooze blood again. She was having trouble speaking. Her hair was blonde and straggly. She wore a very tight, very short black dress. Her feet were bare.

"Are you the bloke what brought me back 'ere last night?" Jude nodded.

"Very kind of you mate. D'you..." She dabbed at her lip with one hand. "D'you mind if I stay 'ere for a day or two, just till I get meself sorted out?"

"Sure. Should be OK." He looked at Sharon, who was starting to get up.

"I think I need to go now." She glanced quickly at him. "I'll see you a bit later on. Going home to get some stuff."

She climbed the steps and the girl reluctantly made room for her to pass. Jude jumped out of his chair and followed her up the steps. She was almost at the front door when he caught her.

"Sharon, please don't get the wrong idea! She'd been beaten up by her boyfriend and had nowhere to go. She was in a really bad way, so I brought her here in a taxi and put her in there."

He could see her smiling at him in the gloom of the hallway. "Rupa told me what a kind man you are, and she was right. I'll see you a bit later," and she turned towards the door. He opened it for her and she descended the steps, giving him a little wave as she went.

When he returned to the kitchen the girl was reclining in one of the chairs by the table, exploring her face tenderly with her fingers. He sat down opposite her.

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

She looked across at him vaguely. "Alison. And yours?" "I'm Jude. Right. Um, how's your face?"

She gave a little chuckle, then winced. "'Ow does it look?" "Hmm, not too good. He gave you some mighty punches." "Yeah, vat's Terry for ya. 'E does vat."

"You mean...he's done this before?" "Oh yeah!"

"So...I mean...why...?" "Why do I stay wiv'im?" "Yeah."

"Well...it's complicated. He gets me the stuff I need."
"Stuff? What kind of stuff?" " _You_ know...gear."

"Like drugs?"

"Yeah, course! And 'ven, well...'e gets me jobs, dancing and 'vat. 'E...looks after me...makes sure I'm fed, and always got a bit of cash in me pocket." She looked across at him with a ghastly smile. "And he can be a real sweetie when he feels like it."

"Right...so what are you going to do? Will you go back to him?" "Nah...don't fink so. Can I 'ave a cuppa tea?"

"Sure. I'll get you one." He got up and filled the kettle.

"Fanks, you're a darlin'. I'd kill for a smoke too. You 'aven't got one I s'pose?" He was washing up a couple of mugs in the sink. "No, sorry, I haven't." "Hm...wonder if anyone else in the joint smokes?"

He turned around to face her, waiting for the kettle to boil. "So...you make a living from dancing. Is that right?"

"Yeah...vat and a few other fings."

"Oh really? What kind of things?" Jude was rapidly starting to regret ever having brought this woman back to the house.

"Aw...you know," she tried to grin at him. "Bit of 'vis and a bit of 'vat."

"No, I don't, actually. The thing is, everyone here pays rent. And I need to get someone into that room that can pay rent." He looked hard at her.

"Oh, I see, it's the money you're after. Well don't worry 'bout 'vat. I've got some plastic. Just need to get to the bank. Just...I don't really want to go out looking like vis...not vis _mornin_ ', anyway. Fanks," as he handed her a mug of tea. "Can it wait till tomorra?"

"I suppose so. It's a hundred a week, with two weeks rent as bond and two weeks rent in advance. Four hundred up front."

"Blimey! 'Vat's a bit steep, Guv'nor. Well, I'll see what I can do tomorra." He said nothing.

"So, you're from aussieland, intcha? What made ya come over 'ere ven?" "Um, just a, change of scenery. Wanted to make a new start."

"New start alright! Do you own this joint?" "Yes."

"Luvaduck! Bit of orright for you! You must be pullin' in a _mint_. 'Ow many people you got staying 'ere?"
"There are seven rooms for rent." He had an idea. "How would you like to go for a bath? There's a bathroom downstairs, or one on the first floor. Would you like that?"

She considered. "Yeah, love to. Can you lend me a towel and some soap? I 'aven't got any of me stuff wiv' me."

He sighed. "Alright. I'll go and find you a towel and some soap." "Fanks, love."

When she had gone he took his tea out to the conservatory and sank down into his favourite chair. The sky outside was getting darker and a gust of wind suggested there might be rain on the way. He realised that his headache was starting to lift, thanks to the tablets.

He was just starting to close his eyes when Arnie appeared and sat down heavily in the chair next to him.

"Where's she gone now?" "For a bath."

"Right."

A silence fell between them. Jude felt his eyes getting heavy once again when Arnie suddenly said, "You've got to get rid of her, man. She can't stay 'ere."

"Yes, I'm beginning to realize that. But I can't exactly throw her out into the street."

"Why not? I'm telling you man, she's trouble! She'll cause nuffin' but trouble 'ere. Just tell 'er to go!"

Jude sighed. "I've already said she can stay for a day or two. She said she'll get some money for rent tomorrow."

"Oh no! What d'you tell 'er vat for?" Arnie was genuinely distraught, holding his head in his hands. "Fuck!"

"Don't worry, I won't take any money off her. I'll tell her she needs to leave."

"She's gotta go, man! I'm tellin' ya. If she stays, she'll be spongin' off all of us, and before you know it, 'e'll be round 'ere, asking why we've got 'is woman stashed away in our 'ouse. And 'e is one mad _fucker_." He looked at Jude out of wide eyes. "'E is a mad _bastard_! Everyone knows Terry round 'ere. 'E's into drugs in a big way; big mates wiv' the biker gangs that run the drugs trade round 'ere now. Been in the scrubs more than once...GBH...Oh man, you do _not_ wanna tangle wiv' Terry!"

"Shit. I see what you mean. You know what she told me?" "What?"

"Well, sounds like he gives her everything she needs, jobs, money, drugs...but in return..."

"In return she 'as to be 'is slave! Yeah, vat's what 'e's like. Controls people. Once they're in 'is power, e's got 'em!" He looked out into the darkening garden. A few drops of rain were
starting to fall against the glass panes. "She's a fuckin' addict man, for sure. You watch... in a day or two she'll start going crazy for drugs."

"Yeah, she's already tried to bum a cigarette off me." "Did you give 'er one?"

"Nope."

"Well don't. Let her realize she's not gonna get _anyfin_ g from us, so she might as well go somewhere else."

"Yes, good idea."

The rain started to fall harder, and in another minute it was torrential, as a summer storm cascaded down over North London. The drumming on the galvanised iron roof of the conservatory made further conversation impossible.

#  SUNDAY NIGHT

June 14th 8.00pm

Just back from my shift on the food van. All the regulars, plus a few new ones. It's a good time of year for them, with the warmer weather. Wish I could do more evenings. It seems such a token gesture, once a week. Would love to be able to do more during the week, but too much marking and prep. Maybe one day, when I'm not a slave to educating the young. (Ha!)

The service was powerful tonight. Father Bryan's an uncompromising old codger, but I liked his homily. "'Young man I tell you: get up.' And the dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him to his mother."

Wonderful. And as father said, Jesus comes to each one of us, raises us up and asks us to follow him. Very moving. I love sitting in St Winifred's - the side chapels, the statues, old paintings, the smell of incense, all those nooks and crannies, and I sit and wonder about all the people who have worshipped there over the ages, all the terrible things they had to endure for their faith; the fear of martyrdom, yet they held true, sure in the presence of Christ. I feel so blessed, that even in the face of all my wrong doing, I can still go to mass, and my sins are forgiven. How wonderful that is - and how great thou art, oh Lord my God.

And going out in the van afterwards - the young boys (Christ make me strong), the crazies, the grizzled old men that society has deemed unworthy, cast out into the streets, eking out an existence, moving from shelter to shelter, sleeping rough, exposed to all the dangers of the streets. God save me from being sanctimonious, help me to be humble, and save me from the torture of my own thoughts.

Moved into this house yesterday. Got the best room, I think, though others would disagree. Two nice big armchairs, bay window, table here in the window, where I can sit and write, electric fire, complete with plastic logs! Lovely ambience. I feel comfortable here. Funny landlord - just over from Australia - trying to run the show himself. He's going to have his hands full, from what I've seen of the others - a real mixed bunch. Some drama this morning about a new arrival; it was all happening in the kitchen this morning; someone that Jude brought home apparently. Young Bangladeshi girl downstairs with a toddler, very cute. Says she's going to keep the house clean and cook for Jude. Sounds like a tall order to me; this is the kind of place you could spend a lifetime trying to keep clean. A few young ones, young black lad, and a very nice-looking white boy, all scrubbed and clean. Think I've seen him down the road in Tesco. What a rich mixture! Truly a microcosm of London society! Jude's an interesting character; something about him, definitely a thinker. Think he might be a writer. He's got that look about him, watching everyone, observing; better watch out or I might end up in his next book! Like to get to know him better. Wonder if we could be friends? Been a long time since I've had a real friend. Wouldn't that be something!

Reggie stopped typing on his laptop computer for a moment and took a sip from a glass of whiskey at his elbow. Facing into the room, on the window side of the small square table, he gazed into the plastic logs to his right, as the wheel inside created the illusion of flames moving along their surface. The boy upstairs was playing music - he could hear the bass beat coming through the ceiling, but nothing else. He took another small sip, then realised how tired he was.

Enough journal. Time to do his Bible reading, then prayers and bed. He tried not to think about the next day and the classroom and the malicious boys who waited for him inside it.

# MONDAY EVENING

It was 5pm the following evening and Reggie was just putting the key into the door of his room when Jude emerged from the kitchen.

"Hello, Reginald."

"Reggie, please! The only person who ever called me Reginald was my mother, when I was in trouble."

"Sorry, Reggie, then. I've got that receipt for you. Remember I didn't have one to give you the other day? Well I'm starting to get organised now; I went out and got a proper receipt book, so...here it is."

"Thank you." He took the proffered piece of paper. "Actually I'd forgotten all about it, but thanks anyway. So the next rent is due...?

"This coming Saturday."

Reggie nodded. "Would you...like to come in for a minute?" "Well...I can do, if you want me to."

"Yes, please do." He opened the door wide for Jude to enter. "I'm just going to have a little drink to er...celebrate surviving another day at work. Care to join me?"

"Haha, I had an unfortunate experience with some whiskey in a pub the other night. Took me all day yesterday to get over it."

Reggie looked at him over the tops of his steel rimmed glasses. "Just one won't hurt." "Oh, alright then, I suppose you're right."

Reggie ushered him in then found the bottle and two glasses. He turned on the standard lamp that stood behind the right hand armchair, which cast a warm glow across the room. "There you go, young man. Here's cheers. Take a seat. You choose."

His visitor surveyed the two well-padded armchairs either side of the fire and chose the one facing the window. Reggie planted himself in the other one and raised his glass.

"To absent friends!"

The Australian considered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Absent friends."

Reggie was watching his guest carefully, as Jude examined the fittings of the room and his tenant's sparse possessions, until finally his gaze returned to his host.
"So, um, how was your day at school?"

"Don't even mention it old boy, I beg you. I drink to forget!" And Reggie gave a little chuckle. "Oh, sorry."

"It's quite alright, you weren't to know. Please, try again." "Right, um, how do you like the house?"

"Aha, much better. Yes, I like it fine. Very nice. It's a lovely old building filled with an extraordinary mix of people; and I have the best room! How extremely selfish of me. How will I manage to live with the guilt?"

"Haha, I'm sure you'll find a way."

"No doubt I will." They lapsed into a brief silence, then Reggie said with the faintest trace of a smile, "And what do you think of the motley crew that now inhabit your lovely house? It must be strange, wondering who will turn up out of the blue. Have you turned anyone away yet?"

"Hmm, not yet, but I think it might come to that soon."

"Really? But the house is full now, isn't it? Is there someone who's not, um, fitting in?"

Jude looked at him sideways, then grinned. "Come on, Reggie, no need to be quite so coy. I'm sure you know what's happened."

"Do I?" He was all innocence.

Jude ignored this. "In general, I'm very pleased. Rupa and Lunah downstairs are great, Arnie and David and Anna all seem fine."

"Ah, yes, the young ones!" He was beaming across at the Australian. "But I think I bumped into a slightly more mature lady around lunchtime today? Slim, petite, pretty, dark hair? She's a bit of a stunner isn't she? Quite a find, don't you think?"

Jude took another sip of his drink, then nodded. "Yes, Sharon. She came around yesterday and took the back room downstairs. I was quite surprised; I was sure I was going to have trouble with that one. It's so small and dark. Quite depressing, actually."

"Perhaps she likes the company?" Reggie's eyebrows were arched and that trace of a smile was playing around his lips.

"Yes, she seemed to really hit it off with Rupa, straight away. I guess they have something in common."

"Oh?"

"We'll, they're both divorced."

"Ah, of course. That would be a bond, I suppose." "And recently, too."

"I see. So, that makes seven including you and I. Was there one more room?"
"Reggie, you know there is, and you also know what happened."

"Well, a little bird did whisper something about a girl, who was hurt, at the pub on Saturday night, and someone brought her home?"

"Yes, I think you probably know the whole story."

"We'll, Arnie's version of it, anyway." Jude said nothing. "So, is she still here?" "Yes, I foolishly agreed to let her stay for a few days."

"And Arnie's worried about the repercussions for us, if she stays; and nasty abusive boyfriend finds out where she is."

"Yup."

Reggie drained the last of his drink. "You know in terms of the Bible and the religion which I happen to be a follower of, what you did was absolutely the right thing to do."

"Hmm."

"No, really. She's obviously an unfortunate woman, on the fringes of what we like to call society; a classic victim of male domination and abuse, being attacked on the street by her ghastly so called boyfriend, and you take pity on her and bring her home. It was a wonderful act of charity. Most people would turn the other way, pass by on the other side of the road, but you didn't. You stepped in and helped." He shook his head. "Wonderful. I only hope I would have the guts to do the same thing."

"Well, it wasn't quite like that, you know; but anyway, the thing is, look at the mess it's got me into! Turns out she's a nasty, grasping, conniving drug addict, who has decided that we're a useful bunch of mugs to sponge off."

"Yes, but that's the point, old chap. These people are often like that. Of course they're grasping malingerers; how else do you think they'd survive in the harsh environment they find themselves in? We can't expect that people we reach out to will necessarily be grateful to us. Of course they're going to come with a whole raft of problems; that's the nature of the beast we're dealing with."

He reached for the bottle and gave himself a generous refill, offering it to Jude, who accepted.

"I mean, I go out once a week with a food van that my church organises, to help provide meals for the homeless in our local area. But it's one thing to hand out bowls of soup, from the back of a van, then come home again; quite another thing to befriend someone in trouble and bring them back to your own home. There's no comparison!" He looked across at his landlord. "Jude, I have nothing but admiration for what you did; but you mustn't be surprised that she comes with baggage."

"Yes, all very well, but it doesn't tell me how to deal with her, now that she's here." Reggie leaned back in his chair. "What does your instinct tell you to do?"

"Tell her to leave." He gave a wry grin. "So where does that leave your Christian charity? What would you do in my place?"
Reggie gave his slow smile. "Well, let's see, obviously have a talk to the lady in question; explain the situation to her, as I see it. Ask her for her point of view. Find out if she has any alternatives, apart from going back to you-know-who. I suppose generally talk the whole thing through and see if we could find a way forward."

"Hmm, and what if she told you that it was all your fault, because you brought her back here in the first place, which she didn't really want you to do anyway, but now that you've done it, and the damage is done, it's up to you to sort something out, because now she's in danger from her boyfriend, and it's all thanks to you!" The whiskey was making Jude animated. He was pointing his finger at Reggie and getting himself worked up.

"Mmm, yes, I see what you mean; some of my students are like that; whatever happens it's all

your fault, and definitely not theirs."

Jude sighed. "Let's leave it." Reggie watched him as he took another sip from his glass, swilled it around, apparently fascinated by the amber liquid. "You told me yesterday morning that you used to live another life altogether." He met Reggie's gaze. "What did you mean by that?"

"Did I say that?"

"You did, on Saturday morning, when I first met you."

"Hmm, so I did. I believe I also said I'd tell you about it sometime?" "Right."

Reggie was looking at his new friend intently, as if weighing him up. Was he ready to do this? He had a momentary sensation of leaping out into space, of there being no turning back now. "Well..." He exhaled deeply. "The fact is, I used to be a priest."

A train rattled over the bridge and slowly faded away southwards towards the city. "When did you...stop being a priest?"

"About fifteen years ago."

"Right." There was an alien sound somewhere in the house. Reggie had a nasty feeling it might be a television set. "And how did you find that? Being a priest, I mean?"

"Loved it. It's the most wonderful thing in the world, if you feel called to it." "And you obviously did...feel called to it?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. I had no doubt at all in my mind that Christ had called me to follow him. I still don't. That feeling is as strong today as it ever was."

"Ok." Jude was nodding slowly. "I see." "I wonder if you do?"

"Sorry?"

"I said, I wonder if you do see?" Reggie put his glass down and stood up, then paced over to the window where he stood looking out onto what could be seen of the street outside, bathed
in the mysterious half-light of the mid-summer evening. With has back to Jude, he said in a quiet voice, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"It's a very impertinent question, but do you believe in God?" "Well...I...I mean it depends on what you call God."

"Does it?"

"Yes, I mean, God is a very broad concept, and as a concept, well, everyone has a different idea of what it means."

Reggie turned around to face his new friend. "If you'll forgive me for being blunt, I think that's a load of hogwash. Shall I tell you why?"

"Alright then."

"Because I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, creator of heaven and earth, and in his son, The Lord Jesus Christ, eternally begotten of the father. Through him all things were made, for us men and for our salvation. And when you believe in God like that, and you feel him inside you every moment of the day, a living presence, walking beside you, every step of the way, then you are in no doubt about what God is, or what kind of a concept he might be to different people."

There was silence, through which they both became aware of a new noise coming from near the kitchen. Jude drained his glass and placed it carefully on the small table beside his chair.

"Thanks for the drink, Reggie. I appreciate it. And thanks for the chat, too. I'd like to talk to you some more, soon. Yes, soon."

Reggie stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at his guest over the top of his steel rimmed glasses. "Tell me something, Jude. Why didn't you ask me the obvious question?"

"About what?"

"When I told you that I used to be a priest."

"Oh, that. Well, I'm sure you'll tell me when you're ready." And he turned on his heel, and quietly left the room.

#  MONDAY NIGHT

Jude walked a little unsteadily through to the kitchen, intending to make a cup of tea and take it up to his room, to try to shake off the effects of two glasses of whiskey. He was just filling the electric kettle when the door of Alison's room opened and the lady herself stepped into the kitchen. He saw she was wearing a long loose dress that hung from her slender shoulders by two straps, tied with a bow at the top of each. As the door opened, the sound of a television followed her from behind. It sounded like one of the music channels, playing some classic hits. Jude could see her face was a little better; the bruising was changing from a bright purple to a yellow, mustardy colour, mixed with streaks of black. Her lip had also begun to heal, although it was still swollen. She seemed to be moving slowly, as if taking care with each step.

"'Ello. Been waitin' to catch ya. Got somfin' for ya." She leaned against the back of a chair, then carefully pulled it back and lowered herself into it. "'Ere, 's for you."

He could see she was holding out some bank notes in his direction. "'Ere, take it!"

He reached forward and took the money from her. "Yeah. 400 quid, just like ya told me. Orright?" He counted the money. She seemed to be slurring her words a little. "Is vat right?"

He looked at her and nodded. "Er, yes, that's right." "Good. So I can stay now, yeah?"

"Ah, yes. For the moment."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Don't worry, darlin', I never stay anywhere too long. Bit of a, what's the word, gypsy I am; like to move on, after a while."

Jude slowly put the money in his pocket. "So, you went out today?"

She laughed again, but it turned into a snort. "Nah. Me good mate Dave went out for me, dinn'e." She indicated her new room with her thumb. "E's a good lad is young Dave; went and got the cash, got me some clothes, few uvver bits an' pieces I needed. E's a good mate, e' is. Incha Dave!" She yelled out in the general direction of the room, but Dave made no reply. Alison giggled. "E's a bit shy, I reckon, but 'is 'eart's in the right place." She watched while Jude made his mug of tea. "Even lent me 'is TV, so we'd 'ave somfin' to watch in vere. Get's fuckin' boring after a while, 'angin' round the 'ouse," she said, almost to herself.

"Right, ok then. I'm going out there." He picked up his mug and made for the back steps.

"Orright, Guv'. Night night." But she made no move to get up. As Jude carefully descended the steps to the conservatory, he had the impression she was still sitting there.

He sank down into his favourite chair and put the mug on the floor next to him. The light was off and he could see out into the garden. Night had finally fallen and the sky was clear. The backs of the houses were suffused in a soft nocturnal light, whether from the moon or stars, or from the city itself, he could not be sure; but through it, he could see quite clearly the grass in
his own garden, the walls and above them, the backs of the adjacent houses. A few lights were still on, though little could be heard over the dull rumble of the TV still blaring in Alison's room.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as something came up against the outside of the glass pane in front of him. It resolved itself into a nose and eyes and a pair of whiskers. The tabby cat rubbed itself against the glass, then went to the door and made a scratching noise with its paw. He got up and let it in. It entered with its tail high, in the way that cats do, as if it owned the place. Jude went and sat back down, and the cat promptly jumped into his lap, curled up and started to breathe very evenly. He stroked it absently.

Somebody in Alison's room had finally turned the TV off. Quiet descended like a warm blanket. He was starting to feel wonderfully relaxed and at peace, when he heard clumping steps coming down from above. Somebody entered the kitchen and hesitated, then moved towards the back door. Arnie appeared at the top of the steps.

"'Ello guv', is vat you? What you doing sittin' in the dark all by yerself?" "Aw, just, you know, having some quiet time."

"See you've got ya friend wiv' ya. Mind if I join ya?" "Nope. Have a seat."

"Fanks, guv'." He pulled up a chair and lowered his long, lanky frame into it. Jude could see he had his usual tight jeans on and sneakers. He couldn't see the shirt clearly in the dark, but it looked like one of his large check patterns.

There was silence for a moment, then Arnie's chair squeaked. "You know what madam 'as done, dontcha?" He indicated the adjacent room with his head.

"You mean Alison?" "Yeah."

"Mmm. She gave me some rent just now. Apparently Dave went out and got her money and some other things, clothes and stuff."

"Yeah." Arnie was breathing hard. "Stupid, fuckin' bastard! Oh my God! 'Ow could 'e be such a fuckin' arse'ole?"

"Hmm."

Arnie looked up at him sharply. "Why did ya take the money? Why not jus' say: 'No, ya can't stay. Be out by tomorra morning!'?"

"I know. I probably should have. Guess I'm not good at saying 'no' to people." He sighed. "A landlord needs to be a mean bastard sometimes, and I'm not."

"Yeah, you're right there, Guv'." He paused. "So now she's gonna stay, and fuck knows what Terry's gonna do when he finds out where she's stayin'. Prob'ly go berserk. Set the 'ouse on fire, get 'is biker mates to trash the place, and us." He looked up at Jude. "You gotta be careful, man. If 'e finds out what you did the uver night, 'e's likely to come atcha and take ya out. 'E's fuckin' mad that way."
Jude felt a tightening in his bowels, but said nothing. They lapsed into silence again, then Arnie, said, in a wheedling sort of voice. "Hey Guv'?"

"Mmm?"

"D'you mind if I...smoke some weed?"

"Er, probably not, long as you're discreet about it. If the cops raid your room, I know nothing about it. OK?"

"No worries, mate! Haha. Just, it 'elps to calm me nerves, when, when I get nervous. Know what I mean?"

"Sure." He watched as Arnie took out a joint from under his shirt and lit it, then went up to the kitchen and returned with a small china bowl, to serve as an ashtray.

The younger man took a long draw on it then slowly exhaled. "Ah, that's better." The cat woke up, sniffed the air, took a hard look at the new arrival and jumped off Jude's lap. After a while Arnie drew on it again, then offered the joint to his landlord.

"Aha, now then! You're offering a smoke to a man who gave up cigarettes a few years ago, but still has the craving!"

"Aw, go on. Lil' bit of weed won't hurt ya."

Jude didn't need much persuading. He accepted the joint and took a tentative pull on it. One more, and he passed it back. The nicotine gave him an immediate rush, making his head spin, after so long without it. Then, slowly the weed kicked in too, infiltrating his mind, bringing everything into very clear focus, including all of his appetites.

Arnie was leaning back with his eyes closed. "Nice?" "Mmm, very. Good stuff. Where d'you get it?" "Haha, silly question; off a man in a pub."

"Course you did!"

They finished off the joint, then sat back contentedly. From somewhere far away Jude heard Arnie say, "Tell me about Australia."

"Hey?"

"Back 'ome, Australia; what's it like?"

"Hmm. Cities, suburbs, cars, pubs, 'cept we call them hotels, schools, factories, shops, shopping centres, corner shops "

"Wait! That's just like 'ere. I mean, shouldn't it be different?"

"Well, I'll tell you what's different; there's nothing old, well not really old. There's a few old buildings in Sydney, around the Rocks, but that's about it. Nothing really old, well not in the cities, anyway."

"Yeah . 'N what about outside; in the, what d'you call it? In the bush?"
"Ah, now you're talking. That's where it gets interesting. That's where you really know that you're alive. It's beautiful, mountains, forests, flat plains. Then you get into the desert country. You know what?" He sat forward in the chair, grabbing Arnie's knee in his excitement.

"What?"

"People say the centre of Australia is dead. The 'Dead Centre' they call it. But that, my fine young fellow, is bullshit. The centre of Australia is alive. You just have to know how to look at it. It's got trees, and dry creeks, which flood when it rains, and it's got hills and amazing rock formations. They call the mountains 'ranges'. And guess what colour they are!"

"Go on, tell me!"

"Red! Bright red, well bronzy red, anyway. And, and, d'ya know the best thing, 'bout the desert, I mean?" He paused, looking up at the ceiling, but seeing only the sights of home. "At night, when you're camping out bush, and you lie down on the ground, before you go to sleep, and you look up in the sky, you see..." He made elaborate gestures with his arms, "So many stars! I'm not kidding; there's millions of them, and they're so clear and bright. You can see every one of them; the whole Milky Way, spread out across the middle of the sky. Amazing!"

"Fuck! Sounds awesome man! Love to go vere. Only fing..." "What?"

"Well, I mean, what 'bout all vem snakes and spiders and, and crocodiles, and, um, scorpions, and whatnot?"

"Ah! Don' worry 'bout them. They keep outta ya way. More scared of you than you are of them!"

"Mmm. 'Spose." Arnie was trying to frame a thought, trying to grasp it before it was gone. "Did you have a, ya know, like wife or girlfriend or somefing over vere?"

"Hmm , well, yes, yes I did." "And what was she like?"

There was a long silence, so long that Arnie thought he had gone to sleep; but then he heard, "She was...nice. Very nice."

"Tell me what she looked like."

"Hmm. What did she look like?" He was talking dreamily, a smile on his lips. But no words emerged, only the loving images, locked away in his head, which Arnie could not share.

Finally the younger man prompted him. "And what 'appened to 'er? She still over vere?" "Um, no; she she died."

"Oh, I'm sorry Guv'. Sorry, I shouldn't 'ave "

Jude waved his hand. "No, no, it's alright. Don't worry."

They stopped and listened to the sounds of the house at night. Tiny noises, a giggle, a gasp nearby. Was it Alison's room? But then another noise, a door opening, footsteps coming up
from below, slowly ascending the stairs. They reached the kitchen and stopped. Somebody was filling the kettle, putting it on. Steps approached the back door. They both looked up, waiting to see who it was.

Jude was suddenly alert. "Hello, who's there?"

A head appeared. It was Sharon, looking out uncertainly into the darkened conservatory. "Orright Sharon? It's only us; me and the Guv', 'avin' a quiet little...chat."

"Oh, OK. Couldn't see you there." She was wearing a knee-length blue denim skirt with a light coloured cardigan over a tee shirt, and pink fluffy slippers . "I came up to make a cuppa. Anyone else want one?"

Jude was gazing at her dreamily. "Love one!" "No fanks, Sharon. I fink it's my bedtime."

"Ok, if you're sure." And she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Arnie got up and produced another joint from some secret pocket inside his shirt. He winked broadly and handed it to Jude, who took it and examined it vaguely, as if it had no real connection with him at all. He laid it down on the coffee table between the chairs as Arnie made his way up the steps.

"Night Sharon, night Guv." "Night Arnie."

Jude was sitting, smiling away to himself. The cat had returned and jumped back into his lap. Sharon arrived with two mugs of tea and put them down on the coffee table.

She sat down next to him and folded her hands in her lap. "Jude can I tell you something?" "Course you can. What's up?"

"Well, I know that we don't know each other very well at all; in fact we only met yesterday, but, well, the thing is I have to talk to someone, and you're here, and you seem like a nice man, so..." She stopped.

"Sharon, what's wrong? I'm listening."

She looked at him as if she were trying hard not to cry. "Well, the fact is...well I brought some things over from home (not that it's my home any longer) and...I've been trying to brighten up the room today...but all the time I feel well it sounds so stupid!"

He took her hand. "Sharon, it's not stupid. Tell me."

Suddenly she burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. He put one arm round her shoulder, dislodging the cat in the process. "I've felt like crying all day, and now " She was

overtaken by a fit of sobbing, "and now I'm crying in front of you!"

He drew her closer, his mouth against her ear. "Sharon, it's ok to cry. It's a natural thing when stuff like this happens. It must be so awful for you, having to leave your home and come

here, to that horrible room, in a house full of strangers."
She sobbed onto his shoulder, while he patted her gently, till eventually she stopped, only succumbing to the occasional hiccup.

"Do you know what I was doing before, down in the room? I felt so miserable that I had a couple of glasses of wine. How pathetic is that? Trying to drown my sorrows. And I never do that!"

She was looking at him out of tear-stained eyes, her face swollen and blotchy from crying. She looked so much like a lost child that he had the irresistible urge to kiss the end of her nose.

When he had done so, she inexplicably burst into tears again, which was not what he had intended. Afraid that he had done the wrong thing, he pulled away, but she grasped his hands in both of her own and pulled him towards her hard, till his face was up against hers, then she kissed him on the mouth, with some force. He felt her lips pressing hard against his own and her hands squeezing his. They stayed thus for...how long? It was impossible to tell, as time seemed to have stopped, but eventually she released him and gave a little strangled laugh.

"Oh! I don't know why I did that. How strange...sorry. I do apologise..."

He smiled at her in the way that he seemingly couldn't help doing, when she was around. "Um, I think I started it by, you know..."

"Yes, you did, didn't you; so it's all your fault!" She took a deep breath and tried to look at him severely, but not very successfully. "Shall I tell you what I was going to say before? Well, anyway, I don't really want this tea. I only made it for something to do. I was going to ask if you'd join me in a glass of wine?"

"Oh my! What an evening this is turning out to be! First Reggie plies me with whiskey, then Arnie forces me to share his weed with him, and now you want me to drink wine with you!"

She covered her mouth with one hand. "Are you serious? Poor thing; you'll be pissed as a fart if you have any more!"

"He grinned at her. "Aw, what the hell! Bring it on!" "Are you sure? I mean..."

"Sharon, I was only kidding. I would love to have a drink of wine with you." "Ooh, you are an old sweetie! Wait there and I'll go and get the bottle."

He loved the way she reverted to a North country accent, when she was off her guard. In a minute she was back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

He took it off her and examined the label. "Mmm, Australian, Margaret River Shiraz, very nice. Good choice!"

"Thanks. We've got quite a stash at home. I picked it up today while I was over there." She took it back and poured two glasses. "Here. Cheers!"

"Cheers! Mmm, that's good, lovely full-bodied flavour. Aussie wines's the best, don't you think?"
"Haha, you would say that. But you're right, it is very good." She took another sip and turned to him. "This is so much better than drinking alone. Thanks for being here to...keep me company."

"Thanks for coming to live in my house. It's so much better now for your being here."

They fell silent for a moment, then she gave a little giggle. "Why do you keep looking at me and smiling like that?"

"Sorry, I can't help it. It's, well, it's just the effect you have on me. Normally I'm pretty serious, but...you just make me smile."

"Hmm." She put her glass down on the coffee table and folded her hands round her knees. "So tell me about Reggie. What's he like? I haven't actually spoken to him yet."

He considered a moment. "Well, I like him. He's funny, kind of pompous, but in a nice way; I mean, sort of old fashioned. He's a teacher now; used to be a priest. I'd say he's very well educated. I enjoyed talking to him."

"He used to be a priest!"

"Well, that's what he said. Why not?"

"Just, it makes me wonder why he isn't one any more?"

"Funny that. Just as I was leaving, he wanted to know why I hadn't asked him that question." "And you said?"

"I think I said he could tell me about it some other time. If I stayed any longer he would've got me plastered on his whiskey. I had to get out of there! But he's a very interesting guy to talk to."

"Hmm." She was examining his face by the light of the moon, which had now risen and was shining in through the glass. "Do you think he's gay? Is he one of those priests who are accused of, you know, interfering with boys?"

He picked up his glass and swallowed some of the delicious wine. "Maybe. I don't know. But he seems like a very genuine person. He still has a very deep faith."

"Right. Well, that must be...a great comfort to him."

"Yes, I'm always fascinated by people who have a faith like that." "Really? Why?"

"Probably because I envy them. It's something I don't have."

She looked at him in that appraising way that she had. "Is it something that you'd like to have?" "Well, I'm not sure that 'like' is the right word. It's not really a case of 'liking'."

"No? What then?"

He frowned, searching for the words. "It's more like a very deep-seated need; even a longing."
She was gazing at him, almost without seeing him. "Why do I feel as though I could talk to you for hours, and we'd never run out of amazing things to discuss? She paused. "Um, would you pour me another glass of wine, please? Do have some yourself."

He did so. She leaned in towards him. He could see her face in the moonlight; her eyes dark, her lips curving into a mysterious and alluring smile. "Would you do me a huge favour?"

He nodded, slowly.

"I know I'm making a complete fool of myself, but would you put your arm round me again and hold my hand? I've been so miserable for so long, and it seems like a lifetime since anyone has held me close like that. Would you?"

He moved his chair so her body was right next to his. When he circled her shoulders with his arm, she snuggled into him and held his other hand between her own, cradled in her lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could feel her hair against his face. They stayed like that for some minutes, while he felt her breathing against him.

"Mmm. That feels lovely." She looked up at him and her mouth was close to his ear. He could hear her breathing, then her lips were nuzzling the lobe of his ear. He turned towards her and their lips found each other. This time the kiss was softer, smoother, exploring this new territory and finding it rich in untapped wealth. He could feel her hands trying to take hold of his face, while his own were resting on her shoulders, longing to travel further afield, to map out this new continent, so fragrant and beguiling, with its hills and valleys, it's peaks and it's hidden wetlands.

She giggled softly and broke away from him briefly, then looked at him like a naughty school girl at her first party. She glanced down at the coffee table and picked up the joint.

"What's this?"

"Ha, little miss innocent! You know what that is."

"Do I?" She held it under her nose and sniffed. "What do you want? Joint or wine?" He grinned at her. "Both."

"You're drunk!"

"So are you!" He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged out of range. "What do you want?" She giggled. "You."

"Ha! You are drunk. I tell you what." "What? Mr bossy landlord?"

"I'll light the joint and you pour the wine. How's that for division of labour?" "Hmm. You're on."

Now time seemed to be speeding up, because it was only a moment later that he sat with a newly charged glass and he was taking a drag on the new joint. He held it a moment then slowly exhaled, offering it to Sharon, who was sitting hunched forward, watching him.
First she shook her head, frowning in distaste. "No, not for me. I don't, thanks." "Oh, go on! Just a little taste. Be naughty!"

She broke into a cheeky grin. "You're a bad influence on me!" "Go on, be a devil!"

She made a face at him, then gingerly took the long, slim roll-up and delicately placed it in her mouth. She took a tiny draw, then coughed the smoke out in a cloud. He laughed and made to take it off her, but she snatched it away.

"Wait, I'll try again." She took a gulp of wine, then carefully inhaled a little more this time, took it back, then blew it out. She smiled at him. "Better?"

"Much better. Well done."

She was looking at him with very round eyes. "Wow! That's...hmm!" "Like it?"

She sipped some wine, savoring the taste. "Mmm, interesting!"

He sat back, one hand on her knee, watching the moon through the glass, as it winked and danced in his vision. As he sampled the joint again, he became aware that one of her hands was on his knee, then it was rubbing the inside of his leg in an exploratory way. She looked round at him, smiling gently.

"Such a good looking man." She massaged his leg a moment. "So tall and, polite and, helping everyone and...such a good kisser, too." She looked past him and immediately was sad. "Nobody's kissed me like that in such a long time." Her eyes filled with tears and her face screwed up as she got ready to cry again.

He stubbed out the remains of the smoke in the plate and placed his arm around her neck and drew her to him. "Well, it's about time someone did then, isn't it? And I'm so glad that it's me." He kissed her on the ear. She folded herself into him and suddenly her arms were around him and her glorious lips were kissing his and he felt himself sliding down into the maelstrom of ecstasy that her embrace had become for him.

The next thing he knew they had somehow ascended the steps and were being propelled across the kitchen towards the stairs, though he barely knew what was happening, since she still seemed to be kissing him as they clung onto each other. When they reached the stairs he had no memory of making any decision, but they were somehow floating downwards. As they entered her room, he looked up and wanted to say something to her about the new items she had introduced, but suddenly the bed was coming up to meet him and he fell into it with a huge splash, and he was still going down, down, down into the dark depths, where all was forgetfulness and silence, except for the image bubbles which brushed briefly against his consciousness, showing him faces and scenes from the past, which just as quickly vanished again into the murk and left him, thankfully, in blessed oblivion.

*

Sharon woke in the middle of the night to find herself snuggled up against a fully clothed man who was lying on his back on her bed and snoring gently. She turned on a bedside lamp and examined him more closely.

He was wearing slightly faded jeans, black socks and a checked shirt, which was partially open and revealed a hairy paunch, which despite his lying on his back, displayed a slightly convex shape, which rose and fell as he breathed. One hairy arm was splayed wide across the bed, while the other rested on his chest. The face sagged somewhat in repose, but as she watched, a slight upward curve of the lips suggested that his dream was a happy one. Suddenly he snuffled and emitted a groan, then abruptly turned on his side away from her.

She turned off the lamp and shuffled herself up against him, fitting the curve of his body to her own. She carefully reached one arm over the top of him and held it there. She was still staring into the darkness when she felt his hand take hold of hers, and squeeze it gently but reassuringly. She smiled happily and leaned a little closer to him, as sleep took her again, and she dreamed that she was suddenly happier than she had ever been in her life before, and no matter what happened, nobody could take that away from her.

#  TUESDAY MORNING – 8AM

If Reggie or Arnie or Jude or Dave, or Anna, for that matter, had looked out of their window at the road, early the next morning, they would have seen an ancient Ford Cortina parked across the other side of the street with a rather greasy looking individual sat in the driver's seat, reading a paper. The fact that none of them did look out was due to the fact that Reggie was at his morning prayers, Arnie was in the first floor bathroom, Jude was still fast asleep on Sharon's bed, Dave was still fast asleep in Allison's bed and Anna was engaged in doing something complicated with her hair, in the top floor bathroom. So this long-haired, unshaven, middle- aged man, with dirty fingernails and bad teeth, remained completely undetected, at this stage.

He was, however, keeping a close eye on the front entrance of number 15, for when the door suddenly opened and a middle-aged man in a rather tight black suit carrying a small brief case appeared, he looked up sharply from his paper. He watched as the fellow descended the steps and got into a green Nissan Micro parked in front of the house and drove off. He then made a brief note on his phone and continued to read the Daily Mail.

Ten minutes later a girl in jeans and leather boots covering her shins emerged from the house and mounted a scooter that was parked in the driveway beside the house. She backed the machine out and took off down the street. He made another note on his phone.

Five minutes more and a gangly black youth in tight fitting denims and a multi-coloured beany appeared and unlocked a push bike that was chained to the railing on top of the low wall of the driveway. The greasy-haired spy slid down lower into his seat, and raised the paper a little higher so that his face was completely concealed. When the youth had pedalled from sight he sat up again.

"Yeah, that's right, you black fucker. You fuck off out of it!" And he made a further note on the phone.

Fifteen minutes more and no one else had left. He folded the paper up, got out of the car, carefully closed the door without locking it and crossed the road to the house. At the top of the steps he rang the bell and waited. After a while the door was opened by a young Indian-looking woman in a hijab, holding a brush and dustpan. She looked at him uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"'Scuse me, darlin', just here to see a friend of mine!" And he pushed his way past her into the house.

"Excuse me! Cannot...!"
He turned on her. "Oh but I can, darlin', now get outa my way, or I'll..." He drew back his fist to punch her. She cowered against the wall and raised her hands to defend herself, dropping the brush and dustpan. He gave her a ghastly grin and lowered his fist. "Orright, you be a good wog girl and leave me alone. Yeah?"

She nodded, terrified.

He left her and entered the kitchen, which was empty. After a quick look around he made for the bedroom door on the left, opened it quietly and looked in.

"'Allo, 'allo, 'allo, if it ain't me old mate Ally! And she's got 'erself a new boyfriend. 'Ow sweet! So this is where you are, darlin'! We've all been so worried 'bout ya. And 'ere you been shacked up 'ere all the time." He contemplated the couple in bed for a moment. "I'll be sure to give your love to Terry." With a final grimace he closed the door on them.

Looking around, he made for the stairs and checked the rooms on the first floor. One locked, one open, but empty. He climbed to the top floor. Same story there; so where was the Aussie bastard that owned this place? As he took the stairs two at a time going down, he saw Allison's new boyfriend waiting for him at the bottom. Without any hesitation he tore down the stairs even faster, emitting a roar of rage and careened into the youth, smashing him in the face with his fist. When the other staggered backwards from the force of the blow, he kicked him hard between the legs. When the boy hit the floor he drove his boot into his face as hard as he could.

He bent down next to the youth's ear and said in a poisonous voice, "Now keep out of my way, you fuckin' toe rag."

He moved down to the basement, where he found that the woman who had let him in had locked herself in her room. When he gently opened the door of the back room, however, he found an older couple, ridiculously lying next to each other, fully clothed. They were just starting to stir, awakened by the noise.

"Sorry to bovver you two love birds, but would you be the owner? Aussie bloke?"

The man in the bed was looking at him out of bleary eyes, barely awake. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

"Ah, there we go, now. You'd be the one!" He paused and licked his lips. "Little message for ya from Terry. Asked me to tell ya that 'e'll be catching up with ya very soon, you and Ally and her fuckin' toe rag new boyfriend. Orright 'Guv? You got that, 'ave ya?"

On the way back out he found that the boyfriend had dragged himself halfway back to the bedroom. He ignored him, made his way to the front door and let himself quietly out of the house.

*

The pain seemed to be coming at him from all directions. His face was throbbing and his cheek felt like it was splitting open. He seemed to be bleeding freely, while his testicles ached with a deep-seated agony which seemed to permeate his whole body. Someone was speaking to him.
"Dave! Talk to me. Are you orright?"

He opened one eye and looked at Ally bending over him, then closed it again. Her hand was on his shoulder. He managed to locate it with his own and squeeze it gently. "Help me up." She got her hands under his armpits from behind and tried to lift him, but he was too heavy. Someone else was in the room.

"Here, let me help." It was the owner. This time stronger hands were able to raise him to his feet.

" 'Elp me get 'im through to the bed."

They got his arms onto their shoulders and between them managed to drag him to Ally's bed. "Get a towel or a clof' or somefin' for 'is face."

Someone was dabbing at his face and head and applying something which stung his skin. Then they were lifting his head up and making him swallow some tablets, which he did with difficulty. Eventually his body hurt less and he was drifting away to a place that was not filled with pain and humiliation.

*

Sharon was sitting sideways at the kitchen table, facing Jude and gently rubbing his arm. She tried to smile at him. "Maybe you should go to the police?"

"What can they do?"

"Well, they probably know this character and Terry. Could they issue some kind of restraining order against Terry?"

"On what grounds? I can't imagine they'd be very interested."

"But you have to do something. You can't just wait around for this man to come along and beat you to a pulp, or worse!" Her voice caught in her throat, and he turned to face her.

"I'm touched that you're worried about me." He took her hand and held it to his lips. "Course I'm worried about you, you silly man." She kissed him on the cheek.

Rupa appeared with Lunah on her hip. "He gone?"

Jude nodded at her. "Yes, he's gone." She came and sat down across from them and plumped the little girl on her lap. He thought she looked really shaken. "Why? Did you see him?"

She passed one hand across her forehead. "I let him in, then he was wanting to..." She made a fist with her hand.
He leaned towards her. "Are you telling me he was going to punch you?" "When opened the door he..." She made a movement.

"He pushed past you?"

"Yes. Then said, 'No, cannot...' And he..."

Sharon went and sat next to her, putting one arm round her shoulders. "Rupa, did he punch you?"

"No, he...like this!" "He threatened you?"

"Yes, if didn't let him...come in, do what he want."

"Oh my God! So he's forced his way into the house and threatened Rupa." Jude banged a fist on the table. "This is too much!"

The bedroom door opened and Alison sauntered over to the table in one of her long house dresses. "'Fing is, what you gonna do 'bout it?"

"Hi Alison, er, have you met Rupa and Sharon? And little Lunah."

"Guv, do me a favour, would ya? Call me Ally. No one I know calls me 'Alison'." She cast a quick glance round the table. "Yeah, 'ello everyone. I've seen you 'round. Pleased to meet ya, and....I'm sorry 'bout all ve 'assle."

There was silence. Then Sharon said, "Ally, do you know this man that's just been here?" "Yeah, I do."

"And, well, what's his name?"

" 'Is real name is, Roger, I fink, but everyone calls 'im Brownie."

"Brownie?" Sharon was trying to make sense of this. "Like the junior girl guides?"

Ally looked at her. "No. Because 'e's Terry's side kick and 'e's always brown-nosin', tryin' to get in Tel's good books."

Jude was studying her closely. "Is that why he was here today?"

"Yeah, course. He was spyin' on us. Now Tel is gonna know where I am, and you", she looked at him. "And Dave, 'o course. 'E'll be for it too. 'E'll cop it orright."

"How about you, Ally? Will you cop it too?" "Oh, yeah, course. Naturally."

Sharon was frowning at her. "How can you say that so calmly? How can you put up with this kind of treatment? You still bear all the marks of the last time he beat you, and now you're telling us it's going to happen all over again?"
Ally shrugged. "Yeah, well, vat's what Terry does. It's 'is way." She looked round at them. "Not much I can do 'bout it. Um, anyone mind if I 'ave a smoke?"

"Out the back, if you don't mind." "Aw, Guv! It's raining!"

"Is it? Well, at least go there, down the steps." He pointed towards the conservatory.

She huffed at him, then flounced across and down the steps. Lunah had picked up a teaspoon and started banging the table with it. They all looked at her.

Rupa said, "Sorry, she hungry."

"Course she is, poor little thing!" Sharon bent down and looked Lunah in the face. She was rewarded with a teaspoon whack on the nose.

"Lunah!" Rupa made to smack her, but Sharon stopped her.

She was laughing. "No, please. It's fine. I'm sure I deserved it anyway."

Rupa took the spoon off her daughter. "But she right one way. You must eat, and I will cook for everyone, but..." She was embarrassed. "Don't have lot of food. Need to go shop."

Sharon was moving towards the fridge. "I have bacon and bread. I bought some yesterday." "And I have eggs!" Jude was anxious to contribute.

"Ok!" Rupa was happy now. "So we have real British breakfast!" And she laughed so much that Lunah joined in too.

Later, after Jude and Sharon had both had showers and freshened up and changed, and the four of them were sitting around eating the wonderful meal that Rupa had served up to them, Rupa suddenly said, "But Ally right about one thing."

"What's that, Rupa?" Jude said through a mouth full of bacon and toast. "What going to do about it? She right. This is problem."

"I still think you should go to the police!" Sharon was looking hard at Jude.

He frowned back at her. "Ok, if that'll make you feel better we'll give it a go. We'll go down to the police station after this. Er, where's the nearest one?"

Ally reappeared from her room. "Out vat way, up on Stoke Newington 'igh Street. I should know, I been vere often enough. Ooh, breakfast! Any left for me?"

"Little bit left in pan. I make you some toast to go with." Rupa started to bustle round, glad to have another mouth to feed.

Ally sat down at the table. "I fink vat's a very bad idea, going to the ol' bill. Vey won't do anyfink about it, and it'll only make Tel angrier than 'e is already." She looked round the table. "Count me outa vat one."
Jude was starting to feel all the booze and the weed he had had the night before catching up on him. He felt he would like nothing better than to go and lie down on his bed and get some more rest.

"How's Dave?" Asked Sharon.

"Fast asleep, poor fing. But 'e'll live."

Sharon was watching her. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. 'E's a sweet boy. First one I can remember that liked me for meself, not for what he can get outa me. I mean, look at me, a slag and a junkie. 'Oo'd want me? Tel only wants me 'cos he can control me, know what I mean?" She was gazing down at the plate of food Rupa had placed in front of her. Then she looked up at the older woman, defiantly. "But Dave, 'e wants me for me, and vat's....well, vat's special, vat is."

"Yes, you're right there. That's very special. It he cares for you and really wants the best for you, well, you should hang onto him."

"Yeah, you're right enough vere, Sharon. I'll try."

Jude was staring into space, barely listening. Sharon placed a hand on his arm. "Jude." "Yeah?"

"Let's go down to the police station and tell them what's happened." "Yes, right. Ok then."

"Ally. You told us that Brownie's name is Roger. Do you know his surname?" Sharon seemed to be taking charge of matters now.

"Um, don't fink so. Ah, 'ang on a minute. Roger...Roger Steadly." "Roger Steadly, good. And what about Terry? Terry what?" "Aha, I know vat one orright! Terry Bukovsky."

"Bukovsky? You're sure?"

"Yup. 'Is Dad was Russian or Polish, or somefink." "Ok, thanks Ally."

"Don't you go mentioning my name now, will ya! I don't want nuffin' to do wiv' no police complaint. You got vat?"

"Alright. We won't." Jude raised his eyebrows at Sharon, but she ignored him. "Ok, shall we go?"

*

They drove to Stoke Newington Police station in his Peugeot, and pulled into the car park. At the front desk a bright-faced young constable asked what he could do for them. On hearing that they wanted to report an incident, he smiled happily at them.

"As it happens you're in luck. Sergeant Prakesh from the Community Policing Unit is here right now. I'll go and see if she's available to see you."

He disappeared round the back and returned shortly and asked them to follow him. He opened the door beside the desk and they were admitted into the interior of the station. They walked down two corridors and then the constable was knocking politely on a door. He opened the door and ushered them inside. It was a small interview room and Sergeant Prakesh turned out to be a bustling 30-year-old Indian-looking woman with dark hair tied back and just the faintest hint of make-up on her beautiful fine-featured face.

She was standing up and proceeded to shake hands with them both. With the introductions done she asked them to sit down at the table.

"Now, I understand you want to report an incident, but I'll need to get some details off you first." She opened a laptop that was sitting on the table and took down their names and addresses, their dates of birth and places of employment. Her fingers hesitated for a moment over the keyboard when Jude told her he was a writer and a landlord, but she made no comment and continued typing.

"So, what is it that you want to report?"

Jude told her about The Pearl and the dancer and what had happened to her later on the street; then how he had taken her home and put her in his spare room.

The sergeant looked up from her laptop. "And what is the name of this woman?"

Jude shifted in his chair. "She's asked us not to tell you that. She doesn't want to be named in connection with all this, because she's worried about retribution from Terry. That's his name."

She nodded, then said, "Ok Terry. Terry what?" "Bukovsky."

She looked up again, her dark eyes betraying nothing. "Right. And, has anything else happened since?"

So Sharon told her about Roger Steadly's visit, how he forced his way into the house, threatened Rupa, spoke to Ally and Dave, spoke to the two of them and finally his assault on Dave.

The sergeant listened carefully and recorded the details. Then she read the statement back to them and asked if anything needed to be changed or added to. When they said they were happy with it, she collected a copy from the printer in the corner of the room and got them both to sign and date it at the bottom of the second page.

She put the statement to one side and interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her. "So, where do you want to take this from here?"
Jude was leaning forward, frowning. "Obviously we're worried about the threats Brownie, or Roger, made. He's a violent man himself and from what we've heard, this Terry Bukovsky character is even worse. Three people in my house, including me, have been threatened with violence, from a man who apparently is well known as a violent criminal. Of course we're worried about what may happen."

"Sergeant."

"Yes?" The woman looked at Sharon. "Has Roger Steadly committed a crime?"

"Technically he's committed two: unlawful entry to a property and assault."

"So, I don't know how these things work. Are you able to charge him with those crimes?"

"We could. We'd need to call you two and the other people involved as witnesses. It would go before a magistrate. It would probably take quite a while to come to court. Before it did it's likely that he would get a good lawyer to fight the charges. He might even deny them altogether and bring his own witnesses to that effect. It would be a long and elaborate procedure with only a limited chance of success. We wouldn't be keen to embark on it, given the nature of the offences and the large number of much more serious offences which need to go before the courts."

"So what you're really saying is 'No'."

Prakesh sighed. "No, I'm not saying that, but I am saying it would be a long and involved process, which might or might not result in a conviction."

Jude had a question. "Are either of these men known to you? Do they have criminal records? I mean...Is it true that they are involved with criminal gangs in this area?"

The sergeant took a deep breath. "I shouldn't really be telling you this, but, yes, Bukovsky is well known in criminal circles round here. He's involved in the drugs trade and he does have a reputation for extreme violence."

Jude leaned back in his chair. "Right. So, you can see our problem, given the situation that we're in and the threats that have been made. Do you?"

"Yes, Mr Morrow, I do."

Sharon was losing patience. "Fine, so what do we do?!"

Jude was more measured in his words. "What is your advice to us, Sergeant? How does your 'Community Policing' deal with this?"

Prakesh got up and started to pace the room and the heels of her black shoes sounded on the floor with each step. "It seems to me this whole situation stems from when you took this young woman back to your house." She stopped next to him. "Am I right? I mean, if you hadn't done that, then none of this would have happened. Isn't that so?"

"Perhaps, but what was I supposed to do? Leave her lying there bleeding on the street? I

couldn't do that!"

The sergeant was pacing again. "Hospital?"
"What?"

"You could have taken her to the accident and emergency department of one of the hospitals. How did you get her back to your place?"

"Taxi."

"Ok, so you could have had the taxi take you both to...St Pancras hospital is one of the nearest. The taxi driver would've known. And she would've got professional treatment, which from what you've told me, she needed."

There was silence. Then Jude said, "Well, I suppose you're right. With hindsight it would have been better."

"Obviously this woman is someone very special to Mr Bukovsky, or why would he become so upset? Is she his girlfriend?"

"She lives with him."

Prakesh had sat down again. "So why ?"

Jude scraped the chair noisily on the floor as he stood up suddenly. "Because he beats her and abuses her! I watched him assault her on the street, and apparently he does it all the time. The man's a monster to her!"

"So you decided to take her back to your home and not inform her partner?" "It's what she wanted!"

"I see; so you had a conversation with her about this, and she asked to be taken to your house?" "No, of course not. She was in no state to have a conversation. She was badly hurt."

"Yes, of course. Was she intoxicated?" "Hard to tell. She had been drinking." "And were you?"

"Was I what?" "Intoxicated."

He said nothing. They could hear someone walking down the corridor outside. Somewhere someone was shouting.

"Ok, I'd had a few drinks."

"Do you think they had anything to do with your decision to take this woman back to your place?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"Please don't yell at me, Mr Morrow." "I'm sorry."
He sat down. The person that was shouting was now crying.

The sergeant picked up a pen and tapped the end three times on the table. "Mr Morrow, honestly I think the best thing you can do is to remove this woman from your house. Her presence is the cause of this whole situation. If you remove her, she may well return to her partner and we can hope that he and his friends will leave you alone."

"But he'll kill her!"

"You don't know that. If she fears for her safety she can go somewhere else; and another thing." There was the faintest hint of a smile playing round her lips. "You can't save everybody. You're not responsible for looking after everyone. Leave that to the social services."

Jude sat silent. He felt humiliated. Sharon took his hand and squeezed it.

"That is my best advice to you, sir. It's possible that this man could even bring charges against you for abducting his partner. They'd be unlikely to stick, but he might try it on, just because he can." She spoke more gently now. "Mr Morrow, I do understand that you did what you did out of kindness. But now it's time to leave the decision up to the woman involved. If she doesn't wish to return to this man, then she can find an alternative. But whatever the case is, she must leave your house. If there are any further incidents after that, you must inform us immediately."

Jude gave a deep sigh. "Alright Sergeant. Thank you for your time." He stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. He guided Sharon to the door, and Prakesh walked them back to the front desk.

#  TUESDAY LUNCHTIME

As Jude got into the car and dejectedly put it into gear, ready to reverse out of the car park, Sharon put her hand on top of his.

"Wait a minute, please."

He looked at her with a face so full of misery that her heart went out to him, and she moved her hand up to the side of his face, and drew him towards her and kissed him gently on the lips. "It's ok, Jude, honestly. Don't look so unhappy, please."

She felt his arms around her, then his face was buried in her shoulder, her hair, and she heard him whisper, "What am I going to say to Ally? How can I tell her she has to leave and go back to that...animal?"

She said nothing, only held him close, rubbing her hands up and down the back of his jacket, as if to soak up the pain.

After a while she drew back and looked at him. "Jude, would you do something for me?" He tried to smile at her. "What? Course I will, if I can."

"Would you let me take you somewhere? It's not far from here, just somewhere that's special to me. I'd like to show it to you. Then perhaps we could go for a coffee, or have some lunch. Just for a while, just to get away from all this stuff going on in the house."

He ran a finger down the side of her face, across her lips, over her chin, down her neck. "That's a great idea. I'd love to." He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, gently, his lips lingering on her soft skin. "Show me your special place. I'd love to see it."

She grinned at him. "That's better! Ok, now, drive back down Stoke Newington Road, towards the city that's it. Now keep going till you get to Dalston Junction, then turn left."

He was navigating his way through the North London lunchtime traffic. "Ok, that's it, now keep going till you get to it's just up here, not far; here, these next lights, turn right, then first

left here."

She squealed as he swung the wheel wildly to the left, in front of an oncoming van, which barked its horn at him long and loudly.

"Jeez! You need to give me a bit more notice!"

"Sorry!" She stroked his leg, asking forgiveness. "Ok, down here, then at the end, yes, here, turn left." She spied a road sign. "Richmond Rd, that's it. Now, somewhere up here on the left...no, not that one keep going, here, turn right! Lansdowne Drive, that's the one. Ok, keep

going down here...straight on at the roundabout...and right! Almost there now. Broadway
Market. Great! Now we need to park. Here's one, right here on the left." He pulled in and switched off the engine. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "You're so clever!"

He smiled at her. "Why? Because I can drive a car and follow directions?"

"Follow my directions! That's an achievement! Come on, get out. I want to show you my special place."

She took his arm and they crossed the road. Three shops down on the right and she stopped. They looked up. Above the shop front were the words: 'Macvine and Black', in large white letters on a dark background.

She was smiling at him mysteriously. "Come on!" She grasped his hand and they entered the shop.

She looked around in the semi-darkness and became aware of the exotic scent of incense burning. From behind a huge pile of assorted brassware a voice emerged.

"Hello, Mrs Helson. Long time no see!" "Hue? Is that you?"

A very short smiling man, of oriental appearance and indeterminate age appeared, as if out of a magic lamp.

"Yes, Mrs, is me. Where you been so long? Why you no buy no more antiques from me? You been going other shops?" His smile widened even further.

"No, Hue, of course not!" She suppressed a giggle. "You know I never buy from anyone but you!"

He looked at her sideways. "Hmm. What you looking for? Have new old paintings in back room. You come see?"

"Sure, I'd love to. Let me present my friend Jude. Jude, this is Hue."

The little man stepped forward and grasped his hand. "Mr Jude. Any frien' of Mrs Helson is a frien' of mine."

"G'day. How are ya?"

"Hahaha, very funny! You Auslalian!"

"Well, glad we got that out the way early on. Yes, isn't it hilarious?" Sharon kicked him on the shin and frowned at him.

"Ve'y sorry, Mr Jude. No offence. I like Auslalians ve'y much." He bowed. "Please, Mrs, come through, see new old pictures!"

He led them through a number of rooms, all crammed to the ceiling with crockery and cutlery and ornaments and wall hangings and lamps and jewelry boxes and carved wooden animals and toy steam engines and wooden rocking horses and a puppet theatre with puppets and glass eggs and Buddha statues and lumps of lava from Mt Vesuvius and racks of clothing and old fashioned bicycles and piles of dusty board games stacked to the rafters and much, much more.
Finally they emerged into the holy of holies where a number of old paintings in heavily gilded rococo frames stood in racks against the back wall.

Hue stood beside one old master and introduced the painting with a flourish. "This genuine Rembran. Just discovered in old house in Amserdam. Ve'y exciting. Priceless."

Jude raised his eyebrows. "But you'd let Mrs have it for...?" "£500, special favour, valued customer."

"Hmm."

Hue presented some more paintings of even more prestigious pedigree. Sharon watched Jude bend down and examine one of the paintings. He straightened and whispered in her ear. "I'm no expert, but it looks like a bloody high quality forgery to me. Good stuff."

She whispered back. "Well, I am an expert, and you're right!"

Later on, outside the shop she looked up and watched some dark clouds moving quickly across the sky, towards the estuary. There was a breeze blowing down the street, but it wasn't cold. It was a beautiful, cool London summer's day. She took his arm again.

"Will you buy me a drink Jude? There's a lovely pub just down here on the corner."

Two minutes' walk and they were standing outside the Market Tavern, decked out with hanging baskets all along its frontage, and wooden tables and benches on the pavement.

"Isn't it pretty? Let's go inside."

At the long, low bar he ordered two half pints of Devonshire cider. She ducked her head and leaned over the bar. "Can you make that two pints, please. He's just being mean." The barmaid grinned at her and reached for the pint glasses.

Outside they found a space on either side of one of the tables and sipped their drinks, watching the wondrous variety of people pass by, as they went about their business, up and down Broadway Market.

"So, you're obviously a regular customer at that antique shop. Is that what it is? Don't think I've ever seen a place like it."

Sharon nodded. "Yes. It's one of the best. I've bought quite a few things there. It's always been my passion, collecting. Used to drive Bertrand mad, but I didn't care." She was looking past him, over his shoulder. "It was sort of my, refuge, my escape from my horrible marriage."

He put a hand over hers, squeezed it gently. "How long were you with him?"

"Seventeen years! Can you believe it?" She slammed her pint glass down, spilling cider on the table. "What a fool I was!" She looked at him with fire in her eyes. "You must think I'm an idiot. I think I'm an idiot!"

"Sharon, if there's one thing you're not, it's an idiot. Stop saying that." He drank from the glass. "Mm that's delicious. I'm so glad we decided to get pints." He laughed, then took her hand. "We've all done things we regret. Jesus, look at me. What a fuckwit I've been, as that nice Sergeant so kindly pointed out."
Sharon started giggling uncontrollably. Eventually she managed to get out, "What's a 'fuckwit'?"

"Oh. Is that what's tickling your fancy? Aussie expression. Well, isn't it obvious?"

"I suppose so!" Still giggling. "I'll have to remember that one." She realized he was looking at her, frowning. "What?"

"Isn't it strange! I feel like I've known you forever, and you're my best friend in the world, yet we only met two days ago. How is that possible?"

Sharon leaned forward and placed a finger over his mouth. "Shh! It's magic." She was whispering. "Don't break the spell. Don't try and analyse it. Just be happy." She felt an irresistible urge to kiss him, and gave in to it.

It seemed to her that sometime later they stopped kissing and looked at each other with laughter in their eyes.

"You're not an idiot," he said to her.

"And you're not a fuckwit," she said to him, before collapsing into more giggles. "Drink your cider. Watch, it's easy." And he downed his pint in one.

"Show off!"

He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Hey, I'm starving! Buy me some lunch." She looked at him hungrily.

"Hmm. Good idea. I'll go inside and see if they've got a menu." He returned with a plastic laminated card and they pored over it.

"Oh, lamb shanks! I love lamb shanks. I want them!" She announced.

"I like the sound of the Toad in the 'ole. That's sausage in Yorkshire pudding with gravy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's delicious."

So he went and ordered and came back with two more pints of cider.

Later, as they meandered lazily down the street, they came to a bridge over the canal.

"Here, this way," she said, steering them down to the right, along the lane parallel to the canal; past a stand of bikes for hire and they came to a gap in the wall where a ramp led down to the towpath. "Here. It goes down to the water." And suddenly they were right away from the road and the traffic, walking along the towpath beside the Regent's Canal.

The path rose steeply as they passed a lock, then, at a higher level, the canal stretched out in front of them. Council flats were visible rising to left and right, but between them, lined with trees on both sides, the canal revealed its secret treasure - a miraculous array of barges and houseboats tied up to the stone bank. She put a hand through his arm and they wandered along, gazing at the long boats. Many of these were painted in intricate, gaudy colours, with thick
curtains on gold curtain rings stretched along their long, low windows, to keep out the stares of nosey pedestrians like themselves.

She rested her head momentarily on his shoulder. "Imagine if you had a barge. You could travel all over England on it, following the canals."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. They all connect up into a network. From here you can take the grand Union north to Birmingham, and from there you can follow them right up to Lancaster in the west, or Ripon in Yorkshire."

He looked at her carefully. "How do you know that?"

"I was going to take a holiday on the canals once. You can hire barges like these, you know. Lots of people do. So I was looking at the routes you can take."

"And did you go?"

She shook her head. "No, it was just an idea. Bertrand was always too busy for holidays. Anyway, we never went away together."

He nodded and looked up at the sky, from which a fine drizzle had started to fall. He put up the collar of his sports jacket, which was tiny and made no difference, while she put up the hood of her summer coat and leaned into him a little more.

"What about you, Jude? You haven't told me anything about your life back in Australia. Do you have a family over there?"

"Er, well, I was married." "Divorced?"

"She died."

She looked up at him. "I'm so sorry!"

He squeezed her hand with his arm. "Don't worry. It doesn't upset me anymore." "Really? How long ago?"

"Almost ten years now."

"You don't have to talk about it if you'd rather not. I didn't mean to pry."

He smiled down at her, water starting to drip off his face. "No, it's fine. Actually I'd like to tell you about her. I don't often get the chance. It...helps, to talk about her." He looked around, at the dark green trees which were hanging down low over the tow path now, dripping water onto them as they passed. "She would have loved it here; loved to be outside, walking, exploring new places; always full of energy. She came from Victoria, right down the South, where it's windy and cold quite often, a bit like here. We used to go camping with the kids...fishing, kayaks, bikes, all sorts. They loved all that too." He looked down at her and smiled. "Happy days."
"It sounds wonderful. Lovely for you to have all those beautiful memories of her, when you were all together and...happy."

They passed a scruffy-looking large black barge which seemed to be filled with scrap metal. A man in work clothes was sorting through it and periodically chucking bits up onto the deck. Out beyond the line of moored boats, a man in a yellow mackintosh rowed an ancient little boat past them, containing what looked like all of his worldly possessions. A traveller of the English canals? They looked at each other again in wonder.

Jude took her hand and held it up to his lips gently. "This is an enchanting place and we should definitely come here again. So nice to get away from everything and just...walk in the rain!" He laughed.

"Mmm, I know. I used to do this all the time, only on my own. So much nicer to do it with a friend." She watched him shyly. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, then put his arms around her and held her close.

"The only problem is..."

"What?" She broke away from him in alarm.

He smiled. "Nothing. I was just thinking that I ought to get back to the house and face the music with Ally."

She made a face. "Yeah. S'pose you're right. But promise me we'll come back soon!" He promised.

Later, in the car, she watched the rain-soaked streets drift by, idly touching his leg with her hand. As they drew into the driveway next to the house, Rupa came out to meet them, standing in the wet, Lunah on her hip.

"Jude! Jude! Sharon!"

They looked up at the young woman, with her wild, staring eyes. "What's wrong?" "They come back! Took them!"

Sharon got to her first and put her arms around her protectively. "Who came back? Come inside out of the rain. Come into the kitchen."

So they trooped inside and sat in the gloomy kitchen and listened while Rupa told her tale: how shortly after they had gone to the police station there had been a rap on the door and four men had forced their way in and gone straight to Ally's room.

"One man tall, jeans, hair to here," she indicated her shoulder. "Others bit shorter, but big...." she mimed muscles for them, "long hair, beard and..." she pointed to her arms and chest.

"Tatoos?"

"Ya! Tatoos, here and here. Two take Ally and two take Dave. Carry them outside to truck on street. Dave screaming, very scared. Ally say nothing, just go with them."

"Then they put them in the back of the truck?" Sharon was holding Rupa's hand, like an adult comforting a child.
"Yes. I run to front door to look. Saw them push into back, then," she made a motion, "shut door and drive off. Two go in front of truck, others on big motor bikes, very loud."

Sharon turned to Jude who was sitting motionless, staring at the table. She extended a hand to him, but he ignored her. After a moment she put her palm on his cheek and turned his face towards her. The eyes that met hers were cold and distant, almost as if he didn't see her. The face was white and drawn, a mask of suffering. She gasped. "Jude, you mustn't..."

He almost snarled at her. "Mustn't what? Mustn't blame myself for taking her in, for allowing her to stay, for doing nothing, except..." He turned away and lapsed into silence.

It was her turn to be angry now. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, can't you, just for a moment? Can't you see that what matters now is that we get some help? We need to get the police onto this, so that they can do something about it!"

He looked at her as if she had slapped him, then sighed deeply. "You're right, of course." He felt in the pocket of his jacket for his mobile phone and punched in the number for directory enquiries. "Yes, hello. Can you put me through to the police station on Stoke Newington Road in...OK, thank you." There was a pause. "Er, we've got a problem here..."

Sharon snatched the phone off him impatiently. "Hello, is Sergeant Prakesh there please? I need to speak to her urgently. OK thanks." She looked at Jude and nodded slightly. "Hello, Sergeant Prakesh? Yes, hello, this is Sharon Helston. I was talking to you earlier today with my friend Jude Morrow about a situation we have here at the house, number 15 Hampton Row. Yes, well, you said to contact you if anything further happened. Well some of Terry Bukovsky's bikers have kidnapped the girl we told you about, and also her new boyfriend. Remember that Brownie threatened them both with retaliation from Terry? Yes, well, they've done it. We tried to tell you this was likely to happen, earlier today, and now it has!" She was breathing hard and frowning. "Sergeant you know what Bukovsky is capable of! These people are likely to be killed!" She stopped and listened for a short while. "Thank you Sergeant. Yes, we'll be here. We'll meet them here. Tell them to hurry. Every second counts!"

She handed the phone back to Jude, her face dark. "They're sending some detectives down now." She sighed and looked at Rupa. "They'll want to talk to you too, since you saw what happened. You'll need to stay here."

Rupa nodded dumbly but said nothing. Lunah, aware that something terrible was going on, burst into tears and clung to her mother, sobbing. Jude hung his head and seemed to have retreated into some kind of private hell. Sharon, coiled inside herself like a spring, sat and watched while Rupa rocked the child gently back and forth and whispered comfort into her ear.

#  TUESDAY AFTERNOON – 2pm

He had fallen asleep, eventually and dreamed that he was standing with his father on the parapet of a very tall building. His father was telling him that he must be brave because it wouldn't hurt very much at all. He could feel his father's hand gripping his upper arm, urging him to jump. On the skyline he could see hills with some buildings on them far away; in the foreground a river meandering through the city. He looked down to the street far below and knew that his father was right. He must be strong and not make a fuss.

He woke up with pain enveloping his face and upper body like a shroud. When he opened his eyes he could see steel bars about a foot from his face. He remembered.

When they had first thrown Ally and him into the back of the van, he had stood up and hammered on the door, even though his injuries from Brownie's attack were still sending pulses of agony through his head and testicles. As the vehicle accelerated away, Ally, sitting on the floor of the truck with her legs stretched out in front of her, had told him to stop it and sit down. He had ignored her and examined the lock on the door, by the dim light, which filtered through the small opening through to the cab at the front. It was securely fastened and could not be opened from the inside.

"Save yer energy, love. Fings is gonna get nasty where we're goin'."

He looked down at her, his emotions boiling over, his arms and hands shaking, whether from fear or delayed shock, or the pain of his injuries, he could not tell. "How can you just sit there calmly and take it? How can you...?" He gave up and instead wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop them from trembling. The truck careened around a corner and he was thrown against the wall where Ally sat. He took her advice and sank down next to her. She took his hand and smiled sadly at him, then gave him a long, lingering kiss.

"Wouldn't ya just know it, love? Soon as I've found ya, it's all gonna be over, and we ain't gonna 'ave no time togever." She stroked his face with her hand. "Shame."

He wrapped his arm around her and held her close. "What do you mean? What do you mean?" He whispered feverishly into her ear, but in his heart of hearts he knew what she meant and knew that she might be right. The trembling in his arms returned and spread to the whole of his upper body. He felt as if he were going to piss himself and soil his pants. He leaned his head back against the wooden slats fixed to the inside of the truck, closed his eyes and tried to hold it all in.

Sometime later they had stopped and the back had opened. In the glare of the daylight, being dragged from the truck, he had glimpsed red brick walls rising up high on both sides; but then their captors had put hessian bags over their heads and he saw no more. Disorientated beyond endurance, he had submitted to strong arms on both sides frog-marching him, first on the
ground, over what felt like cobblestones, then up an endless flight of steps. These were shallow and he counted ten on each flight before he was swivelled around to climb the next section. At last they reached the top and there was another short march on the level, before he was thrown down to the floor. He felt someone land on top of him and an elbow cracked into his jaw painfully. Removing the bag, he saw Ally doing the same, while a group of about four or five of the bikers stood in the doorway of the small room, grinning at them. One of them, the taller one with shoulder length hair, stepped forward.

"Are ya ready for some fun, kids?" The others guffawed and cat-called behind him, while he

stared at them hungrily. "First fing is – get yer gear off!

Neither of them moved, so the leader stepped forward and whispered loudly above them. "Get yer gear off boaf of ya, or I'll stomp all over ya wiv' me boots, along wiv' all of 'vem!" He indicated the group behind him.

Dave took a long look at the man's black leather riding boots and slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

Ally used her arms and slipped her skimpy dress over her head. The man stepped back and grinned. "'Vat's better. Keep goin'!"

Ally removed her bra and panties while he slowly took off his jeans and underwear. One of the others stepped forward and gathered the clothes up into a ball, giggling as he did so. The man giving the orders grinned widely, looking at their white, naked bodies, as they stood shivering in the chill of the vast brick building.

"Ok, kids. We're goin' now, but we'll be back soon, won't we boys?" The others whistled and yelled with anticipation as they retreated, then the heavy metal door was slammed shut and they heard a metal bar being forced into place on the other side.

He turned towards her and she came to him. They wrapped their arms around each other's bodies, trying to draw warmth from each other. Over Ally's shoulder he looked at the tiny glass window near the top of the wall opposite, covered with a stout-looking metal grille. Along one of the sidewalls was a stand of metal shelving, extending almost the whole length of the wall, and nearly up to the ceiling. There was nothing on the shelves but a dirty pile of old newspapers, some of them screwed up and soiled with something dark. The other wall was bare, as was the floor, which was made out of smooth concrete. Their prison contained nothing other than the shelves, the old newspapers and themselves. He ran his fingers down her back, then rubbed up and down with his hands, trying to bring some warmth to her skin.

She looked up at him, that same sad smile coming through her tears. "Fanks love. Fanks for

being a sweetie."

Sometime after that, with immense embarrassment, Dave told her that he absolutely had to relieve himself. She reassured him in a motherly way and advised him to make a pile of screwed up newspapers in the corner for an improvised toilet. This he did. Shortly after, she used it too, then they sat in the opposite corner and tried to ignore the awful stench they had made.

Later again, as they lay entwined together, numb all over with cold, the door creaked open and
their captors dragged them to their feet while the hessian bags were placed on their heads.

A short walk and when the bags were removed Dave saw that he was standing in the middle of a larger room, with a table and chairs over to the left, at which sat most of the bikers. They were drinking beer and spirits and smoking a variety of substances. He noticed that the table was littered with cans, empty and full, overflowing ashtrays, fast food containers and other debris. On the floor was a large mattress with unpleasant looking stains on it, while against the wall to the right stood a stout wooden table with a long, low, metal cage on it; the kind that chickens or other fowl might be transported in. There was a silence, broken only by some snickering from the table, while the men leered at them.

The man giving the orders poked a finger at Dave. "You! Get in vere, now!"

Dave looked at the cage and realised that one end of it was open on a hinge, with a padlock

hanging down. He didn't move.

The man grabbed his testicles with one hand and his neck with the other and lifted him bodily off the ground. "If I 'ave to stuff you in there meself I will! Now get in!" And he threw him to the ground.

Numb with cold, pain and an indescribable dread, he slowly wriggled his body inside the cage, trying to avoid the thick rounded bars on the bottom as much as he could. When the end closed and the padlock was put in place his tormentor approached and leaned over next to his face. Dave could smell his rancid breath and feel the spittle as it sprayed his face. "We're gonna give Prissie a go wiv' ya later. 'E loves bummin' boys like you; but for now ya can watch and see what 'appens to slags who cheat on Terry. Orright?"

So Dave had no option but to lie there and stare in horror as the men raped the girl that he loved over and over and over again. Occasionally she would glance in his direction, as if trying to tell him something. Her face was devoid of any expression, but he thought he understood the message she was sending him and he tried his hardest to send her the same message back.

#  TUESDAY AFTERNOON –

3.30pm

Half an hour after Sharon rang the police station there was a knock on the front door. When Sharon opened it, she was met by a rather large man in an anorak and brown trousers, and a younger, slimmer man in a grey suit. The second one carried a black briefcase.

The elder of the two showed her an ID card in his wallet. "Detective Inspector Cussins and Detective Sergeant Kassab, CID." Sharon noticed that the speaker had curly ginger hair and a generous mustache of the same colour. She could smell cigarettes on his breath.

"We're here to look into the alleged abduction of two people from this house. And you are?" "Sharon Helston. It was me who rang the station."

"Very good. May we come in?"

She saw that the younger man had olive-coloured skin, with black cropped hair and dark eyes. She wondered if he might be of Middle Eastern origin. He was looking up and down the street, then at her, very directly. "Yes, of course. Please come through." They trooped down the hallway and she followed them into the kitchen where Rupa sat nervously at the table, Lunah on the floor beside her. She rose as they entered.

"Rupa, these are the detectives from the police station. This is Rupa and Lunah who both live here. But where is Jude?" She looked around the room mystified. Rupa was gesturing towards the stairs. "Er, please have a seat. I'll just go and get Jude. He's the owner of the house and very much involved in this. You'll need to talk to him."

The detectives pulled out chairs and sat down, while Sharon raced up the stairs to the first floor. She knocked hard on Jude's door then opened it. He was sitting at his desk, staring out of the window.

"Jude, they're here! You need to come downstairs!" He didn't move. "Do I?" He sighed.

"Yes, come on! They're waiting in the kitchen!"

He slowly got up and moved to the door, his face a mask of controlled anguish. She grasped

his arm reassuringly. "Come on. We have to do this quickly, so they can find them!" He made
no response, only looked at her blankly, then followed her down the stairs.

The two detectives rose as they entered. The older one stepped forward and extended a hand. He introduced himself and his colleague and when Jude had done the same, they all sat down again.

Rupa was putting cups on a tray and boiling the kettle. The younger detective took a laptop computer from his briefcase and gently placed it on the table. While he logged on, Cussins leaned forward and placed his fleshy hands together. He removed a small voice recorder from his pocket, laid it in front of him and switched it on.

He looked idly at Rupa and said, "Detective Inspector Cussins and Detective Sergeant Kassab at 15 Hampton Row, Hackney, interviewing Sharon Helston, Jude Morrow and Rupa..." he raised his eyebrows in her direction. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your surname."

She looked up, flustered, from her tray. "My....surname? Ah..." She hesitated a moment. "Ameen."

Cussins looked hard at her, then continued, "Ameen, at," he consulted his watch, "Three thirty seven pm on Tuesday June 12th, 2012." He reached out and turned off the recorder. "The way this is going to work is that I'll be asking each of you some questions." He looked around the table. "Try to answer in detail. If I need more information from you I'll prompt you. We'll be recording, as you can see, for reference later, and Detective Sergeant Kassab will be taking some notes. Is that all clear?"

Rupa placed a tray on the table containing five cups of tea, a bowl of sugar and a small jug of milk. The detective ignored this and continued to observe his audience. The younger policeman nodded at her and smiled.

"Are there any questions, before we start?" No one spoke. "Ok, here we go."

Sharon listened carefully as Jude told his story again. There were some things she hadn't known, such as, for example that he had dual Australian and British Citizenship and held a passport from both countries. He spoke in a listless tone and Cussins had to prompt him often for more details. When pressed as to why he had decided to bring Alison back to the house, he shrugged and simply said it seemed the best thing to do at the time. Cussins looked at him with his deadpan expression, while Kassab made a note on his computer, then also looked across at him.

Rupa was very nervous as she described the arrival of Brownie. Jude joined in and explained the actions of the intruder.

Cussins looked around the table. "Was this...intrusion, reported to the police?"

Sharon was inwardly fuming. "It certainly was. Mr Morrow and myself came along to your police station almost immediately and spoke to Sergeant Prakesh." The Detective Inspector said nothing, only raising his eyebrows, inviting more details. "Well, she said it would be very difficult for the police to prosecute Mr Ridgely for forcing his way into the house and assaulting
Dave. She advised Jude to remove Alison from the house as soon as possible, since she was the cause of the problem." She stopped and attempted to control her anger. "We tried to tell her they were in danger, didn't we?" She appealed to Jude who nodded dumbly.

"And did you take Sergeant Prime's advice, regarding asking Alison to leave immediately?" Sharon looked down at the table. "Well, not immediately. We went for a short walk, along the

canal. When we got home they were gone."

Cussins nodded. "And how long was it from when you left the police station to when you returned home?"

She considered this. "Probably about two hours."

The policeman said nothing, allowing the silence to speak for him. Then he wanted more details from Rupa about the arrival of the bikers. He was watching the young woman, fixing her with his watery eyes. "Now you said that they forced their way into the house. How exactly did that happen?"

Rupa looked across the table at Sharon who smiled encouragement at her. "Well, open door and see...crowd of men standing on steps. Say, 'What you want?' Was scared from before, when man...Brownie want to..." She made a fist.

"Yes, that's very understandable. So what exactly happened next?" "Next they..." She motioned with her arms and torso.

"Pushed past you?" The Detective Sergeant suggested.

"Yes, one in front angry....push against wall, go past, then others follow." "Did you invite them into the house?" Cussins wanted to know.

She shook her head vigorously. "No! No! ...Push in."

"Alright, so what were your movements after that? Did you follow the crowd of men into this room?"

Rupa looked down to where Lunah was patting her thigh. She reached down and hoisted the

little girl onto her lap. "Very scared. Waited till...." "They had gone by?" Suggested Kassab.

"Yes, yes, then...follow. That man, the..."

"The leader?" The younger detective said gently.
"Yes, leader man, standing in doorway." She pointed across to the door behind her questioner. "Laughing and saying...terrible things to Ally and Dave. Then go in, with others and see two with Ally and other two with Dave."

"Alright, Mrs Ameen. Now I want you to think very carefully here, and," he turned to the other detective, "if you don't mind...", with a pointed look. "How did the two people in question leave the house? Did they go of their own volition, er, willingly, or were they taken from the house by force? Do you...follow my question, Mrs Ameen?"

Rupa nodded slowly, watching him as if hypnotised by those rheumy eyes. "Sir, very scared, both shouting, screaming...'No! No! Leave us alone!' like that, but men only laughing and..." She looked imploringly at the younger policeman, but he had his orders, so she got up from the table and mimed someone dragging a heavy object along.

"Mrs Ameen, are you telling us that the men dragged these two people from the house against

their will?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, dragged, yes!" "Against their will?"

"Yes, Detective. Not want to go. _Very_ scared!"

Kassab got up and examined the front door, then came back and did the same to the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen. Cussins switched off the recorder, got up from the table and joined him in the bedroom. Sharon could hear the two of them moving around and talking quietly together. She placed a hand on Jude's sleeve, which rested on the table, but he neither moved nor looked at her.

When they emerged from the bedroom the detective inspector sat down carefully, switched on the recorder again and said, "Now, Mr Morrow, you mentioned a person called Arnie, who works at the Pearl and also knows Mr Bukovsky."

Jude nodded dumbly.

"Where is he now?"

Sharon watched as he slowly turned to face the detective. "I don't know. Out at work, probably."

"Hmm. We'll need to talk to him as well. Can you tell him to come down to the station as soon

as he gets in from work?" He looked around the table and Sharon nodded. "Yes, I will, as soon as I see him.

"Thank you, Mrs Helston." He sighed, reached forward and grasped the recorder, which he turned off and placed in his pocket. "Well, I think we've found out everything we need to know, for now. Is there anything else anyone would like to tell us?" He looked morosely round the
table.

Sharon, who had been sitting trying to contain her impatience for nearly an hour, burst out with the question that was on all their minds. "So, what happens next? We all feel that Ally and Dave are in grave danger from these criminals, given the threats that have been made...the...the fact that they were taken almost immediately afterwards, and given the reputation of Terry Bukovsky and his biker friends!" She was staring at the two policemen with wide eyes. "Don't you agree their lives are almost certainly in danger?"

Cussins regarded her calmly over his drooping mustache. "Yes, you're right. Given what we know of Bukovsky and his criminal associates, I would agree that we do hold concerns for the safety of the two young people."

Sharon found his manner infuriating. "Concerns! They may be dead already! Can't you see

that? You have to find them _now_!"

He sighed again. "Mrs Helston, I can understand that you are emotional at this time. That's very natural. We on the other hand have to be professional in the way we conduct this investigation. We will make every effort to locate the whereabouts of these two young people and if necessary take them into protective custody."

Jude seemed to have snapped himself out of his trance-like state. "Do you have any idea where they might have taken them? Does this gang have a club house, or a place where they regularly go?"

The Detective Inspector turned to him. "We do have some information about these people and we will be using all of that information to find them and their captives as soon as possible."

Sharon suddenly had an idea. "What about Terry Bukovsky? Can you arrest him and get him to lead you to them? If you can't arrest him, could you at least take him in for questioning? He's probably the best lead you've got."

Cussins had had enough. He slowly rose to his feet, as did Kassab. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your cooperation. Rest assured that we will do everything in our power to find these young people as quickly as possible. We will be in touch." He gave a little bow and turned towards the hallway.

But Sharon was at his side, taking hold of his elbow. "I'm sorry Mr Cussins, but one more thing. Brownie threatened Jude as well. He said that Terry would be coming after him too. D'you think...?"

"Do I think he's in danger?" He looked down at her, a crack in his professional veneer starting to show, as he patted her hand gently. "Honestly, I don't know; but my advice would be that he should be very careful." He paused. "Even leave the city for a while. Mind you, having made one raid here, I think it's unlikely they would try a second time." He thought for a moment. "I think we can spare a police guard on the house for a short while. Would that help to set your mind at rest?"
Sharon gazed into his eyes intently. "Thank you, Detective Inspector. That would be a big help." She watched as he made his way down the hallway.

His colleague spoke to her quietly. "We will do everything we can to find your friends." When she merely looked at him bleakly, he gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "Try not to worry too much."

"Thanks." She tried to smile at him. "I'll see you out."

When she returned to the kitchen, Jude had disappeared again. Rupa sat at the table, combing

Lunah's wayward locks over and over with her slender hand. She looked up at her friend. "What happen now, Sharon?"

The older woman sat down next to her and shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Rupa. I just don't know."

"Jude very upset. Might be feel...bad, for bringing Ally here?"

Sharon suddenly felt a great weariness descending upon her. Was there no escape from anguish and heartache anywhere? Was she condemned to suffer loneliness and emotional...turmoil wherever she went? She let her palms slide down onto the table and rested her head on top of them, closing her eyes. After a moment she felt a delicate hand gently caressing her.

"Try not worry, Sharon. Everything...OK, Ally and Dave...OK. Then Jude...happy again and

come back to you, Insha'Allah!"

Sharon opened her eyes and focused on her friend. "What is 'Insha'Allah'?" "Mean: 'God willing'."

"Ah, I see." She closed her eyes again.

A little later she said, "Think I'll go down to my room for a while." But when she opened her

eyes, she was alone. Slowly she made her way down the dark stairs to her room in the basement.

#  TUESDAY EVENING

When Reggie got home at just after 5 that same evening he let himself straight into his room, threw his briefcase onto the bed, poured himself a scotch and sat down heavily in the chair facing the window. It had been another tough day in the salt mines and he needed to...relax.

But then hunger drew him into the kitchen and he was just wondering which one of his easy meals he might have for dinner, when there was a soft step on the stairs coming up from below. He turned to see the young Bangladeshi woman that he had barely spoken to yet, standing shyly in the doorway. She seemed reluctant to join him.

"Come on in, please! This kitchen is for everyone, you know. I'm just...getting myself some

dinner."

She shuffled in and sat down quietly at the table, watching him. He returned to the fridge where he had decided to keep his stuff and took out a ready-made pizza, vacuum-packed in cellophane.

He put it on the bench-top beside the fridge and started looking around for a knife, or scissors, to open it with.

He glanced again at Rupa. "Where's your little girl?"

She said nothing, but placed her hands together on the side of her face and inclined her head.

"Ah, OK. Seems funny to see you without her. She generally follows you everywhere."

The woman nodded and gave the ghost of a smile.

He found a knife and started to work on the packaging. "Where is everyone? Kitchen's normally busy at this time." A thought suddenly struck him, and he looked hard at Rupa. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"

She turned away from him, silently. As he watched, her eyes seemed to dissolve slowly, and he realised that two tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Something has happened, hasn't it?" He left the pizza and sat down next to her, without touching her. "Tell me what it is, please."

She allowed the tears to come for a minute longer, then she took hold of the long, fine woven
scarf which was hanging from her neck and wiped her eyes and her nose with it. Reggie sat

patiently waiting for her to speak. He hadn't been a priest for nothing. At last she said, stifling a sob, "Very bad day today. Bad things..."

"I can see that. What's happened to make you sad?"

Finally she looked at him. "You know...Ally and Dave and Terry Bukovsky?"

He nodded. "Yes, Jude told me about Alison and her boyfriend."

"Well," she took a deep breath and told him about Brownie and his threats, how he had wanted to punch her; his attack on Dave, and how just a few hours later the Biker gang had arrived and threatened her again, before taking the two lovers away. Then she came to a stop, as if she had run out of words.

Reggie had listened to her story intently. "So. Did someone got in touch with the police?"

She nodded. "Yes! Jude and Sharon went to police station after Brownie here. Talk to police then."

"And what did they say?"

"Don't know. While away, motorbike men come, take away Ally and Dave."

He was silent a moment. "Right, and so after that, when Jude and Sharon got back....?" "Sharon call police straight away."

"And they came?"

"Ya, 'bout half an hour. Two policemen. Stayed for maybe one hour...ask many questions,

asking 'bout...everything. Me and Sharon and Jude." "Ok, so are they looking for Ally and Dave now?"

Rupa nodded. "Think so. Hope so!" She looked down at the table. "Sharon so worried 'bout

them. Want them to hurry up and find. We all worried they die!" "Yes, of course. And have you heard any news?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

Reggie sighed. "That's awful. Absolutely bloody awful." He reached out a hand without thinking and touched her wrist. "What a very frightening day you've had. I'm so sorry."

She was silent, but didn't flinch from his touch.
"And how is Jude? And Sharon. How is _she_? Must've been terrible for them, too."

Rupa slowly shook her head. "Jude very sad. Very, very sad. Almost, say nothing, only when

police ask him. Then go to room alone."

He sighed. "Yes, I can imagine he would take it very hard. Probably thinking it's all his fault. Poor fellow." He looked up. "And Sharon?"

"Mmm. She very sad too. Same thing, go to room alone."

"And what about you? An experience like that would be, well, traumatic, to say the least."

She started to tap her slender fingers on the table top. "Was very scary. If close eyes, keep seeing same thing over and over, like movie."

He nodded. "That's part of the shock. You may also have trouble sleeping tonight." "Will pray to Allah. He will help sleep come."

He looked at her keenly. "Yes, of course." "You are...religious man. You understand." "I do."

"He protect Ally and Dave too, Insha'Allah."

"Yes, you're right there. We must pray for them; pray the Lord will protect them and bring

them safely back to us."

She tried to smile at him. "You good man. Believe in God. Have lot of..." "Faith?"

"Ya, faith!" She stood up quickly. "Make tea. You have cup?" "Yes, thank you. I'd love one."

"Then dinner." She eyed the pizza with distaste. "Maybe some news soon?" "Yes. We must hope and pray for good news."

So Reggie sat on at the table, thinking about all she had told him, while Rupa continued to move around the room, making the tea.

#  TUESDAY NIGHT – 11.30 pm

The glare from the strip lighting in the CID office on the first floor was making his eyes ache. Watching his computer screen for hours on end didn't help either. He was looking at CCTV footage of the areas around Hampton Row, searching, searching. There was nothing on Hampton Row itself. There was a camera on the corner with Amhurst Rd, and another near The Pearl on Pembury Rd. If they'd gone South along the railway line, he wouldn't pick them up till they came into Amhurst Rd down that way.

Cussins rose from his desk, across the room. "Going to call it a night. Too tired. You should too. We'll achieve a lot more when we're fresh in the morning."

Kassab ignored him.

The Detective Inspector put on his brown jacket and stood watching his offsider. Then he

shrugged. "Alright, have it your own way. I'll see you in the morning."

The younger officer merely grunted as his boss left the office. There had to be footage of them somewhere. A truck and a group of motorbikes with it couldn't just vanish! They had to be somewhere! Alright, let's go down Andre street, junction with Amhurst Road, here it is; sure there's a camera there, yes, here it is! Now! Take it back to earlier today, must've been about 2.30pm; well, start at 2.00, ok...

Tired eyes scanned the screen. The strip lighting buzzed, rumble of late night traffic from the Stoke Newington Rd outside, which never stopped, a squeal of tyres, a distant shout; the night time soundscape of North London droned on, then....Yes! Got them! Got you, you bastards, now, which way are you going? Pembury Rd junction, right; now, bound to be CCTV there. Yes, let me see, there has to be, ah, here, good, now, let's say 2.11pm... aha, there, now we're talking! Straight across and onto the A107. Good, so, junction with A102, hmm...looks to me like we're heading for Homerton High Street, and perhaps even...yes, I wonder.

Slowly, meticulously, he tracked them across East London, South down the A12, through the Blackwall Tunnel, down into Docklands and further East again along the A13. Sometimes he lost the scent and had to backtrack, but not for long. Thanks to the number of CCTV cameras at traffic lights and junctions, he was able to follow the trail as they headed due East along the Newham Way, along the East Ham and Barking By-Pass, when suddenly...they weren't there any more. Damn! Where had they slipped away to?

Gazing at the map on his computer screen he searched for a lead. What's this? River Rd., goes down to the...Dagenham Sunday Markets. Hmm, could it be? He switched to a satellite shot of the area, and was met by a landscape of large industrial premises along the banks of the River Roding, as it wound its way down to meet its great parent, the mighty Thames. I wonder...I just
wonder. Any CCTV down there? Ah yes! Just one, about half way down to the river. Ok...now, gotcha! Gotcha you fuckers. There they were, the truck, with its posse of motorcycle outriders, traveling at quite high speed down the narrow road in the late afternoon haze that rose from the river. He quickly scanned for the next available camera, which turned out to be at the markets themselves, but drew a blank, and continued to draw a blank wherever he looked.

He pinpointed the spot with his cursor on the map.

There...somewhere right there they had gone to ground. It had to be! Somewhere in that industrial district they had a hide-out where they had taken their prisoners.

Kassab reached for the phone and punched in a number. "Hello, Watch Commander?"

"Speaking."

"Detective Sergeant Kassab here, sir."

"Hello Kassab. What are you doing here? Thought you were on day shift." "Yes, sir, I am. I've, er, been doing a bit of overtime."

"Eh? There's a ban on that at the moment. You can't do that!"

"No sir, I know. You don't under...what I mean is, I'm doing it unofficially, just, off my own bat. It's this kidnapping case, the girl and the boyfriend, Bukovsky's associates."

"Ah yes, now I'm with you."

"Well sir, I think I've tracked them down to where they must be holding them, well, almost. I've narrowed it down to a small area. I think if I could take, well, three or four men, more if you can spare them, we could run them down and save these two kids, perhaps before they kill them. It's very urgent, sir."

"Hmm. Very short of man power tonight, Kassab, very short indeed. I think it'll have to wait till the morning when Cussins is there. You've done well, though. How did you manage that? Tracked them on the old CCTV, eh?"

"Yes sir. Could you give me just a couple of men, sir?"

There was silence for a moment, then he could hear the Watch Commander sighing into the phone. "No, you'd need better odds than that with these cowboys. Better leave it till the morning. Oh, and Kassab?"

"Yes sir?"

"Go home and get some sleep, will you? It's 2.30 in the morning." The phone went dead.

He slammed the phone down and swore. "Arrogant bastard! What does he care? He doesn't give a _fuck_ if they live or die."

He stared at the phone, breathing hard; then he controlled himself, relaxed his arms and took some slow, deep breaths. He got up from the desk and switched on the coffee machine. While
it bubbled away to itself he drank a large glass of water. Five minutes later he had swallowed an extra strong coffee and was heading downstairs towards the carpark.

Approaching his own car, a dark coloured Nissan Pulsar Sedan, he popped the boot with the remote and carefully examined something wrapped in a large plastic bin bag. Satisfied, he closed the boot and got into the driver's seat.

No need to use the GPS; he knew the route intimately from his hours at the computer screen. It was a relief to get moving and feel he was doing something useful at last. Turning on the lights he slid the powerful car out of the police carpark. He loved this car. It was his one personal indulgence in an otherwise frugal lifestyle. He could drive it like an extension of his own body.

Down Amhurst Rd the streetlights shone pools of yellow onto the empty streets as he glided almost silently between the buildings. He passed the occasional kerb crawler, the odd 24 hour courier on a scooter, and a couple of all night fast food delivery vans. He stroked the wheel purposefully while Dalston Lane became the A107, which in turn became Urswick Rd, which rapidly became Homerton High Street. Past Hackney Hospital on the right and he was taking a sharp right turn following the A102 all the way to where it merged with the E Cross Route, taking him South towards the river estuary. There was slightly more traffic here, on the six lane highway; a smattering of long distance trucks, making the most of clear roads during the night and once a low-slung sports car rocketed past him at a ridiculous speed, but he ignored it. He had bigger fish to fry tonight.

To his left rose up vast industrial parks, ablaze with all-night lighting, while further to the East he could just make out the outline of Bromley gas works, dark sentinels in the night. Turning left, just before the A12 plunged underground below the river, he crossed the tiny Bow creek, hidden beneath the concrete and metal skin of the modern city, to pick up the A13 as it surged powerfully East; past the residential district of Canning Town, fast asleep at this hour and so on to East Ham and more industrial parks on this Eastern periphery of the city.

Slower now, as he neared the turnoff for River Rd. Unfamiliar with this part of London, he began to watch the street signs carefully and soon swung right at a sign which promised 'The North Bank' and 'Dagenham Sunday Markets'.

He was on a narrow road that hosted large business and industrial premises on both sides; removal firms, cement makers, recyclers, used car sellers, smash repairers, builders' merchants, plumbing suppliers, concrete slab makers, gas bottle suppliers, paint suppliers, dealers in truck parts and warehouses for rent; all nestled behind their high fences, their alarmed gateways and all bathed in their nocturnal illumination, quartz halogen globes shining down from steel poles that rose up out of the asphalt forecourts.

Cruising slowly down the long straight road, he slowed, then came to a dead stop outside a scrap metal dealer's entry. The steel gates were wide open and past a row of metal containers he could see a short flight of steps, which lead up to where a much older, red brick building stood some four or five stories high. The whole premise was devoid of light and the lighting from the surrounding yards cast deep shadows between the buildings. Looking out of the open window of the car he could see that the red brick structure at the rear had long dark stains running down its walls where guttering had rusted away. Most of the windows he could see were broken and it was obvious that it dated from an earlier age and was now derelict and disused. Or was it?
He parked the car a short way up the street and popped the boot. As he removed the plastic covering, nearby lights shone on the short barrel of his Purdey Sidelock sawn-off shotgun. He broke it open, inspecting the mechanism carefully, then placed two cartridges in the breech and the rest of the box in his pocket. As he approached the entry again, the firearm hung loosely at his side, the weight of it lending him confidence as he stopped by the gate to listen intently.

Far in the distance he could hear the dull rumble of the traffic to the North. Also just discernible was the trickle of water in the tiny river Roding, behind the row of premises, as its tidal flow emptied out into the Thames, a few hundred yards to his left. Apart from these two sounds, there seemed nothing to spoil the tranquillity of the moment. He looked up and could just make out a cloudless sky, against the blaze of the surrounding lights. A gust of breeze lifted the collar of his jacket. He thought how warm the night was, or was it the heat from his pounding heart and sweating body? He grasped his weapon more firmly and ran to cover behind the first metal skip, near the base of the steps.

He listened again and thought he heard a faint metallic clang, as of a piece of metal hitting another. Or had he imagined it? He climbed the short flight of steps, trying to tread lightly on the steel treads. At the top, he was confronted by a narrow approach road, which seemed to go around the large redbrick building, presumably leading to another entrance at the rear, as it did not connect to the front gate.

He sprinted across the road and stood with his back to the wall beside a large entrance which seemed to have lost its doors, the weapon held in both hands against his chest. Again there was that metallic clank, slightly louder this time. It seemed to be coming from somewhere above him.

Looking quickly round the opening he saw a vast, cavernous, empty warehouse. The remains of some kind of lifting gear was attached to a runner suspended from a track near the roof, just visible, running the length of the massive shed. There were no light sources and no sign of any occupation. To his left he could make out an enclosed concrete stairwell that seemed to provide access to the upper floors. He could see the beginning of the first flight of stone steps leading upwards.

Walking silently on his rubber soled, leather shoes he moved to the base of the stairwell and paused. He waited for what seemed a long time before the sound came again, fainter but also closer now. He began very quietly to climb the steps.

Five storeys up and he came upon on exit, which seemed to lead onto a corridor. Again he stood with his back against the wall beside this doorway and stood with the twin tips of the muzzle against his cheek, trying to hear whatever he could, over the pounding in his chest.

There was nothing. His sense of smell was alert, though. The stale, mouldy stench of an old building, but something else besides, something foul, something like...shit. He wrinkled his nose and forced himself to move down the shadowy corridor. He felt he could well be walking to his death; but having come so far, it seemed imperative to keep moving forward.

He realised that light must be shining in through windows, because there was illumination coming from some open doors, further down the passage. He stiffened and froze. There it was again, that unmistakable clank, and...was it a cry? A human cry of some sort? He moved again and found the source of the stink in a room on his right. He checked it quickly, the long shelving down one side and the pile of stinking newspaper in one corner. Making sure there was no one there, he went on, padding soft as a panther, down towards his doom. One more door at the end
of the passage; a soft glow of light from the open door was falling on the concrete floor ahead of him. He took up position about two metres from the opening, then in one fluid movement crossed into the doorway, his weapon drawn, his finger on the trigger. In under a second he took in the scene.

The naked girl on the mattress was attached to a bracket on the wall by a length of chain and a manacle on her ankle. On the trestle table, along the side wall was a long coffin-shaped metal cage, inside which appeared to be another naked body. The girl was curled up in a foetal position facing the cage and Kassab could just make out the cutlery knife in her hand which she had been striking onto a metal jug. Inside the cage he could see, in the light coming through the dirty pane of the window opposite, a male body. This one however showed no signs of life. One hand was still gripping the metal grille of the cage, while the other was splayed against it, as if trying to ward off a blow. The features were facing out into the room, and staring eyes still seemed to be watching the scene laid out before them, but it was a scene which was now in the past. The lifeless eyes would send no more images to the brain, under that spikey blonde hair. The mouth was frozen into a grimace of indescribable terror. Kassab could not see the man's chest, but he could see the blood and other bodily fluids which had run out of a series of wounds to the abdomen. These had run across the top of the table and dripped down onto the floor, where they had spread out next to the mattress. The girl had tried to reach him, but had been prevented by the chain to her ankle. The latest clank he had heard might have been her final act with the last of her strength, for as he approached her and knelt beside her, she did not respond. He could not be sure if she was still breathing or not.

There was no one else in the room. The occupants of the table full of bottles and cans and ashtrays and the scattered chairs, which lay at random round the room, were gone. As the detective laid his weapon on the mattress beside the girl, he felt for a pulse in her neck with his free hand. Then he reached for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and flipped it open. While he pressed some numbers and spoke quietly but urgently into the phone, the boy's dead eyes seemed to watch him with a glazed look, while his mouth gave out an endless, silent scream.

#  WEDNESDAY MORNING –

2.30am

At around the same time that Detective Sergeant Kassab was having a frustrating conversation with his Watch Commander, Jude Morrow woke up in his own bed and lay staring at the blackness above him. The reason he had woken was because he had gone to bed in the early evening, soon after the departure of the two detectives. He had been having an awful dream, where he had tried again and again to explain some terrible situation to everyone that he met, but all to no avail. No one had wanted to listen, and many of the dream characters he met preferred to abuse and humiliate him, rather than listen to his sorry tale. On waking, he had instantly thought he was glad to be rid of the dream, but then realization dawned that the daytime world provided an even worse scenario than that of his night-time ravings. He couldn't recall what it was for a moment, then memory flooded back, and his mind returned to the black empty nothingness of the day before, which seemed to be the only way he could deal with the thoughts that assailed him.

But gradually the pressure built, and first by droplets, then by stealthy dribbles and finally by great gushing geysers of guilt, the defences of his mind broke down and the full horror of what had happened the day before burst upon him.

He turned to his left and curled his body down towards his bent knees, which he grasped with desperate hands, as a stifled sob rose deep within him, and would not be denied, but broke forth in a great wail of sound that erupted from his body and seemed to send shockwaves out through the house.

*

In the room directly below, Reggie too was having a torrid night. Lying sleepless on his back, the sound first made the hair rise on his scalp, then gradually he came to an awareness of who had produced it, and perhaps some inkling as to why.

A few minutes later, when he heard a door on the floor above open then close, followed by the slow tread of steps on the wooden stairs, he guessed that his landlord was heading down to the kitchen. Waiting a moment, to assure himself that the Australian had neither left the house, nor gone out into the garden, he quietly got up himself, put on a few clothes and went out to investigate.

The tall, partially bald man had his back to him when he entered and was in the act of pouring hot water into a cup.

"Jude. Are you alright?"

His landlord appeared to ignore this, and moved slowly to the fridge where he retrieved a bottle of milk.
"I said Jude, are you alright?"

Without turning away from his task, Jude frowned, then said with exaggerated clarity, "Yes, Reggie, I'm perfectly fine. How are _you_?"

"Hmm. Can't sleep. Bloody awful, to be honest. I could do with some company."

Reggie sat down at the table and waited. He thought his companion was going to walk away without a word up the stairs; but very slowly and deliberately Jude replaced the milk in the fridge, then sat down at the table with his cup of coffee.

After a minute or two Reggie scraped the chair and got up. "Might have a coffee myself. Don't think I'll be going back to sleep anyway, so why not?" He pottered about, making his drink, wondering if the other would speak. He didn't.

When Reggie sat down he couldn't resist a smile as he said quietly, "I like a man who's not afraid of silence, who doesn't try to fill every quiet moment with chatter." He was going to go on, but then decided to take his own advice and be silent. They both sat and listened to the nocturnal noises of the building. Someone below was crying out quietly in their sleep, a faint whistle of wind inside the defunct chimneys on the roof and somewhere a floorboard creaked. Reggie wondered vaguely how many people had died in the house, over the years, and whether any of them were unhappy in their altered state, unwilling to let go of the place they had lived in. He brushed the thought aside impatiently. He had enough trouble with the quick, without worrying about the dead too.

He was startled to hear Jude speak. "How do you do it, Reggie?" "How do I do what, Jude?"

"Keep going, day after day, day after day?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Depends what you mean. I...I have a routine which I tend to stick to. That helps."

Jude looked at him blankly. "It's bothering me a lot....well, recently. At the moment I feel as if I can barely be bothered to take another breath. This kind of dark, emptiness descends on me. It's a kind of defence, I know that, but then it's as if it takes over, smothering me, taking away my will to..." He took a sip of coffee, winced at the heat of it, and replaced the cup on the table.

"That sounds awful. You must try to resist that, that darkness. It's an...well, it's an evil thing, that could, like you say, engulf you."

"Hmm. So tell me about your routine."

"Well, it's...it's to do with my faith. Muslims pray five times a day. I don't do that, but, well, I like to do a little Bible reading when I get up, then I usually say a short prayer, and something similar when I go to bed. It's, well, it's what keeps me sane."

"So you talk to God on a regular basis? You must be quite pally with him."
"Hmm, well, it's not quite like _that_. I mean, it's not like talking to a _person_. It's...well some of the prayers are set prayers, like...you know, well, like the Lord's prayer and the Hail Mary and a few others."

"Are you Anglican or Catholic?" "Catholic."

"Really! Authority of the Pope in Rome, and all that!" "Well, yes; if you like."

"And you used to be a priest?" "You know I did."

"Do you feel like telling me about that now?"

"Do you feel like listening? You seem rather, on edge."

Jude looked hard at his coffee cup. "Honestly Reggie, I don't know what I am. The last couple of days have been like a nightmare for me. I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going, or why." He looked across at Reggie. "I've been down before, but I've never felt like this. I'd like to...well, you know, end it all, but even that seems too much of an effort. So, yes, I am on edge, but...I do like talking to you. So, I'll try to be a good listener. I need to, you know, think about something else."

Reggie had a sudden thought. "I say, shall we be _really_ bad and have a drink?" "Aren't you teaching tomorrow, I mean today?"

"Hmm. I think I might be sick today. Anyway, most of my students are doing work experience this week. I'll hardly be missed."

"I'm going to finish this coffee first. See how I feel after that."

"Alright." Reggie leaned forward and placed both hands around his coffee cup. "I suppose the church attracts a few gay men. I know I'm not the only one. I had a religious faith ever since I can remember. My mother was very religious and I was very close to her. She brought me up with it, and it's always been natural to me ever since. It's a bit like, well, like the air I breathe. But with the onset of puberty, I realised that I was different to most of the other boys at my school. They were all swapping pictures from magazines and lying about their adventures with girls, but that didn't work for me. I remember having a crush on one of my teachers, and then developing a close friendship with another boy. One day he and I were out roaming the countryside near our school, having absconded for the day, when we suddenly found ourselves becoming very intimate. At first I loved it, got very excited; then I had a sudden feeling of...well, revulsion, I suppose. I ran off, all the way back to school. I never spoke to him again, and soon after that he left. And I was even more alone than before.

Of course, school boys are the most awful homophobes and bullies. They can be terrifying if you're on the sharp end of their, um, attentions, shall we say. So the rest of my schooling was pretty bloody awful. But suddenly, when I got to university it was all different. That sort of thing was quite common, and hardly even raised an eyebrow. Lots of chaps were discreet, and some were quite open about it. It was the time when all the rules were there to be broken. So I
started experimenting with some friends I had met. They had a sort of gay club amongst themselves, and were forever having terribly passionate affairs with each other, then swapping partners and bitching about each other, and getting embroiled in all sorts of dramas, which arose. It was fun for a little while, but then I thought: No! This is not what I was put on this earth to do. It has to stop."

Jude was looking at him with a frown on his face. "And did you keep your faith all of this time?"

"Ah, now then. No. In fact, when I was about sixteen or seventeen I started to drift away and, you know, stopped going to Church and all that. Wanted to do my own thing. But then when I was about twenty one, and had my sort of, revelation, I suppose, well I realised just how unhappy I was, and how I missed the church and...well, to put it bluntly, how I missed having a relationship with God. I know that sounds awfully...Born-Again-Christian, but...I don't know how else to put it. That's what was missing. It was what I needed. So I, you know, came back into the fold, if you like."

Reggie looked up and became aware that Jude was watching him with some intensity, as if waiting for him to speak. He smiled and continued.

"Well, anyway, once I'd finished my degree..." "What was your degree?"

"Philosophy."

"OK." Jude nodded. "Interesting?"

"Loved it, every minute of it. Plato, Socrates, Locke, Berkely, Hume, Descartes, Kierkegaard, Sartre, Wittgenstein...wonderful stuff...exciting to read."

"And yet, after all that humanism...you came back to the church, to God?"

Reggie smiled again. "Yes. Funny isn't it? Mind you, Kierkegaard was a Christian, very devout. That 'leap of faith' he talked about. Wonderful."

"Hmm. Anyway, so when you finished your degree...by the way, where did you do that?"

"St Andrews, in Scotland." He sighed. "Very bleak, especially in winter. A good place to think about the human condition, haha."

"Right, so anyway, from there you went to, where?"

"My goodness, you _are_ a terrier with your questions, aren't you! Alright, next stop was St John's Seminary, here in London."

He looked up at Jude and smiled his gentle smile. "I know you're going to ask me what that was like, so I'll tell you before you do. It was wonderful. I felt as if I had come home at last. The discipline of daily prayers, mass, meditation, study and living together with other men who felt a similar calling...well, it was an extraordinary experience, a joyful experience. It was...you can't really begin to understand if you don't believe. The spiritual rigour, the fortnightly talks with my spiritual director, the discussions we used to have. Everyone has their own special contribution to make towards understanding the gospels and the sacred mystery of Christ and what he calls us to do and be. Every person I came in contact with there had
something to teach me about how to be a good shepherd to my flock. And the placements we got sent out on! To go from that intense experience of spiritual purity and then suddenly to be thrown into the hurly burly of a prison or a hospital or a school, and everyone around you watching you and thinking: _He_ wants to be a priest; but how much does he know about the _real_ world? We'll show him what this job is _really_ like. So lots of people were hostile at first, and it was a wonderful training in forgiveness and seeking out people's true natures, underneath all the external barriers they put up around themselves..."

He was lost in reverie for a while....remembering. "So how long were you there for?"

"Hmm? Oh, six years, the usual for a seminarian...with breaks of course, for placements, and occasional short holidays."

"And at the end of all that?"

Reggie looked across the table at Jude, as a tiny vibration that ran through the house caused the dim light from the shaded globe above them to shimmer.

"At the end of all that my superiors judged me, in their wisdom, ready to go out into the world as a priest, to preach the gospel and be assigned to a parish."

"Where did you go?"

"Different places: Gateshead, Richmond, Liverpool, then down to Wolverhampton and finally to a beautiful little country Parish in Cornwall, that nobody's ever heard of."

"They moved you around a bit, then?" "Yes."

"So how was it? Did you manage to hold onto all that passion and enthusiasm you found at the seminary?"

"Yes, in a way. It's...well, it's a sort of mellowing process. When you first go out you feel as if you're St Francis and you're going to change the world, and bring so many souls into the fold of the faithful. After a while that youthful manic energy is sort of, tempered by experience. It's not that you lose your faith – I've never done that – but you become a little more...of a realist, I suppose, and you don't expect to work miracles. You sort of...appreciate the little things more. Small things can make you feel as if you're doing a worthwhile job."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Well, I used to go and see this old lady in Wolverhampton, who was too old to come to Church. I used to take her the sacraments and say Mass for her. It was the highlight of her week. She used to be so glad to see me, and would have kept me there all day if I'd let her. Well, a few years earlier I might have thought: she's just an old woman who's going to die soon. What about all the young people out there? _They're_ the ones I need to reach. They're the future. But I realised that was quite wrong. This lady was a wonderful old thing, and it meant the world to her, to be able to take the sacraments. I became aware that it might seem a small thing to me, but the world is made up of a million billion interactions between people. Each one of those can be sullen and churlish, or it can be kind, and filled with the spirit of Christ. I learned to take
spiritual pleasure in the small things, because they weren't really small at all. It's hard to explain."

Jude was watching him, almost hanging on his every word, as if...he were combing through all the words coming out of his mouth because...why? It was as if he were searching for something; searching for a clue to a great mystery. Reggie realised that this was a man desperately searching for...meaning, for answers, for...perhaps for God. But he was broken and fragile. He felt if he said the wrong thing the man would close up tight as a clam, and be impervious to anything he might say after that.

"So...when did you, I mean, when did the thing happen which..." "Ended my career as a priest?"

"Well, yes."

Reggie stood up stiffly, scraping the chair on the linoleum floor. "I really think I do need that drink, you know. You're welcome to come through and join me. If you want to hear the rest of the story, you'll have to." He turned and walked slowly back to his room.

By the time Jude had joined him, Reggie was seated comfortably in his favourite armchair, facing the curtained window, with a whisky at his elbow and another one next to the armchair opposite. The electric fire on the tiles in front of the boarded up fireplace emitted a warm glow to the space between the chairs.

His visitor lowered himself into the chair, then sat and looked bleakly back at him. Reggie grasped his glass and leaned forward.

"Come, my friend. A toast."

Jude obeyed, reluctantly. "A toast to what?"

Reggie gave him a lop-sided, quizzical smile. "Why, to truth, of course. To truth and...to happy endings."

Jude merely grunted, touched glasses then sat back and took a small sip. His host did the same, then relaxed contentedly.

"So, you're waiting to hear the tragic ending of the story. Well, I'd better get on with it then, I suppose." He took a deep breath and reflected for a moment.

"I was based in Truro, but used to go out to some of the little churches round about that had a congregation, on a rotation basis. One of them was actually a chapel in a large country house just outside a village. Catholicism was almost wiped out in Cornwall for a long time, after the terrible reign of Henry VIII. But a few brave souls kept the faith, despite the awful risks. Then as things began to change in the 19th Century, gradually places where Catholics could worship began to spring up. This was a local well-to-do family who had opened up their private chapel to the public, in the absence of an actual church in the district. St Auroc's it was called, after a local Saint who lived there back in the eighth century." He refreshed himself from the glass at his side.

"Well, it's really a very predictable story. _He_ was sixteen going on seventeen, keen to learn everything I could teach him about the spiritual journey; and _I_ thought he was quite the most beautiful human being I had ever had the good fortune to come across. He was..." Reggie
paused, lost in his memories of the past. "He was, or seemed to me anyway, perfect in every way. He was clever, quick on the uptake, intelligent, sensitive and...well, after a few conversations it was clear to me that we had a close bond. He seemed to know instinctively what I meant, when I tried to pass on some of the lessons I had learned in those years at the seminary. He was instantly attuned to every subtlety and nuance of meaning. He loved to debate with me, too...and so our conversations became longer and more involved, until of course it became impossible to disentangle the spiritual bonds from those of friendship and from the growing physical intimacy which developed between us. They were all terribly enmeshed in an impossible tangle that...well, that drew us ever closer to each other.

Of course the time came when we crossed the boundary, and touching became kissing and all of a sudden the gates of hell seemed to yawn below us! I withdrew like a scalded cat, but it was _he_ who was able to reassure me and calm me, such that the road to perdition seemed the right one to be on. So for a few heady weeks we were...what? In love...as only lovers can experience. It was curious that I, being so much older than he...you would imagine it would have been _I_ who took control of the relationship – but nothing could be further from the truth. It was he who, from the vantage point of his now seventeen years, took _me_ in hand, and guided _me_ along the way."

The light from the standard lamp drew dark shadows in the recesses of the room; and Jude's voice, when he spoke, was so soft as to be barely heard. "And then?"

"And then the spell was broken. He, perhaps overcome by the revulsion which _I_ had been trying to rationalize and overcome within myself, suddenly stopped seeing me, and the next thing I knew I was hauled up in front of the Bishop."

"Who did he tell?"

"Oh, his parents first, and they insisted on taking it to the Bishop." "Did he tell them everything?"

"No, of course not. He gave them his personal version of events, such that he was the victim, entrapped by an evil and conniving predator."

"But why would he do that? How could he, when the feelings between you had been so..."

"Why indeed? Why does anybody do anything? Perhaps he realised there was no future in it; perhaps he felt he had learned all he could from me; perhaps he resented the hold that he thought I had over him. Who knows?"

"But why would he wish you harm, after all you had shared together? He must've known it would be the end of your career – a catastrophe for you!"

"Yes, indeed. I'm still not sure why he did it, to this day, although God knows I've thought about it enough. Some evil impulse inside him? Some imp of the devil, which pushed him to bring down the house of cards around his ears? I really don't know. How could he do it, when the relationship between us seemed so absolute and...and true?

"Did he say anything to you? Did you ever see him again?" "No, I didn't."

"So, what did the Bishop do?"
Reggie sighed deeply. "He made a deal with the parents. I was to be expelled from the priesthood, moved permanently away from Cornwall and in return they would not prosecute me in law. Of course the Church's primary concern, as always in these cases, was to avoid scandal and dragging the good name of the church through the mud."

Jude snorted. "Well, it's a bit late for that now! _That_ policy has back-fired on them big time! The name of the Catholic Church couldn't be much blacker than it is now! How many reports and recommendations have there been around the issue of sexual abuse by priests?"

Reggie took a substantial swig from his glass, which was now almost empty. "Yes, you're right, of course. It's a huge problem, which the media delights in dredging up whenever it can, and as often and as explosively as possible."

There was a pause while each contemplated his own thoughts. The books on the shelves and the curtains hanging heavy over the windows seemed to wait and to listen to the silence.

Eventually Jude said, "And you've been relief teaching ever since?"

"Oh no. I was attached to various schools and Diocese as a lay helper, a sort of unofficial Christian Brother."

"Did the people you worked with all know your history?"

"Oh yes. There are very few secrets in the Catholic community, well, not those kind of secrets, anyway."

"And...did people hold it against you, what had happened?"

Reggie had to think about that one. "In general, no. Most people were very kind and forgiving...although, of course, there's always that little niggle of doubt at the back of your mind, and probably of theirs too; that black mark, that never quite seems to go away." He got up suddenly and re-filled their glasses, although Jude's was barely touched.

"Thanks. And yet, through all of that...you held onto your faith!"

Reggie sat down again and took a drink, swilling it around in his mouth before swallowing. "Oh yes. It was the only thing that got me through. Without that...well, I would've been lost, for sure." He looked hard at his visitor. "You know Jesus has some extraordinary things to say about forgiveness. Even if men abandon us and sneer at us, God always has room in his heart to forgive. That's the wonderful thing about Grace. And that's what _you_ need to realise, my friend."

"I'm sorry? What did you say?"

"I said that no matter what other people may think of us, and what we've done, or what they believe we have done – and no matter what we ourselves think of what we have done – no matter how evil and worthless we feel that we are – God will always go that extra mile with us. _His_ power to forgive is boundless. And if you can have the faith to believe and understand _that_ , then you can see the way forward to, eventually, forgiving yourself. You see, that's what _I_ found. It took a long time, on a long and rocky road, but in the end I came to find peace in that knowledge."

Jude finally took a drink of amber liquor from the glass. "Fine words, Reggie; fine words indeed. But you know what? I have this little voice inside my head, every time I hear speeches
like that, which says: _Can't you see it's all a lie? It's all a con!_ It's wonderful that people can have this so-called 'faith' in a forgiving God, and can have a so-called 'relationship' with him, and not only that, can build up magnificent structures and organisations and orders and bodies of work and all the paraphernalia of religious tradition which has been amassed over the last two thousand years...but at the end of the day, it's all based on a lie and a twisting of the facts as to what happened to that charismatic Rabbi, who was put to death for sorcery, as the Temple records have it. You know as well as I do that the gospels were written many years after the events they purport to record – during which time people had been able to work out how to reconstruct history to suit the beliefs which they had decided to hang upon it. Saint Paul is a classic example! You can almost _see_ him making it up as he goes along, in those letters of his, putting his own very particular gloss on things that had happened years before, in a highly charged and emotive period of history!"

By this time he was on his feet, almost standing over Reggie, haranguing him mercilessly. "I mean, it's a wonderful idea, and it's great that some people can accept it, and build their lives around these... _stories_ , but at the end of the day, you're all deluding yourselves! You're allowing yourselves to believe these things because it's an amazing narrative and a fabulous myth, which fits in with so many things that people long to believe – but in the end it's all based on a _fucking lie_!"

He stood there, flecks of spittle on his lips, eyes wild and staring, his breath coming in gasps.

Reggie sat looking up at him, then very calmly stood up and wrapped his arms around him. Something inside of Jude snapped, and he clung onto his friend, as a great lump worked its way up his chest and was released; then quite suddenly he was crying like a baby on Reggie's shoulder, and the ex-priest was patting him gently on the back, speaking to him quietly, reassuringly.

#  WEDNESDAY MORNING - 9am

Sharon had been awake for some time, and lay fully dressed on her bed, staring at the slightly stained ceiling. In fact she had been up to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and brought it back down. She was listless and lethargic and trying hard to keep at bay the awful depression, which she felt was encroaching on her from all sides. She had been swept up in the vortex of events since she had moved into the house on Sunday, just three short days ago; but now things seemed to have come to an awful climax and she felt as if all the emerging happiness and hopes she had nursed had been dashed on the rocks of despair, and things were rapidly unravelling in a ghastly way.

She had no energy to do anything at all, and was just thinking that she might have another short nap when her mobile phone started to ring on the bedside table.

"Hello, Sharon here." "Mrs Helston?" "Yes, speaking."

"Detective Inspector Cussins here, Stoke Newington Police Station."

Suddenly her blood was thumping in her ears and she drew in her breath rapidly. "Yes, Inspector. What is it? Do you have some news of Ally and, and Dave? Have you...?"

"Yes we do. I thought you'd like to know straight away. I know how...concerned you are." "Yes, of course. So, please go on."

"Well, it's all rather irregular. It seems that my colleague decided to do some detective work on his own during the night. He apparently was able to track the route that the truck and the riders took, using the CCTV cameras we have all over the city these days; quite extraordinary, really. Anyway, he managed to locate them to within quite a small area, down near the river in Dagenham. Then he, very foolishly in my opinion, went down there by himself. He tells me he tried to get a small team together, but the watch commander told him there was no one available, so he, well, he went on his own, as I said."

"Yes, Inspector, and what did he find?"

"Well, lucky for him, the suspects had already left. Miss McDonald is now in a fairly serious condition in hospital and her friend, Mr Roland..."

"Is that Ally and Dave?"

"Er, yes. We've managed to establish their full names."
"Alright, please go on. How is Dave?" "Deceased."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Unfortunately he was already dead when Detective Sergeant Kassab arrived. Er...chest wounds. He was, well, I won't go into details on the phone, but he...didn't make it. I'm very sorry to give you such disturbing news."

Sharon was silent for a long moment. "Is Ally going to recover?"

"Yes, the hospital is confident there. She's...been through a terrible ordeal, but they think that in time she will make a full recovery."

"I see. Well, thank you for telling me, telling _us_ so quickly. And, please give Mr Kassab our sincerest thanks. Is he alright, by the way?"

"Ah, yes. He's rather shaken up, naturally. Just between you and me it was pretty gruesome, from the statement that he's made. He's gone home to catch up on some sleep now, but...he's a professional. He'll be alright."

"Well, thanks again, Detective Inspector. Which hospital is Alison in?" "The Royal London."

"Right, thank you. Please give Mr Kassab our very best wishes and thanks."

"I will. Er...either myself or DS Kassab will be in touch with you again soon. Please don't leave London. If we catch up with these characters, which we fully intend to do, we'll need yourself and Mr Morrow and Mrs Ameen as witnesses. Is that clear?"

"Er, yes. I understand."

"You'll pass that on to the Mr Morrow and Mrs Ameen?" "I will."

"Thank you. Goodbye Mrs Helston." "Bye."

She put down the mobile phone and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch up with her racing thoughts. Dave killed. She hardly knew him and had barely spoken to him, but he had lived with them, even if only for a couple of days. He had been a part of the house; he was one of them. And these, these....she wanted to call them animals, but then that would be an insult to animals...these _scum_ had murdered him. Why? Because he had dared to cross the path of Terry Bukovsky? A beautiful young boy like that. She hoped they were all arrested and...Why had they abolished the death penalty? She felt as though she would like to pull the trapdoor lever herself for each one of them, and curse them to hell as they fell. But she must tell Jude. He had been torturing himself ever since the kidnapping, blaming himself for the whole thing. How would he take it? The woman he had brought back to the house was alive. Could he focus on that? Yes, Dave was gone, but then he had got together with Ally of his own accord. Surely Jude couldn't blame himself for that? She said a silent prayer of thanks that it was Ally who
had survived and Dave who had not, rather than the other way around; then she felt that was an awful thing to even think, silently. But she must stop dawdling and go and find Jude!

Up in the kitchen Rupa and Lunah were in animated conversation with Anna. They all looked up expectantly when she entered the room.

Rupa was the first to react. "What, Sharon? Look hot, excited. Have news?" "Er, yes, I do, actually. I wanted to tell Jude first. D'you know where he is?"

Rupa shook her head. "Not see him since yesterday, when police here. What news?"

"Alright, you've got as much right to know as anyone. You know that young detective, Kassab?" Rupa nodded. Lunah was watching first her mother, then the other lady, her head going from side to side, mouth slightly open. "Well, apparently he was up half the night tracking them on the CCTV network, and he was able to pinpoint the area they had gone to ground in."

Rupa was shaking her head slowly. "So, he find them?"

"Yes. He went by himself, in the middle of the night. Can you imagine? By himself!" "No." Rupa's eyes were round with wonder. "And found?"

"Luckily those...those bikers had already gone." "Ally and Dave?"

"Ally's Ok. She's in hospital, but she's going to be alright." "And Dave?"

Sharon moved around the table till she was standing next to where the younger woman sat. Rupa stood up and they faced each other. "Oh Rupa, he's gone! They killed him."

They put their arms around each other and held each other tight, while Anna looked on in disbelief and Lunah tugged at her mother's clothes and started to sob in sympathy.

*

"Jude, are you there?" She knocked again, slightly louder this time. "Jude, it's Sharon. Can I come in? I have some news from the police."

There was a strangled sound from within, which she thought might have been an invitation to enter, so she did. The curtains were drawn and he lay on his side with the blankets up to his chin, facing out into the room, eyes closed.

"Sharon." A flicker of a smile lit up his face. The eyes, however, remained closed.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked into his face. As his eyes opened and focused on her, a radiant glow suffused his features and she felt as if the sun had returned in all its glory after a long cold winter. He produced a hand from under the covers and reached out to her. She
took it in both of hers and held it tight, basking in the warmth of his gaze. She examined his eyes, his rather prominent nose and the curve of the bald head.

"You're feeling better!"

"Yes. I am." Suddenly his face clouded. "What's happened? You've had some news? Tell me!" "Yes, a call from the Detective Inspector from yesterday."

"And?"

"Jude, Ally's alright. She's in hospital, but they expect her to make a full recovery." "And Dave?"

She tried to keep her voice and her eyes steady. "Dave's dead. They killed him."

She felt his hand in hers go limp. She turned back to him and the face had gone blank, the eyes suddenly empty again. She squeezed his hand, pulled it towards her, as if trying to haul him back from the brink.

His voice was barely audible. "How?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't go into details, although he did say..." "What?"

She took a deep breath. "He said it was rather gruesome, from what Kassab had said in his statement."

"Oh fuck! What did they do to that poor boy?" She said nothing.

After a while he made an effort to rouse himself, half sitting up. "You said Kassab made the statement? So Cussins wasn't there?"

"No, apparently DS Kassab tracked them across London, using the cameras they have all over the city. When he'd got them pinpointed to a small area, somewhere in Dagenham apparently, he tried to get a team together, but there was no one available."

"So he went on his own?" She nodded.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling. "And the...others?" "They had left by the time he got there."

He fell into a brooding silence.

After a while he said, "And Ally? Do we know how badly hurt she was?"

"No. He said she was in a 'fairly serious condition', but they expected her to make a full recovery."
"That means that if he hadn't gone when he did, straight away...if they had waited until today

– who knows what state she would have been in? She might have died." Sharon nodded slowly. "Yes."

"That man's a bloody hero!" She squeezed his hand. "Bastards!" He looked up at her. "So, are they looking for those...people? I hope they catch them soon. I'd like to find them myself and..." She felt his fingers clench inside her hand.

"Yes, I know. I feel the same. It's an awful urge for revenge, but...I can't help it!" "What about his family? Do they need to identify the body?"

She smiled sadly at him, stroking the back of his hand. "I don't know any more than what I've already told you. The thing is...there's nothing we can do for Dave, now. But Ally's alive. She's in the Royal London Hospital. Maybe we could...go and see her, when she's ready to see people."

"Yes, good idea; I'd like to do that. But, what about Terry Bukovsky? Are they looking for him too?"

She shook her head and lifted her shoulders slightly, then returned to stroking his hand. "I'm so glad you're feeling better. I was so worried about you yesterday. It seemed like..."

"Yes. Yesterday was awful; mind you, not nearly as awful as it must've been for those two. Can you imagine?"

They looked at each other in perplexity. It was impossible to know how Ally and Dave must have felt. He sat himself up in the bed and she saw he was wearing pyjamas.

He reached out his other hand to touch her on the shoulder. "The only thing we can do is...try to be kind to each other, and try to help Ally." He rubbed her shoulder gently.

She bent her head so that her cheek touched his hand. There was a lump in her throat and she was screwing up her face, like a child trying not to cry. He drew her close and she felt his arms around her. She gave way to the tears that came and sobbed onto his shoulder.

"Oh, it's so _horrible_ ...how could they... _murder_ him like that in cold blood? How can people

_do_ things like that?"

"I don't know, Sharon. I don't know."

"What did he go through? How must he have felt?" She was overcome by sobbing again and he pulled her towards him.

*

Later that same afternoon Rupa was making a determined effort to clean the house. She always kept her own room spotless, but now she had swept the kitchen floor (which was filthy) and mopped the lino surface with hot soapy water. (She must ask Jude if he could take her to a supermarket, so she could get some proper cleaning products) She was just starting to sweep
the staircase from top to bottom, and wondering if she could get hold of a cheap vacuum cleaner, when the front door bell rang. She immediately dropped the broom with a bang, gathered up Lunah, who had been playing on the steps nearby, in her arms, and stood there on the staircase, shaking all over. There was silence throughout the house, while the afternoon sunshine angled in through the stained glass window and lit up the myriad motes of dust she had raised on the stairs.

She knew that Jude and Sharon had gone out together in his car at about lunchtime. Reggie and Anna would be at work, and Arnie had made himself scarce ever since Ally had come to the house; so she assumed that she was alone in the house. She couldn't stop her body from shaking.

Very quietly she crept down the stairs and retreated to the relative safety of her own room and locked the door. However, she felt unbridled terror mounting inside her as she heard the footsteps of someone descending the spiral stone steps that led down from the pavement to the tiny courtyard outside her basement room. Looking wildly around for somewhere to hide, she slumped down behind the bed, with Lunah still clutched in her arms, whispering to the child to be silent. Lunah, picking up on her mother's fear, complied perfectly.

Flat on the carpet, she waited, while the intruder apparently looked through the window. She was pretty sure that with the light off, and given the net curtains, whoever it was would be able to see very little inside the room, so she poked her head up above the bed and risked a quick look. What she saw was a young man, slim, in a suit and tie, cupping his hands over the glass in an effort to see into the room. His face was up against the window and she recognised him immediately. It was that detective from yesterday, the young one.

She got up slowly, put Lunah down and approached the window. She tapped quietly and gave a little wave, then pointed upwards with her finger. The man nodded and smiled.

Just over a minute later she was opening the front door for Detective Sergeant Kassab. She was hot and bothered from housework and from the fear she had felt and was sure that she was probably sweating and looked a mess.

"Yes?"

"Good afternoon Mrs Ameen. I'm sorry to bother you..." "Jude, Sharon both out." She was still slightly out of breath.

"That's alright. It was actually you that I wanted to talk to. Could I come in for a few minutes?"

She thought that he looked somewhat nervous himself, and wondered why. "Yes, please." And she opened the door wider to let him in.

He entered the kitchen, just as Lunah appeared from the stairs, having followed her mother by hauling herself up each tread of the staircase.

Kassab bent down to talk to her. "Hello. I remember you from yesterday. Do you remember me?" Lunah screwed up her face into what might have been a shy smile. "I don't know your name. Can you tell me?"

Behind him Rupa said softly to her daughter in English, "What is your name?"
They waited, then Lunah said in a small voice, but very clearly, "My name is Lunah", then promptly stuck a finger into her mouth.

"Oh, well done!" He turned around to Rupa, beaming with pleasure. "She's learning English too!"

"Oh yes, of course. She learning English as well as Bengali."

"That's great!" Still squatting down, he extended a hand towards the little girl. She regarded him seriously for a moment, then walked towards him and put her hand onto his. He clasped it gently and shook it. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Lunah. That's a beautiful name." He grinned broadly at her, and she looked up at her mother, who was smiling encouragement.

He stood up and faced Rupa. "Do you mind if we sit down at the table?"

"No, no please. Sit down. I make tea." And she pulled back a chair for him, then started to move busily around the kitchen.

He waited patiently while she busied herself with the tea, then felt a touch on his knee. Lunah was standing next to him, one hand on his leg, looking up expectantly. He pushed back his chair, then leaned down and swung her carefully up onto his lap. She screamed with pleasure then sat and grinned, as her mother pretended to disapprove of this forward behaviour.

"Ha, she like you."

Kassab took her tiny hand in his and started to play 'Round and round the garden like a teddy bear' with her. As soon as she learned the new game, she screamed and giggled when it was time for him to say, " _One_ step, _two_ step, _tickly_ under there!"

Rupa placed a tray on the table, then sat herself around the corner from him. She poured him a cup.

"Thank you. Yes, milk, no sugar. Lovely."

She gave her daughter a plain biscuit out of the bowl on the tray. "So, Detective, what you want to say?"

He settled Lunah more comfortably on his lap, then looked at Rupa with his intelligent, thoughtful brown eyes. "I know that Detective Inspector Cussins spoke to Mrs Helston on the phone and you've probably heard some things from her, but I wanted to...speak to you myself."

She nodded briskly, trying to focus on what he was saying, rather than on his physical presence, which she was finding most distracting.

"So, I guess you've heard that Miss McDonald is recovering in hospital, and Mr Roland is...deceased." She nodded again. "Did you know Mr Roland?"

She shook her head. "No. Only moved in few days ago...same for all. I not speak to him, really."

It was Kassab's turn to nod. "OK, so although it's a shock, he wasn't someone you were close to...who you would call a friend?"

"No, not friend, but...seem nice young man. Alison like him." She looked down shyly.
"Sure, I understand. But it's still a great shock when someone we know dies suddenly. You may find some...side effects from that; you may have trouble sleeping, for example."

"No, not sleeping, but am...scared." She looked up at him quickly. "When you ring bell now, was scared, shaking."

"Yes, of course. And that probably relates more to the other thing I wanted to ask you about. You were threatened twice yesterday – once by Roger Steadly and then a second time by... we think Kevin Brompton is his name, the leader of that...group of people whom you met briefly." Lunah had finished her biscuit and wanted Kassab to play with her again. He smiled at her and held her hand absently. "To be threatened once is bad enough, but twice in one day is...awful. I'm sorry that the Detective Inspector was so...cold yesterday. He should have been a lot more understanding. It's...it's his way. He's a good man, but he's not the best at...well, talking to people, I suppose."

Rupa couldn't help smiling. "Is Ok. Understand. He not...like you."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I did feel rather bad yesterday, the way that he treated you, during that meeting. What I'm trying to say is...you probably will feel scared, shaking, depressed even. Do you understand me?" She nodded. "There can be all kinds of delayed reactions to these sorts of stressful situations. You mustn't think there's something wrong with you if you find yourself feeling...any of these things. It's very natural; and you simply need to look after yourself and try not to worry. They will pass in time." He paused. "You might need to go and see a doctor if you need medication, or simply find someone to talk to about how you're feeling. It must be very hard for you..."

She looked into his eyes, then immediately dropped her gaze, so penetrating and passionate and, disturbing was his presence. "You very kind," she mumbled.

"Now, there are a couple of things I wanted to tell you, and perhaps you could also pass these on to Mr Morrow and Mrs Helston for me?"

"Yes."

"Good. Well, just to return to the subject of Mr Roland again, we haven't been able to track down any next of kin or members of his family. We've drawn a complete blank there, so far, which is very odd. Nearly everybody has _some_ family. It's very unusual for there to be nobody. The thing is, we need someone who knew him to come down and identify the body."

She realised he had stopped talking and was looking expectantly at her. "Ah, Ok. Mmm...maybe Jude or Sharon can do?"

"Yes, they could. We might be able to get someone from the supermarket he worked at, but his landlord, or someone he lived with would be better. Alright. The other thing is...well, in a case of murder like this we generally need to do a post mortem; but we need permission from a family member to do that also...but we don't seem to have any family members coming forward, so..."

She was confused. "Sorry? What is post...?"

"Oh, sorry. Post mortem means the examination of a body in order to find out the cause of death – why the person died."

"Examination...so have to...?"
"Er, well, not me, it's done by one of the police pathologists, yes they...well they look at the body very carefully and sometimes they make incisions...cut into the body to examine the inside...organs and things like that."

She nodded slowly. "This is...horrible."

"Yes, it's not nice, but unfortunately sometimes necessary, to find out how the person died." Lunah was leaning heavily against him, so he shifted her on his lap slightly. "Anyway, we might need to ask Mr Morrow, or Mrs Helston for permission for that also; that is, if no one comes forward, of course."

"Ok...I tell them."

"Thank you." He had a drink of tea, and accepted a biscuit when she offered him the plate. "Tell what happen last night. You follow them...how? TV cameras?"

"Yes. There's a network of what we call CCTV right across London. So I was able to track them to near Dagenham Sunday Markets, down by the river, East End."

"Then go...alone, to...save?"

"Well, there wasn't anyone else available. And I didn't want to leave it till the day shift. I knew it was pretty important to get out there ASAP...sorry, as soon as possible."

"You brave man."

"No, no, not at all; it's just my job."

She shook her head. "Not job, to go alone. If bad people there...kill you." "Well, no, not really. I was quite...careful."

"But if not go straight way, maybe Ally dead, in morning." She looked at him now full in the face. "You very brave man, very good man. We want say big thank you. Really! We all like Ally, Dave. Want say thank you for trying best...save them."

Lunah was now fast asleep on his lap, while he cradled her gently. As he gazed down at her daughter, Rupa looked at his long eyelashes, the small, slightly sharp nose, the narrow lips, the short cropped, black, curly hair, the olive skin of his face and hands. She sensed the quality he carried with him of lithe, compact strength, of a man who would defend his own to the death, a dangerous man to his enemies, but endlessly loving to...to whom? She wondered if he were married, if he had children of his own.

"Mr Kassab. Can ask you question?"

He raised his face to her, as if he too had been lost in thought. "Of course. Please." "Your family from where? Your family English?"

"Ha, well, they are now. My parents came here from Jordan in 1980. I was born here. They still speak Jordanian at home. We all speak it amongst ourselves."

"Ah." She took a sip from her cup of tea. "Jordan....near...Israel?"

"Yes, but different." He smiled. "We're a Muslim country, with some Christians too."
"Ah, Muslim. What kind of Muslim?" "Sunni. Same as you," and he smiled again. "And you are...how say...?"

"Am I a practising Muslim?" "Ya – practising Muslim." "Yes I am."

"Ok. Me, also."

She was waiting for him to smile again and he did. She felt as if she could sit at this table all day and talk to this man, who was holding her sleeping daughter and was so...such a man!

"Can I...ask _you_ a personal question? Please tell me to mind my own business if you don't want to tell me." She nodded, watching her daughter, sleeping peacefully in her new friend's lap. "Are you and Lunah...are you on your own?"

"Yes."

"And your husband?" "Divorce. Muslim divorce."

He nodded to himself. "And this happened in England? Your husband is over here?" "Yes. But not husband any more."

"And does he...give you any..."

"No. Nothing. Am...get...social security."

"I see." He pondered a moment. "And you have enough to rent the room here?"

She made a face. "Some. Also clean house, do cooking." She glanced at him quickly. "Jude very kind man." She smiled to herself. "Want help everyone."

"Right. I see."

They both looked down at the sleeping little girl, then their eyes met, and such a look of peaceful contentment passed between them.

Suddenly Kassab roused himself. "There was one other thing I wanted to say to you."

"Mmm?" She leaned forward slightly, one arm flat on the table, the other bent at the elbow, one slim hand supporting her chin.

"Well, the thing is the press are going to get hold of this story, being a murder and a rather macabre one at that, with biker gang connections. They're going to try to build it up...I mean they're going to have a field day with it."

She frowned slightly at him.
"Sorry, what I mean is the newspapers are going to try to make a big story out of what's happened, and you may find that journalists want to talk to you and find out as much as they can from you. They will offer you money, but my advice is to tell them nothing. They will want to make you part of the story, print your picture in their paper, and before you know it, your picture will be everywhere. You won't be able to go anywhere without people recognising you. It could make your life very difficult."

"Ok. Understand. So, say nothing to journalist?"

"Well, that's my advice. I mean it may be quite difficult, especially if they offer you large sums of money."

She smiled at his concern. "Say not talk to them...will not. You good man; trust you."

"Thank you." He stroked Lunah's sleeping head gently with one hand, then looked up at Rupa. "One last thing. If we arrest these men, and we have high hopes that we will, will you be prepared to identify them and testify against them at a trial?"

She frowned slightly. "So...say: 'Yes, these men take Ally, Dave away.'?"

"Exactly. You and Ally are the only ones who saw them, as far as we know. Without your testimony we have no chance of a conviction."

She looked down at the table, thinking; then her eyes met his, alight with conviction and courage. "You want me do this?"

"I do, Mrs Ameen. It's the only way we can bring justice to Miss McDonald and Mr Roland." "Ok, I do. Do for you, because you risk life for them."

#  WEDNESDAY 1.30pm

Sharon and Jude emerged from St James's Park tube station into brilliant sunshine. Central London crowds were in full swing, so she grasped him firmly by the arm and guided him left along Broadway, till they came to the Old Star pub.

Jude looked up at the sign over the door. Sharon was hungry, so they went inside and found a couple of seats at a table in the main bar. He was about to go up and get some drinks, when she stopped him.

"No, it's my turn. You sit down. I'll get them."

He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, then watched her navigate the busy counter, keeping her seat for her at the table. She came back with two pints of cider and a number on a metal stand for their food order.

"Got us both a ploughman's lunch. I hope that's alright?"

He nodded and smiled and took a long pull of the delicious cold cider. They said little as they waited, gazing around at the beautiful polished wood tables and chairs, and the mixed bag of locals and tourists, which thronged the pub at this time of day. There were prints of old London hung all round the walls and the servery was adorned with a variety of brass trumpets, which looked as though they might have been blown by well rugged-up coachmen in some Dickensian winter scene. Five minutes later a shout from behind the bar announced that their food was ready and Sharon jumped up and went to collect it, returning with two huge plates of bread, cheese and pickles.

He gave her his wan smile. "You should've got one between us. We'll never eat all this."

"I know. Never mind. Just eat what you can." She was already slicing the bread and deciding how best to arrange the cheese and the rest so it didn't all fall off the plate.

Afterwards she guided him left, up Queen Anne's Gate and around the corner, where they made their way between the beautiful Georgian buildings, eventually, by way of Old Queen's Street, coming out onto Storey Gate and so left onto Birdcage Walk, beside the Park.

"Here, look!" She pointed across the road to an entry into the park, where people could be seen strolling in the summer sunshine. They could see a winding pathway between green grass, dotted with majestic trees in their early summer finery.

"St James's Park. Come on, it's another of my favourite places to visit!" So they crossed the road and she held onto his arm, as they sauntered slowly into the wonderland of the summer park.

She looked up at him, her face aglow. "Isn't it good to be alive, when you can come somewhere as gorgeous as this and just walk in the sunshine?"
He smiled back and nodded and squeezed her hand against his side. Over to the right they could see the imposing imperial buildings along Horse Guard's Parade; but here in the park, straight ahead, they were coming up to the lake, which lay surrounded by over-hanging trees and banks of reeds around the water's edge.

Guiding him to the left, they started to walk along beside the lake, until they came to a vacant bench, where they sat together, touching along one side of their bodies. Jude stretched his feet out, his hands in the pockets of his sports jacket, while Sharon hooked one arm through his, grasping her hands together, resting them on the waistband of her jeans.

On the far side of the path was a low metal fence, followed by a short stretch of grass which led down to the lake, all tiny wavelets, dappled blue and green as it reflected the sky and the park all around. They watched silently as a pair of swans glided majestically by, while further to their right they could hear, but not see, a group of ducks having a noisy conversation.

She nudged him in the side. "So, what do you think? Along with the Regents Canal, this would have to be one of my best loved spots in London. I'll take you to another one, later, if there's time."

He beamed down at her. "And all the better for being here with you." She dug him in the ribs again. "Oh, you old flatterer, you!"

Then, looking straight ahead at the ducks, which were now directly in front of them, she said quietly, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What was it that made the difference? I mean, yesterday you were very down and could hardly even speak to me. Yet this morning you were...completely different. What happened in between?"

He was silent for so long that she was afraid he might not have heard her, but eventually he roused himself and said, "I talked to Reggie."

"Really? I thought you went to bed last night early, like me." "I did, but I woke up in the night; couldn't sleep."

"Right."

"Well, I went down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, and he came in. Must've heard me coming down."

"Ok."

"Ended up telling me all about his life." "You mean when he was a priest?"

"Yes, well, before that; when he was at school and uni. How he came back to his faith and then studied at a seminary, then on to the priesthood."

An old lady in a wheelchair was being pushed past them. She had a blanket over her knees, and her eyes, behind large glasses, had a faraway look, as if she were seeing a quite different reality.
"And did he tell you about, you know, how he came to leave the priesthood?" "Oh yes. We went into his room so he could have a drink. Told me all about it." "I see."

"Well, to cut a long story short, he _is_ gay. Had an affair with a young boy, who then went and told his parents. The local Bishop did a deal with the parents that he would be...disrobed? Is that the expression? In return for their not pursuing the matter legally."

"Right. And how does he feel about all that?"

He looked directly at her. "Amazingly calm. He was very upset at the time, of course; but now, nearly twenty years later, he has come to terms with it all."

She nodded. "And his faith?"

"Oh, as strong as ever, stronger perhaps. It's the one thing that...sustains him, keeps him going day to day."

"Right. Well, I mean, that's good, for him."

"Yes, he's an amazing character." He was gazing across to the other side, where a large crowd of tourists seemed to be milling around and taking photographs. "I like him a lot."

"So...that was what made you feel better?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, then turned back to her and smiled. "There's more to it than that. I'll tell you a bit more later. Ok?"

She smiled.

"Where's your other place to go?"

"Westminster Abbey. It's just down the road from here."

He burst out laughing, but she wasn't sure why. Suddenly he grabbed her hand and dragged her up off the bench. "Come on. I want to walk right round the lake, then we'll go to the Abbey. Let's go!" And she found herself propelled along at a much faster rate, almost running at times, laughing as she tried to keep up with him and his new mood of exuberance.

Round the other side of the lake they ran into the crowd and were forced to slow down. Trying to find a way through, they realised people were looking at something by the water's edge. Inching their way forward they could see two large pelicans were eating some fish out of a bucket, which had been placed on the grass. Two or three other pelicans were demanding a share, but the two incumbents were standing firm. They watched as the large birds dipped into the bucket and expertly flipped the fish into their huge beaks.

Later, when they reached the top end of the lake, she guided him out onto Horse Guards Rd, and so back to Storey Gate, down to Victoria St, and suddenly, directly across the road from them – Westminster Abbey. There it stood, magnificent, square, twin towers gleaming white in the afternoon sun, towering above the crowds of tourists who milled around its feet.

Sharon looked up at him. "Isn't she something? Begun in 1245, and still going strong!"
"My goodness, you do know your dates!"

She grinned at him. "Come on, you philistine Australian. Come and see what real culture looks like!" And she was dragging _him_ across the road. "We have to go in by the North Transept, round here."

And so they entered the great gothic edifice, Jude marvelling at the soaring curves of the stonework that rose to giddy heights, only to be brought rudely back to earth by the firm politeness of the security team, which checked their clothing and belongings before passing them on to the pay desk.

"You have to pay to get in?"

Sharon nodded. "I have an annual pass. Don't worry, I'll get yours."

He watched in embarrassment as she handed over a £20 note and received a couple of coins in change.

But then they were in, and her arm was through his and they were wandering down past a row of statues of the nation's leaders, peering at the names below each one. He was entranced as she guided him past the Chapel of St John the Baptist, the Chapel of St Paul and on to the Coronation Chair, where she whispered to him that British Monarchs had been crowned there since William the Conqueror in 1066. He smiled and told her she should get a job as a tourist guide. And so on to the Lady Chapel and back to the South Transept and Poet's corner. Here were the memorials to the great figures of English Literature and he looked long and hard at the stone faces of Shakespeare and Geoffrey Chaucer, as they gazed sightlessly out onto the passing parade.

"Where does this go?" He asked, as she led him out of the main church and down a flight of steps.

"Wait and see," was all she said and then they emerged at the corner of the cloisters. The covered walkway was flanked on the outside by mullioned glass windows, through which could be seen the grass of the inner quadrangle. Without another word they slowly started to stroll around the four sides of the cloister, arm in arm, over the huge slabs of stone, gazing at the memorials on the wall and listening to the sounds of their own breathing and their own kaleidoscopic thoughts.

Eventually she nudged him gently. "You were going to tell me more about what happened last night. Remember?"

At first she thought he wasn't going to respond, but then he said, very quietly, "I used to be very much against Christianity, for a long time." There was silence again, then he continued. "Probably got a bit too much of it when I was young." He looked at her. "My Dad was a Baptist Minister, see, back in Melbourne." He sighed. "So I kind of got it drummed into me as far back as I can remember. Then, when I was a teenager and doing that dissociation thing from my parents, I started to argue with him, and my Mum. I mean, I could see it hurt them, but...well, I didn't care. Maybe I _wanted_ to hurt them, I'm not sure. Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed absurd and...irrational, illogical. I mean, it was one thing for poor people in a politically charged backwater of the Roman Empire to adopt a teacher as their Messiah, and even for Constantine to adopt the new faith as the official state religion of the empire, three hundred years later, but...that was the whole problem. The whole bloody
bandwagon got jumped on by people who saw it as the new order and the new power structure, and ..."

"The original message got corrupted? But isn't that why people like St Francis and Martin Luther and...and John Wesley and lots of others have kept on going back to the beginning again, back to the stories of Jesus, to rediscover the gospels and to, you know, strip it back down to the bare essentials?"

"Hmm, I guess so."

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you. Go on." She was afraid she might have cut the fragile thread of his discourse and he might lapse into silence again, but after a pause he resumed.

"Anyway, by the time I got to Uni I'd decided I wanted nothing more to do with the Church. I remember thinking to myself: there are just too many things that I find it almost impossible to believe in."

"Mmm?"

"Well, like a woman giving birth without having sex and a man who was dead coming back to life and...and God having made the world, but did he really make all those other billions of stars and galaxies? And if he did, why did he decide to send his only son to a tiny place on a tiny planet at the back end of the Milky Way galaxy? And what about all the other beings on all the other planets? Why didn't _they_ get a look-in too? Bit hard on them, isn't it?"

She burst out laughing, then immediately regretted it, but she needn't have worried. He was laughing with her. "Well really – think about it!"

"Yes, when you put it like that. Alright, I have to agree it's a puzzle. Jude, d'you mind if we sit down for a minute? My legs need a rest." So they sat on one of the narrow stone benches at the base of the wall and she rubbed the tops of her thighs through her jeans.

"What about you? Are you a religious person?"

She smiled, looking out through the ancient leaded window opposite. "Well, the funny thing is that _my_ father was an Anglican Vicar, and I was brought up in the Church too. How's that for a coincidence?"

"Wow." He considered this for a while. "And how did...do you...?"

"Hmm...a bit like you, at first. I went through a phase of complete rejection. But then, well, it was when my marriage turned sour. I was so lonely, and so, kind of...empty. I started going along to the local Anglican Church and...well, found real comfort there. I made some friends there, started going along to some of their functions – not too many, mind."

"So would you call yourself a Christian?"

She looked sideways at him. "Yes. Yes I would."

He nodded, then lapsed back into silent contemplation.

After a while she prodded him gently again. "So, did you find any other outlets for spirituality, or were you content to be a complete materialist? I mean, is it just all about what we perceive here and now?"
"Ha! Aren't you clever. Yes, I became very interested in Buddhism." "Ah! I see. Er...how did that happen?"

"Friend of mine in Sydney." "Ok."

"Yes, actually that's how I met Chrisy, my wife. She was at the same group I used to go along to."

"Nice. So, you had a shared interest in Buddhism."

"Mmm." He turned to her suddenly. "The thing that grabbed me about _that_ was there was no list of things that you were expected to believe in order to be part of it; no list of questionable or highly unlikely events that you had to accept as the truth. It wasn't like that at all. It was more like – well this is what our life as humans is: it's suffering. And I thought: yes, that's so true! But then there's also a reason for that suffering – it's because of the way our mind works: always seeking to satisfy itself with all different sorts of pleasures, always grasping after and craving for gratification. And I thought \- well, that's exactly right. That's exactly what _I_ do, and yet I never truly find lasting happiness. Ah – but that's because of ignorance. There _is_ a path, a way that will eventually lead to happiness and full enlightenment."

"Really? And what is that?"

"Well, it's called the Noble Eightfold Path. It's a kind of mixture of living a moral life, along with regular meditation, which leads to greater and greater understanding of how the mind works. I know it sounds like a cliché, but it's about gradually learning how to 'let go' of all the craving, all the grasping and all the anxiety of daily life, so that you can simply be happy in yourself – because our natural state is one of joy and contentment."

"My! Sounds amazing." "Yes, doesn't it!"

"So...you started to follow that path?"

He nodded. "Chrissy and I. Then the kids came along, but we persevered with it." He lapsed into silence again.

"And when she...?"

"When she died?" He sighed. "You're right, of course. I should have been able to meditate, watch the mind...let go of suffering...all of that."

"But?"

"But I couldn't do it! I would sit and sit and the black, churning cauldron that was my mind was a horrible place to spend time in. I couldn't stand it." He turned to her. "I couldn't rise above it. It seemed like all that knowledge and wisdom had deserted me. It just didn't work any more."

She stroked his leg. "You poor thing. So what happened?"
He grunted. "What happened was that I fell into a big hole...for a long time. I couldn't focus on work, couldn't seem to settle to anything. Started drinking too much, smoking weed. It was like...nothing made any sense any more. And the worst thing was..."

"What?"

"Well, I think I neglected the kids. They were finished school by then, or near enough, and all starting to do their own thing, but I was so...wrapped up in my own stuff – I don't think I was really there for them. In fact, I'm sure of it."

She reached behind and stroked the back of his neck. "You were depressed. It happens to lots of people. It's very understandable in the circumstances."

"Yes. I suppose." He gave a wry smile. "It's funny. The only thing that seemed to give me any satisfaction, any kind of solace, was this drive I had to write...to create characters and...stories...and try to fashion some kind of meaning, some kind of pattern in _that_ way."

"Oh."

"Yes, exactly. Oh." He grinned at her. "You know what?" "What?"

"My bum is killing me, sitting on this cold hard stone. Let's move again!" He stood up and pulled her to her feet.

"But you still haven't told me..." "Maybe later. Come on."

As they emerged from the cloister and re-entered the main church, suddenly they were assailed by a massive onslaught of sound. An incredible cascade of musical notes was swirling into the vast heights of the Abbey, only to bounce back down and fill the whole space, like a flock of birds, sweeping all before them. They glanced at each other in alarm and Jude happened to catch the eye of one of the security men who was standing nearby. He smiled indulgently and by standing close to him they were just able to catch his words.

"One of the organists. Chap from the Conservatory, likes to come in and practise, all sorts of odd times. He's very good, if you like that sort of thing." He implied that he wasn't going to commit himself either way on the matter.

Jude thanked him and they moved on, the ethereal melody rising and falling in intricately weaved baroque scales, interspersed with deep, crashing chords that seemed to shake the very blocks of the great supporting columns around them. Jude had to stop and lean against one of these, while the glorious rhapsody of sound filled the whole church and the whole of his mind. Was it God speaking aloud to him in all his dreadful majesty? Was it his vision on the road to Damascus? He didn't know, he couldn't tell – only the experience of the sounds, each intricate heavenly note as it exploded in his brain – this was the only reality.

Eventually he opened his eyes and they walked slowly up the side of the nave, across in front of the Quire screen, and so on back to the North Transept and out into the open air, where faint echoes of the music still followed them.
Carried along by the crowd through the Abbey precinct gates and out onto Broad Sanctuary, they stood on the pavement, unsure which way to go.

Jude looked around, through the milling crowds. "Let's go to the river. That's near here, isn't it? That's Big Ben over there."

Her face creased up in amusement. "Aren't you clever! Yes, it's just over this way, come on." So they turned right and navigated their way around Parliament Square, stopping at the lights while the traffic thundered by, then crossing with the crowd, when they changed. He had not realised that Central London was so busy. There seemed to be millions of people walking in great flocks in all possible directions, with a dogged determination that was almost comical to watch.

At Bridge Street they turned right, and suddenly, there, in the shadow of Big Ben, was the river and Westminster Bridge curving up to begin its leap over the Thames. But here they waited at the lights again, then crossed to follow the river along the Victoria Embankment.

It wasn't long before Sharon was slowing the pace, as they approached Temple Pier. They stopped and looked down on a collection of river-boats, joined to the main pier by passenger walkways. Across the other side, the vast structure of the London Eye rose up into the sky, slowly revolving, like some monstrous clock, marking the passage of time in the great metropolis. The boats were mostly white and modern, with a single deck and a curved, perspex covering over most of the seating, with an open section at the rear.

As they stood and watched, the sound of a tour guide's commentary, broadcast from one of the boats was carried to them. It was loud and metallic, full of interesting facts about the sites along the river and a smattering of well-rehearsed jokes to keep the day-trippers amused.

They looked at each other, then simultaneously shook their heads and continued on along the embankment. Five minutes later and they were starting to tire a little. Sharon pointed across the road, where an open gate in the low metal fence invited them into a delightful looking miniature park. They made it across the busy road, and passed through the gate.

They were on the edge of a circular lawn with a large stone artefact in the middle, somewhat overgrown by a pink flowering bramble. On opposite sides of the circular path around the lawn were two benches, backed by high privet hedges, which shielded the grass ring from the rest of the gardens. Opposite, could be seen a row of Whitehall buildings which backed onto the park, which thus formed a buffer between the buildings and the traffic of the embankment.

Some cloud had drifted over from the East and suddenly the scene changed from sunlight to shadow in an instant, as a cool breeze moved across. They chose the seat on the right and gratefully sank down onto it. As if on cue, a man pushing an ice cream and drinks cart appeared on the other side of the ring and slowly made his way towards them.

"Amazing," muttered Jude. "Just what I need. I'm going to get a drink. Would you like one?" "Mm, I'll have a coke; bit of a habit of mine, I'm afraid."

"Alright, I'll have one too and keep you company."

The price was exorbitant, but he paid it without a murmur, for once. "Ah, that's better."
The sun reappeared and their circlet of green was bathed in colour once again.

She crossed her legs and leaned forward, looking at him earnestly. "So, come on, young man. I'm waiting to hear the rest of the story."

"Hmm, where was I?"

"You fell into a hole for a long time, after Chrissy died."

"Yes. That was a...horrible period, really. I don't have a lot to say about that. I gave in my notice at my regular teaching job and just did relief work. No preparation and marking, see?" He took a swig of coke and looked at her. "That was when I was concentrating more of my time on the writing."

"Right, and how did that go?"

He smiled coyly. "You mean, did I write a best seller? No, I didn't. I was working on a number of different novels, at various times...trying to fashion them into something that hung together with some sort of coherent structure, that would make sense to a reader; but none of them really succeeded, in my opinion."

"Did you publish any of them?"

"Well, depends what you call 'publish'. They're all on the net on free publishing websites, but I wouldn't say any of them caused much of a sensation in terms of reader downloads."

They watched as a very young couple walked past hand in hand. The boy and girl both looked about fifteen or sixteen, but so full of the joys of young love! Sharon gazed at them with interest, as Jude picked up the thread.

"Actually, the move from Australia to here, really...well, I'd been at yet another low point back home, in terms of...everything, really – the writing, and...in myself. Nothing seemed to be working for me. Everything was...just stupid and hopeless, I suppose."

She took his hand in hers and held it gently. "Yes, I _do_ know what that feels like, believe me."

"Yes." His gaze lingered on her and on her hands cradling his own. "So when I got the letter from the solicitors here, and confirmed it all with a phone call – well, I thought: this is _just_ what I need! A complete change of...everything: environment, country, lifestyle, the lot. What did I have to keep me in Australia? My daughter's in Perth with her partner, my son is working in a mine in Mongolia – so _that_ made sense. And also, when I got here, and realised that I wanted to run the house myself, it gave me some great ideas for a new novel; and _that_ was exciting too." He took her empty bottle off the seat and put it next to his on the ground. "So I was feeling pretty happy about things in general, especially," he squeezed her hand gently in his, "when _you_ turned up at the door and took the room. I thought, wow – she's so nice and, we get along so well...and she's had an awful time with her marriage, and is obviously feeling...dragged down by the whole thing – has been for years. Well, I thought – it's almost like we're...kindred spirits. That's why we understand each other so well."

Suddenly he was kissing her and her arms were reaching for him, as his were for her and the kiss was a glorious spontaneous release of heart-felt passion that neither of them wanted to end.

Eventually she broke away, laughing. "Stop! Let me breathe!"
"Sorry."

"Don't be an idiot! I love it when you kiss me. You've no idea!" She stroked the side of his face, smiling at him with her eyes. "But I still want to hear the end of the story. You're not getting out of it by trying to distract me like _that_!"

She laughed and he tried to kiss her again but she pulled away. "Only after you've finished."

He sat back with both arms stretched along the top of the seat, a wry grin on his face. "Ah, you're a hard woman."

"Yes I am. Get used to it!"

"Alright, so!" He pondered a moment. "So when Alison turned up, and all the rest of it, which you know too well...anyway, somehow it seemed as if everything was falling apart, and the same awful black hole which had threatened to engulf me so many times back home...was here again, scarier than ever, and I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of it, being sucked towards the event horizon." He looked across to the left, where an enormous juggernaut was thundering down the embankment, making the ground shake. "That's where I was at, in the middle of last night, when I woke up and ran into Reggie in the kitchen. It's hard to explain if you haven't been there, but perhaps you have?"

She nodded silently, and said nothing.

"Well, I didn't really feel like talking to anybody, but Reggie seemed keen to talk, and...I do like him, so I asked him to finish telling me more about himself." The young couple had disappeared round the corner. The circle was deserted for the moment. "Well, I'm not going to tell you the whole story, but what was interesting, for me, at least, was that after all of the heart- ache and suffering and humiliation of the exposure of his relationship with the boy, and then his being removed from the priesthood....after all of that, he _still_ held onto his faith; in fact, it was stronger than ever."

"Mmm, so what did he do when he could no longer be a priest? I mean in terms of employment."

"He worked as what they apparently call a 'lay-brother', in various schools and hospitals and prisons; where ever the church needed people, he worked for them, but in a...well, a sort of lower capacity, I suppose." He turned to her. "Isn't that amazing? I mean, he could have been all bitter and twisted towards the church. In many ways they did their usual thing – moved him on and did everything they could to avoid scandal for the church – and pretty much threw him to the dogs, really."

"Do you know that? Are you sure there was no...counselling, or sort of...helping him to transition to a new kind of life?"

"Well, no; that's true. I don't know that. It may be that there was help...but he didn't mention it. Just my overwhelming sense was of the way that his faith in Jesus as loving Saviour, and in _his_ forgiveness for what he had done, sustained him and continued to sustain him through it all! _That_ I found truly extraordinary."

"Yes, I can see that." She considered him, thoughtfully. "It sounds as if your attitude towards Christianity is going through a bit of a change...even a turnaround?"
He looked back at her, frowning. "Yes. That's it. I suddenly realised that if Christ can forgive _him_ , and continue to love him unconditionally, despite the...well, the depth of his sin, I suppose, then..."

"Then surely he could do the same for you?"

He was looking towards the stone artefact, the privet hedge, and beyond both, far into the past and into the unknowable future. "Yes. Surely he could."

After a while he returned to the present. "Do you know what he did?" She shook her head.

"It was, well, it was beautiful. We sat down on the edge of his bed and he said a prayer for Ally and...and for Dave; and then he prayed for me. Well, I can't remember it exactly, but he asked God to...that's right, asked him to open my heart so I can listen to him and be open to what he has to say to me...sort of, so that I can turn towards him and, well, yes...just listen."

She took his hand again. "That's lovely, Jude. Really." She smiled that smile that seemed to slice right through him and meet him there at the core of his being. "I'm so glad for you. I truly am." She was quiet for a while. "We need to pray for Dave too, for his soul, and for Ally."

"Yes. We do."

"So, what are you going to do next? Are you going to, sort of, take any steps towards...?"

"Oh yes. I'm going to go along to Mass at his church. He wants me to listen to the Mass, to be there to experience it."

"Great. Er...you won't be able to take the host, the bread and the wine. Catholics are a bit particular about that."

"Yes, I know. But he said I can go up and receive a blessing from the priest instead. They do that with non-Catholics. And I said I thought that would be almost as good. Actually, it's funny, because that's a very Buddhist idea, the giving of blessings to people. I'm quite used to that, from before."

She smiled again. "That's great, then. Well, I think I'm starting to see why you were so much happier this morning. When you opened your eyes and..."

"Yes, I remember; the first thing I saw was you and...I suddenly felt so...so grateful, and just full of joy, that you, well, that you were...there for me, and still cared for me, even after I'd been such a bastard to you the day before."

"Yes, but, surely, you couldn't have felt like that unless..."

"Oh yes, absolutely. It was what happened with Reggie that made the whole thing...possible, for sure."

They held hands quietly for a few moments, then she looked up at him shyly. "Jude." "Yes?"

"Jude, I don't know if you'll think much of this. If you'd rather not, please tell me honestly!"
"Well, I can't until you tell me what it is." He stroked the side of her face with his fingers.

"Well, the thing is, I was wondering if, when you and Reggie go to Mass, whether I could come with you?" She looked at him worriedly. "Please say no, if you don't want me to."

He drew her towards him until their lips were barely an inch apart. "I think that would be the most wonderful thing in the world. I would love to share that with you. Please come!"

Then they were kissing again, and the young couple, who had been spying on them through the hedge, suddenly abandoned their teenage disdain and looked at one another in wonder.

#  WEDNESDAY EVENING

Soon after 5.30pm that same evening Anna arrived back at the house from work, on her scooter. She was just parking it in the driveway, behind the now ownerless Yamaha 250cc bike, when she felt a touch on her arm. She turned to see a diminutive young woman in jeans and a duffle coat, with long, lank hair hanging down either side of her narrow face.

"Could I have a word with you, please love?"

She looked so harmless that Anna was curious, rather than concerned. "Er, why? Why d'you want to talk to me?"

The woman's face broke into a smile. "Half an hour of your time and there's £800 in it for you."

Anna frowned. "£800? What d'you mean?"

The other's smile broadened. "London Chronicle. Just want to ask you a few questions. Nothing too personal. Just about, you know, what's been going on at the house here." She removed a roll of notes from her pocket and deliberately counted out eight hundreds.

Anna considered the offer. "Make it a thousand and you can come up to my room and talk to me for as long as you want."

"And a few pictures thrown in?" "OK."

"It's a deal!" The journalist stuck out a slim hand and the two women shook on it.

"This way, follow me." And, luckily for Anna, they didn't meet any other residents of the house on their way up to the top floor.

# THURSDAY MORNING

At just after nine am Sharon and Jude were coming down the front steps, making for her Fiat, which was parked on the street, outside the gate. Detective Inspector Cussins had phoned up early that morning and asked if they could come in to the station and meet him. Jude was reaching for the latch on the gate when he noticed a young man in jeans and jumper and curly brown hair in the driveway to their right. He was crouching down and taking a photo of Dave's motorbike with a zoom-lens camera.

Jude leaned over the fence. "Excuse me. What are you doing?"

The young man looked up and regarded him coolly. Then his face broke into a grin. "You must be the Aussie that owns the house! Mind if I...?" And he raised the camera and took several photos in quick succession. Then he moved down the driveway and did the same with Sharon, who was approaching her car. Jude was just about to confront him when a white Toyota Corolla squealed to a stop on the road, and the photographer jogged over to it and jumped in. The Corolla then took off up the road at speed.

He moved to the Fiat and was about to get into the passenger side when a youngish woman in a black knee-length dress and a stylish black jacket started making a bee line for Sharon on the other side of the car.

"Excuse me, madam. Are you Mrs Helston? Could I have a word, please? Can you tell me how Mr Roland died? Have you seen his body? Is it true he was tortured?"

Sharon looked across the top of the car at Jude in alarm.

He opened the door on his side. "Quick! Get in! Now!" When she was in he leaned across her and slammed the door shut. The woman outside tried to open it, but he locked it. "Drive off – now!"

She reversed and drove off, barely stopping to see if there was anything behind her. She turned to him in consternation. "Who was that?"

"Journalist. The story must've got out. Somehow they've found out where Dave and Ally lived. Damn!"

As the traffic slowed and they passed a newsagent's on Shacklewell Lane, there was an advertising board on the pavement. "Gangland Love Triangle – Death by Torture" it shrieked in huge black letters.

They looked at each other in consternation. Sharon drove on in silence.

At the police station they left the car in the car park and approached the familiar desk. A young female officer smiled at them. "Mr Morrow and Mrs Helston? Detective Inspector Cussins asked that you come straight up when you arrived. This way, please."
This time they followed the woman through the back and up some stairs. They were in a large open-plan office, full of telephones ringing and desks piled high with paper and people moving around and talking loudly to each other. But when they entered this gradually stopped and their progress through the room was watched in respectful silence, except for the phones. At the end, the young officer knocked on the door of a small room, then ushered them inside and closed the door behind them.

Cussins stood up and shook hands with each of them. "Thanks for coming in so quickly; very good of you. Just wanted to catch up with you both and fill you in on some details." He looked at them out of his rheumy eyes and indicated two small armchairs in front of the desk. They sat down. "You might have some questions you want to ask me, too. I'll do my best to answer them. Then we'll go across to the Morgue, if that's alright, so you can identify the body. And there's some paperwork we'd like you to sign, if you would, relating to an autopsy." He stopped talking and sat down himself, then steepled his fingers and looked from one to the other of them.

Sharon leaned forward in her chair. "Thank you for phoning me yesterday morning. We appreciate that very much. Now, you told me the bare bones of what happened. We know that Mr Kassab found them, in a building somewhere near Dagenham Sunday Markets. And we know that Ally was alive and Dave was...well, he was dead. But apart from that...is there more that you can tell us now?"

Cussins sighed and sat back, looking intently at the ceiling. "I think I mentioned that the...other parties involved had already left when he got there?"

"Yes, you're right. You told me that too."

"Well, I can tell you that we are close to apprehending some, possibly all of those parties. We have information that Bukovsky may have escaped abroad. We're in touch with Interpol about him, and are working closely with our colleagues in Europe and North America to try to bring him back here as quickly as possible. We are also including the arrest of Roger Steadly in our operation."

Jude was gazing through the window behind the Detective Inspector, at the grimy red brick building across the road from the police station; then he looked directly at the policeman. "What exactly did these criminals do to the two of them?"

The Detective Inspector moved uncomfortably in his chair. "If I tell you a few details, you must give me your word not to pass them on to the press. They are likely to hound you, and my strong advice to you is to tell them nothing."

"It's already started." Sharon was looking at him hard. "We were accosted by a photographer as we left the house this morning; and the papers seem to be leading with all kinds of sensational headlines."

Cussins smiled wearily at them. "The joys of living in a democracy that is proud of its free press. They're not called the 'gutter press' for nothing, you know."

"We won't say a word to the papers, Mr Cussins. Now what were you going to tell me?"

"Well, if you insist! It seems that Miss McDonald was repeatedly raped, while Mr Roland was placed inside a cage and tortured to death. They were both naked when found and Miss McDonald was chained to a table leg. Is that enough for you?"
Jude had gone pale, while Sharon was staring at the policeman in mute incomprehension. Eventually Jude said, " Detective Inspector, I sincerely hope you can catch these men very soon. When you do, I hope you're able to put them behind bars for a very long time."

"The same goes for me," said Sharon in a quiet voice.

Cussins moved in his chair again. "Thank you. The person we really need to testify against them is Mrs Ameen, as she is the only one who actually saw them, apart from Miss McDonald, of course. The whole case against them will rest on those two witnesses."

There was silence for a few moments as they listened to the traffic outside and the continual buzz of noise from the office behind them.

Jude leaned forward in his chair. "Detective Inspector, surely you realise what this means for these two witnesses? We know damn well what these people are capable of. We warned you once before what was likely to happen, and it did. You don't want to make the same mistake twice, do you?"

Cussins looked at him across the desk dispassionately. "I don't accept that we made a mistake. If you recall, it was Sergeant Prakesh's advice to you, which you failed to act on immediately, which lead to the abduction. However, in reply to your first point, we have a police guard on Miss McDonald at the hospital and we also have your house under observation. If there is _any_ attempt to harm or abduct these two vital witnesses, the perpetrators _will_ be apprehended. You can rest assured of that."

There was another tense silence, finally broken by Sharon. "And Detective Sergeant Kassab? Is he alright?"

The Detective Inspector almost smiled. "He's fine. He took yesterday off; hardly surprising, given the kind of night he had, but he came back to work today. I believe he feels rather as you both do, and is very keen to bring these people to justice ASAP."

"Would it be possible for us to speak to him?" Sharon had picked up her bag and was running her hands over it on her lap.

Cussins reached forward and activated a device on his desk. "Gail, is Detective Sergeant Kassab in the station, do you know?"

The voice that came back was harsh and metallic. "No, sir. He went out about half an hour ago and has not returned."

"Thanks Gail." He looked up at Sharon. "Sorry, you're out of luck." He opened a drawer and took out a buff-coloured cardboard file from which he removed a piece of paper. "Mr Morrow, would you be prepared to sign this form, giving the police pathologist permission to perform an autopsy on Mr Roland? It may well yield important evidence, which we can use against his murderers. As yet, we have not been able to locate any of his family members."

"How strange," said Sharon. "He sounded like a London boy. He must have family here somewhere."

The policeman raised his eyebrows and his hands. "It's a strange society we live in now. You wouldn't believe the number of sad cases we come across of fractured families; children who go to great lengths to completely sever ties with their parents and vice versa."
Jude sighed. "You mean even when a child dies, they still refuse to acknowledge them? That's unbelievable. Yes, I will sign the form, so the pathologist can do what he needs to do."

"She, actually," Cussins said, standing up. "You need to view the body and positively identify it, before signing the form. Could you could both come with me to the Morgue now? It's in Westminster, so with a bit of luck, shouldn't take more than half an hour or so to get there. There's a vehicle standing by to take us."

*

The Westminster Public Mortuary was in Horseferry Rd, not far from Lambeth Bridge. The police van dropped them off in an inner courtyard and they followed their host inside the building, which seemed to be all glass and steel and white polished tiles. On the first floor they passed through a heavy security door, beyond which lay the refrigeration area. The policeman shook hands with a white-coated official and showed him some paperwork. The man led them through another door and then silently past rows and rows of steel drawers until they came to the one he was looking for.

Cussins turned to them with his drooping moustache and his melancholy eyes. "I have to warn you both that this is not a pretty sight. Please prepare yourselves." He nodded to the assistant, who asked them to stand well back and then pressed a button. They watched in silence as the nearest drawer slid out of the metal wall in front of them, to reveal something covered in a white rubber sheet. Sharon noticed that the assistant kept a completely deadpan face, as he pulled back the sheet, and she thought that he must have done this hundreds of times and trained himself to show no emotion, however distraught the other people around him might be.

She forced herself to look down and take in the details of Dave's naked body, as his arms stretched out to try to ward off that final, fatal thrust from whatever it was that had pierced his chest. His face was frozen in that last silent scream of ineffable pain and outrage, at being forced to enter into that good night, as he raged and raged against the dying of the light. (Ref.2)

There were several moments of silence, after which the Detective Inspector said, "Are you able to positively identify these remains as those of Mr David Roland, late of 15, Hampton Row, Hackney?"

They both nodded silently.

"In that case, we can leave him in peace and there's another form I'm going to ask you to sign for me."

Sharon thought 'leave him in peace' was singularly inappropriate, but she said nothing, as they trooped back to the main office area.

Jude signed the permission form without a word. Suddenly Sharon wanted desperately to be out of there, away from officialdom and all this hushed bureaucratic formality, such a contrast to the screaming voices inside her head. She grasped Jude's arm and said in a slightly trembling tone, "D'you mind if we go now? I'd like to leave, if we've done everything you need us to do."
Cussins looked up from where he was seated at the desk. "Yes, alright. Thank you both for your help." He rose and shook her hand. "I was going to warn you against appearing in public, but I don't think the press have got hold of your photos yet, so you should be safe for a little while. Once they're in the papers, I'd advise you to keep a very low profile, at least until they've picked up some other story and moved on from yours. Even after that, you may find some, aggravation resulting from being recognised."

Jude shook his hand and nodded. "We appreciate your concern."

"You're welcome sir. And please don't leave London. We'll be in touch with you very soon regarding the next phase in the investigation. All being well, once we have the suspects in custody, we'll need Mrs Ameen to positively identify them. And of course we'll need you both when they come to trial. Take care now."

Sharon and Jude found their way down to the front entrance from where they were able to escape onto the street. She turned to him suddenly and buried her face against his jacket. Feeling his arms encircling her, she was able to give vent to all the misery and tension that had been building up inside her. She sobbed against him, while the lunchtime crowds hurried around them, barely casting a glance at a couple, crying in each other's arms. The city seemed to neither care nor even be interested in their private drama.

After a while Sharon looked up into his face, her eyes puffy and tear-stained. "Let's go and see Ally in hospital. Let's find out when we can visit and go today, if we can."

He gazed down at her and tried to smile. "That's a lovely idea. Let's do that." Then he took her hand and they slowly made their way along Horseferry Rd, towards Victoria Street and St James's Park tube station.

#  THURSDAY 5pm

Jude sat back in his favourite wicker chair in the conservatory, looking out at the garden. Large drops of rain were falling against the glass panes above him and also being blown by little gusts of wind against the glass in front of him, obscuring the view of the long, narrow strip of grass between brick walls. Sharon was reading to Lunah, who sat on her lap, looking intently into her face, as she was read an old storybook that Sharon had found in the low bookcase, set into the wall behind them.

On an impulse, Jude got to his feet and walked outside into the rain. The drops splattered onto his head and ran down his face, but it wasn't cold, and the breeze seemed to carry the scent of the river and the sea beyond; or was it a whiff of the fields and the woodlands that lay beyond the city? The green grass and the cool wind made him long to escape from the endless metropolis, to where a man might stand on a rise and see rolling countryside before him – perhaps a village in the valley, with a church spire, perhaps a road winding its way between folds in the hills – something other than endless buildings and factories and glass and steel office towers and concrete blocks of flats.

Don't leave London, Cussins had said. He looked up at the beech tree that grew beside the wall to his right. A grey and white soup of clouds was moving across above the mass of new growth leaves, themselves a triumph of nature, in this landscape of red brick walls, surrounded by the backs of two and three storey houses.

He glanced back towards the house and saw that Reggie had joined Sharon in the conservatory. She was in animated conversation with him, no doubt telling him all about their planned trip to visit Alison. She had phoned the hospital earlier and they had agreed, with some reservations, that close friends could make a short visit. Suddenly he realised how much he wanted Reggie to come with them. He was a priest, after all, or had been. Surely he was an expert at talking to people who had suffered tragedy and were recuperating from physical and mental trauma? He returned inside just as Reggie turned to greet him.

"Did Sharon tell you? Will you come with us?"

Reggie looked frazzled from his day at school, but managed a tired smile. "Yes, of course. I'd love to. Have you got room for me? I hear that Rupa and Lunah are coming too."

Jude grasped his arm. "Course we do. We want you to come with us. Don't we Sharon?"

She nodded and turned back to the little girl on her lap. "We'll just finish this story, then we're going to go for a ride in the car. Ok?"

Lunah's eyes opened wide with wonder, then she pointed at the page with one sticky finger. First things first.

As they trooped out to Jude's old Peugeot, parked as usual in the driveway beside the house, he noticed a new-looking white 4 wheel drive parked opposite. The two occupants seemed to rouse themselves and one of them, a young woman with long dark hair, started talking on a
mobile phone. He wondered if they would be followed to the hospital, or if the surveillance was limited to the house. When he drove off, the 4 wheel drive remained where it was.

Sharon wanted to stop and buy some flowers, so they parked and went into Tesco. Reggie also bought a box of chocolates for the patient, then they piled back into the car. Lunah perched on her mother's lap in the back, keeping a close eye on the package in Reggie's hands.

The hospital was enormous. Once Jude had paid a king's ransom to park the car, they made their way through the front entrance. They were directed to a distant wing of the massive building and eventually found themselves on an upper floor, in a ward that catered for the critically ill. A tall, angular ward sister looked at them with interest, then took them through to a side room where an armed policeman stood by the door.

This officer took their names and checked ID, then spoke at some length into his police radio, asking if they could be given permission to see the patient, eyeing them closely throughout. After a short exchange he nodded and waved them through.

Inside the small room they found Ally propped up in bed with a pile of discarded magazines in front of her. Her face was still badly bruised and she looked pale and listless, her hair drawn back in a ponytail. The ward sister had warned them that she was still sedated, and they were not to stay long. However, since she had had no other visitors, the sister seemed pleased for them to spend a short while with Ms McDonald, as she called her.

They stood around the bed, and presented their gifts. Ally was visibly moved and even seemed to be fighting back tears.

"Aw, fanks a lot. You din 'ave to go to all vat trouble for me! 'Ow lovely! _And_ chocolates too. Well!" Sharon and Rupa both kissed her while Lunah looked a little scared. Ally sat back and beamed at them with her pale, drawn face. "Well, aren't you lot just the best! You 'ardly know me, and look 'ow nice you bein' to me!"

Sharon sat on the edge of the bed and took one of the girl's hands in her own. "We're so sorry about everything that's happened, Ally. About everything...especially, well, your loss."

"Ah, you mean Dave coppin' it?" She looked up and all the life seemed to drain out of her face. Slowly she looked down at Lunah and tried to smile at her. "I know what _you're_ lookin' at. You're finkin' 'I wonder if she's gonna open vem chockies?', inchya? Well...I fink I will," and she made a game out of unwrapping them and opening the box. Everyone laughed when Ally gave Lunah first pick and she reached out a little hand to take one.

When they'd all had a chocolate, the nurse came in with plastic chairs, so they were able to sit down. Jude cleared his throat and said, "You know those men who took you and...and Dave to that building? Well the police say they're close to arresting them, or at least some of them, probably Roger Steadly too. It seems that Terry Bukovsky may have gone overseas. They're looking for him, but that may take a lot longer."

Ally said nothing, only looked at him vacantly. Then she sighed and said, "So what does all vat mean? Vey gonna put vem on trial and want me to give evidence against'em? Send vem to gaol?"

Jude shrugged awkwardly. "Well, I'm not sure. I just wanted you to know that they _will_ be arrested and brought to justice."
She might not have heard him at all. "Funny, normally I wouldn't never grass anyone up to de old bill – not under _any_ circumstances. People like me just don't. But vis time..." Her face went hard and very still, as she remembered. "After what vey did to my sweet boy..." She couldn't go on.

There was a silence that nobody seemed willing to fill, then Reggie leaned forward in his chair. "I wonder if you could all give Ally and me a couple of minutes alone? I'm sorry to be a nuisance, but, would you mind?"

Rupa picked up Lunah then leaned down towards Ally. "He very good man. Man of faith. You listen, please."

Outside in the corridor they stood around, then Lunah wanted to go to the toilet, so Rupa took her off to find one. Sharon looked up at Jude and smiled at him. He put an arm around her and kissed her lips. They walked along to where a large window looked out across London. The sun hung low in the sky and a cluster of dark clouds in front of it caused an ephemeral pattern of beams to radiate out across the city, bathing the rooftops and glass towers in a soft orange radiance. They stood silently, gazing at this vision, until it faded and the city again became a vast plain of buildings that stretched to the horizon.

Soon after, Reggie came out and beckoned them back inside. When they were all back in the room he said quietly, "The ward sister wants us to go now. She needs to rest."

Alison looked up at him with her tired eyes. "Fanks, Reggie. Fanks for your kind words. I'll fink about vem while I'm lying here."

He smiled. "I'll come back and see you again in a few days, when you're feeling a bit stronger."

She nodded and tried to smile. Then she looked around at the others. "Fanks everybody for coming. You don't know what it means to me. You really don't!" There were tears rolling down her face. Sharon and Rupa kissed her on the cheek and Lunah wanted to do the same. Jude gave her a wry grin and a wave, then they were outside again, and he was left with an image of her lying there, crying and smiling at them through her tears.

#  FRIDAY 10am

Jude was sitting at his computer, composing an advertisement on the 'London Rooms for Rent' website. He had at least one room vacant, and possibly two, even three. He hadn't liked to raise the matter of the room with Ally yesterday. He had no idea what her plans were when she was ready to leave hospital. She had paid two weeks rent, but a cold, hard conviction inside him seemed to say that she should find somewhere else to stay. However much of a friend she were now, wouldn't it be madness to make the same mistake twice? Arnie was another big question mark, but then again, he might reappear at any time. The room was still his at the moment. He had finished the advertisement and had just opened up the document to have a look at the latest chapter of his book, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in, it's open."

Sharon put her head around the door then came into the room and stood next to him. He turned to look at her and realised she was wearing jeans and a pretty embroidered cheese-cloth top.

He smiled. "You look nice!"

She was looking with interest at the screen, then she grinned impishly down at him. "Smooth talker. Bet you say that to all the girls!"

He reached out and grasped her round the waist, pulling her down onto his lap. "Maybe I do, but I'm saying it to you, now." Her eyes were laughing into his, and her lips were so close...he couldn't resist and touched them very gently with his own. They lingered there, just barely brushing lips, then he put an arm around her neck and pulled her in towards him for a proper kiss. She submitted at first, then broke away, laughing.

"Stop it! You're distracting me. I came in here to tell you something important." "Really? You don't think kissing's important?"

"Of course it is, but..." She smoothed her hair back. "I wanted to tell you about the phone call I had this morning." She turned back to the screen. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, probably. Now who's being distracted? Who was your phone call from?"

"Cussins. He wants Rupa to go down to the station. They've got some of the...people that took Ally and Dave. They want her to identify them." He looked at her, frowning, one hand on her knee. "I told Rupa and she asked if we could take her in, and stay with her. She's quite nervous about the whole thing. You know how they treated her."

"Sure. Of course she is." He thought for a moment. "Does he want to see her now?" "Yes. As soon as we can get there."

He sighed. "Alright. Just give me a minute to get ready." He held her still, staring moodily past her out the window. "Will we ever be free of all this? I'm so...sick of the whole business."
She stroked the side of his face tenderly. "I know. It's horrible. But there's nothing we can do now, other than go through with it all. Once they're all safely locked up..." She smiled and kissed him gently. "Don't give up. We have to be strong, for Rupa. She's even more in the spotlight than we are. You know how vulnerable _she_ feels, poor thing."

He took her hand and kissed it fondly. "Yes, you're right, of course. She's worse off than we are...in terms of, well, just the pressure of it all."

"That's right." Her face clouded over with concern. "What is it?"

"I was thinking – what about Lunah? She shouldn't go to the police station, surely. She's had enough to cope with, without witnessing her mother confronting those...people."

"Yes. But Rupa does tend to take her everywhere."

Sharon was absent-mindedly stroking the front of his shirt. "I was thinking that one of us should stay here with Lunah, and the other one take her in." She looked up at him. "What do you think?"

He smiled at her. "I think you're the most wonderfully caring and thoughtful person I know." He kissed her gently again. "And yes, you're right of course. I don't mind, you choose."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"Ok, well I'll take her in to the station then." "Done. And I'll babysit little Lunah," said Jude. "Alright. Let's go."

"D'you think she'll be alright with me?"

"Course she will. You're a dad, aren't you? Read her a storybook. There's some in the conservatory. She likes that."

*

Sharon had called Detective Inspector Cussins back to tell him they were on their way, so he was there to meet them at the reception desk. He ushered her and Rupa into his office upstairs and sat them down in the same cheap armchairs in front of his desk. He lowered himself into his chair and looked at them sadly over the top of his pendulous moustache.

"Just wanted to fill you in on a few details before we go down to the ID room. We've got four men in custody, one of whom is Roger Steadly, whom you can both identify if you would, and three others. We believe these three are members of the group who forcibly removed Miss McDonald and Mr Roland from the house. We hope that you, Mrs Ameen, can positively
identify these men for us." He stopped talking and placed his hands together. "Any questions so far?"

Sharon leaned forward in her chair. "How does the identifying work? I haven't done this before. Can you explain it to us?"

"Certainly, Mrs Helston. We have a special room for this kind of thing. The men in question will be lined up at random with a number of other men who are simply selected to make up the numbers for a parade, usually about ten, actually eleven in this case. You," he focused on Rupa, "Will view them from behind a one-way viewing panel, or screen. They cannot see you, but you can see them. They also cannot hear you, unless we turn on the two-way microphones, so you can talk freely without fear of being heard. So you will have no contact with the men, other than seeing them through the screen. Is that clear?"

Rupa was fixing him with her penetrating gaze, but said nothing.

"Mrs Ameen, do you understand what I'm saying to you? Please tell me if you don't." Finally she nodded. "Yes, understand."

"Sure?"

"Understand, but..." she bowed her head a moment. "Sorry...feel scared....remember what happened...three days ago."

Sharon leaned across and took Rupa's hand and squeezed it. "It's Ok, Rupa. That's a perfectly normal reaction. Of course you feel scared, seeing them again."

Cussins had barely moved. "Take your time, Mrs Ameen. I understand this is difficult for you. Would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?"

Rupa nodded silently and he spoke quietly into the intercom on his desk.

*

Back at the house, a sad looking little girl was just starting to recover from the attack of wailing and sobbing which had followed the realisation that her mother had left her in the hands of this strange man. The offer of milk and a sweet biscuit had been grudgingly accepted and she was now looking sideways at him as he attempted to charm her with a storybook, while she sat on his knee.

"Ooh, look! This story is called 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'. What do you think of that?"

She glanced quickly at the book and then back at him, the soggy biscuit half way to her mouth.

Jude was sure she was going to start bawling again any minute if he didn't distract her, so he soldiered on bravely. "Look at the pretty picture on the front. But they all look like, hmm...bears and Snow White looks like, some sort of animal. Very strange!" Lunah needed no convincing of this, so he opened the book at the first page. " 'It was mid-winter and the snowflakes fell gently from the sky like feathers.' Look at all the snow! Have you ever seen
snow?" She looked at him as if he were about to slice her up and put her through a mincer. "Er, it's white and, cold and...falls from the sky." He made a falling motion with his hand. She watched him mutely.

"Hmm...let's read on, shall we? 'At a window a Queen sat sewing. She looked up from her work at the snow and as she did so, she pricked herself with the needle.' Where d'you think she pricked herself?"

Lunah didn't move, then slowly raised her left hand with the index finger extended.

"Yes! Clever girl! You understand what I'm saying. Yes, she pricked her finger. Have you ever pricked your finger?"

*

They trooped silently down to the ID room, Cussins leading the way, followed by Rupa and Sharon last. The room was dimly lit and as they entered a female officer was adjusting the controls at the console where she sat. She looked up and nodded at Cussins.

He guided Rupa to the viewing panel, which stretched along one wall of the narrow room. "Now then, Mrs Ameen. I want you to take your time. You can take as long as you want. The important thing is to be sure that you're identifying the right people. Alright?"

She nodded and stared through the panel. Sharon joined her and together they looked at the line-up. The men stared straight ahead with deadpan expressions on their faces. Each had a square card with a number on it around their neck on a piece of string. After a short time Rupa indicated to Sharon that she wanted to move down the line and Sharon stepped back so that she could pass. She walked slowly down to the end, then came equally slowly back to the middle.

She turned to Cussins and beckoned him over. She pointed through the panel. "This one Roger Steadly."

He looked closely where she pointed. "Can you tell me the number, please?" "Number 7."

"Right. Thank you. Mrs Helston?" He turned to her solemnly.

"Yes, I agree. Number 7 is definitely the first man who came to the house."

"Thank you. Now, Mrs Ameen. Are there any other men here whom you recognise?"

She was looking intensely at a short, stocky man, with a wispy beard, whose lank greasy hair hung down each side of his slightly pock-marked face. She raised a hand, pointing. "This one."

"Can you give me a number, please?" "Four."

*

" ' _Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of us all_?' " Lunah's finger was in her mouth, as if to protect it from being pricked. She looked up at Jude with huge round eyes. She was so comical he couldn't help but smile at her. " 'Then the mirror would answer: _Queen, you are the fairest of us all_. And the Queen was satisfied because she knew that the mirror spoke the truth. But Snow White was growing, and as she grew she became more and more beautiful.' "

*

Rupa was shaking and holding onto Sharon for support. But she was looking intently through the panel and beckoning Cussins over again. "This one. Number two...that one, number ten."

"You're sure?"

The female police officer at the console was jotting down the numbers on a notepad. "Sure, three men took away Ally and Dave. Sure."

As the three of them looked at the line-up, the man who held a number four in front of him, slowly looked up. He was gazing straight ahead and they watched in macabre fascination as he very deliberately raised one finger and drew it slowly across his throat. His face then creased into a hideous leer.

Rupa gasped and turned away, burying her face on Sharon's shoulder, where she screamed a silent scream of terror. Sharon could feel the other woman's teeth through the fabric of her top, and her fingernails as they dug into her back.

Cussins was trying to usher them away from the viewing panel. "Alright ladies. That will be all for now. Thank you so much for your help. You've done very well, Mrs Ameen. I'm sorry it's been such a...nasty experience for you."

Rupa was now weeping desolately, clinging to her friend, who was also trying to encourage her from the room.

*

" 'From that moment on, whenever she saw Snow White, she was overcome with rage and hated her more than anyone in the world. Envy and pride grew in her breast like a cancer, and day and night she had no rest. One day she called a woodsman and said: 'Take the girl in the deep woods, for I will not see her face again. Kill her and bring me back her heart.' "

Lunah's face slowly turned up to his and her eyes were large and dark with apprehension. Jude smiled at her and gave her a little cuddle. "Don't worry, it's only a story. It'll be alright in the end."

She looked deep into his eyes, trying to decide if what the man said were true.
"Come on, let's find out what happens next."

#  SUNDAY 6pm

Sharon looks around the venerable old church in awe and wonder. Seated close to the middle of the almost circular structure, she has an impression of a series of recesses and side chapels all around her. The early evening light filtering through the dusty air from the tall narrow windows behind the front altar illuminates the church only dimly. Most of the light comes from candles on the front and side altars. Some of these candles are magnificent and thickset, rising up out of sumptuous candelabra; those around the side altars throw a flickering light onto renaissance-style paintings, which float in the penumbra between narrow marble pillars, attended by sightless carved seraphim. Allowing her gaze to rise to the vertical, she sees a domed ceiling intricately painted with celestial beings surrounding an enormous Christ figure, who looks down onto the scene below, raising one hand in blessing.

Glancing quickly around, she becomes aware that apart from herself and Jude and Reggie, the congregation consists of a motley mixture of mostly older people. There are a few couples, but more singles, with a liberal sprinkling of younger African and Asian Catholics. At the back of the church is a small contingent of what look like street people, sitting very quietly along the pews at the rear.

Jude is engaged in an earnest whispered conversation with Reggie. She smiles gently to herself and places a reassuring hand on his leg beside her. He clasps her hand in his and continues to talk quietly with Reggie. She breathes in deeply and savours the mixture of old wood, mould, disinfectant and...something else, pungent, rising above the rest – ah yes, of course, incense. She can just make out a silver container suspended on a long chain above the front altar, the smoke issuing forth and disseminating like a spirit amongst the gathered faithful.

The sound of an electric organ is heard, announcing the opening hymn. Looking around for the source of this, Sharon spies a small organ in a recess to the right of the front altar. A very bald and gangly youth, dressed in what looks like a boiler suit, is playing this instrument with great gusto, moving his whole body in time to the music.

As the congregation stands and tentatively starts to sing the hymn, a well-scrubbed young man in a white surplice, holding a large metal cross before him, walks slowly up the central aisle. The youth is followed by an older man in a rumpled checked suit, holding a large Bible aloft in front of him. Last of all in this little procession comes the priest, who walks slowly with his hands in an attitude of prayer, his gaze seemingly following the cross. As they approach the altar, all three make a small bow, then the man holding the Bible deposits it respectfully on the lectern to the left of the altar. The youth bearing the cross makes his way around the back and leans his burden carefully against the far wall. Meanwhile, the priest moves to the rear of the altar table and, kneeling, kisses the cloth covering the marble surface, before standing and facing the congregation.

The hymn over, there is a moment of silence. The priest raises his right hand and makes a large sign of the cross. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."(A2)

"Amen."
"The Lord be with you." "And with your spirit."

Sharon and Jude are sharing a card with the words of the mass printed on it.

"Brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge our sins, that we may prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries."

Another brief pause, then all the people say together:

"I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault..."

Sharon is genuinely interested in the form of the mass. She is used to the Anglican service, which is similar in many respects. She glances at Jude and can see that he is trying to follow every word. When the priest deviates from the sheet, he searches for the place. When the liturgy returns to what is before him he again follows it minutely, trying to join in at the right times.

"May Almighty God have mercy on us and lead us, with our sins forgiven, to eternal life."

When the priest gets up to give the gospel reading she can see that he is elderly, quite short, with a lined and rugged-looking face. What hair he has is limited to a few grizzly curls around his ears. Large black glasses seem to magnify his eyes, as they fix the congregation with a kindly gaze.

"Tonight's Gospel reading is taken from Matthew 5, verses 33 to 37." He makes a small sign of the cross on his forehead and his lips and over his heart, before reading the passage. Sharon notices that most of the congregation do the same.

33 "Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not break your oath, but fulfill to the Lord the vows you have made.' 34 But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is God's throne; 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. 37 All you need to say is simply 'Yes' or 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one." (Ref. 4: New International Bible)

"The Gospel of the Lord."

"Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ."

The priest kisses the page of the large Bible and looks around the church, hands grasping each side of the lectern. He smiles broadly and begins to speak quietly but clearly.

"Good evening everyone. My name is Father Bryan and it's good to see so many of you here on a Sunday evening. It's a wonderful thing to gather together here in the house of God, to confess our sins and to know that in a few short minutes, our sins will be forgiven. We are
indeed blessed in being able to meet our Lord here, right here in this place tonight, where we can share all of our worries, all of our fears and doubts with him, all of our failings and weaknesses. He knows them already, of course, but it is good for us to be able to lay all of ourselves before him, to say – here I am Lord, imperfect and broken as I am. Take me, do with me as you will. And he will take us gently by the hand, smile down upon us and say - come my son, my daughter - your sins are forgiven. Leave everything behind and follow me." He smiles again and leans forward. "How lucky we are!"

There is dead silence. Even the fidgety street people on the back row are looking at him, following every word. Sharon peeks up at Jude who seems to be scarcely breathing, his eyes glued to the speaker, his face taut and strained.

"But it may be that some of you are new here and I can see a few. Some perhaps who have come here seeking for answers, seeking for truth, seeking for some hope in life, where all seems to be empty and devoid of meaning. Some of you may be saying – Well, it's all very well for him to talk about the forgiveness of sins and life everlasting – but that's because he's a priest! That's his job. It's what he does!" He leans forward again and his voice drops almost to a whisper. "But what does it all mean to me? How can this possibly have anything to do with me?"

Dead silence again. The light from the tall windows behind the altar has almost gone, and the church is bathed in a hazy glow of candlelight.

"What does Jesus have to say? He says be truthful. Do not swear on anything. Just speak the truth and let that be enough." He takes a deep breath and stands away from the lectern, then moves around it into the floor space between the altar and the front pews. Hands folded in front of him, he speaks quietly, but every word falls like a drop of holy water into the dark pool of the silent church.

"My dear friends, we all of us long for truth and certainty, and for answers to the deepest questions in our lives. Who am I? Why am I here? What does all the violence and chaos in this world mean? Is there such a thing as right and wrong, and does it matter how I behave towards my fellow men and women? Or is it all just a jungle where might is right and I'll kick you when you're down and scramble up over your body before you do the same thing to me? And above all - can I be forgiven? If you are here tonight seeking those things, then join us." He throws his arms wide in welcome. "Join us tonight in faith and fellowship and let your troubled heart be at peace."

He walks a little up and down in front of them, head bent in thought.

"But I hear another voice of doubt, another niggling, wriggling itch of a question." He looks up from his pondering. "What of all this?" His arms point in all directions around the church. "All these crosses and crucifixes and candles and paintings and all this crossing ourselves and kissing the Bible and bowing to the altar and all what else? What does all this ritual mean and how on earth can such a fantastical religion have anything to do with me?"

His voice has risen with emotion, but now stops dead.

"Ritual, my dear friends, is nothing but an aid to faith, nothing but a crutch to help us along the road, as we stumble and feel our way forwards into the unknown. Do not be concerned
about ritual. It is merely a vehicle to help carry us forward. And finally, my dear friends, I sense that some of you are thinking – but I am not a Catholic. How can I go up and receive the host, the sacred body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ?" He pauses. "Shall I tell you something my friends? Neither was Jesus a Catholic – he was a Jew!" Suddenly he is laughing at his own joke. "The Pope may be a Catholic, but our Lord Jesus was not, so do not be concerned about that!"

His hands drop to his sides and he shrugs his shoulders.

"You have a point of course. It is to the eternal shame of our church that we deny the host to non-Catholics. But, no matter. Come up with the others, arms crossed, like this, and I will give you a blessing the like of which you have never had before, such that even St Peter at the gates of heaven would raise his bushy eyebrows in surprise." He looks around at them, smiling from cheek to cheek. "So come, my friends. Put aside all worries and doubts and join us at the table of the Lord. Come!" He returns to the lectern and takes up his missal.

"Let us stand and confess our faith, repeating together the words of the Nicene Creed."

"I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages..." Sharon looks up at Jude. He is stumbling slightly over some of the words, an intense, almost pained expression on his face..."I confess one baptism for the forgiveness of sins and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen."

The mass moves forward with its own rhythm of time-honoured phrases, so rich in imagery and symbolism. Sharon too is caught up in it, as if the mundane congregation, with all its petty thoughts and worries, has been joined by all the Christians down the ages in a vast throng of the faithful that transcends time and space.

When it comes time to say the Lord's Prayer she becomes aware that most of those present have joined hands with the person next to them. Reggie has taken a firm hold of Jude's left hand and after some fumbling, he joins his right hand to her left.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

..."The peace of the Lord be with you always."

"And with your spirit."

"Let us offer each other the sign of peace."

Reggie shakes hands warmly with Jude, smiling at him. Jude then turns to her and shyly offers his hand. She grins, takes it, then gives him a kiss on the cheek. Then they realise that people are moving all around the church, mingling and offering each other peace, with a handshake. They do the same, and so are able to meet many of those around them, as the barriers of stranger-to-stranger are broken down and the people come together as one.
When the hubbub has died down and most are back in their seats, the mass recommences.

"Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb."

"Lord I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

Suddenly the priest is raising a large circular wafer in both hands above his head.

"The body of Christ."

And he keeps it there. The people watch, motionless, as if holding their collective breath. Still he maintains the wafer aloft. Time seems to stop, then finally he lowers it and the people respond: "Amen."

She realizes Jude is whispering to her. "Can you take communion here?" "No, I'm an Anglican."

"But are you going up for a blessing?" "Yes, of course. You?"

"Yes." "Alright."

Once the priest has offered the bread and the wine to his two helpers, he moves down to the front of the church, holding a silver bowl containing fragments of wafer. He smiles broadly.

"Come to the supper of the Lord."

And people start shuffling towards him in a ragged line-up, which they join.

Standing just behind Jude, she watches as he moves to stand in front of the priest. Then it is her turn, as standing with arms crossed on her chest, she feels the gentle touch of his finger on her forehead making the sign of the cross.

"May the Lord bless you and keep you.

May the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.

Now go in faith, my child, and know that the blessing of the Lord is upon you."

She returns to her seat, where Reggie is kneeling on the wooden trestle in prayer. Jude is sitting very still, lost in thought. He takes her hand and they sit quietly in silence.

Later, at the door, they are greeted by Father Bryan, who is looking tired but happy.

"So, you're friends of Reggie I see."
Jude is shaking hands with him. "Yes, we, I..." He laughs and takes a breath. "Reggie is staying in my house, as is Sharon here."

The Father smiles mischievously. "I can see you're a very generous man. You must come back here again, both of you."

"Thank you, Father. I will. _We_ will." He smiles at Sharon. "And thank you so much for your blessing. You don't know what that means to me!"

The priest's eyes are twinkling at him. "Aha. Maybe, but then maybe I do. Goodnight to you all."

"Goodnight Father."

#  MONDAY 9am

Jude lay on his back staring at the ceiling. His right arm encircled Sharon, who lay with her head on his chest and the rest of her body comfortably tangled up with his own. Sunshine was streaming into the room either side of the curtains as he lay idly listening to the morning sounds rising from the street below.

It seemed as though a truck were making its way slowly along the street. A street sweeper? He wondered whether the police surveillance team were still at their post opposite the house. Did they really have the resources to mount a round-the-clock observation like that? It didn't seem likely. Over and over, in his mind's eye, he kept on seeing the scene that Sharon had described to him, the man in the police line-up and the gesture he had made. Rupa had been in a state of continual anxiety ever since, refusing to go out, preferring to stay in and clean the house from top to bottom, as if her frenzied attack on the dirt could somehow keep the forces of evil at bay. He stirred and gently extricated himself from Sharon's embrace.

"Where you going?" She was still half asleep, looking at him through bleary eyes. "Going out for a walk."

"Really? Want me to come?"

He leaned over the bed and kissed her gently. "No. You stay here. I just need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air."

Showering, standing up in the bath, he started to feel better. By the time he had brushed his teeth and dressed he was ready to face the day. Descending to the hallway and encountering a collection of letters and junk mail lying on the mat, he was just about to sweep them up and put them aside for later, when one of the envelopes caught his eye. It was small, like a Christmas card, and his name and address were scrawled on the front in a childish hand. He stared at it for a moment, then put it in the pocket of his jacket, opened the door and went out into the morning. Outside the front gate, noting the White Datsun opposite with its two shadowy occupants, he quickly turned left and strode off down the street.

He passed the row of low garages, then on to where council flats rose on both sides of the road. He was at the junction with Amhurst Road before he took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it again. Turning left he was dimly aware of a telephone box and then a canopy of trees, lush and green in the summer sunshine. Standing still in the middle of the pavement, he slowly opened the letter and read the hand-written contents. The uneven scrawl was the same as on the envelope, but he could read most of it quite clearly.

Dear Jude,
Sorry I run away like that, but I had to go. It was too dangerous. What you did with Ally was just askin for truble. I had to get right away. I'm sorry for what happened to Dave and Ally was lucky to survive. But I'm writing you this to tell you that Ally and the other one are both in danger still and you too. The old bill never got Scotty, the leader of the gang, whos Tels right hand man. Tel is outta the country but the word on the street is that Scotty and his mates are gunna get Ally and the Paki lady and yourself too. Your all in danger. My advice is get away as far as you can and don't leave any traces. There out to get all three of ya! Your a good man and Id hate to see you hurt.

BURN THIS LETTER AS SOON AS YOU READ IT. DO IT NOW!

Your mate, Arnie.

He looked up to see an old lady with a stick and a thick overcoat eyeing him suspiciously. A double-decker bus was applying its airbrakes and slowing down to stop. He read the letter once more and when he reached the bus stop, ripped it up into tiny pieces and deposited them in the rubbish bin in the bus shelter. He did the same with the envelope, then sat down on the bench beside the bin.

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. He could hear the traffic, a woman in heels clicking past him on the pavement behind, an incongruous smell of coffee from somewhere nearby; but out of the blankness behind his eyelids floated the face of Arnie, sitting down next to him in the darkened conservatory, only last week, saying: "If 'e finds out what you did the uver night, 'e's likely to come atcha and take ya out. 'E's fuckin' mad that way."

He opened his eyes suddenly. A teenage boy of about fourteen was sitting sideways on the other end of the bench, one foot up and hands clasped around his leg, examining him closely. He had longish straggly ginger hair and large freckles.

"I seen your picture in the paper. Incha the aussie bloke that kidnapped that dancer and then a bunch of bikers took 'er and 'er boyfriend and killed 'im?" He was leaning closer now, staring at him. "Blimey, fancy meetin' you at the bus stop!"

Jude got to his feet and strode past the boy, walking fast down the street. A hundred yards down the road was a café on a corner, with a couple of tiny tables outside on the pavement. He went inside and sat down in a cramped booth, facing away from the door. He picked up a plastic covered menu and stared at it, unseeing.

So it still wasn't over. That gesture in the police line-up had been no empty threat. This Scotty was obviously trying to eliminate the two witnesses that could deliver his boys gaol sentences for murder. He was also probably under orders from Bukovsky to kill him, for daring to befriend and shelter his drug slave.

Once again he held his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Why had he done it? What insane impulse had made him cross the road and try to intervene in a domestic dispute? There were a host of answers, of course: because the man seemed to be beating the woman senseless, because he had had one too many whiskeys, because she was an attractive woman with a sexy body, because of all the fights he had walked away from in the past and this was just one too many; the possibilities were endless. And now one person had already lost their life and three more
were likely to do the same, including himself, unless they took drastic evasive action. But where to go? And how long would they have to hide for? Weeks? Months? Years? None of it made any sense.

He placed his arms on the plastic tablecloth and rested his head on top of them. Why couldn't it all just go away? He didn't have the strength to deal with any of it. He could feel the worm of fear in his stomach and his bowels, dividing and multiplying itself so that soon it would consume him and make him incapable of any rational thought or action. Perhaps he should act now, before it was too late?

"Excuse me sir, did you want to order somefing?"

He jerked upright and turned to see a pretty teenage girl of about sixteen in a short black skirt and some kind of red uniform top standing looking at him. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she stepped back, nearly colliding with a customer behind her.

He was about to answer her when the mobile phone in his pocket went off. He reached for it and put it to his ear. The girl withdrew to have a whispered conversation with her boss behind the counter.

"Jude here."

"Oh Jude. It's me." He could tell immediately that Sharon was upset. "Can you...can you come home? Can you come back, please?"

"What's wrong Sharon? Has something happened? Tell me." He heard something that might have been a sob. There was a pause.

"Can you just come back, please? I'll talk to you when you get here." "Alright. I'll be there in about five minutes. Coming now!"

He tore out of the café and started running back towards the house. By the time he got to the corner of Hampton Row he was down to a jog, but kept going. As he ran up the steps to the front door she was there waiting for him, her face strained and tense. He drew her to him and she threw her arms around his neck and began to sob bitterly.

He held her close, rubbing her back with one hand. "What's happened, Sharon? Tell me what's happened!"

Eventually she stepped back and looked at him, tears streaming down her face, her arms still around his neck. "They've killed Ally, Jude. They've killed Ally."

"What? Who? What d'you mean?"

She took his arm, still crying. "Come inside. The Police are here. He'll tell you."

So they went through to the kitchen where Detective Sergeant Kassab was sitting talking quietly to Rupa, while Lunah sat on his lap, looking from one to the other of them.
Kassab gently put the little girl down, then got up and shook hands with Jude. "Mr Morrow. So sorry to bother you again, but something very serious has happened." He looked tired and stressed and had small black bags below his eyes.

"Sharon's just told me. I thought you had a police guard on her at the hospital! What's the matter with you people? I tell you about Brownie's threats and you do nothing until they kidnap two people and one of them is murdered. I tell you that the two witnesses are in danger and again you..." Jude was leaning toward Kassab, his voice rising rapidly, until he was shouting at the Detective Sergeant.

Kassab stood his ground. "Mr Morrow, please sit down." When Jude ignored him he barked, loudly, "Sit down!"

Jude stared at the policeman.

Sharon took his hand and gently pulled him back into one of the chairs. She put one arm around his shoulder. "Perhaps we should listen to what the Detective has to tell us." She turned to him. "Please Jude?"

"I'm sorry. It's just...one thing after another."

"Yes sir. I do understand. Of course you're upset. It's very natural."

Jude looked at Rupa, who was studying her hands, which were clenched together on the table. Her brows were knitted, as if she were trying to fathom some puzzle centred around her fingers. Who was he to shout and scream, when they were all struggling to cope?

He sighed. "I apologise. Please go on, Detective."

"Thank you sir." He sat down at the table. "As I've already told the ladies, somebody phoned in a bomb threat to the hospital, just after midnight last night...well, this morning, actually. Apparently, the caller said there were a series of large explosive devices timed to go off within five minutes, all around the hospital." He paused to lift Lunah back onto his knee. "The hospital staff were magnificent in the face of this threat, but obviously there was a degree of confusion. It seems the constable on duty outside Ms McDonald's door briefly got caught up in helping to evacuate some other patients. While he was absent from his post, an unknown person got into the room and...well, Ms McDonald is now deceased."

There was silence. Jude broke it. "How? What with?"

"One bullet to the head, sir. It seems likely he used a weapon with a silencer, since nobody heard anything."

"You mean this killer got away without being seen or caught?" The strident note was beginning to edge its way back into Jude's voice.

"That is correct, sir. As I said, in the confusion of the evacuation he, or she, was able to slip away. The person may well have been disguised in some sort of hospital clothing."

There was another awful silence, then Sharon said in a shaky voice, "Did she...did she
struggle? Put up a fight?"

"No, Mrs Helston. Ms McDonald was sedated, to help her sleep; so it seems likely she never knew anything about it."

Lunah was looking around her, trying to figure out what was going on. Rupa reached out and covered her daughter's tiny hand with her own. "Poor Ally."

Lunah looked solemnly at her mother and repeated in a whisper, "Poor Ally." Jude sighed and closed his eyes. "So Arnie was right."

Sharon looked at him out of puffy eyes. "What do you mean?"

He looked around the table. "I got a letter, this morning." He sighed again, feeling almost too tired to go on. "It was from Arnie. It was on the mat when I came down this morning. He said..." He passed one hand over his near bald head. "He said that the word on the street was that someone called Scotty, one of the bikers who hadn't been arrested, was aiming to kill Ally...and Rupa...and..."

"And who, Jude?" Sharon reached out to him, holding onto his arm.

He looked at her, with her face so full of concern and worry and...love for him. He took hold of her hand. "And me, Sharon."

She gripped his fingers hard, but said nothing, only held him with the intensity of her gaze, which seemed to say: don't you dare go and leave me now, don't you dare!

Kassab was frowning to himself. "Wanting to, well, eliminate Ms McDonald and Mrs Ameen I can understand, but why are you included in their plans too, Mr Morrow?"

Jude turned to him slowly. "Presumably for taking in Ally. Bukovsky probably sees her as his property. The man seems to be a complete sociopath."

"Yes, that is likely." Kassab lifted Lunah gently to the floor. She placed the tips of her fingers on the edge of the table and, standing on her tiptoes, eyed the four adults sitting around the table with her round dark eyes. "Tell me again about this Arnie. He's a resident here in the house?"

Jude nodded. "Well, he was until a few days ago. When I told him Ally would be staying for a few days, he disappeared."

"And...I mean, what sort of contact does he have with Bukovsky and his associates?"

"None, that I know of. He works behind the bar at The Pearl, just the other side of the park. I think it's a regular haunt of Bukovsky's. That's where I ran into Ally. It was out on the street at closing time that I saw him assaulting her. That's where I...Well, anyway, you know the rest."

"Yes, I see. But, as far as you know, this Arnie is not directly involved with these people?"
Jude took a deep breath and steeled himself to respond. "No. As far as I know he is simply a barman who hears things."

"Right." Kassab was nodding thoughtfully. "Have you got the note there, Mr Morrow." "No, I don't. He told me in the letter to destroy it straight away, which I did."

Sharon leaned forward and Jude could hear the tremor in her voice. "The point is Rupa and Jude are both in danger – right now! We know these men are killers. They've already killed two innocent people. How can we stop them from..." She looked at Jude and tears filled her eyes again. He put a comforting arm around her.

At last Rupa looked up from her twisting fingers. "Sharon is right. Very scared. Remember at police station...Dave dead...now Ally. Very scared." She looked at her daughter. "Also for Lunah."

Jude was gazing, unseeing, at the wall opposite, still rubbing Sharon's shoulder. "Well, it doesn't seem that we can rely very much on the police for protection. I know you still have people outside here on the street, but...you have to admit your record is not good, in that regard." He turned to the Detective Sergeant, who said nothing. Jude took a deep breath. "Arnie suggested that we need to get right away. What was it he said? 'And don't leave any traces.' "

Rupa took hold of the little girl and lifted her onto her lap. "Yes. Go away. But where? How?" She stroked her daughter's hair distractedly, then looked up at Jude. "You know, have no money." Then her gaze became thoughtful. "Have friend in Enfield, where staying before. You met her. But, don't want to..." She struggled for words. "She danger too. Don't want make trouble for her. Has husband, children..."

Kassab seemed to come to a decision. He looked around the table, his two hands flat in front of him on the wooden surface. "It's true what you say, Mr Morrow. We have failed to protect Ms McDonald at the hospital. When it comes to the abduction of her and Mr Roland, I beg to disagree, since you were given some advice on that score; however, there's no point arguing about that now. As Mrs Helston says, the important thing is to protect you two." He took a deep breath. "The trial is unlikely to come up for some months, given the backlog of cases in the courts. It might even be up to a year. The ideal solution would be a witness protection program. You know the sort of thing – where we move you to a new location and give you a new identity. You've probably seen that in the movies and on TV. Well, it does happen, but I know for a fact that the Met simply doesn't have the resources to do that in your case." He waited for a reaction to this, but got none. "That means that essentially your friend Arnie is right. The best solution is for you to get right away from London, and very soon. I know that my Detective Inspector has told you not to leave, but the situation has changed. I'll square things with him. We've seen how quickly these people act. There's no time to lose. You must do it immediately. Today, if possible."

Jude felt as if his world were collapsing around him. He could feel the seeds of fear which had settled in his insides start to stir. But it wasn't just fear; it was something else which made him want to stand up and bang the table and refuse to have his life torn apart. Through the darkness enveloping his mind he managed to say, "This house...it's like home to me, now. It's where..." He looked at his friends. "It's where we met. It hasn't been long, but it's like...well, it's like
we're a family now...and it all happened here, in this house."

Sharon reached for his hand. "Hopefully it won't be for long. Anyway..." She pondered a moment. "I could stay here...look after the place for you."

The Detective Sergeant shook his head. "No, too dangerous. They would come...and finding Mrs Ameen and Mr Morrow gone, you yourself would be in danger. No, my advice is to close the place down until this is over."

"Close the place down?" Jude was distraught. "That's easier said than done, Detective! This place is my only income at the moment. And anyway, when is this going to be over? You said yourself it could be up to a year before the trial comes up. This whole thing could drag on and on!"

Someone was coming up the front steps. They heard a key in the lock and footsteps in the hallway. These halted for a moment, then continued on. Reggie's head appeared in the doorway.

"Got off early from the college. Nice to get away." He took in the group sitting round the large, square table. "Oh. Sorry to disturb you. Looks like a private meeting. I'll leave you to it."

He was half way back to his room when Jude called after him. "No, Reggie. Come back, please." He returned again, standing near the doorway. "Come and sit down, please, Reggie. This concerns you too. There's been some terrible news that you need to hear. This is Detective Sergeant Kassab, from the Met."

Reggie shook hands briefly with the detective then sat down in an empty chair. He looked around the table at them – the drawn faces, the signs of tears, the tension. "What's happened? Tell me."

There was an awkward silence, then the Detective Sergeant broke it. "Ms McDonald was killed in her bed at the hospital, early this morning. Mrs Ameen, and Mr Morrow, apparently, are both in grave danger too. Mrs Ameen is the one remaining witness that can testify against the men we have in custody, while Bukovsky seems to have a personal vendetta against Mr Morrow."

Reggie folded his hands together in front of him and studied Kassab for a moment. "It sounds like a very dangerous situation, Detective." He thought for a moment. "How on earth did they manage to get past the police guard on her door?"

When they told him he considered a moment. "Devilish cunning." He looked at Kassab. "I assume it was a false alarm, with the sole object of...allowing access to the room?"

Kassab nodded. "Yes. There were no bombs, thank God!"

Reggie was drumming his fingers lightly on the table. "Poor young woman. She seems to have had an awful life, and now it's over." He drummed some more. "May she rest in peace. May the Lord have mercy on her soul. May she be gathered into his loving arms, in the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit." He crossed himself.
Rupa was nodding ever so slightly. "You are right, Reggie. Allah is great. Allah is merciful. Praise be to Allah."

There was silence. Lunah looked up into her mother's face, and said in a tiny voice: "Why crying, Mummy?" Rupa smiled through her tears and shaking her head, kissed the top of her daughter's head.

The former clergyman wanted to deal in practicalities now. "When will the body be released for a funeral? She must have some family somewhere."

Kassab made a gesture with his hands. "It's too early to tell. She's in the city morgue now. There will need to be a post mortem, of course. It just depends how quickly that happens."

"Right. Meanwhile, the immediate problem is how to keep Rupa and Jude safe from these killers."

Jude was looking fondly around the table at his friends, desperately trying to fight off the approaching storm of desolation and despair which threatened to engulf him, at the realization that he might lose his beloved house and the people he had filled it with, whom he loved also. He heard himself say, in a faint, tremulous voice: "But where would we go?"

Kassab was also making an effort to be practical and businesslike. "Where indeed? I've been thinking." He suddenly pushed back his chair and started to pace around the table, as if unable to contain his agitation sitting down. He came to rest with his hands on the back of Rupa and Lunah's chair. "It would not be good for the four of you to travel together. Where ever you went, the four of you would invite comment and...and raised eyebrows. You are not a...a typical English family group. You would be remembered everywhere you went and this could be very dangerous."

They waited for him to go on. "So, I have a suggestion that might help. My Aunt, my mother's sister, lives in Plymouth with her husband. He has a successful business and they have a large house. Their children have grown up and moved away. I believe they would be happy to take in Rupa and Lunah for as long as necessary." In his anxious state he had forgotten to call her 'Mrs Ameen'. "They could easily be passed off as visiting friends or family without exciting comment from the local community."

Rupa made a sighing sound and placed a protective arm around her daughter. He continued: "You are right. There have been mistakes and...and I am sorry about that. I was as devastated as you were at what happened to Ms McDonald." He was gazing gravely down at Rupa. "I would like to try to make amends. If my family can keep Mrs Ameen and Lunah from harm, then that might go some way towards..."

Sharon suddenly came to life and, leaning forward, interrupted him. "I've just remembered! My parents have a little cottage up on the East coast. It's only a small place, a holiday home, on the North Yorkshire coast. Jude and I could stay there for a while. I've still got some leave from work. It would certainly be, at the very least, a short-term solution. As for the longer term

– well, we'll work that out over time. The important thing is to go somewhere safe right now!"

Reggie was also brimming with ideas. "Jude, I've just had a thought, too. Rather than close the house down, why don't you let me stay on? After all I've nowhere else to go at the moment,
and I'd be happy to find a few more tenants for you. I'm sure Anna will want to stay too. There must be several rooms available to let. I don't mind collecting the rent for you, in fact, standing in for you as a sort of..."

"Manager! You could be my property manager!" Then Jude's face fell. "But I can't let you take on all that responsibility and work, Reggie. There's an awful lot to do, what with advertising and keys and collecting rent and dealing with all the business side of things. It's far too much for you to take on."

"Not at all, old boy. The summer break is fast approaching so I won't be teaching for very much longer this term." He smiled at his new friend. "I assure you I am thoroughly tired of teaching. Something different would be like a breath of fresh air to me. We can keep in touch and I'll let you know how things are going along. That way you won't feel that it's all closed up and not earning its keep. And when this is over you can come back and pick up the reins again."

The Detective Sergeant was frowning. "I don't like it. The same goes for you as for Sharon, Mr Austin. These people could come in and make life very unpleasant for you. They will stop at nothing to find the people they are looking for, you know."

"Hmm." Reggie was not to be so easily put off. "Well, I could say that I had no idea where Jude went. He simply disappeared one day and nobody knows where he is. The same goes for Rupa. "

"I know!" Jude was excited himself now. "What if I tell my solicitors that I've gone back to Australia. I'll tell them that I've given you full powers to run things. What d'you call it...?

"Power of attorney?" Sharon suggested.

"Yes, that's it. Then if they do come, you can say you know nothing and refer them to my solicitors, and they'll tell them I've gone back to Australia. They'd have no choice but to believe it. After all, it would make sense to do that, wouldn't it, given the circumstances?"

The Detective Sergeant was pacing again. "Hmm. That could work, I suppose. I think...I know this might sound, well, crazy, maybe, over the top, and I don't want to alarm anybody, but I think it might be better if you two," he eyeballed Jude and Sharon, "really didn't know where the three of us are." He indicated his two charges. "We can keep in touch by phone and text, but as for where Rupa and Lunah are in Plymouth...well, I'm not going to tell you. And another thing!" He looked round the whole group. "Don't store each other's numbers on your phones. Memorise them, or write them down somewhere else, but don't leave them on there, and also delete any calls you make to each other from the phone's memory. That way, if they do get hold of somebody's phone, it won't give anything away about calls that you've made."

He was leaning back against the kitchen bench, surveying the group. "And now we need to get moving. We've sat around talking long enough. The four of you need to go and pack and then get away. I'm going to drive Rupa and Lunah myself. Will you two be driving?"

Jude looked at Sharon. "We can take mine."

"Yes, but I don't want to leave mine here. Why don't we take both? That way we can be more
flexible and independent."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, we can take more stuff with us that way, too." Jude looked around the room. "Let's all meet back down here in an hour, to,....to say goodbye."

#  MONDAY EVENING

7pm and Jude was driving through rain on the A1M, just to the east of Leeds. He could see Sharon's white Fiat Punto ahead of him, through the spray thrown up by other cars.

Staring through the wipers, keeping in touch with Sharon's car, listening to Classic FM on the radio, he returned again and again to the final moments in the house, before they had left, just after 3pm. The tearful farewells with Rupa and Lunah – Sharon hugging and kissing them both, Rupa shyly thanking him for taking her in and being such a help to her, finally giving him a hug before handing over Lunah to him and Sharon for more hugs and kisses. Kassab had promised he would look after them both, together with his family in Plymouth. Jude could see that he and Rupa had the beginnings of an understanding between them, which would only be strengthened by this journey. He suspected that Rupa and her daughter would not be back to stay at the house, if Detective Sergeant Kassab had anything to do with it. This saddened him, but also brought hope that her new love would blossom into lasting happiness.

After they had gone, he spoke to the solicitors on his mobile, then Reggie had coaxed him into his room. They had briefly discussed which rooms were available to rent, arrangements relating to money and a few other details. His friend had placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"I know that your journey of faith has only just begun, Jude, and I'm sorry that you're going away so soon, and we won't be able to talk. So I want you to have this." He handed him a small leather bound book. "It's a collection of prayers that you can use each day." He paused while Jude mumbled his thanks and looked at the book. "It's important to pray, you know. Try to find a quiet time each day, when you can open your heart to God and speak to him. If you're not sure what to say, use one of the prayers in the book. There are some of the most common ones at the front, and lots of other useful ones, for different occasions. You'll soon get the hang of it." He had looked at him with concern. "And go to mass when you can. My advice is to participate fully, then go up for a blessing from the priest. They're quite used to it, and won't mind a bit. It's so important to maintain that spiritual dialogue with God. Even if all around you seems to be falling apart; especially at those times, in fact, it's essential to remember that God will never let you down. You're not on your own anymore, Jude. Remember that."

He had stood back and Jude had extended his hand for a final handshake, but Reggie was not done. "Do you mind if I give you a blessing?" Jude had smiled at him, despite the prickle behind his eyes, and nodded mutely. His friend had placed one hand gently on the top of his head. "May the Lord bless you, and keep you; may the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you; may the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.' (Ref 5)

They had looked at each other for a long moment.
"God bless you and keep you safe, Jude."

Then he had left the room and hurried out to the car.

The sodden landscape of central Yorkshire continued to flit past on either side: steep banks encasing the road, an overhead bridge, a small copse of trees on the left, a large metal barn, a vast industrial premise and, from the top of a rise, over to the right, a sudden view of a valley falling away into a distant plain, with villages and farms laid out and a far off town just visible on the skyline; and always the ever present tarmac of the A1M, with its trucks and cars and the occasional motorbike in an unending race to get somewhere, constantly swapping lanes, ducking and weaving, with the eternal signs and concrete uprights of the ubiquitous overhead bridges and the white directions written on the road, indicating turn-offs; and still the rain beat on the windscreen.

With a start he realised that she was indicating and changing into the left hand lane. The signs told him that she was taking the turn-off for York onto the A64. Moving down a slight incline, the new road followed the same direction as the old one, then went under it, to emerge somewhere to the right of a huge elevated roundabout above the motorway, which had connecting roads radiating out in all directions. But soon this was left behind and their road resolved itself into the A64, heading North East towards York.

His mobile phone on the seat beside him went off. "Yes?"

"It's me. There's a road stop coming up shortly. I'm ready for another break. Is that alright?" "Sure. Sounds good. I'll follow you."

"OK."

So they pulled into a roadside rest area with an extensive car park and an array of large animal statues on the approach to the front door. They ran through the rain and arrived gasping inside a large open area filled with tables and chairs and a cafeteria servery down one side.

Jude was examining the range of food on offer. "Are you hungry?" "No, just a coffee for me. You have something to eat."

"No, I don't need it. I'll have a hot chocolate instead. You find a table and I'll get the drinks. Cappuccino?"

"Yeah, thanks."

When he returned they sat at a tiny table close to a vast plate glass window and looked out at the rain pouring down. Across the main road was a vista of green fields rising slowly towards the brow of a hill some distance away. It was crisscrossed by a patchwork of lanes connecting the farms to the A64 and to each other. Along the brow of the hill was a stretch of woodland, and beyond it the rainy sky. Trees planted around the building, and others along the road side,
were being blown in the gusty wind.

He smiled across the table at her. "So this is Yorkshire?"

"Yes. Doesn't look much at the moment, but it's lovely when the sun comes out." "Your parents are in Leeds, aren't they?"

"Yeah. I've just called them." "Oh?"

"About the cottage. Just told them we'd be there for a while. Luckily the key's still in the same place we always hide it."

"Were they going to be using it themselves? I mean, it is the middle of summer." "Mmm, don't know. I think our need is greater, at the moment."

He looked out the window again and said nothing.

She reached a hand across the table and placed it over his. "Are you still upset about the house?"

He took the hand in both of his own and gave a tired smile. "No. Actually, I was thinking how nice it is to get out of London. I've been longing to do that for a while, and now it's happened all of a sudden. Just takes a bit of getting used to, that's all."

"Do you like walking in the country?"

He grinned at her. "I used to do a lot of walking in the bush. Is that the same thing?"

"Hmm, I suppose so. Anyway, there are beautiful walks around the cottage. It's sort of perched on top of a cliff; well, not right on the edge, obviously, but there's a cliff very close. But on either side of it, there are little pathways down to the beach. It's covered at high tide, but at low tide you can walk down there. There are all kinds of caves and rock pools. And there are walks up the top too, along the lanes around there. There's the coast road nearby, but once you get away from that, it's a gorgeous area to explore."

"Sounds great!" He mused for a moment. "Did you go there when you were a kid?"

Her eyes were shining. "Oh yes, nearly every summer holiday. I used to spend hours exploring all round there. When I was little we used to go together, obviously, but when I got older they weren't so keen on walking and I used to go by myself."

They looked out the window again. The rain was easing off and the sky seemed to be lightening a little.

Jude turned back to her. "We passed some great country on the way up this afternoon. I always thought England was mostly big cities and suburbs and industrial areas, but there're lots of beautiful places still. All those little villages with their old churches and woods and...some of
those views you get from the top of a rise, when you can see for miles. So pretty!"

She leaned in closer. "Yes, once you get past Stansted Airport you know that you've really left London behind. After that it's really delightful. Did you see Cambridge, off to the right?"

"Mmm, sort of. It was hard to see much through the trees."

"Then once you get past Peterborough, up into Lincolnshire and towards Derbyshire, that's lovely too."

"Yes. I don't know all the names, but it was great to watch it all go by in the summer sunshine, well, till the rain set in, of course; but down there, it was magic."

"You wait till we get past York. We'll take the road across the North Yorkshire moors. There's a faster route, via Scarborough and up the coast to Whitby, but I always like to go over the moors. That way you can see something of North Yorkshire." She looked at her watch. "It's nearly seven now, so we've got another two or three hours of daylight, so you'll be able to see the country up there."

A low droning noise suddenly exploded into a cacophony of engines roaring, which seemed to shake the whole building. They looked out to see a group of bikers riding into the car park. With a lot more revving of engines they parked and slowly dismounted from their enormous bikes. With their long hair and jeans and leather jackets and boots they formed into a phalanx and headed towards the main entrance.

Jude squeezed Sharon's hand. "Look away!" "What?"

"Look away. Don't let them see your face." She did so. "As soon as they're in we're going to leave."

"Don't you think you're being a bit paranoid? There are bikers all over the country, you know. Anyway, I need to go to the toilet."

"Alright, go now. I'll meet you at the cars. It'll be better if we split up."

He waited till the new arrivals were inside, then grabbed his takeaway hot chocolate and slipped out the door. He was sitting in his car when Sharon returned.

She leaned in the window. "Do you really think that was necessary?"

"Yes, I do. Back home the bikie gangs are highly organised crime syndicates that deal in drugs and weapons, amongst other things. There are bound to be connections between similar groups across the country here. It's possible that they're looking for us, or at least keeping an eye out for us on their travels."

"Hmm." She wasn't convinced. "We need to go now, Sharon."
"Alright." And she walked around her little Fiat and got in. Within two minutes they were back on the road.

Fifty minutes later his phone went off again. "Yes?" "Feeling hungry yet?"

He looked out across the vast flat fields that seemed to reach out on all sides in the fading summer light. "Where are the moors? All I can see is farmland."

"They're further on. Now, are you hungry?" "Yes, I am, actually. You?"

"Definitely. We'll be in Pickering in a few minutes. There's a lovely old pub there. I bet they do some great meals too – much nicer than your motorway rubbish. You can have a pint, if you want. Have your first taste of real Yorkshire beer!"

"Hmm, now you're talking. Ok, you've persuaded me. Let's do it."

The pub had thick stonewalls and massive wooden beams across the ceiling. The section set aside for meals was adjacent to the main bar, with small tables and a diminutive fire glowing in a fireplace you could have roasted an ox in. The barman looked disapproving when asked if they were still serving dinner.

He pointed at the large round clock behind the bar. "It's almost 8 o'clock!" Sharon gave him her best smile. "I'm sorry. We've been traveling all day." "Ah. Let me guess – you've come up from London?"

"Yes, we have."

He looked even more disapproving. "Where're you headed for?" Jude was standing beside her. "Scotland."

"Scotland?" The censure in his voice was almost palpable. "Where you stayin' the night, then?" "Oh, not sure. We'll find somewhere."

Sharon was not to be put off. "Have you got something we could have for dinner? We'd be very grateful."

The barman, who was large, with long, drooping moustaches, shook his head. "Well, I can go and see, I suppose." He stomped off into the kitchen then returned quickly. "There's only roast beef and Yorkshire pud with vegetables and gravy or Curry and rice or Lamb Shanks. That's all we've got left."
They opted for roast beef and lamb shanks. Jude watched closely as the man poured him a pint of Golden Fleece ale and a glass of white wine for Sharon. He took the drinks to the table and sat down, admiring the pint.

"Beautiful thick creamy head on it." "Well, don't just look at it. Have a taste!"

He did so. "Mmm, delicious!" He wiped the froth from his top lip. "How's the wine?" "It's alright. Hope they hurry up with the food. I'm starving!"

Jude leaned back in his chair and looked around the room, then back to Sharon, sitting with her elbows on the table, watching him. He gave her a tired smile. "How're you feeling?"

"Like you, probably, rather worn out. It's been a big day." "How much farther to go?"

"Not far. An hour at the most." He nodded and she reached out a hand to him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. It's just..." "What?"

He took hold of her hand and examined it closely. "Just it's all been so overwhelming. You and me and...Ally and Dave...and Dave being killed, then...what happened to Ally; Rupa and I having to, well, run for our lives...leaving the house with Reggie. Just so much has happened in a few days." He squeezed her hand. "I guess I'm still trying to catch up with it all."

She nodded slowly. "Sure." She looked down, then slowly up, into his eyes. "Jude, will you promise me something?"

"Of course, if I can."

"Will you promise me that if you have any regrets about you and me...I mean if you feel that it's all been too quick, or if you, well, start to have second thoughts...you'll tell me! I..." She pressed his hand tighter. "I need you to be completely honest with me. Will you promise?"

He leaned across the table and kissed her on the lips, knocking over the salt and pepper containers. "I promise." He could feel her smiling against his lips.

She laughed aloud. "Aw, look what you've done, you daft dodo!"

A girl was standing next to them holding two massive platters of food. "Yorkshire pud and lamb shanks?"

Jude was retrieving the cruet from the floor. "Yes, thank you. The, er, lamb shanks is mine."
She deposited the plates on the table, barely leaving room for their drinks. Sharon grinned at her. "Thanks luv."

"No problem. Enjoy yer meals." And the waitress retired smiling.

Jude watched as Sharon cut into an enormous Yorkshire pudding filled with dark gravy. She looked up, fork half way to her mouth. "What?"

His eyes were twinkling with amusement. "When you said, 'Thanks luv'." "Yeah, and?"

"Well, you've changed the way you talk. You've got more Yorkshire."

"Ah, I see what you mean." She swallowed and the knife and fork hovered over the plate. "Yeah." She grinned at him. "You're right." The accent got broader. "Well, I am a Yorkshire lass, y'know." She attacked the slices of beef. "Something to do with being back here, surrounded by it, I suppose. Why? Does it bother you?"

He picked up his utensils. "Not at all. I love it! It's very...fetching."

Later, when they had eaten what they could off the colossal plates, Jude sat back and slowly turned his pint glass round and round. "I just keep thinking about Dave and Ally, lying there in the morgue, each in their separate drawer, alone. No one there to, well, mourn them. Nobody to care that they're gone." He turned some more. "It would've been nice if we could have had a funeral for them both and...you know, been there for them, instead of just...running away and thinking of ourselves."

"Yes, I know what you mean." She was silent for a moment. "But, I suppose that's the thing about, well, evil. It just...tramples over everyone and everything and...sort of takes away all your normal rights and expectations." She took a sip of wine. "I mean, suppose one of my family, or yours, were blown up in a terrorist attack. Well...you might have had an argument just before; there might've been something terribly important you wanted to say to them, but suddenly they're just...gone. And you never got chance to say goodbye to them, or to tell them that you loved them, or anything. They're just gone! Well, it's a bit like that. It's what evil does

– it rips apart people's lives with no care or thought for their feelings or the misery that they might feel for the rest of their lives. But that's why we had to get away – because I couldn't bear to lose you, now that I've found you. I know that's terribly selfish, but it's how I feel." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Do you see? There's nothing more we can do for them now – but we can try and save you and Rupa."

The girl came to take the plates. "How was yer meal?" She looked with concern at the leftovers. Jude smiled at her. "It was delicious, thank you. I just couldn't eat it all. But it was lovely." "Are you sure? Ok, then."

When the girl had gone he leaned forward and grasped her elbow. "Yes, I do understand what you mean, and...I feel the same about you, and...you're right." He looked over and beyond
her. "There is something we can do for them you know." "What's that?"

"We can pray for them. I'm sure Reggie will hold a funeral service for them, or rather arrange for one to be held. But we can pray for them too. Maybe we can find a church and say some prayers there, or even just on our own."

"Yes, you're right." She looked into his eyes. "That's a lovely idea and you're a lovely man for thinking of it."

He smiled. "We should go." "Yes. Let's go."

Outside in the car park, the sky was extraordinary shades of pink and grey and even green, as the last of the long summer's day stretched out its final hour. Sharon threw her arms around him and held him tight. He rubbed two hands up and down the small of her back, as he watched the great beech tree across the road moving in the wind against the backdrop of the sky.

Forty minutes later they were approaching Whitby in the dark. He followed her carefully as they made their way through the centre of the town and out again on the North side. Another twenty minutes and she was slowing down and indicating right. He followed her down a narrow lane and then another one till they came to rest, seemingly in the middle of a field.

She got out of her car and he did the same. They were standing on the edge of a wheat field that sloped away down the hill and then suddenly stopped. Beyond that, far below was the sea, stretching away to the horizon in the starlight. He could hear the slow crash of waves, carried on the stillness of the night. Above them was the vast firmament of the stars shining brightly in the moonless sky. Somewhere over to the right was a glow of distant lights. On the left, shrouded by trees, stood a low cottage surrounded by a dry-stone wall.

He drew her towards him as he looked all around. "Wow! What a...what a night!"

She giggled. "Yes, it's a gorgeous spot. Come on. Let's go inside. I've got my overnight bag. Do you need anything from your car?"

While Jude retrieved one of his bags from the boot of the Peugeot, she searched in the shrubbery near the front door and produced a key. Inside he was aware of a stone floor and a short passageway with rooms leading off it. Sharon hunted around and found a light switch.

"Here, this way." And she led him into a small bedroom off to the left. She switched on a lamp beside the low bed and he saw a dark dresser on the right, two wooden bedside tables and a small, square window on the back wall to the right of the bed.

She smiled shyly at him. "Let me show you where the bathroom is."

The bathroom turned out to be across the passage and equipped with an ancient lions-feet bath, an old-fashioned sink and wooden-seat toilet.
She squeezed his arm. "Mind if I go first? I'm busting."

He went back and sat at the bottom of the bed, which was already made up. After a short while he lay back and closed his eyes. The next moment she was leaning over him with a grin.

"Bathroom's free now."

When he came back to the bedroom he climbed in under the covers, lay on his back, and felt her body snuggling in against him. He put one arm around her and his last thought was how perfect the curve of her body felt against his, as the peace of the night enfolded them. Far below, the waves continued to crash against the rocks and the stars wheeled slowly across the sky.

#  TUESDAY MORNING

When Sharon awoke there was a ray of sunlight playing on the wall, shafting into the room from the direction of the sea. She had forgotten to close the curtains. She turned to Jude and saw that he was facing the window, snoring quietly. She felt wide awake and excited to be back in one of her favourite places in the world. She slid silently from the bed and slipped on the robe she had left on the end of the bed, then pulled a pair of slippers from her bag. After visiting the bathroom, she padded down the stone-flagged passageway and, as quietly as she could, opened the front door.

The sun was still low over the sea to her left, beyond the hedge. The tiny front garden was overgrown with grass and weeds. Obviously her parents had not been here for some time. In amongst the grass were scattered some yellow flowers on long stems. She squatted down and examined them more closely. They were meadow buttercups – wild flowers that had arrived from outside the garden, borne on the wind. She picked four or five and made a small bunch of them. Then, straightening up, she moved to the low gate in the dry-stone wall. There were the two cars on the edge of the wheat field. Surely they would be harvesting this soon? She opened the gate and passed through to the lane. The ears of the wheat hung heavy and ripe from the stalks.

She faced the sea. A steady breeze was blowing into her face. She could feel the grass wet against her ankles. Long waves were gradually making their way towards the cliffs below her and the wind was blowing the tops of them into spume. She could just make out some seabirds skimming the crests of the waves, rising and diving into the grey-green water. Further off, the early morning sun had turned all of the sea in its path into shimmering gold.

She made her way around the outside of the garden wall until she reached the back of the cottage. Here was long grass and heather, sloping gently downhill until, some distance away, it suddenly disappeared into empty space, the domain of the shags and kittiwakes and ubiquitous gulls. She could see where the coastline curved into an inlet directly behind the cottage. Here, she knew, with the help of a precipitous pathway, it was possible to get down to the tiny beach at the bottom, if the tide was low. Further away she could make out the cliffs at the far side of the inlet, covered at this season with the nests of a host of different seabirds, including the puffins, whom she loved to watch, with their funny pushed out chests and comical self-importance.

She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see Jude in jeans and a tee shirt grinning at her.

"Sorry, did I scare you? Didn't mean to."

She took his hand. "It's Ok. Just, I was miles away. We used to come here every year, like I
told you. It's so full of memories for me." She suddenly put both arms around his neck. "Hey, how about we have a quick breakfast then go for a walk? I want to show you some of my favourite places round here."

"Sounds wonderful. Let's do it."

But when they explored the kitchen, of course there was nothing to eat. How could there be? The fridge was empty and the cupboards revealed only some rather suspicious looking teabags and a small jar of instant coffee.

"I think we need to go and find a shop," murmured Jude.

"Oh no. That'll take too long. I want to go now. What if we just have a coffee and worry about food later? Can you hold out for a bit?"

"Sure. It'll do the old waistline good, anyway."

"Great! Here's the kettle. Hope you don't mind it black. There's no milk."

Ten minutes later they were making their way down the slope at the back of the house.

Sharon was leading the way. "Be careful not to slip. There's no fence at the edge. Here, take my hand. I want to make sure you're Ok."

So, hand in hand, they negotiated the slope till they came to a narrow path that wound its way around the top of the inlet. Half way round she stopped and sat down on some soft grass. Below them was the cliff, plunging into space.

Jude was still on the path, from where he looked gingerly downwards. She knew he was watching where, far below, the waves were crashing heavily against the rocks and throwing up clouds of spray. The sound of their ending seemed to be amplified by the U-shaped curve of the cliff, overlaid by the ever present screeching of the birds, as they circled and dipped around their nesting sites on the sheer rock face to the left.

He glanced up at her. "No beach down there at the moment."

"No, the tide's high; but wait till later on. I'll take you down there. It's one of my secret places." She grabbed his hand. "Come and sit here. You make me nervous, standing on the edge like that!"

So he sat next to her on the damp grass and they stared together out to sea, where the sun was rising higher, although a line of haze still lingered on the far off horizon. After a while he turned to her, shading his face from the breeze.

She looked at him and grinned. "What are you looking at?" "You, of course."

"Why?"
"Mmm...because I think you're just about the most wonderful woman in the whole world and I never get tired of looking at you."

She kissed him gently on the lips. "You're so romantic. I love that in you." "Sharon!"

"What?"

He drew her close and whispered in her ear. "I love you."

"Aw." She drew back and examined him, half smiling. "You funny old thing. Do ya?" "No, I mean it. I do."

She considered him closely again. "Yes. I think you do mean it."

Her face dissolved into smiles and her eyes twinkled. "In't it funny! Like being teenagers again! Here we are in our forties and fifties and I feel like I'm sixteen again. In't it wunderful?"

He kissed her again. "You're wonderful!" He put both arms around her and dragged her back till she was lying on the tufty grass, almost on top of him.

She screamed. "Jude! The grass is wet!"

"Who cares? I don't give a damn. I love wet grass!" She slapped his chest. "You're an idiot!"

He squeezed her tight. "And you're a gorgeous Yorkshire lassie." She giggled. "That's a pathetic attempt at a Yorkshire accent." "Is it? Teach me then."

"You've got to say 'go..rgeous'. Make it long, like that." "Go..rgeous."

"That's better. You're getting there."

"D'you think if I listen to you all day long and practise for hours every day, I'll be a Yorkshireman in the end?"

She giggled again. "Never! You'll always be an Aussie! And..." She kissed him again. "Don't change that. I like my Aussie bloke just the way he is."

She snuggled into him and listened to the heart thumping inside his chest. Somewhere below a bird had caught a fish and taken it back to its nest on the cliff where it was causing pandemonium. "Your heart is very loud."
He was fingering the tie at the front of her robe. "Your body is very...desirable."

"Ha! Smooth talker." She raised herself up to look at him, then rubbed one hand over his head. "Your hair's very short. – Well, what there is of it, anyway."

"I know. I cut it myself last Saturday. I like it that way." "Didya?" She rubbed it some more. "Did you shave it all off?" "No – it's a number one – very short all over."

"Why don't you shave it all off? That would be really sexy!" "Really?"

"Yeah. Really." "Hmm, well, I could."

"You don't have to - just I've always had this thing about bald men." "Is that so?" He looked sideways at her. "Tell me more!"

She kissed him quickly then slapped his chest sharply. "No. You're getting soaking wet. Come on, it's time to go." And she got up and dragged him to his feet. "Look at you! All the back of your tee shirt's wet and the seat of your trousers." She felt her own bottom. "And mine!"

He grabbed her hand. "Come on. Let's finish this walk, then I need to get something to eat."

So they continued along the narrow pathway, as the cliffs gradually descended and they came nearer to the waves below. When they reached a steep lane cut into the side of the hill, its edges lined with thistles and tangled weeds, they turned up it and soon joined the main Cleveland Way footpath, which took them almost all the way back to the cottage.

*

On their return, Jude was just about to get his car keys, when Sharon put her hand on his arm. "D'you think you should?"

He looked into her eyes, which were dark with concern. "Oh. You mean, it might be better if I stay here?"

"Just for now. Let me go today and...see how things are." She gripped him harder. "I just think you should...stay here. Then we could go into Stanthorpe together another day. But...I mean, you know the reason we came here."

They were standing in the central passageway. He looked beyond her, at the sun shining in
through the open front door. "Mmm. Maybe you're right." He gazed down at her; at the faint hint of freckles on her nose, at the curly dark hair encircling her face. "But you be careful too!"

She wrapped both arms around his neck. "I will."

After they separated, he watched from the gate as the little white Fiat drove off down the lane and disappeared round the corner. Then he sighed and wandered back inside.

The first door on the left was a mystery to him, so he opened it and looked in. He was greeted by a small, square-shaped lounge-room, or sitting room, as they called them in England. Floral curtains hung on either side of the window, which gave onto the front garden. Below this stood a square dark wood table with an empty vase in the middle of it. Opposite the door was a modest fireplace, flanked by two old-fashioned armchairs, which had seen better days. To the right, a wooden bureau, closed up, with some framed photographs around it. Three dining chairs were arranged around the table in the window, while another one stood against the wall behind the door. Over the fireplace hung a painting in dark shades, which he thought might be a warship from the days of sail, engaged in battle. The room smelled of old furniture and damp stone, but it was obviously a much-loved family room.

He moved towards the fireplace and examined the dusty family clock, with its curved wooden casing, which stood in the middle of the mantelpiece. It had stopped at three minutes past seven. To the right of this, a large photograph in a silver frame. Bending closer he could make out a couple, posing on a windy hillside in the sunshine, with a girl of around nine or ten, standing in front of them, scowling at the camera. The woman was laughing as her dress blew up in the breeze, while the man, stocky with round glasses, had one arm around his wife, the other hand on his daughter's shoulder, grinning resolutely. Both mother and daughter had thick dark hair, but while the mother's was cut stylishly, the girl had long curls, which fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a pale yellow dress, which reached to just above her bony knees. He could make out what looked like a pair of white sandals in the tufty grass. Jude grinned with pleasure and wonder at the nine year old Sharon as she gazed out at him across the years.

He sank down into the small armchair to the right of the empty fireplace and sighed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the wind blowing across the top of the chimney above. It came and went as the sea breeze rose and fell. He thought of all the evenings the little family must have spent in this room. There was no television set. Perhaps the parents had preferred their own company, reading and playing family games in the old fashioned way, much to the chagrin of young Sharon, no doubt.

After a while he rose and went out to the car to bring in some more of his things. In one of his bags he found what he was looking for and returned to the armchair.

The book was a small hardback with a chestnut coloured leather cover. In white letters on the front he read: 'Prayers of the Saints. A collection of devotions from the Saints down the ages.' Thumbing through the book, it was clear that it was not new, but much loved and used by the owner. Some pages had annotations, scrawled in a tiny hand in the margin. Twenty pages into the book he came upon 'The Prayer of Saint Francis De Salles'. (A3)

For complete trust in God do not look forward to the changes and chances of this life with fear. Rather, look to them with full confidence that, as they arise, God to whom you belong will in his love enable you to profit by them.
He has guided you thus far in life; do you but hold fast to his dear hand and he will lead you safely through all trials. Whenever you cannot stand, he will carry you lovingly in his arms.

Do not look forward to what may happen tomorrow. The same eternal father who takes care of you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day of your life; either he will shield you from suffering or he will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace then and put aside all useless thought, all vain dreads and all anxious imaginations. Amen.

He read this through twice then looked up towards the window.

Dear Lord Jesus, please receive into your great mercy the souls of Dave and Ally. We only

knew them for a short time, but...we are sorry that they had to die and we miss them. Please

receive them into your loving arms and....may they rest in peace in your great love and. and

grace. Lord...we do not understand why these things happen. We know only that we are frail

and...weak and you are....God. Lord, I do not know what to say any more...only I trust you know what is in my heart before I say it.

He sat for some moments while the wind murmured in the chimney and the empty room waited.

Our father who art in heaven Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done On earth as it is in Heaven

Give us this day our daily bread And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, Forever and ever,

Amen

Breathe...just breathe in and out Gradually his mind calmed and settled. Slowly peace came.
After a while Jude rose from the armchair and left the room. He went into the bedroom and straightened the bed, laying Sharon's robe at the bottom, her slippers next to it on the floor. He went through to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then investigated the bath. He was pleasantly surprised to discover hot water in the tap, so he put the plug in and filled the tub. Five minutes later he was luxuriating in the hot water, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

He was teaching a class, or rather he was with a class. They were nice kids - not doing much, but pleasant. They were asking him questions about himself and he was answering. It was a gentle, friendly interaction, but there was something important he wanted to tell them, something that he desperately needed to say to them, but somehow it was just out of his reach. He was just squatting down next to one of the students, looking into her eyes, hoping perhaps that there he would find the supremely important truth which he absolutely knew he had to communicate to these children...when there was a noise of a door opening and someone calling out to him.

He stirred and the water was cooler and suddenly Sharon was looking down into his face, smiling...and the feeling which had been lurking near the bottom of his consciousness suddenly revealed itself as Joy – a Joy he hadn't felt in years, perhaps even a Joy which he had never experienced before. She was grinning and kissing him and then his arms were around her neck and she was squealing that he was wet and he was pulling her in, so he let her go and watched as she dried herself with a towel and wondered at the strange, deep-seated contentment which had suddenly invaded his being.

"How did you go with the shopping?"

She was hanging the towel up on its rail. "Fine." "Where did you go?"

"Into Stanthorpe, about twenty minutes down the road." Her face lit up. " Oh, you'll have to come with me next time. It's such a pretty little place; an old fishing village. Used to be a really important port in the old days. It's mainly a tourist village now, but it really is nice. I can't wait to take you there."

He was sitting up and soaping himself down. "So...you reckon that would be alright?"

She came and knelt down next to the bath, took the soap off him and began to lather his back. "Well, I think so. I mean, it's really quiet; just locals and a few visitors. It's hard to imagine that..."

"Did you get the shopping?" "Yeah."

He was leaning back as she massaged his neck. "Mmm, nice."

"Is it?" She giggled. "Actually that water does look very inviting. I need a bath too. It wouldn't do to waste water, would it now?" She put her head on one side and raised her eyebrows.
"D'you mind?"

He grinned. "I'll put some more hot in."

A moment later she had slipped out of her clothes and slid into the bath, facing him. "Now, where were we?"

*

Some considerable time later, in bed, Sharon raised herself off Jude's chest and gave him a long, slow, lingering kiss. "You poor thing, you must be starving! You were hungry when we were out walking and goodness knows what time it is now!" She kissed him again. "Such a sweet man, never complains about anything."

He gave her his wry smile. "Well..."

She sat up in the bed. "Ok Mister. I'm getting up right now to make you breakfast. I hope you're ready for eggs and bacon and mushrooms and tomatoes and beans!"

"Mmm, sounds great!" But she was already gone.

He lay there for a few moments longer. Had he ever been so happy in his whole life? Possibly, years ago with Chrissy. But that was all in the past and since she had gone he had been walking a lonely, dark, miserable path. When he had met Sharon, there had been tragedy, yes, but somehow there had been so much more, too. He hardly dared name it, but there was another

source of bliss which resonated within him at the very deepest level, but yet bubbled up through his being and would not be denied. It was all just so astounding...all coming at once.

He could not lie still any longer, but leapt from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Outside in the passage, he was assailed by the aroma of bacon and mushrooms and the sound of cooking from the kitchen.

Five minutes later they were tucking into a delicious breakfast, sitting on two sides of the small white-painted kitchen table. Sharon had opened the window and the breeze and sunshine were pouring into the little kitchen. Jude couldn't see the fields or the ocean below, due to the high hedge, which protected the garden and house from the sea winds; but there was long grass, which badly needed cutting, a few wild flowers sprinkled in amongst it and the blue midsummer sky, with large white clouds, scudding across it at intervals.

"Alright?" Sharon enquired.

He nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full of bacon.
She stroked his arm. "I like cooking for you. It's sort of...domestic." She looked across the room, her fork in the air.

When they had finished Jude pushed his plate away and sighed with satisfaction. "That was delicious. Thank you."

Sharon put down her knife and fork. "Yeah. Can't finish it though. Gave myself too much."

"My Mum taught me to always finish what was on the plate, otherwise she'd 'put it in an envelope and send it to the starving people in India'." He smiled at her. "But then I realised that was silly. You should only eat as much as you need, not clear the plate just because you ought to. Took me a long time to break the habit, though."

"Yeah. I see," she replied, eyeing his empty plate. "But can you imagine putting soggy fried eggs and tomatoes into an envelope?"

"Ha ha! No way!" He stacked her plate on top of his own. "I'll clean up in a minute, but I want to show you something first. Got to get it from the bedroom."

When he returned he sat back down and showed her the prayer book. She took it and looked through it with interest. "It's...lovely. And Reggie gave you this?"

"Yes."

"It seems to have been his own personal copy. You must treasure it. It looks like a much-loved book."

"I know."

She was leafing through it. "Hey, look. There's a prayer to Saint Jude!" She read from the page:

Prayer to Saint Jude(A4)

O glorious St. Jude, you were honoured to be a cousin as well as a follower of Jesus, and you wrote an Epistle in which you said: "Grow strong in your holy faith through prayer in the Holy Spirit." Obtain for us the grace of being people of faith and people of prayer. Let us be so attached to the three Divine Persons through faith and prayer on earth that we may be united with them in the glory of the beatific vision in heaven.

She smiled at him. "Wow, a cousin of Jesus, eh? I never knew that. Wasn't he one of the apostles too?"

"Hm. Not sure. Maybe. Let me show you the one I found." He took the book and read out to her The Prayer of St. Francis De Sales. When he had finished they looked at each other. "Isn't that wonderful? Be at peace then and put aside all useless thought, all vain dreads and all anxious imaginations. When I read that I thought: Yes. That it so true! It was almost like it was speaking directly to me...to us. I mean, all this fear of what may happen. All this worry and anxiety about...well, you know...what if they find us? What if they find me? But when I read
that...I felt so...so much better."

She took his hand. "Yes. Me too. It is wonderful. Perhaps that's why Reggie gave it to you. In fact, I'm sure that's why he did. He knew that you would need support. And who better to give it to you than the Saints?"

He took her hand in both of his own. "I said a prayer for them, for Ally and Dave. I know...we were going to do it together, but, I couldn't help it, after I read that prayer."

She squeezed his hand. "It's Ok. We can say one together later. You should pray whenever you want to."

He kissed her gently. "Yes, let's do that." He rose and started to wash up.

*

Sharon stood on the wet sand at the bottom of the cliff and looked out to sea. The tide was almost right out and it was probably a hundred yards to the water at the moment. Beyond the breaking surf the sea was the colour of steel. The wind had freshened further and the long lines of breakers that made their way from the misty horizon toward the shore must have been four or five feet from crest to trough.

They had made their way down the precipitous pathway, which started a little further on from where they had stopped in the morning. It had eroded and slipped away in places, but with the help of some sturdy bushes and holding onto rocks and each other, they had been able to reach the bottom safely.

She looked to the right and watched Jude as he squatted next to a deep pool in the rocks. His long, baggy, orange jumper hung down over his jeans. He had put on some strong walking boots and his bald head was covered by a green cap, which he had produced from his luggage just before they left.

She knelt down next to him on the uneven rock surface and gently stroked his back. "What can you see in there?"

The pool was narrow and long. The water level was about three feet below them and they could see an amazing array of different varieties of seaweed in the still, clear water. Over to their right the bottom sloped down and disappeared into a dark area of thick weed.

He turned to her. "I bet there's all kinds of marine life in there. Look how deep it is. I wouldn't go for a swim in it, that's for sure. Look, can you see that crab, just near the black rock?"

She followed his pointing finger and peered down into the mysterious depths. "Yes, I see it! It's quite big."
"Yeah. Well, this would be covered at high tide, so anything that lives in there would have access to the open sea. Might even be fair sized fish that take refuge in there for a few hours."

"I think there's a fishing rod up at the cottage, if you're interested."

He shook his head. "No. I'm not a fisherman. I know that sounds crazy for an Aussie. Most blokes over there are mad about it, but I've never liked it. Probably goes back to Buddhist days. I don't enjoy killing creatures for sport; pull them out and watch them die. No, I don't like that."

She watched as a small shoal of tiny silver fish flashed across from one side of the pool to the other. Above their heads, a long dark cloud had appeared from the South and was gradually spreading across the sky. The wind whipped the hood of her anorak and she shielded her face from the sudden gust.

"We should keep moving. Looks like there might be a storm coming, or some rain, at least."

She found his hand and they made their way across the slippery rocks until they reached an area of open sand, where the going was easier.

Jude was relishing the wind blowing into his face, leaning into it and striding along so she could barely keep up.

"Hey, not so fast!"

He grinned at her. "Sorry." He slowed somewhat. "I love this kind of weather, by the sea. It's great! Invigorating." He looked up at the darkening sky. "Do we have to go back the same way we came down?"

"No. There's another way up, further along. The cliffs are lower there, and there's a track that comes down from the Cleveland Way. It's quite easy to get up there."

"Good."

After a while they found a sheltered hollow in the rock face and sat down out of the wind. He put his arm round her and she snuggled into his orange jumper.

She giggled. "Where did you get this horrible thing?" "Opp shop."

"What?"

"You know, a charity shop, here. When I got to London I realised I needed some warm clothes. It was springtime and still quite cold. So I found a charity shop and bought some things."

"Ah, I see." She rubbed her hand up and down his front. "It's nice and soft, but it's a horrible colour."
"Really? I thought it was rather...striking."

"Haha. Striking alright! Bright orange. Ugh!" He didn't reply, so she tickled him. "I'm only teasing, you know! It's great to cuddle into."

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and suddenly he was kissing her, as the wind whistled around them and the first few drops of rain descended from the sky.

After a while she looked out from under the overhang they were sheltering in. The sky was still dark, but the rain was down to a thin drizzle, which the wind was blowing in all directions.

"Tell me some more about your children. I know you've got two – a boy and a girl isn't it? What are their names?"

He didn't reply for a moment and she thought she might have upset him, but then he said, "My daughter lives in Perth, with her partner. She's called Ruth. She works for one of the big insurance companies in the city. He's at one of the mines in the Pilbara, fly in, fly out."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they fly him up to the mine site for a two week stint of work and then they fly him back home again for a week and it keeps going like that."

"Ah, I see." They watched the rain spotting onto the rocks around them. "And your son? Is he in Perth too?"

"No, he works in a mine in Mongolia. I think he does two months up there and then back to Melbourne for a month. He's got an apartment there."

"Right. Is he married? Girlfriend? What's his name?"

"No, not married. He's had a few girlfriends. He's called Richard, Dick." She pondered this. "And do you keep in touch with them?"

"Yes, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well, from time to time. But they're not easy to get hold of." "Are they on Facebook?"

"Facebook? No idea. Why?"

"Because that's the way everyone keeps in touch these days! Don't you use it?"
"No."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

The rain seemed to be stopping. "Why? Should I?"

She looked at him, smiling. "Should you use Facebook to keep in touch with your kids? Well, it's up to you, but it might help."

"Hmm. I don't really know how it works."

"I can show you when we get back, if you like. You brought your laptop didn't you?" "Sure."

"It's got WiFi hasn't it?" "Er, yes."

"Get it out when we get back and I'll show you. It's quite easy. You might be able to see what they've been up to, send them a message."

He grasped her hand, raised it to his lips and held it there a moment. "You are amazing!" She kissed his hand back. "So are you. Come on, my bum's numb. Let's go on."

Half an hour later they were climbing the metal steps that rose from the beach to the start of the ancient lane that wound its way up to the level of the fields above. As they reached the main Cleveland Way track the rain returned with a vengeance and by the time they made it to the turn-off for the cottage, they were well and truly soaked.

With home in sight, he grabbed her hand. "Come on, let's run for it!" So they raced the last bit, through the puddles and burst through the gate dripping wet and gasping for breath. Sheltering under the tiny porch by the front door, Sharon fumbled for the key in her pocket and at last they were inside. She shook herself out of her anorak while Jude struggled out of the long jumper, which seemed to want to cling to him and not let him go.

She helped him pull it over his head, then felt his shirt. "Oh my God, you're drenched. Here, come in the kitchen. I'm going to put all the gases on and heat the place up. Get your things off. Is your towel in the bathroom? I'm going to get mine; I'll get yours too."
So they stood by the blazing gas stove and peeled off their clothes. Then they wrapped towels around each other and sat on chairs close to the heat.

Jude stroked her leg. "That was fun, out in the rain. I haven't run like that for years!" "Ha, me neither." She rubbed his arm fondly. "Can you get your laptop for me?" When he returned they sat together and he turned on the computer.

While they waited for it to boot up, he grinned at her. "I do like you in a towel. You should wear one more often!"

"Ha,ha. Very funny. Actually, you look rather nice yourself. Ah, there you go. Do you mind if I...?"

He gave her the device. "No, you go ahead. It'll be quicker if you do it."

"Ok, thanks. Now then...internet...here we go...Facebook. Right." She turned the screen so they could both see it. "So...you need to set up your own page. If I use mine, she probably won't 'friend' me. She has to accept you as a 'friend' before you can get in touch. It's a privacy thing."

"Ok, so how do I do that?"

"Let me show you." She tapped away at the keyboard, then looked up. "You'll need to put some information in here." She passed him back the laptop. "But don't put too much – just enough so that she can see it's really you. They'll ask you for your date of birth and address and all sorts of personal stuff, but don't put that in."

He raised his eyebrows. "Because someone might steal my identity?" "Exactly! So just put in the bare minimum."

She watched while he filled in a few of the questions, then he looked up. "Alright, that'll do, I think." He passed it over to her.

She scanned the screen. "Yeah. That should be fine. Now, 'Find Friends', here we are." She touched his knee. "What's your daughter's full name?"

"Er, Ruth Louisa Morrow."

"Right, let's put that in and see what comes up." They waited in silence a few moments. "Ha, there are five Ruth Louisa Morrow's. Which one is yours?"

"Wow, look at that! This one here. That's her."

"Ooh, she's pretty. It that her partner? Alright, now, send 'Friend Request'." She looked at
him. "This is only going to work right now if she happens to be online. What time is it in Australia at the moment?"

He glanced at the time on the screen. "About...nine pm."

"OK, well, she might be." The computer made a ping sound. "Hey, she is! She's accepted you! Great!"

"Show me!"

She gave him the computer and he scanned the page, then he gazed at Sharon in amazement. "Guess what!"

"What? What is it?" "She's getting married!"

"Really? To...her partner, obviously?"

He absent-mindedly reached for her hand. "My little Ruthy's getting married. And I never even knew about it. If you hadn't put me onto this..."

She grinned at him and squeezed his hand. "Romance seems to be blossoming everywhere!"

He kissed her, a faraway look in his eyes. "Yes, it does seem to be, doesn't it?" The computer started to slide off Sharon's knee and they caught it just in time. He laughed. "I think maybe we should sit at the table. I'm all warmed up now. Those gas rings have done a great job of heating up the room."

She put the computer on the table and he lifted the chairs over next to it. They settled themselves in front of the screen.

Sharon was tapping keys again. "She seems to have gone off line. What a shame! Never mind...what does she say here? 'This is to announce to all my friends that Danny and I will be getting married later this year. He's my soul mate and when he asked me I just knew it was the right thing for us both. He's the sweetest man in the world and I love him to bits! We'll probably tie the knot around November or December. More news to follow.' Ah, look at them! Such a handsome couple. They both look so...in love."

Jude said nothing but only gazed at the page dreamily.

She poked him. "Well? What d'you think? Are you happy for them?" She looked at his face and realised that he was almost ready to cry. "Hey....." And she wrapped her arms around him while he did the same and buried his face in her hair. She massaged his back slowly. "It's wonderful news, isn't it!" He nodded silently. "You must be so...pleased for her!" He nodded again. She rocked him gently until he pulled away and left the room.

She heard the sound of nose blowing, then a minute later he returned wearing a pair of jeans
and some red eyes. Sharon was scrolling down the page. "Look there's a post here from a Dick. Is that your son?"

Jude looked at the page and smiled. "Yes, that's Dick."

Sharon read aloud. "'Good on ya, Sis. About time he made an honest woman of you. Make sure the wedding's when I'm off. I really wanna be there!'"

"Ha! That sounds like Dick!"

"Mmm! That's very exciting." She put her arms on the table and leaned towards him. "What about you? You'll want to be there too, won't you?"

He gazed out the window, where the rain was still blowing sporadically against the glass and the wind was blowing through the hedge. He turned towards her. "Yes. I do want to be there; and I want you to come with me. I want them all to meet you and you to meet them."

Her heart missed a beat and she felt a roaring sound in her ears, followed by dead silence. She frowned as if in pain, then she was helpless to prevent the smile that was growing and growing, till she felt as if her whole heart and mind were smiling out at this man, who had just said the most absurd thing.

"You what? What did you say?"

"I mean it. I won't go without you. In fact," he stroked the side of her face with his finger, down to her chin and up the other side, "I don't want to go anywhere without you, ever."

"Really? But...I still don't know what you're saying?"

He took her hand in both of his. "Sharon Helston. Will you marry me?"

Her smile was now so wide her face was starting to hurt. "But...but Jude." She squeezed his hand. "We've only just met! Don't you think....shouldn't we...?"

"Shouldn't we what? Wait until we're sure?"

"Well, yes...you know, give it a bit longer before we rush into anything."

He was gazing into her eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Please say you'll marry me."

He was so serious, so sincere, so intense. Her heart went out to him and she was sorely tempted to throw her arms around him and declare that of course she would marry him; but something held her back.

She picked up both of his hands and kissed them, one after the other. "Jude, you're the sweetest man...and...I think perhaps I feel the same way that you do; but...will you let me think about it for a little while? I...I'm not saying no. I'm just asking you not to rush me. Do
you...understand what I'm saying?"

He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them in turn. "Yes, I understand; but I'm going to keep on asking you until you say yes." He grinned. "Ok?"

She laughed. "Alright." Suddenly she was serious. "Jude, I know you said this morning when we were out...that you loved me." She moved her face very close to his and looked into his dark brown eyes; the bushy eyebrows above, the grey bags hanging below them, then back to the beautiful brown depths. "But do you really? Because...well...because another man once said the same thing to me a long time ago and I believed him...and, well, what followed was...awful."

He didn't reply for a moment. "And did you love him?"

"Did I love him? Well, I thought I did, but then later...I ended up loathing him."

"Hmm. I see what you mean." He sighed. "You asked me if I really loved you. The answer is that I do. I...don't know why, really. Well, I do know why. There are a thousand things I love about you: the way you are, the way you act, the way you think, the way you talk to me; but as to why I should love you the way that I do...I don't know. It's a mystery." He smiled at her and she felt that what was left of her heart had just melted entirely away. "It's like God. We can only believe." He made a wry face. "I suppose, when you decide that you feel the same way about me...well, perhaps then you can agree to marry me. I don't know."

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling his naked chest towards her. Somehow the towel wrapped around the top of her breasts had come undone and there were no more words to be spoken.

#  WEDNESDAY MORNING

The Cosy Nook Café definitely had a fantasy theme. In the window were statues and models and cuddly toys of fairies and pixies and wizards and wood elves and witches and nymphs and trolls and giants and mermaids and even hobbits. Inside, each table had a device in the middle of the table for the pepper and salt and sauces made out of one of these creatures. The tablemats also displayed scenes containing a variety of such characters, while the walls were covered with posters and paintings of an array of fantasy landscapes complete with appropriate fantasy creations. The fireplace and every available shelf displayed hundreds of china ornaments, from quite large to tiny, which also continued the theme.

Standing uncertainly just inside the door Sharon turned to Jude and whispered, "It's a bit overwhelming isn't it? Shall we go somewhere else?"

He rolled his eyes and was just about to agree when a bustling waitress arrived.

"Hello, good morning, how are you? It's lovely to see you. Are enjoying your stay? There's so much to see here, and it really is very historic. Now where would you like to sit? There's the fairy table, the mermaid over here, or, if you'd like a really special experience, we have the wood nymph right at the back there with a full view across the harbour.

Sharon was looking towards the rear of the establishment. "Well, you're right. It is a lovely view." So the black-skirted, white-aproned blonde bundle of energy and good humour chaperoned them to a small table in the raised section at the back. It was next to a large plate glass window, which looked across old tiled roofs to the tiny fishing port below.

When they had ordered a pot of tea and a piece of Date and Walnut cake and Parkin, which Sharon said was her favourite, Jude leaned his elbows on the small table and looked at her over the top of the contorted wood nymph.

"Well, Mrs Helston. Isn't this delightful?"

She made a face at him. "Very funny! But this is a tourist town, so what d'you expect? They're catering for the tourist market. Nice prospect, though."

"And tourists expect to be surrounded by mythical beings?"

She kicked him under the table. "Stop being a grump! Just enjoy it!" "Or what?" He grinned at her.

"Or I'll give you a smack around the chops, ya daft Aussie!"
He leaned over and kissed her. "Go on then. I dare you!" "Stop it," she giggled. "Not in public!"

"And why not?"

"Just behave yourself, will ya?"

He looked to his right to where somebody was rowing a boat out towards the gap between the two sea walls, which protected the old anchorage from the ferocity of the North Sea. Inside the walls it was calm, with only a slight swell moving slowly along the far side. Beyond, a low mist reduced visibility to probably less than a kilometre. Straight ahead he could just make out the beginning of a line of cliffs, which disappeared out of view, heading North.

She took hold of one of his fingers. "Did you go back on facebook last night? Did Ruth come back online?"

He smiled. "Yes. No she didn't, but I sent her a message." "Great! What did you say to her?"

He gazed at her quizzically. "Well, I said I was very happy for her, and hoped she'd be ok with me coming to the wedding."

"Be ok with it? You're her Dad! She needs you there!"

"Well, we haven't always been close, like I told you. But anyway, I think it'll be fine." He looked at her sideways. "And I told her about the gorgeous woman I had met and...how I hoped that she would agree to marry me soon; and that I hoped we would come out together to the wedding, so she could meet you."

"Did you now?"

He nodded and beamed at her. "Well, you did ask."

The tea and cakes arrived. "Now then, sorry about the wait. We've just been so busy recently! Pity about the mist, still you can see a bit. Now that's the Date and Walnut and this is the Parkin. All made in our bakery next door, you know. We bake all our own cakes, oh yes! Now have you got everything? Milk, sugar, teaspoons, knives. There's napkins in there." She indicated the wood nymph.

Sharon nodded brightly. "Yes, that's lovely, thanks. I'm pretty sure we've got everything." "Oh, good. Alright then. I'll leave you to it!"

"Thanks!"
Jude was trying not to laugh. "You are good with her!" "She's only doing her job. Now then...shall I be mother?" "What?"

"It means 'shall I pour the tea?', you daft colonial. Anyway, I'm going to." And he looked on while she deftly organised the cups and saucers. His phone rang.

"Hello? Oh Reggie! Good to hear from you. How are you?" He raised his eyebrows at Sharon who indicated he should take the call outside. "Hang on a sec, Reggie. We're in a café, so I'll just go outside...so we can have a chat...without...disturbing anybody. Right. Here we are. So, what's happening down there?"

"Everything's fine here, Jude. How about you? How was your journey?"

"Good, no problems. We got to the cottage about 10pm Monday night. It was a nice drive up. I enjoyed it. Great to drive North, seeing all that country unfolding through the long summer evening. Loved it."

"Sounds enchanting. And how's the, er, cottage?"

He laughed. "Well, actually that's enchanting too! Set in fields, perched on the top of high cliffs, looking down to the ocean. Beautiful spot."

"Super. And you haven't had any...problems at all?"

"Er, no. Not at all. We went for a big walk along the beach yesterday and got caught in the rain, but that was alright. Oh, and I found my daughter in Australia on Facebook. Turns out she's getting married later this year!"

"Really! Congratulations!"

"Yes. Sharon asked if I used Facebook to keep in touch with the kids. She said that's how young people communicate these days. Anyway, I said, well, I didn't really know how to use it, so she showed me – and there was Ruth telling everyone she was getting married in November!"

"Extraordinary!"

"Isn't it! So we're in Stanthorpe today, having a day out. Old fishing village, just down the coast from us."

"Is that...wise? I mean, going out and about like that?"

"Well, we can't stay in all the time." He laughed. "Maybe I'll grow a beard and, well, I was going to say my hair, but there's not a lot there to grow. I could wear a wig!"
"Jude, this is serious. Remember the reason you left London? Your life is in danger."

"Yes, I know. But...Reggie, can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Well...I've, I mean I..."

"What is it Jude? Is something wrong?"

"No...it's...everything's wonderful. I just feel so deliriously happy. I'm...I'm so in love with Sharon. I know that sounds silly at my age, but it's true. I can't help it."

"Ah, I see. Well, that is...wonderful, as you say."

"I feel like a teenager again. Suddenly the world's the most amazing place. Feel like I want to run up and down the street and tell everyone we meet. I asked her to marry me yesterday!"

"Right. And what did she say?"

"Ha, said she'd think about it. But I'm going to keep at her till she agrees. I want to take her back home with me for Ruth's wedding, so she can meet the family."

"Right, um...this is all very sudden, isn't it? I mean you only met her...when?...last week?"

"I know, Reggie. It's very sudden...but sometimes you just know! It's like a miracle. Like a gift from God. Oh, by the way, thank you so much for the prayer book. It's...I was reading it yesterday. That one by St Francis de Sale - it really spoke to me. I can see it's a very special book to you too...so generous of you!"

"No, no, that's quite alright. I was hoping it would be...helpful to you. I'm glad if you're reading it. And remember to pray when you can. Faith is...like a seed, or a plant; it needs to be watered and tended and nurtured."

"Yes. I see that."

"It's a journey, Jude, and you've taken the first few steps. Don't be discouraged and lose your way. Christ is with you now, walking beside you. Talk to him. Let his spirit truly enter into you. If you can't get to a church, you can follow the daily readings. There are Catholic websites, which tell you what they are. Get a real Bible when you can, but the websites will give you the readings, and give you the text to read. You'll find it a revelation."

"Yes, that's a good idea. I'll do that, Reggie." He glanced up and down the steep cobbled street. "How's everything at the house?"

"Fine. I found your ad for the rooms online and changed the contact details to mine. So, I might get some calls in the next few days. Anna's still here. Seems happy to stay on, despite all the er...publicity. I'm sure it'll all work out. The important thing is for you to keep a very low
profile and to stay safe. Anyway, I'll talk to you again soon, Jude. All the best and...God Bless."

"Thanks Reggie. Thanks so much for everything! Oh, and by the way..."

"Yes?"

"I rang up my solicitors, before we left on Monday, actually ."

"Right."

"Told them I was leaving for Australia that day and you were going to run things for me while I was away."

There was a silence at the other end of the line, then he heard a soft chuckle. "That's a terrible lie, Jude, but I suppose that in the circumstances, it's justified."

"It certainly is! Reggie, you know I really appreciate what you're doing for me, don't you? Most people would run a mile at the thought of it."

"Nonsense, old boy. I told you, it's my pleasure."

"Alright, Reggie. You stay safe too. Thank you again. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye Jude."

"Bye."

A large family, with a number of children, was coming up the hill. A little boy, carrying a shrimp net was loudly proclaiming that he wanted to go to the beach, but the older ones were telling him he'd have to wait. Across the road some visitors were milling around outside a clothes shop. Two elderly ladies were examining some dresses on a rack on the pavement. A delivery van was pulling up in front of the bakery next door. Jude pocketed the phone and went back inside.

Sharon watched him make his way back to the table. "How's Reggie?" "He's fine. Just wanted to know if we got here safe and sound."

"Did you have a nice chat with him?"

He smiled. "Yes, I did. He's put his contact details onto the ad for the rooms that I put on the website. He'll be getting some new people into the house, hopefully soon."

"Ah, I see. So how many rooms is he advertising?"

"Well, Rupa's...and Dave's and Ally's rooms. We'll leave Arnie's for now, but if he doesn't come back soon we'll have to rent his out too."
"Right. But yours and mine will stay as they are?" "Oh yes. Of course."

She was looking thoughtful. "I'll need to go back to work in September. I'm taking three months long service leave at the moment, but...I'll need to go back."

He leaned across the table and took her hand. "Sure. But whether you go back to the house, or we make some other arrangement...we can sort that out later. Let's not worry about it right now. I'd like to...just enjoy this time we have together, you and me, on our...our holiday together." He squeezed her hand. "The future will work itself out as it...unfolds. Let's...well, enjoy the moment."

A shadow passed across her face. "That sounds almost as if...you think we...as if..." Her lip was trembling. "Oh Jude, I couldn't bear it...if something...happened to you now."

"Sharon!" He moved his chair around next to hers and put his arm around her. "Nothing's going to happen. Nothing at all." He held her close with both arms, stroking her curls. "Nothing at all." He whispered into her ear. "I just meant that...I'm so happy now...and I hope you are too...and I just want us to enjoy this time, without worrying about all the rest of it...you know, the house and your work and...all the stuff that's happened. Let's let it all go...for now. I...know everything's going to work out."

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "You're such a lovely man," she whispered. She gripped onto his arm. "I want to hold onto you forever."

Something exploded inside his chest and spread outwards, volcanic lava through his veins, until his whole body and mind and being were aflame with a blissful euphoria. "Do you?" He held her tighter. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

She nodded and suddenly they were grinning madly at each other and neither the Cosy Nook Café, nor the waitress, nor the other customers, now looking on with interest, nor even all the witches and fairies and nymphs and dragons in the whole world could stop them from kissing each other, right there at the table by the big window; because suddenly nothing else mattered or even existed, except the two of them and the fact that they truly loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

After the universe had re-assembled itself and time had restarted again, Sharon pulled away from him slightly. "Ooh. My goodness...right here in the café!" She gave a little laugh and caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

"Yes. Appalling behaviour in public! Not the sort of conduct we expect in an English Tea Shop at all!" He gave her a final kiss, then moved his chair back opposite to her. "Now...oh, my tea's nearly cold!"

"Oh, let me top it up for you!" She grabbed the teapot. "We might have to get a new cup for you."
"No, don't be silly. I was only joking! It's fine."

So they drank their tea and finished their cake and gazed at each other with secret looks and smiles, each thinking their own thoughts and sharing them with their eyes. The customers around them continued to act as if nothing had happened, but they too had been touched, and were warmed by the knowledge that love was alive and well and sharing the room with them.

When they went up to the till to pay, the girl there smiled shyly at them. "Thanks for coming. Enjoy the rest of your day! We'll see you again next time." They beamed at her and went out onto the street where the sun was trying valiantly to shine through the coastal cloud.

She took his arm and they wandered down the hill until they came to the little river, with its small collection of boats resting on the sandy bottom on the low tide. They leaned on the old metal railing and gazed at the single row of houses opposite and the sandstone hill rising behind them. To the right, Jude could see where the river made its way down towards the harbour, with the cliffs and the long low rollers breaking on the sand over to the left.

He squeezed her hand with his elbow. "Are you thinking about when you used to come here as a kid?"

She smiled at him. "No, not really. I was thinking how lucky we are...and how...things can change so quickly. Ten days ago I was...in despair...and today..." She turned to him. "I don't think I've ever been so..." She kissed him. "I feel like I'm walking on air." She kissed him again. "And I don't want this day to end...ever."

They turned to the right and followed the ancient street along the riverbank until it arrived at the quayside of the tiny port. Three local fishing boats were riding low in just a few feet of water, with only their masts rising up to the level of the road. A flight of stone steps descended from the pavement to the nearest boat. A collection of tourists was scattered along the wharf, but the bench at the top of the steps was miraculously free when they arrived, so they sat down.

Jude was looking down at the boat with interest. It was about twenty metres long, painted blue and white, with a small wheelhouse in the centre and a collection of nets and floats piled up at the rear end. A strong odour of fish and seaweed rose from its deck.

Sharon had followed his gaze. "In the old days this used to be the busiest fishing port in these parts. It had a huge fleet of boats."

"And now there's only three."

"Yes. It went into a decline. Other places took over, I suppose, Whitby, Scarborough...I'm not sure why; but in the early nineteenth century, this place was alive with fishing boats that supplied half of Yorkshire."

An old couple wrapped in overcoats and leading a scruffy looking white dog moved slowly in front of them. A small boy with a fishing line sat down at the top of the steps and carefully attached bait to his hooks. The sun finally broke through and the whole scene was bathed in light. A communal sigh of contentment seemed to rise from the holiday crowd as they basked
in the warmth of the summer day.

They watched together as a long open boat with an outboard came through the harbour entrance and made its way toward another flight of steps further along. They could see what looked like lobster pots piled up on the bottom. One man stood at the rear holding the rudder. The wake from the boat spread slowly across the calm water.

Sharon turned and looked up and down the street. "Ice cream. We always had one when we came here. And the sun's out now. D'you fancy one?"

"I fancy you!"

She grinned. "Good." She rose and took his hand. "Come on. I think there's a shop just along here. I know there used to be."

They were just about to cross the road to reach the ice cream shop on the other side, when they heard it \- a low throbbing of engines, which seemed to be getting louder. Jude froze, standing there by the side of the road and a moment later three enormous motorbikes cruised slowly by, taking up the whole street. He tried to ignore them, staring straight across to the other side, but he couldn't help but notice the way the helmeted riders seemed to be looking around, scanning the crowds as they went. The man slightly behind the other two looked directly at him and his wrap-around sunglasses appeared to rest for a moment on the two of them. Did he incline his head slightly before moving up to one of the other riders and leaning across to speak to him?

Jude took off across the street, dragging Sharon behind him. At the other side he turned right, away from the riders and then they were swallowed by the crowd. His heart pounding, he moved against the flow, squeezing through on the inside of the pavement. As they approached a corner, the shops on the left gave way to old blackened stone and a metal fence with a few weeds inside it. He looked up at a notice board attached to the wall next to a shadowy entrance. They turned into it and on the far side of the vestibule was a double swing door, which he pushed through and suddenly they were in the musty silence of an old parish church.

He looked around. In the gloom, after the bright sunlight outside, he could make out a large cupboard beside the door, with shelves and pamphlets and a box for offerings; ahead of him were pillars on either side of the nave, rows of dark wooden pews, and at the far end, the chancel, with an ornate carved wooden pulpit on the left hand side. There seemed to be a large number of shiny marble plaques and memorials around the walls. A faint scent of incense pervaded the air, which seemed laden with the communal memories of all the town and fisher folk who had gathered and worshipped there down the centuries.

Sharon put her arms around his neck and drew him close. "Are you Ok?"

He realised he was trembling and still breathing in gasps. He nodded. "Yeah." Her voice echoed in the silence around them. "You know, it could've been..."

His response was harsher than he had intended. "What? A coincidence? Didn't you see how he reacted, after he'd spotted us in the crowd?" He shook his head then held her tight. "I'm sorry.
It's just...the shock."

She held onto him fiercely. "It's alright, love." After a moment she rubbed his back. "Let's stay here for a while; then we'll go back to the car and go home. Yeah?"

He nodded. Arm in arm they walked slowly up the aisle on the left, gazing at the brass gravestones set into the stone flags and the marble plaques on the walls. The circular pillars were squat and broad. He noticed they were made out of sections of what felt like sandstone, fitted together. Above them he could see wooden tresses below the stone roof.

Sharon was reading an elaborate black stone plaque. "In loving memory of Agnes, darling wife of Jonah Sullivan. Departed this life 17th November 1765, aged 36 yrs. Rest in peace in the arms of God, free...What does that say?"

He ran a finger along the surface. "I think it says: free from the trials and tribulations of this life."

She turned to him. "I wonder if he really loved her? And what kinds of trials and tribulations did she have to endure?"

He tried to smile at her and shook his head.

Further along was a larger memorial, white this time, faded and stained with time. Along the bottom were carved a series of breaking waves. Silently they read:

'In memory of the entire crew of the fishing vessel North Star, lost at sea in a mighty tempest, February 3rd 1806. Eternal Father strong to save, Whose arm has bound the restless wave, Who bids the mighty ocean deep, It's own appointed limits keep, O hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in Peril on the sea.'

Below were twelve names. Jude read them through.

He kissed Sharon gently on the side of her head then detached himself from her. Making his way to the nearest pew he knelt down on the wooden rail, stained dark with time and the knees of the faithful. Leaning forward he gazed at the altar, a large candlestick at each end of it; behind, the shadowy chancel, with a stained glass window at the rear, obscured by grime and age. Behind the polished brass eagle pulpit hung a life-size, wooden carved crucifix, the remains of the original paint still visible on the body of Christ and in the decoration around the edges. He could just make out the crown of thorns and the bearded head that lay sideways in death.

He clasped his hand, closed his eyes.

Dear Lord, thank you for all of your many blessings, for life...and family...my children...and for love...and happiness. He paused, sighed. Forgive me all of my many sins...and be with me now at this time...Be close to me...may I know your...presence...your loving kindness...your strength. He could feel his shallow breathing, the blood pumping in his head. And Father...please keep Sharon safe from all harm...amen.
Our father, who art in heaven Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come

On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us Lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, The power and the glory, Forever and ever, amen.

He opened his eyes and realised that Sharon was kneeling next to him. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped together on the railing. He looked up at the crucifix. Christ was still there, hanging limp, supported by three nails. Jude closed his eyes and looked at the blackness. There was a faint ache in his knees, but he could feel Sharon beside him. His heart swelled with gratitude and love and...what was it? It had to be...joy...deep, profound joy. Life was so strange...and hard...and lonely...and miserable...and...Ah! But what rapture, what sweet...pleasure and pain...struggle and suffering...just to be alive...each moment...he wouldn't have missed it for the world!

A slight movement of the wooden rail made him aware that Sharon had risen and sat on the seat of the pew. He joined her and felt her hand reaching for his. They sat a few minutes longer, in the quiet, in the strange ethereal gloom of the church, then marvelled as the bright sunlight outside penetrated even here and a serrated shaft of light appeared in front of them, angling down from somewhere high up to their right. A million motes of dust appeared, like stars in some vast galaxy, each one enduring ten billion years. Then a cloud passed by and they were gone, snuffed out in an instant.

He felt her shiver. He put his arm around her, drew her close, kissed her temple. "Come on. Time to go."

She turned to him with such a look of anguish and...awe. Her lip trembled. He saw there were tears in her eyes.

At the car park, he unlocked the Peugeot and they got in. From here the old town was barely
visible; only a few rooftops nestling down in the hollow between the cliffs, in the bright sunshine. North and South they could see the coastline, uneven, pitted by tiny inlets and great, curving bays; the green of the land, the dark scar of the rocky escarpment, fading away in the misty distance. Out to sea, blue haze, as far as the eye could see.

Heading home along the coast it was Jude who saw him first. A flash of light in the mirror, reflecting off chrome; a glimpse of something coming behind them, then obscured by a bend in the road. He looked closer. There it was again, long front forks gleaming in the sunlight and now a far-away drone of an engine, like a forgotten memory, lingering there on the edge of consciousness, undeniable.

He glanced at Sharon. She was looking dreamily ahead, one hand on his leg, unaware.

A minute later and she turned around. "Jude. There's a motorbike behind us." He nodded, didn't trust himself to speak. There was an edge to her voice now. "You saw it, and didn't tell me?"

He sighed. "Sorry. Didn't want to worry you. Might've been nothing." "How long's he been there?"

"A few minutes, not long."

The sun disappeared and the fields and trees around them lost their bright sheen. Low, dark clouds had appeared from the West, inland. Sharon turned around again to try to see the motorbike.

"Don't keep turning around!" He snapped at her. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just...better if he doesn't see us watching him."

She patted his knee. "It's Ok." A blue Honda flashed past them, breaking the speed limit. "He doesn't seem to be gaining on us."

"No, he's hanging back, keeping a steady distance. That's what worries me."

They drove in silence for another couple of minutes, then she said in a shaky voice, "You can see him in the mirror. What's he doing?"

"Nothing. Just following at a distance."

"He might be trying to find out where we're staying." "Yes, indeed. I was thinking the same thing."

She grasped his leg tighter. "Do you think we should go past the cottage? Try and lose him then loop back when he's gone?"

"Absolutely! That's what I'm planning to do. What's North of us? What's the next big place?"
"Middlesbrough is only twenty miles away. That's pretty big." "And it's on this road?"

"Yes."

"Right, we'll go there and try to lose him in the city, then come back." She nodded and gave him a brave smile. "Don't look at the cottage when we go past it...please."

"No. I won't."

After their turn-off the road veered inland and they entered a landscape of long rolling hills and vast fields of wheat and barley. They passed through a number of small towns, their new housing estates reaching out like concrete and brick tentacles into the surrounding countryside. Then the road became a dual carriageway and great power lines on massive pylons started to fill the sky above them. The bike was still there, but showing signs of strain in the increasing traffic. Once or twice he overtook vehicles, to keep in touch with them. They thought they'd lost him at one of the roundabouts, but then he picked them up again soon after. His new tactic was to move in closer.

Jude overtook three cars and a truck on the dual carriageway.

Sharon looked at him with concern. "Jude, you can't outrun him. I'm sure that bike can go a lot faster than this car."

"I know. I'm just testing him to see what he does. If he comes up behind us I'm going to stop and see if he stops too."

"Don't you _dare_ stop!" She almost screamed at him. "No way! Keep going. We'll lose him somehow."

He allowed himself a smile. "Yes, the best bet will be traffic lights in the centre of Middlesbrough.

They passed a huge power station on the right, its cooling towers dominating the sky, next to a river lined with industries new and old. At a roundabout he suddenly left the main road and headed off into a district of old terraced houses, with tiny bay windows and front doors opening straight onto the narrow streets. He did a series of rapid left and right turns, then quickly slid into a tight laneway between two houses, which fortunately turned a corner, before ending in a brick wall. He switched off the engine and they sat with pounding hearts, glancing fearfully around them at the backs of the modest houses, and the lace curtains, which were starting to twitch with curiosity.

After ten minutes a man with a mop of brown curly hair and an impossible accent came out to ask if he could help them and did they know this was actually a private road? Jude apologised profusely and they reversed out onto the row of terrace houses.

The motorbike was nowhere to be seen.
He kept heading away from the main road, surrounded by a strange amalgam of residential and industrial premises, with their mix of old red brick and new concrete and glass. He wandered at random, then finally stopped outside a fast food outlet on a local high street.

He turned to Sharon and let out a long sigh. "I'm buggered. Let's go in here and have a cup of coffee, or something." She nodded.

Inside, looking at each other over their cardboard cups, he smiled tiredly. "Well, that was exciting!"

She reached across and squeezed his arm. "You were brilliant. I'm so proud of you, the way you took that sudden left while he was still stuck in the traffic backed up behind us, then lost him in the houses." She smiled fondly at him. "You're my hero. No, I mean it, you are!"

"Hmm. I just hope he's not waiting for us out on that road again when we go home."

She took out her mobile and brought up Google maps. "We could go home a different way." She inspected her phone for a moment. "It's a lot longer, but we could go South from here down to Osmotherley and Thirsk, then Helmsley and Pickering and back home on the road we came on from York the other day."

"Show me." They studied the map together. "Yes, that's a great idea. It will take a while, but worth it, I think."

And so, through the long overcast afternoon, sprinkled by occasional heavy showers, they followed the A19 South until they got to Thirsk. If they were hoping for a winding country road, meandering through the little towns, they were disappointed, because it was a four-lane dual carriageway with flyovers and big signs which by-passed all the towns. But the fields and the farms they could see beyond the concrete and bitumen looked charming in the changing light and the occasional vistas of long rolling valleys and the distant North Yorkshire Moors beyond were a sudden joy in the monotony of the drive.

But once they turned East on the A170 they were on a smaller road, flanked by wooded areas as well as fields, the trees heavy with all their summer finery. They motored up long hills and down long dales and the traffic thinned out around them. Jude admired the dry-stone walls and the hedgerows and the occasional yellow splash of a field of rapeseed lighting up the green slopes.

Coming into Helmsley just after 3.30 in the afternoon, they crossed a small river, winding its way under an old narrow bridge and entered the high street, lined with stone built houses, many of them covered in flowery creepers. When they saw a coffee shop, with white painted bay windows, festooned with hanging baskets of flowers, Sharon begged him to stop.

"I'm starving, aren't you? The last thing we had was tea and cakes in Stanthorpe, this morning, apart from that cup of coffee in Middlesbrough. I could eat a horse!"

So they went in and she ordered the all-day breakfast. Jude had pea and ham soup with a roll, then helped Sharon finish the enormous plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms,
beans and toast.

Chasing the last of the beans round the plate with her fork, she suddenly looked up at him. "You know you need to get rid of this car, at least for a while, don't you?" He looked through the panes of the window, where the rain had just begun to patter gently down on the picturesque little town. "They've seen us in it. That's what they'll use to identify us. As long as we're using that car, they can spot us. It's not as if it's a very common car. How old is it?"

He grinned ruefully at her. "About twenty years old, and I love it. It's got such character; beautiful old upholstery, built to last."

"Where did you get it?"

"From a car yard in London, soon after I arrived." He smiled at the memory. "He wanted three thousand for it, but I got him down to two."

She stroked the side of his face. "Poor thing. I'm sorry if you love it; but do you see what I mean? It's too dangerous for us to keep using it, now we've been spotted in it. You can _see_ that, can't you?"

He sighed, nodded. "Of course. I'm just sorry to lose it, that's all; but you're right."

Her eyes lit up. "I know! Why don't we drive it down to Hull and leave it in the car park at the docks there? Ferries go from there across to Holland. That would make it look as though we'd gone over there. Might put them off the scent. Let's do that tomorrow! I'll drive mine down too and we can both come back in that."

He rubbed her knee under the table with his own. "Except that I rang my solicitor two days ago and told him I was leaving for Australia immediately. The idea is that if anyone asks Reggie where I am, he can refer them to the solicitor, who will confirm the story. Wouldn't this muddy the waters a bit?"

She shrugged. "So they get confused. That's a good thing. I still think it's a good idea, now that we've been seen up here." He nodded slowly. "How about this: when we get home tonight, we hide it round the back of the cottage, where it can't be seen from the road. There might even be an old tarpaulin stashed away somewhere in the cottage that we could put over it and tie it down."

He beamed at her. "Brilliant! Ok, now that's decided, we can stop worrying about it." He looked around the room, half filled with a mixture of locals and tourists. "I suppose we should keep going."

"Why, did you want to stay longer?"

He made a face. "I just fancy a pint of that lovely Yorkshire Bitter, that's all, but I suppose I shouldn't really, driving."

They were getting up from the table, pushing their chairs in. "Well, why don't you? I can drive,
if you don't mind me driving your baby?"

He put an arm round her and kissed her quickly. "You are a sweetie; and you can drive my baby anytime, you gorgeous Yorkshire lass."

She giggled. "Get off me, you big aussie...buffoon!"

So they drove down the street until they came to The Feathered Hawk where they sat in the public bar and Jude drank a delicious pint of Tetley Bitter, while Sharon had a lemon lime and bitters and they looked at each other secretly, and listened to the farmers and the truck drivers talking loudly about this and that, laughing at incomprehensible jokes.

By the time they got back to the cottage it was just after six and the easterly breeze had blown all the clouds away. The wheat field and the hedgerows were luminous with colour in the evening summer sun and the cottage looked a picture, standing firm in the wind against the backdrop of the waves, far below.

Sharon moved her car to the front and Jude drove the Peugeot up against the high sidewall of the cottage on the seaward side, so it was hidden from the lane. After some searching she found a dusty, slightly mildewed tarpaulin, and from a shed round the back, some string. Together they were able to nearly cover the car and tie the ends down to the chassis, so that most of it was hidden.

After that they retired to the kitchen and had a cup of tea. They weren't really ready for another meal, but Sharon remembered there was a fish and chip shop just this side of Stanthorpe. She went out in her car and returned with a parcel wrapped in newspaper, a six pack of beer and a bottle of wine.

Later, while Sharon snored gently beside him, Jude stared into the blackness for a long time, as the wind whistled in the chimney and the faint soughing of the waves below kept him company. After a while, he got up and went and sat in the armchair beside the fireplace in the sitting room. In the faint glow of moonlight from the window he prayed a thankful, stumbling, joyful, groping, fearful uncertain prayer; then he found the leather bound gift from Reggie and sitting beside the window, said aloud the prayer of Saint Francis de Salles. After gazing out into the night time garden for a while, he returned to bed. Eventually, he slept.

#  THURSDAY MORNING

Sharon was halfway between the dream she had been living and the reality that she was waking up to face a new day of uncertainty and dread and she was not sure which was worse. Someone she loved with all of her heart had left her. She had pleaded with them that she could not live without them, but they had smiled sadly and drifted away from her, like a ghost. Finally, she was left completely alone with only her memories, and even they had started to fade and dim, like the dying light, until, at last, she was completely alone, a living soul, buried deep in a coffin, staring at the blackness, forever.

Heart beating fast, she opened her eyes and stared at the morning ceiling. A spider's web clinging to the light fitting swayed slightly. The dream stretched out its tentacles, trying to draw her back, but she refused, shrugged it off. Daylight was growing behind the red patterned curtains and the yellow painted walls were slowly but surely coming to life. She breathed quietly, while the pulsing in her chest gradually slowed to a regular rhythm.

It wasn't true. It was a dream. He was still here, alive and well. So far. The memory of the previous day engulfed her. The strong likelihood that they had been found and all that that entailed. The car! They had to get it down to Hull and park it by the ferry to Holland. Leave it there to throw them off the scent. It might be hidden beside the cottage, but curious eyes could still find it. Far better to risk driving it one more time and then abandon it. Hull was only a couple of hours drive away, probably. The matter was urgent!

She glanced across at Jude, who was curled up on the edge of the bed, facing the window, breathing quietly. She snuggled across to him, spooned her body against his and encircled his chest with her arm. He snuffled and grunted slightly, then a large hand began stroking her own, tenderly.

"Jude, my love. We need to get up. We need to take the cars down to Hull. Remember?" "Mmm."

She shook him gently, massaged his shoulder. He said something she didn't catch. "What?" "I said, say that again."

"Say what?" "The first bit."

She smiled into his back. "Ah.....Jude, my love."
Hands reached out for her, but he couldn't reach, so he rolled over, and his arms enfolded her and he was so close she could see herself reflected in his eyes. "I meant what I said on Tuesday, you know."

She kissed him. "And I meant what I said yesterday." He grinned at her. "Are you happy?"

She snuggled closer. "So happy. I can't really...."

"Well then don't try." He was kissing her softly all over her face, drawing her closer.

She reached a hand up to his stubbly cheek. "Jude. I love you ever so much, but there's something that we need to do right now. I mean, apart from.....you know."

He rolled onto his back, one arm drawing her towards him. "Yes, you're right. I suppose." "Remember what we decided about the car?"

He nodded.

"I just think the sooner we get it down there and leave it, the better." She caressed his face. "I know there's a risk we might be seen again, but that's better than leaving it here, and waiting for someone to find it, isn't it?"

"Yes. You're right." He looked at her. "Race you to the bathroom."

She smiled at him. "No, you go. I'll make a cup of tea. Shall we get breakfast on the way?"

Half an hour later they were untying the tarpaulin from the Peugeot and five minutes after that they were on the road heading South.

*

Sharon glanced at the clock on her dashboard. 6.59am. Good. Still early. The sun was rising from a summer haze on her left, while ahead of her, white cumulus clouds rolled across the top of the moors, showing patches of blue above. It promised to be a fine day. In the rear view mirror she could see Jude in the Peugeot, keeping in close touch – easy to do on this clear road. She slowed down as they crossed a long bridge over the River Esk and entered the village of Sleights. Neat little houses with summer gardens lined the road on the left; farms and fields on the right. She turned on the radio and got some pop music with a very lively DJ; turned it off again.
Five minutes later she turned into the car park of The Plough Inn. Jude pulled up beside her. She lowered the window and leaned out.

"Do you want to stop here for breakfast?"

He looked doubtful. "Ok. Just a quick bite, then we'll keep going." She nodded.

They found the dining room which was empty and sat down at a table beside the window, looking out onto the road. She looked around at the neat square polished wood tables set for breakfast and the bar on the far side of the room. A delivery truck rolled by outside.

Jude got up and approached the bar. "Hello! Anyone there?"

There was some banging from a back room and a middle-aged woman in a red apron appeared, looking flustered.

"Sorry luv. I were busy in't kitchen. What can I do for you?" "Are you open for breakfast?"

"Eh....it's a bit early. We normally start at eight." Jude was turning away. "But I'll see what I can do. What were you after?"

He looked back at Sharon, who smiled at the woman. "We're in a bit of a hurry. Could you make us a couple of rolls to take away?"

"Yeah, course I could luv. What would you like in them?"

So they sat and looked through the window, while she made them egg and bacon rolls. Sharon took his hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb, as she watched the man in the house across the way pottering in his garden. After a while there was a distant rumbling which grew into the steady throb of a powerful engine. It got louder, then cut out. She looked anxiously both ways out the window, but there was nothing to be seen. Their eyes met.

Jude got up and strolled over to the bar, just as the woman in the apron arrived with the rolls.

"There you go, luv. Sorry about the wait. That'll be eight pounds." He paid her. "Thanks luv. Are you going far?"

Sharon took his arm. "No not really – just having a look around. I used to come here for holidays when I was a kid. I'm just showing him the sights of Yorkshire."

"Oh, lovely." She cast an appraising glance over Jude and nodded. "Well, enjoy yourselves." "Yes, Thanks again."
They saw it as soon as they stepped onto the pavement. A large black, shiny motorbike, with long forks at the front, glinting in the sunlight, parked in the forecourt of the pub, just beside the entrance to the car park. There was a helmet stuck on the end of one of the handlebars.

They hesitated a moment, then she grasped his arm tighter and together they walked to the end of the building and into the car park. As they did so a stout-looking man in riding leathers stood up in the space between their two cars.

Seeing them approach, he smiled broadly and came out to meet them. "What are you doing?" Jude asked him with an edge to his voice.

"Sorry mate. Didn't mean to be nosey. I was..." he glanced back at the Peugeot. "I was just admiring your car. Love those old model Peugeots. Used to have one meself, before I got the bike. What year is it?"

He had short curly blonde hair and a wispy beard. He might have been forty or fifty, smiling at them benignly, like a favourite uncle.

"It's a '92 model."

"Is it really?" The smile broadened and Sharon could see the smile lines at the sides of his eyes deepen. She thought he might have been a Londoner, from the accent.

He seemed keen to chat. "Wonderful cars, aren't they? So...smooth to drive. I wish I still had mine." He sighed. "So....you're not from round here?" He chuckled at Jude. You're an Aussie, aintcha? Are you on 'oliday?" He looked enquiringly at Sharon.

"Yes, we're just having a look around."

He grinned at her. "I can tell _you're_ a local."

Jude said belligerently, "What about you? What are you doing here?"

The man gave them his friendly smile. "Oh, you know, same as you....just having a look around. Enjoying the countryside."

Jude nodded. "Well, we have to go now."

He looked disappointed, as if he wanted to stay and chat all day. "Really? Going far?" Sharon was moving towards her car. "No, not far."

Jude handed her one of the rolls, then unlocked the Peugeot. "Where are you staying?"
But they were both slamming their doors and putting on their seatbelts.

As they drove out onto the road Sharon looked back. He was looking after them, with that same wistful, annoying smile on his face.

Sharon's phone rang. It was Jude. His voice was tense. "What d'you think?" "About that bloke?"

"Yes. D'you think he's one of them?"

"Not sure. He could be just a lonely tourist, wanting to chat."

"Or he could be one of Bukovsky's men, trying to track us down."

There was a pause. "Possibly, but if he is, he didn't learn anything useful." "True. I don't like it, though." She drove in silence. "How's your roll?"

She smiled into the phone. "Haven't tried it yet. Will in a minute. We better get off these phones."

"Sure."

"Let's keep going now till we get to Hull. Love you!" "Love you too!"

Sharon drove for a while, eating the delicious roll, then she went back to the radio. She found the Classic FM channel and listened contentedly, as the moors gave way to the flat farmland of the central plain of Yorkshire, with its vast fields of wheat and barley and rape seed, waiting to be harvested. A strange shape appeared on the distant skyline. It gradually grew in size as she approached, to reveal itself as a massive power station, with its cluster of cooling towers, a square block structure standing beside them. From it, great chains of pylons hung with cables spread out across the landscape, looping across the fields until they vanished into the haze.

She followed the route on her phone GPS. After Pickering, the road became a dual carriageway for a while, and then it was back to a B road, snaking its way through the villages and hedgerows. Much later she spotted a town over to the left, with a large church visible on the skyline. She smiled to herself. Beverley Minster. A gorgeous medieval church. Maybe they could stop there on the way back?

Soon after that the countryside became the outskirts of Hull, with its traffic, its neatly laid out suburbs, industrial areas, schools, petrol stations, shops and morning people crossing the road on zebra crossings. Suburbs gave way to inner city and she navigated her way to the docks area. Now both sides of the road were lined with stacks of containers of all colours, behind strong metal fencing, piled up three and four and five high. Then an under-pass and on the left a huge grey terminal building, while on the right lay the Rotterdam ferry, at anchor, ready to
start loading vehicles from the bridge which connected it to the terminal building.

She turned into the almost empty car park in front of the Terminal and stopped. Jude pulled up beside her. They got out and looked around at the flat, empty expanse of land, the containers still visible along the road they had come by. A security guard was bustling towards them.

"Sorry Sir, Madam, you can't park here. It's for Terminal employees only."

Sharon was tired from the long drive. "Right. So where do we park if we're getting the Ferry to Rotterdam?"

"Ah. You must've missed the signs. If you go back along this road, you'll find a large multi- storey park where you can leave your cars. There's a bus service that'll bring you back here. Mind you," he looked across at the large ship at anchor, "she doesn't sail until this evening, so you've plenty of time."

"Alright. Thanks."

At the Ferry park Sharon managed to find a short term space for her Fiat. Then she got in beside Jude and they drove to the entrance of the multi-storey park. Just inside was a barrier with a woman in a small booth beside it. Jude leaned out of his window.

"How long are you going for, luv?"

"Er...we're going over to Europe for a while."

"Right, well it's seven pounds per day, or ninety pounds for up to three weeks." He looked at Sharon. "Three weeks, please." He gave the woman his credit card. "Thanks luv. Drive on. Anywhere you like."

He drove up the ramp that wound its way through the different levels. Sharon started pointing out empty spaces, but he drove doggedly on upwards. At last, on the top floor he sighed and drove into a space. They looked out across the docks area to the city centre further away, where modern tall buildings mingled with some older Victorian architecture.

Jude turned towards her, looking miserable. She stroked his face. "You're sad about the car."

He nodded glumly. "I haven't had her long, but I do like her. Wonder what'll happen to her?"

Sharon didn't like to tell him that when he didn't return they'd probably keep it for a short while, then either sell it, or send it to the scrap yard.

"Don't worry. We might be back to get it soon. You never know." "Yeah. Maybe."
They got out and took the lift down to the entrance. The woman in the booth was busy at her computer. As they walked back to the Fiat, Sharon couldn't help wondering if this was all going to work. Did the people who sought to kill Jude really have the resources to find the car here, stashed away in a car park in Hull? She didn't know, but at least they had got rid of the vehicle which had been identified as theirs. They could rest easy now. Couldn't they?

As they navigated their way back through the city, Sharon looked at her watch. Almost ten o'clock. She stroked his leg. "Hey, I've got an idea. Would you like to go somewhere really nice?" He was watching the traffic vacantly. "See the sign to Beverley? We're going there."

"We are?" He gave her a smile. "Another one of your favourite places?" "That's right."

"We passed that coming down, just before we got to Hull, didn't we?"

"Yeah. It's on the way home, but I'd like to show you the town, and the Minster. Beverley Minster's famous. Let's just....relax for a bit, after all that. We've got rid of.....sorry, we've _left_ your car there, so let's just....enjoy ourselves for a bit. We can get lunch there, too. Here's the turn-off....this way."

They found a park just outside the old part of the town, then she took his arm and guided him along a narrow cobbled street which emerged into the market square. He was fascinated by the huge open space, the market stalls, surrounded by low brick and stone buildings, the modern shops built into their frontages, the parked cars and everywhere local people selling and buying goods and going about their everyday lives in this ancient city.

They wandered through more streets filled with shops and shoppers until they came to a quieter road of residential buildings. At the far end, ahead of them, could be seen part of the side wall of the Minster.

Further on Jude turned to her and said, "Look. It's a second hand bookshop." She could sense his excitement. "Let's go in."

So they opened the door and entered the shop which, it turned out, covered two floors of the building. Every square inch was lined with shelves full of books, mostly in very good condition, carefully sorted into categories. A reverent silence reigned, as they browsed the rooms.

He whispered to her. "I want to get some books to read at the cottage. It's very quiet there. I'm going to keep writing my novel, but I need some reading too."

She nodded. They split up and met ten minutes later at the pay desk. He had chosen an old King James Bible and a couple of Ernest Hemingway books which he hadn't read. She was grasping a Ken Follet doorstopper. They paid and he carried their finds in a plastic bag, supplied by the shop.

She smiled up at him. "Right. Shall we go to the Minster now?"
They entered the church through the great North Porch then crossed the North Aisle and stood in the middle of the nave. They were both craning their necks back to try to take in the majesty of the great gothic columns, which supported the arches, which supported the roof, far above their heads. Crossing to the South Aisle they walked slowly towards the South Transept and so to the great wooden screen in front of the Choir Stalls. Here they again had to look up into the dizzy heights of the Central Tower, the highest point to be seen inside the building. Heads spinning, they came down to earth again and meandered further up the South Aisle, admiring the marble and brass memorials on the walls, commemorating the many notable people from the past who had lived and died here. Higher up, on the walls, hung flags of local regiments which had fought in Britain's many wars and they noted long lists of dead on the wall below them. Some of the tombs in the church were ancient, including that of John of Beverley, who died in 721 as well as various Earls of Northumberland and their wives, dating from the late middle ages.

Suddenly they were caught in a crowd of boys dressed in school uniforms, making their way into the Choir Stalls. Sharon saw there were some men with them also, in what looked like their everyday work clothes. The organ was warming up, far above them. There was the sound of young bodies settling into their seats, then a word from the Choir Master and the practice began.

It started with one chord, sung on several different notes by different sections of the choir. This was held for a number of bars and then a lone boy's voice rose far above the rest, delivering a single, high note of exquisite purity. Then the melody, slow and meditative in Latin, was weaved in a riot of harmonies, the clear, sublime voices of the boys in counterpoint to the tenors, baritones and bass tones of the men. It was the Nunc Dimittis, used in Vespers and Evensong since the 4th Century.

Sharon grasped Jude's hand and led him through to the Choir, where she found two vacant spaces, a little apart from where the singers were. They perched on the venerable dark polished wood, each stall flanked by fantastical figures set amongst tangled growth of exotic plants, all intricately carved by long-dead hands.

She felt transported by the heavenly sounds coming from this collection of ordinary school boys and men, taking time out of work. As if rising up into the roof space, then looking down at the two of them sitting far below, she felt moved to pray.

Dear Lord,

Thank you so much for sending me Jude and the love that he has given me, in my hour of... distress.....I was so much in despair, not knowing where to turn, when you gave me this wonderful man.

Please keep him safe, keep him safe from all evil, keep him safe from all danger. I ask this in Jesus' name, who taught us to say:

Our Father in Heaven

Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us,

Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil For thine is the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory Forever and Ever, Amen.

Tears were running down her face. She drew Jude towards her and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing quietly, while he held her close. In time, when the storm had passed, he gave her his hanky, and then led her gently out of the Choir and back towards the North Porch.

Outside the sun was blazing down out of a clear blue sky. She reached up and flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.

"Thank you, my love. Thank you," she whispered into his ear. He held her tight, then she giggled and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Let's go and find lunch!"

#  FRIDAY MORNING

The following morning Jude was sitting in the kitchen, poring over his new Bible and eating toast, when Sharon came in, still half asleep, looking sexy in her short nighty.

"You're up and about early."

"Yeah. There's toast there and tea in the pot." He looked up at her and smiled.

She came over and sat on his lap, giving him a big hug and a kiss. "Ah, that's better!" She stroked his stubble. "Didn't hear you get up."

He kissed the end of her nose. "You were sound asleep, so I got up quietly."

She rubbed her nose against his. "You're such a lovely man. Why are you so good to me?"

He laughed at her, then fondled the back of her head and down to her shoulders. ""Because you're so gorgeous and cute and amazing and....I'm madly in love with you!"

"Hm." She looked sceptical. "Sweet talker." Then she snuggled into his ear and mouthed, "I love you too," and there was no more talking for a while.

She raised her head and looked out the window to the tangled garden. He looked at her. "What? What are you thinking?"

She smiled slowly back at him. "I was thinking of a place near here that we used to go to when we here as a family."

He was fingering her dark curls. "Tell me about it."

She took his finger and kissed it. "Can you imagine walking along a stream, a beck, that flows between two wooded slopes? There's rocks all along it, and little waterfalls where the water flows over them." Her voice was dreamy and far away. "The sun slants down between the trees and there are banks of ferns on the slopes. Over to the right you can see the brow of the hill above, but on the left it's all trees. There are wild flowers underfoot and a little girl is picking a bunch of them."

"Sounds," he gazed at her, "like a very happy place. Is it near here?"
She nodded. "Yes." "Take me there."

"Do you mean it? Do you really want to go there now? We did have a busy day yesterday." He grinned at her. "Let's go there now."

"Right. Let's. But I need a bath."

He kissed her neck. "Bags we share it." She laughed. "Again?"

"Yeah. Why not? It worked well last time." She considered him critically. "Maybe."

"Maybe? Ha!" He tickled her so she jumped off his lap. "I'll race you there!"

Half an hour later they were back in the kitchen where Sharon had a quick breakfast. Then she found some bread and salad and cheese and pickles, that she'd bought the other day, and together they made sandwiches.

She glanced up at him. "Can you put the kettle on? I've got a flask in my bag. We'll take some tea with us, alright?"

"Sure. We better take jackets too. Don't want to get caught in the rain again!"

Ten minutes later Sharon was driving the Fiat up the lane towards the main road. She smiled across at Jude. "Alright, luv?"

"Yeah, especially when you've got that glint in your eye which means we're going to one of your favourite places. How far is it?"

"Only about fifteen minutes in the car. You'll see."

The main road was almost empty of traffic as she turned up to the right. They followed the road as it looped inland, away from the sea, through vast fields of wheat, interspersed by occasional small copses of trees. After a few minutes she turned off to the left and the single track road began to wind upwards towards higher country, as the fields got smaller and became lined by dry-stone walls with iron gates. Soon, at the crest of a hill, the road came to an end and they were in a bumpy grass-covered car park; Sharon drove the car up to a metal fence, beyond which the ground rose steeply.

They got out and looked around. They were the only car in the small field. They put their jackets on and Sharon took the picnic bag off the back seat and they headed for the narrow gap
in the fence where the footpath began.

First, the path was on the left hand side of the beck, but soon they came to a small footbridge and it crossed over, following the base of the hill which they had seen in the car park. Jude stopped a moment on the bridge and looked down into the limpid water. A pool about three metres long extended upstream of the bridge, then ended in a tiny waterfall, where the water flowed over a series of rocks and down into the pool. On the bottom, under the shallow water, he could see sand and some large rocks covered in weed. Tiny fish darted around the rocks, hiding in the weed, sampling the titbits brought down by the current. The sun emerged from behind a cloud and he looked up, smiling at Sharon, who stood beside him. He could see the trees rising up behind her, covering the slope, piled up in their multiple shades of green, and beyond, large white cumulus, scudding across the blue sky.

He put an arm round her shoulder and drew her close. "Careful you don't fall in!" "Ha! I'd take you with me, so be warned!"

He took her hand as they continued along the footpath.

Sharon was looking closely at the tufty grass that grew on either side of the path. She pointed. "Look. That's called Shepherd's Needle and next to it...see the Corn Buttercups?" She smiled and moved on. Suddenly, on a flat patch of grass to the left, there were tiny blue flowers everywhere, and scattered in amongst them, another bloom, in shades of delicate violet, contrasting with the china blue of the former.

She knelt down and picked a small bunch, mixing the two together. "See – these are blue cornflowers and these...wild pansies." Jude watched as she placed the bunch to her nose and breathed in deeply, then offered them to him to do the same. They looked up from the wildflowers to see a small but sturdy-looking goat standing on the path ahead of them. His long curved horns looked menacing and he eyed them with a keen interest. They looked at each other and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. She moved forward slowly, holding out the bunch of flowers towards the animal. The goat watched her approach, then leaned forward and munched appreciatively on the flowers, masticating them carefully and bobbing his horns forward as he did so. Then he seemed to nod in approval and moved up the hill to the right, allowing them free passage.

Further up, the trees closed in on both sides of the beck and they walked through dappled sunlight that filtered down through the canopy of leaves. A flat rock beside the cascading water beckoned, so they sat down and looked around them.

Sharon sat holding his hand in her lap, and as they watched, in the quietness, the enchanted clearing accepted them and settled back into itself. The sun slanted down through the gaps in the leaves. A cloud of summer gnats swirled above the pool in front of them. The water continued to burble and chatter over the rocks to their left. A clump of prickly poppy near their feet waved in the breeze, that gusted up the gap between the two slopes.

She squeezed his hand and turned to him. "So tell me about Australia. Will the wedding be in Perth? What's it like there?"
He was staring, unseeing, at the gnats over the water and said nothing for a moment. "Perth? Oh, it's a huge city, very spread out. Only a million and a half people, but nearly everyone's got their own suburban block, so it covers a huge area." He paused, sighed. "Suburb after suburb after suburb, all up and down the coast, and they're building new ones all the time. The city centre's quite small." He looked at her and smiled. "But the river's pretty. And the beaches are superb. And Freo's...different."

"Freo? What's that?"

"Fremantle, just down the road from Perth, at the mouth of the Swan river. Lovely old place. Got some real character. Some nice pubs, too."

"What about you? Where are you from?"

"Sydney, originally. I travelled and worked at different teaching jobs, but then when I met Chrissy, we settled there. Put down some roots."

She was looking at him closely. "Sydney's bigger, isn't it? I mean, bigger than Perth?"

"Oh yes, much bigger. Well, I mean, not compared to somewhere like London, or some of the other mega cities around the world, but it's big. Same as Perth, very spread out." He gave a wry smile. "Everybody wants their quarter acre of land to call their own."

She nodded slowly. "I've heard that Sydney's beautiful. I've seen pictures and documentaries; you know, the harbour, the bridge, the opera house."

"Yes, it is." He was remembering now. "Absolutely stunning. All that water, little coves and bays, all around the harbour. And the beaches, just..." He laughed. "Well, you'll have to come and see it, that's all. You need to see it to really understand."

He felt her squeeze his hand again. "I'd love to." The sun went behind a cloud and their little clearing in the woods, beside the beck, darkened. "So...did you live near the harbour, near the beach?"

He smiled ruefully. "No. Places like that all cost a million dollars, or more." "So...?"

"We lived over West, West of Sydney, that is. Place called Epping - fair way from the centre and the sea. But, a lovely area. See, Sydney's surrounded by amazing country. National parks everywhere."

"Parks?"

"Yes, but, not parks like you have here, with pathways and flower beds and park benches. National Parks are wonderful areas of bush, which can't be built on or developed. They stay as they are. And luckily," he looked down at her keenly, "the government has had the good sense to make lots of them. You see," he drew a map with his finger on the dark, rough surface of
the rock. "Sydney's pretty much surrounded by hills; well, on the West, mountains. They're called the Blue Mountains. In fact, when the English first landed there, and Sydney started to get established, they couldn't even find a way through the mountains to see what lay beyond! They were so steep and impenetrable, it took a while before they could find a way through!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're part of what's called the Great Dividing Range, which runs all the way up the East coast of Australia, right up to the top of Queensland. And there's lots of...well, great country in those ranges. We had about three or four different national parks within an hour or so's drive of us in Epping. We used to go to them all the time." His eyes were shining now. "And the Hawksbury! Oh Sharon, you've got to see the Hawksbury!"

She giggled. "What's that?"

"It's a river, North of Sydney. And it's, well, let me see...it's got steep banks, really steep in parts, like rocky crags, looking down over the river. And it twists and turns and it's got islands in it, and forest all around." He shook his head. "It's no wonder those early settlers wanted to steal the land off the locals and grab it all for themselves."

She frowned. "They did?"

"Oh yes!" He glanced at her, then beyond to the pool, where, through the trees, they could just make out the hillside, rising up towards the brow of the hill. "The thing about Australia...the thing about Australia is that the whole country is weighed down by, a sort of...collective guilt, based on what happened there in the past. See, they had this theory called 'Terra Nulius', which was a fancy Latin way of saying that nobody lived there, and the land belonged to nobody."

She shook her head. "But..."

"But that was a big fat lie, of course. There were lots of people living there. It's just that they didn't have the kind of technology that the white fellas had, and so had absolutely no chance of standing against them. So, they got swept aside, and the history of that genocide was conveniently hidden under the carpet; just wasn't talked about." He sighed, looked back at her. "It's only quite recently that more progressive people have started to talk about what _really_ happened and...to acknowledge the truth. I mean..." He stood up and took a few steps in the soft muddy grass beside the beck. "It's too late now, of course. We can't say sorry and give it back and all go home to where we came from. What's done is done; and yet, there's this massive sort of...collective, bizarre kind of national consciousness of...denial and guilt about the past, which can never be lifted."

Sharon frowned at him. "That's awful." "Yes it is."

She looked around the little clearing and shivered slightly. "I wish the sun would come out again." She stood up, rubbing her backside. "Aw, that's a hard rock. Let's go on a bit. I need to warm up." So they followed the tiny track that continued on through the woods, upstream
along the beck.

After a while the trees thinned out and they found themselves on higher ground, where clumps of large lichen-covered rocks started to appear to left and right of the path. Heather seemed to be everywhere and small ferns grew along the sides of the beck. Suddenly the sun emerged and bathed the whole landscape in glorious light. Looking behind them, the ground seemed to fall away, and below could be seen distant farms and lanes and villages laid out across the rolling hills, while in the far distance, the blue haze of the sea.

As Jude stood and gazed, she smiled at him with pride and, since the path had become wider, took his arm and they walked along in companionable silence.

After a while he put an arm around her waist. "What about you? Tell me about _your_ home."

She squinted up at him in the sunlight. "Well, my Dad was a vicar in Leeds for as long as I can remember. We had a nice old vicarage to live in, on the outskirts of the city. I grew up there, and went to the local grammar school; had a happy childhood, I think. I was a bit lonely, being an only child, but I had lots of friends at school. The house was full of books. My dad was a bit of a collector, so I grew up reading. We were a happy family, in general. They always treated me well. They both loved to discuss things and I grew up in a fairly sort of, well...not intellectual atmosphere, exactly, but...you know, as if everything was open for discussion, and if talked over long enough, a rational sort of...solution was sure to be found. What you'd call a fairly middle class upbringing, I suppose."

Jude was examining an extraordinary rock formation on their left. Huge blocks rose some ten metres to form a row of crags. At the base of these, smaller rocks, presumably tumbled down from above, lay strewn about, and in between these was a springy, soft covering of grass. Sharon went over and inspected a flat, low rock that had a delicate coating of moss on it. She felt it with her hand.

"Mostly dry. Shall we sit down again? I fancy a cuppa tea and maybe a sandwich." She made herself comfortable, poured tea from the flask and handed a cup to Jude. "Dad's retired now and they live in a smaller house, but still in Leeds, quite close to where he worked for all those years."

Jude nodded. "Thanks."

She poured her own, then produced sandwiches from the bag. She offered him one and he took it, gratefully. They munched in silence, looking around them.

Suddenly Sharon laughed aloud, leaned over and gave him a big cheesy cuddle. "This is such fun! Don't you think? Our first picnic together!"

He nodded, his mouth full of bread and salad. As soon as he could, he put one arm around her shoulders and gave her a proper kiss.

She grinned at him. "I can't tell you how happy you make me feel." She looked into his eyes. "It's almost as if...my whole life had been gradually working around to this particular point in
time; as if everything that went before was like a...a prelude...something that had to _be_ in order for me to arrive at _this_ moment, in _this_ place, with you." She kissed him again. "Almost as if all the rest were irrelevant. This moment is the...the defining moment of my life." She laughed. "Sounds silly, I know, but, that's what it feels like."

He covered the side of her face in tiny kisses, until he reached her ear. "It's not silly at all, my love. I know exactly what you mean, because I feel the same way."

She sighed. "Don't say any more now. Just kiss me and hold me tight."

Later, they came upon the ruins of a tiny stone cottage. It was up on a small rise to their left, looking out over the marshy, wetland area, which seemed to be the source of the beck they had followed from the car park. The roof was long gone and only parts of the walls remained. They walked slowly around the outside, then sat down inside on a kind of stone slab, which lay in the lee of one of the remaining walls. Through the gap to their left they could see across the flat heather-strewn moorland, which seemed to extend almost to the horizon, from where they sat.

Jude leaned back against the rough stonewall. "I wonder who lived here? Do you think this was their table? Imagine the family sitting around here in the evening, listening to the wind whistling through the gaps in the walls."

Sharon looked around at the desolation that had once been a home. "I wonder where they are now?"

"Oh, long gone, I'd say. It might have been in this state for ages; hundreds of years, maybe?" She nodded. "Long gone; dead and buried." They lapsed into silence.

After a while she got up and disappeared around the outside of the walls. He sat on, feeling the cold of the rock slabs seeping through his jacket. Along with the cold, a feeling of dread seemed to close over him. Perhaps all of this present happiness was only a passing parade, soon to be replaced by some encroaching evil from which there would be no escape.

Sharon returned, sat down next to him and scrutinised his face. "What is it, my love? Tell me."

He held her hand in both his own and examined it closely. "The thing is...." He looked at her bleakly. "What are we going to do?"

She looked upwards, where a large bird of prey hung almost motionless in the sky above them. It was riding the updrafts in slow, lazy circles, barely moving its wings at all. He followed her gaze and saw it too.

"I mean...Ok, so we've left my car down in Hull to put them off the scent. But I wonder if we should actually....leave the cottage...get right away...just to be sure. But the thing is: where would we go? We can't just wander around, staying in hotels every night. For one thing, I can't afford it! But this could go on for weeks, months...even longer!"
He felt her rubbing his hands gently with her own, then one warm hand stroking his back.

"Hey, come on. Don't make things worse than they really are. There are lots of things we can do." She paused. "For instance, we can ring up Sergeant Kassab, tell him what's happened and ask his advice."

Somewhere nearby a bird had started a delicate, intricate song. Jude listened to it, studying her face, waiting for her to go on.

"I've just remembered, I have a friend who lives way up in the North of Scotland, on Orkney, in fact. We can go and stay with her. She's always begging me to do that. She'll be glad to take us in for a while. And there are certainly no bikers up there!"

The bird was excelling itself, exploring new sequences and melodies with joyful exuberance.

Jude rested his forehead against hers and grasped her shoulders in his large hands. "You're so good at coming up with...answers." He felt her breath on his face, could see her eyes smiling up at him. "You know just how to pick me up, when I stumble and fall..."

She wrapped both her arms around him and drew him close. "Jude, we're good for each other! We love each other, and from now on, we're going to be a team and look after each other. That's the only thing that matters, really. Can you see that?" He nodded, speechless, his face buried in her hair. "Don't be sad. We can overcome this thing together! I know we can!"

He drew back and studied her face, which was so full of love he almost couldn't bear the intensity of it. He turned away and then looked upwards. She did the same, but the circling buzzard had gone.

Abruptly the bird nearby ceased its song. A gust of wind swept through the ruined cottage and something wet landed on his head. It was the first raindrop, the first of many. Seconds later the heavens opened and they were fumbling to do up the zips on their jackets and put up their hoods. Outside, the sky was rapidly darkening and they could see sheets of rain being blown across the open moor towards them. There was nothing for it but to head back down the path and try to reach the car as quickly as possible.

After the initial downpour the rain settled into a steady drizzle that ran down their jackets and onto their jeans, which got progressively wetter and wetter. By the time they reached the car their bottom halves were well and truly soaked. They piled in and Sharon turned on the engine and cranked up the heating.

She smiled at him. "Well, good old Yorkshire rain, eh? Never lets you down!" He was struggling to take off his jacket. "Yeah."

"Come on. Let's go home and get dry." He finally got the wet jacket off and threw it into the back, as she reversed away from the fence. He looked silently out of the window as they coasted down the narrow lane, past the sodden hedges and the wind-blown trees and the dry stone walls of the fields, black now from the rain.

*

Fifteen minutes later they was pulling up in front of the cottage. They made their way up the path, through the drizzle to the front door, and Sharon was fumbling for her key. Jude was surprised to notice that the kitchen window was swinging ajar, and one of the small panes of glass in it had been smashed. Just as he was about to point this out to Sharon, the door opened and a tall, long-haired man in riding leathers stood staring at them through the eye sockets of the black balaclava which covered his face. Behind him, he realised, there was another, shorter man, similarly dressed. The tall one held a sawn-off shotgun in his right hand.

There was a moment of dead silence, as the world exploded inside his head. He pushed Sharon as hard as he could through the shrubbery beside the door, then took off as fast as his legs would carry him, through the gate and left along the lane towards the sea. Someone was screaming nearby and he heard the sound of pursuit behind him. The gravel was hard through his runners but his legs seemed sluggish, as if stuck in slow motion, and he wondered at the rushing sound in his ears. As the ground started to slope downwards, towards the cliff, he veered off to the right, intending to follow the edge; but there was no edge, only a steepening muddy slope where his runner caught in a rabbit hole and he was suddenly falling, rolling, bouncing.... He saw a flash of sky above him, rain on his face, then he was airborne and he knew that in a matter of seconds his life would be over and all the pain and the suffering and the joy and the striving would end. His consciousness seemed to expand to the horizon, as mind bid a last farewell to existence, and his final impulse was one of thankfulness, as the world spun around him in endless circles of blackness and light.

*

Sharon's first thought, as she struggled to her feet beside the kitchen window, was to run after Jude; but the taller of the two men was already at the gate in pursuit and the other was emerging through the front door. She scuttled to the corner of the house then followed the side wall, pushing through the wet brambles, as she became aware that she too was being hunted. Terror drove her to follow the path across the field at the back, heedless of the rain and mud, not daring to look back.

There was a shout and swearing, but she bolted for the trees at the far side of the field, as an incredibly loud report detonated behind her and the air was filled with death as the top of her right shoulder erupted in pain. But the adrenalin kept her going, as she reached cover and headed for the cliff-top path they had taken together two days before. Now the going was slower, but she knew every twist and turn of the way, as another shout behind told her that she was gradually losing her assassin. Flying past the soft grass at the top of the little cove where they had stopped and sat together, she rounded the bend and then was over the top of the rise. Still not daring to stop, she continued on, taking great gulps of air and wincing at the pain in
her chest and ribs and the growing fire in her shoulder.

Now she was at the divide where one path descended to the beach below. She hesitated a moment, then plunged downwards. At the bottom she turned left and headed North, away from the house. Three minutes later she collapsed behind a large rock and listened intently, through the pounding of her heart. Hearing nothing, she crawled to the edge of the rock and peered around, surveying the beach behind her. She realised she was stretched out in a shallow rock puddle. The rain had almost stopped. The stretch of coastline she had just traversed was deserted.

#  FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Detective Sergeant Kassab sat at his desk in the tiny room he had been allocated at the North Yorkshire Police Headquarters at Newby Wiske Hall, near Northallerton.

His hosts had been lukewarm towards him ever since his arrival on Wednesday afternoon. Their opinion of the Met was a mixture of awe, jealousy and contempt for their big city, suave talking Southern cousins, who had rung up and demanded immediate cooperation on this outlandish case. However, the Chief Constable had told his deputy to accommodate the Detective Sergeant and he in turn had passed it down the line, so that the major crimes division had been forced to make room for him and had listened to his briefing with polite interest.

It was after that meeting, yesterday morning, that he had struck lucky, in the form of Detective Inspector Nash. This diminutive Scot, with shifty eyes and a habit of saying as little as possible to those around him, had introduced himself to Kassab and asked for more details about the case. He had listened intently, while looking with distaste at the assorted debris on his own desk, and then suggested that they take a drive and go and look at the cottage where the couple were staying. Kassab had agreed, on the understanding that they observed only from a distance, since he didn't want to draw attention to the location with a visit from the local constabulary, even if it was in an unmarked car.

On the way there, Nash had explained that he had a particular interest in the local bike gang culture, since a number of his recent cases had centred around these groups and he had made some useful contacts amongst them. He was of the opinion that bikers from London would arouse the interest, even the hackles, of the local outlaws.

As they drove through the red-brick sprawl of Northallerton, Kassab had looked gloomily out at the little roads full of neat houses, at the shops and the schools and the industrial premises, and wondered for the thousandth time how Rupa and Lunah were coping back in Plymouth.

It had been wonderful driving them down there on Monday evening. They had stopped overnight at Yeovil and it had been an exquisite pleasure to book two rooms at the small hotel there, to have dinner together in the hotel's dining room and then to sit in the bar, sipping a
coke, knowing that Rupa and Lunah were upstairs, in the room next to his, safe and sound, under his protection.

His heart had filled with pride at the knowledge that he was able to help them in this professional, but also very personal way. His heart was also overflowing with love for this gorgeous woman and her daughter who had been cast out by her callous husband. Was it just that they were vulnerable, and it pleased him to help them? No. It was far more than that. He had seen the look in her eye and they had both felt the bonds of silken steel which bound them together, as soon as he had come to the house and spoken with her; as soon as he had placed Lunah on his lap and the little girl had looked into his eyes with her own deep, dark wisdom, he had known that he was gone; here was a woman who would change the course of his whole life; who would transform him from a career-driven bachelor into a loving, family man.

In the morning they had driven on, across the green, summer finery of Somerset and Devon, magnificent in their trees, their rich fields full of cows and sheep and their views of villages to either side, as they followed the A303, while Rupa sat in the back with Lunah and sang happy songs and played with her daughter. He had looked in the mirror and every so often their eyes had met and she would smile that special smile of hers that spoke of the secret happiness in her heart and the certainty that she felt about their relationship.

His Aunty had been ecstatic to receive them, had hugged them all with delight, while his Uncle looked on with a twinkle in his eye, smiling at his nephew's good fortune. He had been absolutely sure that they were not followed, so when he spoke to his boss on the phone that evening, and Detective Inspector Cussins had suggested he might like to take a trip up to Yorkshire to keep an eye on Jude Morrow and his lady friend, he had agreed immediately. He had previously arranged to take a week's leave from work, but being a man of action, had actually jumped at the chance to liaise with the North Yorkshire police in this matter. He knew that Cussins had been shaken by the two deaths in London, although he would likely deny this to his dying day. He too felt them keenly and was anxious to prevent a third murder.

So the next morning he had bid a fond farewell to his little family. Rupah had lowered her eyes sadly, but this had given him the chance to hold her close and whisper in her ear that he would soon be back. He had kissed her cheek and she had held onto him tight and then gazed straight at him, her dark eyes speaking volumes. He would never forget that first kiss they had shared, shy and tentative at the start, but then slow and lingering and so full of longing and love. When they had finished and looked at each other, her eyes were full of tears, as were his own. "Come back soon!" She had whispered. "Stay safe, come back soon." He had nodded and smiled and turned away quickly, to compose himself, before he could bid farewell to his Aunt and Uncle.

But now, leaving Northallerton and heading North East across Yorkshire for the coast, he couldn't help but wonder if _they_ were truly safe. Were Jude and Sharon really the priorities here? Wasn't it Rupa who was the witness that Bukovsky had to eliminate at all costs? How could he live with himself if something happened while he was away from them? He had told her to stay in the house and to keep away from windows – but could he be sure that no harm would come to her?

He had looked across at Nash who was frowning and chewing gum, driving the car smoothly, lost in his own thoughts. He had longed to talk to his companion about the fear that was eating away at him, but then decided that this might be viewed as extremely odd by his new hosts. He knew well the reticence of the British when it came to personal matters. He sighed and continued to gaze at the long fences and the vast fields, filled with crops ready for harvest.
When they had arrived at their destination, they parked the car in a layby near the turn-off to the lane and walked back. They skirted around the cottage and noted the lack of any parked vehicles. From the cover of trees just up the lane, they had observed the place for a few minutes.

It had seemed peaceful and idyllic and Kassab had felt a momentary stab of jealousy for the Australian, who had been able to bring _his_ woman to this fabulous spot by the sea and spend time with her here, while he had had to abandon his in order to do his job.

Nash had been unmoved by the waving of the wheat in the breeze in front of them, by the view of the sea beyond the cliff and by the sound of sea-birds, who screamed and dived in the distance beyond it. He had screwed up his face and muttered, "Isolated. Nasty place to get cornered. You sure you don't want to pull them out and put them somewhere we could keep a proper eye on them?"

Kassab considered the options. He didn't want Jude to know that he had followed them and that they were under surveillance. He had no evidence that their whereabouts were known or that they were in danger.

He shook his head. "No. Leave them for now. If we pick up any intel that suggests this location is compromised I'll do that, but we'll leave them where they are for now." He also knew that Cussins would have trouble getting any more funding or resources from his bosses than had already been allocated.

So here he was now, the following day, sat on the squeaky chair, in the cubbyhole of an office, his personal laptop and phone on the desk in front of him. As he gazed at the missing persons poster on the wall opposite, he wondered again if he should phone Rupa and listen to her voice. They had spoken at length last night, but he didn't want to keep bothering her and possibly cause her to worry about him. He started to re-live the kiss again, for the hundredth time and think about future encounters.

His phone rang and he started out of the chair. Could it be her? Were their minds so in tune with each other?

"Nash here. There's been a development. Contacts of mine tell me an unknown group of riders have been seen in the Whitby area. They look like trouble. I think we should get over there and take some back-up. You were saying yesterday..."

"Yes, yes yes. I know. You're right. Meet you in the car park in two minutes." "See you in the armoury first. We need some hardware."

"Right. Where is that?"

Nash told him and he pocketed the phone and ran from the room. Five minutes later they were on the road, with two other police cars in convoy, driving at high speed North along the A167.

*

There was darkness. He became aware that his eyes were closed. A sensation of breathing, each breath a new transfixion of pain in his side, something stabbing his face, and the strange
realisation that this was not death, but a continuation of life, unless....

Eyes opened and through the stems of the thistle bush were rocks, far below, and a wave slowly breaking over them. One arm was extended while the other clutched to his side, smashed and broken, where a rock had crushed it and then pierced his abdomen, creating a surge of agony which consumed him, threatening to send him mercifully back into unknowing.

There was shouting above him...a man swearing and screaming...then further away, another voice and what sounded like an argument. He could neither turn, nor see anything above him, only hang, unmoving, wondering each instant if he were about to roll into space and final forgetfulness. Then remembrance of Sharon and a terrible shame at how he had abandoned her, left her to face this terror alone...and now he wished heartily for that final nudge which would end the pain and the mortification and the self-disgust.

*

Reggie sat in the armchair beside the electric fire in his room, a glass of whisky on the small round table beside him. It was Friday afternoon and the working week was over. He could forget about the college and the classroom and all the unpleasantness that went with them. The weekend stretched gloriously before him. It was true there would be calls to answer and possibly new tenants to install, but he didn't mind that. He already had one new resident, which only left two rooms to fill, given that at this stage they were keeping rooms for Jude, Sharon and Rupa.

He took a sip and replaced the glass carefully. What was happening up North with Jude and Sharon? He smiled at the memory of the conversation he had had with Jude two days before. Love was blossoming up there for his friend. Asked her to marry him a week after he met her! Well, love was a gift from God. These things did happen. Two lonely people whose lives had been shattered. Why shouldn't they find happiness together?

Lord, bless them and keep them from all danger. May their love be true and may they be happy together.

And would Jude's new found faith endure? It had been wonderful to take them along to his Church for Mass. He had spoken of them to Father Bryan beforehand and his friend had done a sterling job of welcoming them to the faith. How he had wished it had been him up the front there, conducting the mass, addressing the congregation! Along with his pride and joy at having Jude and Sharon there, had been a dark undercurrent of envy and longing and bitterness about the past. He shook his head quickly and dismissed the thought as unworthy. His punishment had been just and merited. He still had much work that he could do for God in his life today; like bringing lost sheep into the fold, for example, spreading the good news of Christ. No, there was much to be joyful about, much to thank God for.

Friendship too. He liked Jude and Sharon tremendously, Rupa and Lunah too. The Spirit indeed
worked in mysterious ways, bringing him into this house and to these people. Two had been lost to the powers of darkness, but others could be saved, he prayed fervently.

How long since he had had a real friend? How he had been struck by the Australian the very first time they met. That air of sadness which he carried around with him, and yet a zest for life, for love, for renewal, for faith. Extraordinary. And Sharon too. Such a lovely woman; abandoned and cast off, trying to find a new direction for her life and finding it. Rupa the same. How Jude had drawn these waifs and strays to his house, where tragedy had struck. Yet in all the madness, God still was at work, forging new relationships, new love and hope for the future.

Yet could they avoid the tide of evil that had washed over the house? Could Detective Sergeant Kassab protect Rupa from those who would snuff out her life? And Jude – would he survive those who sought to kill him? Surely there had been enough of that? Surely God would not allow his new follower to be taken so soon?

He said another quick prayer for them, then allowed his eyes to stay closed, as weariness overcame him and the rigours of the teaching week caught up with him. Up above, someone was thumping around, moving furniture, but Reginald never heard it. He slept on for nearly two hours, and only woke when his phone vibrated and buzzed insistently in his pocket. He stirred and slowly placed the mobile to his ear.

"Hello?"

*

The three-car convoy of police vehicles travelled at high speed, with lights flashing and sirens wailing through the steady rain. The time for covert surveillance was over. Once they pulled into the lane in front of the house, armed officers surrounded the building. The front door was open.

After a loud challenge to anyone inside, Kassab and Nash entered, weapons drawn, quickly searched the four rooms and established that the place was empty. They found the broken window in the kitchen and also evidence of drinking and smoking in two of the rooms. Telling his officers to seal off the house as a crime scene, and also to call in forensics, Nash went out the front again, followed by Kassab and they examined the muddy ground carefully. There was a mass of assorted footprints and car tyre tracks. Nash stood thoughtfully trying to make sense of these, while Kassab turned towards the sea.

It was nearly 4.00 pm and the rain was slackening to a thin drizzle. As he followed the remains of the lane towards the cliff, it veered to the right and became a treacherous, slippery, muddy slope which rapidly increased in gradient until it disappeared over the edge. He stopped and looked out to sea, where the low cloud was starting to clear, revealing patches of swell, driving in steadily towards the Yorkshire coast.
He looked down to where his feet were firmly anchored so that he would not slip and slide to his death. He could see clearly some prints in the mud pointing Southwards. He followed these and discovered they soon disappeared beside a rabbit hole, near the edge. He inched closer to the abyss, but could see nothing, except the waves on their final run in to the shore.

Someone was approaching behind him. It was Nash.

"Come back, you fool. That's a fuckin' dangerous slope. We don't want to lose ye. It would reflect badly on the force. Come back here!"

He turned and frowned up at the Scotsman, then did as he was told. He showed Nash the tracks. "I've got a horrible feeling someone _did_ go over here. I hope to hell it wasn't Jude, or Sharon.

Nash was down on one knee, scrutinising the ground. He looked up. "I think you're right, you know." He took the mobile out of his pocket. "I'm going to call in the Coast Guard chopper. They can have a look, see if there's anything down there."

Feeling the dead weight of fear and dread inside him, growing by the minute, he nodded, his mouth a thin line. "Yes."

How could he have been such a....Nash was right. He _was_ a fool – worse. He'd totally misjudged the situation, and now it looked as though more innocent people had been slaughtered. Why hadn't he listened when Nash had advised him about pulling them out of there? He'd thought he knew best. He'd thought they'd have time! And now it had all turned to shit again. Yet again!

He swore in his own language and turned back towards the cottage, feeling numb to his soul and yet boiling with anger and contempt for himself at the same time.

When he got there he saw that the officers had been combing the ground around the house. There was a shout from one of them in the field behind. The two detectives hurried there and the officer pointed to an empty shot gun shell nestled in the long grass beside a narrow pathway.

They left it where it was and Nash directed some of the men to follow the path and search in that direction. Kassab went with them, awaiting the awful discovery of a body, but there was nothing to be seen. They followed the cliff top path for a short way, and then returned to the crime scene.

He was leaning against the side of the car they had travelled in, staring sightlessly across the wheat field, vaguely aware of the rain running down his face and down the collar of his waterproof jacket, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, laddie. You weren't to know it would happen so soon." Nash stared at him hard. "Anyway, don't jump to any conclusions until we have all the facts. There are no bodies here, and that's a good thing."

Kassab looked at his new friend, but could say nothing. He nodded bleakly and then gazed past him at the officers, fanning out across the field, searching for anything that might be evidence.
He clasped the other man's shoulder for a moment, then turned away and walked a short distance up the lane towards the main road. He noticed that the rain had stopped completely.

*

Jude drifted into semi-consciousness, perhaps. At least, he was unaware of time passing, only the constant throb of misery and affliction and a longing for the end. Then there was more shouting above, a voice that seemed vaguely familiar, another voice giving orders and the sound of an engine. He drifted again, this time into full darkness.

*

A sound so loud that it broke through the barriers his mind had thrown up against consciousness. It throbbed and beat a tattoo in the air, sending it rushing against his body like a hurricane. Somebody yelling over the top of the cacophony. He opened his eyes a slit. In his peripheral vision, something orange was suspended to his left. It hung there for some moments and then appeared to vanish, although the rush of noise and wind remained. Then it was back and the top half of him was being wrenched upwards, setting off a tsunami of excruciating pain, as something was placed around his torso, pinning the arm below to his body. Then it was the turn of his feet, as they were bound together.

The orange apparition drew closer and his whole body was raised up and he hung, between sea and sky, spinning slowly round, staring down at the waves, whose tops were being blown to spume by the downdraft of the rotor blades. He was rising higher, as a radio crackled and someone was talking to him in a calm, reassuring voice, whose words he couldn't make out. They reached the level of the helicopter and he and his rescuer swung into the main fuselage, as someone plunged a needle into his arm and there was no more.

*

She had moved away from the sea puddle and sunken down in the sand on her back, still hidden from view by the large rock. The pain in her shoulder was throbbing and growing worse. Hardly noticing it in the adrenalin surge of her escape, it returned now with a vengeance.

The agony in her shoulder was matched by a similar one in her mind. A vision of Jude, his body torn apart by the blast from a shotgun, lying in the mud at the top of the cliff. Or had they
rolled him over the edge? She watched as his limp body plummeted through space and crumpled on the rocks below, or rolled like flotsam in the heaving waves.

She saw him again, opening the door of the house for her, in his old jeans and wrinkled shirt, the stubbly face and bleary eyes, which suddenly focussed and took her in. The beating of her heart as she had followed him into the house and he had shown her room after room. Little Lunah, standing in the doorway of her basement room, staring at her curiously, while her mother screeched and came and snatched her up. The hug she had shared with Rupa minutes later; two abandoned women, thrown away by their men, unwanted, used goods, clinging together in their despair, yet strong together. Rupa's dark eyes. "He is kind man. Kind man..." The strange attraction, falling in love, walking by the canal, through London, discovering this new man, learning him, and he, her. The mystical wonder of physical and emotional love coming together in the same act, the same moment of ecstasy, as years of loneliness and darkness fell away and a new life of sharing and friendship and love began. The madness and mayhem unleashed in the house, the tide of destruction that engulfed Dave and Ali and the drive here, to her home ground, to escape....and survive....but they hadn't...its long tentacles had followed them, even here; and now it was all over....two weeks...when she had been reborn, lifted up, anointed with love, given new life...all over now...her wonderful man blown away...She wanted to descend into darkness and never come out, never have to face this living death again. She longed for extinction, to be blotted out...she could do that...

From far away a throbbing pulse in the atmosphere reached her eardrums, as she lay sprawled on the wet sand. It continued for some time, just on the edge of her consciousness. After a while it faded and died and she was left, teetering on the brink of hell, occasionally staring up at the scudding clouds, aware of the surf, approaching nearer, welcoming its arrival, as pools were filled and hungry waves sent wet fingers of sea water reaching out for her. She wished fervently for its arrival and for the peace it would bring her.

*

Rupa perched on the couch in her hosts' lounge room. Lunah sat on the carpet in front of her, staring mesmerised at the cartoon show on the TV screen before her.

Ayesha and Khaled had been so kind to her, offering her whatever they thought would make her more comfortable and at home. They genuinely seemed to like her and doted on little Lunah, yet Rupa was restless and fidgety. She longed to go outside, even into the garden, but Mahmood had made her promise she would not, and she would rather die than break a promise made to him. She looked through the French windows now, at the small lawn and the flower borders around it, filled with bobbing blooms, in the fading light of the evening. Oh to take one of the deck chairs leaning against the back wall of the house, place it in the middle of the lawn and lean back in it, allowing the sun to fall on her face. She would close her eyes, feel the brightness of the sun through her eyelids and smile, as a breeze cooled the skin of her face.

Something was shaking her knee. She opened her eyes and realised she must have dozed off. Lunah was shaking her leg determinedly. Ayesha was standing to her left, holding a cup of tea
and a plate with biscuits on it, saying, "No, Lunah. Don't wake her up if she's asleep." Rupa smiled at the woman. "No, not sleeping. Is OK."

Ayesha tut tutted the child, then offered the cup of tea, which Rupa accepted. The older woman sat down on the couch beside her and Lunah returned to her study of Western popular culture. She took one of her own biscuits and nibbled on it.

"It is exhausting looking after a child all day and all night, isn't it?" She put the plate down on the carpet. "I remember when mine were little; always something to do, never a moment to yourself." She placed a hand gently on her guest's arm. "This is what we women have to endure." She smiled at the young mother. "I'm so glad that you're here. It's lovely to have some company in the house again. I hope that you can both come here often."

Rupa took the hand and squeezed it, looking into the older woman's eyes. "So kind to me. Thank you." They fell silent for a moment, then Rupa continued in a low voice. "Had friend in London, after my husband...." She faltered. "After left my husband. Was good friend. Let me stay her house; but...husband..." she made a gesture, "children...too many. No room. So....found room of my own, Jude House."

Ayesha gave a little shake of her head. "Jude?"

"Kind man with big house. Renting rooms. I took room in...." she made another gesture with her hand.

"Ah, in the basement?"

"Yes, basement." She stared out the window for a moment. "Nice room, kind man. Met Sharon, good friend. But then....." She shook her head abruptly. "Bad things happen...very bad."

Ayesha placed an arm around her shoulder. "Yes, Mahmood told us a little about that. Don't think about it now."

Lunah turned around and looked with concern at her mother, whose eyes had filled with tears. She was about to get up and give her a cuddle when the mobile phone in Rupa's pocket began to beep. She took it out and put it to her ear.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end sounded tired and strained. "Mahmood here."

Rupa stood up suddenly and covered the phone with her hand. "Could you...?" She indicated Lunah and Ayesha nodded, motioning her away. She left the room and began to walk up the carpeted staircase to their bedroom above.

"Yes."

"Are you OK?"
"Yes, am fine. You?"

She heard an intake of breath. He paused. "Yeah, I'm OK."

She had reached the room and sat down on the bed with the door closed. "You sure? Sound...tired."

"Can you talk? I've got a few things to tell you."

"Yes, am alone now. Ayesha downstairs with Lunah. Tell me." She could hear talking in the background, then a telephone ringing.

"Well, Bukovsky's men were waiting for Jude and Sharon when they came back to the cottage this afternoon."

"Cottage?"

"The little house by the sea where they were staying. Belongs to Sharon's parents."

"So what happen?" She held her breath and listened to the blood beating inside her head. "What happen?"

"Well, they're alive. We think that Jude was chased to the cliff edge where he fell over." There was a pause. "Miraculously he fell onto a ledge, not far from the top. He lay there for an hour or so, injured. When we got there we couldn't find either of them. He was in no shape to call out, or let us know where he was. We couldn't see him at all. Luckily my colleague here called in the rescue helicopter to have a look and they found him. Winched him off the ledge into the chopper."

"So...he alive? Hurt bad?"

Mahmood was speaking to someone, then he came back. "Sorry, missed that." "Jude hurt bad?"

"Yeah...well...his arm is in a bad way and he's got some broken ribs, but considering what he's been through...I mean, he's so lucky to be alive! Almost like someone was looking after him."

"And Sharon?" Rupa waited with dread for news of her friend.

"She's OK too." She must've run in the other direction, along the cliff top and down to the beach. The chopper did another sweep of the coastline, once they had taken Jude to Whitby. Found her lying on the beach, well, in the water, actually. The tide was coming in fast, so she's lucky to be alive too."

"She OK?"
"She's got a wound in her shoulder from a shotgun, but, amazingly, most of it missed her. She's another one with a charmed life!"

"Charm life?"

"I mean she's so lucky to be alive."

"Yes. You right." Rupa paused a moment. "Where Jude and Sharon now?"

"They're both in hospital in York. I'll go in and see them tomorrow." He sighed wearily.

She could hear the constant noise of what sounded like an office behind his voice. "And you? Not hurt?"

"Rupa." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Tell me!"

"I'm fine." The bad guys had left by the time we got there. "Don't worry. I'm fine." "Good!" There was a catch in her voice, as if she might start to cry.

"Rupa." "Mahmood."

"Don't cry, my darling. Sharon and Jude will be OK, in time. And I'm good too."

She couldn't hold back any longer. She started to wail like a child, pausing to sob and sniff, then wail again. Through her tears she heard his voice at the other end of the line.

"Don't cry, my darling, please."

In between crying she managed to get out, "Was so worried, Mahmood. So worried. Always thinking of you, didn't know...."

"Rupa. Rupa can you hear me?" "Yes, what?" She was still sobbing. "Rupa, will you marry me?"

The wailing started again. She could not speak. "Rupa, did you hear me?"

She managed to control herself a little and was reduced to sobbing.
"Yes."

"Well?"

"Yes..." but she could not say any more.

Someone was knocking on the door. "Rupa! What is it? What's wrong? Can I come in?"

When Ayesha entered with Lunah hot on her heels, Rupa was lying on the bed, sobbing into the phone at her ear. Lunah ran at the bed, then was on top of her mother, who grabbed her in her free arm and hugged her tight to her body.

Ayesha was standing by the bed looking distraught. "What is it, Rupa? What's happening?"

#  SATURDAY MORNING

The ward sister had been very firm. "No, you can't see Mr Morrow. He had a major operation on his arm soon after they brought him in yesterday and he is still sedated." She looked up with grudging approval at the handsome young detective. "Tomorrow maybe. Visiting is from 1pm."

"I see." The Sister obviously had a lot of things to do. "What about the lady that was also brought in yesterday? Sharon Nesbit."

The older woman softened. "You're in luck there. She's awake and recovering well." She looked at her watch. "I should really ask you to wait till..."

He took out his Police ID and showed it to her. "Actually, this is a police matter. I really need to talk to her."

She almost smiled. "Well, in that case, Detective..." She peered at his laminated card. "Kassab. Detective Sergeant Kassab."

This time she did smile. "Well, in that case, please follow me."

The room had three beds in it, two of which were occupied. A boy of about 12 was sitting up and playing a game on his phone in the bed next to the door. Mahmood saw Sharon in the bed by the window. She had been looking out, across the housing estate opposite the hospital, and to the flat fields beyond it, but she turned suddenly and gave a small cry of pleasure when she saw her visitor. She looked pale and shaken, but smiled as she extended a hand to him.
"Detective Kassab!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him closer, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her black curls tickled his face, as he pressed his cheek to hers.

They held each other a moment, then she released him and began to fuss. "There's a chair over there. Bring it over." She indicated the space beside the bed.

He did as she asked. When he sat down and looked at her again he was aware that the nursing sister had gone and Sharon's face was now flushed, and despite her tired eyes, she was smiling broadly at him. "So, how is everybody? How's Rupa, and Lunah?"

He grinned sheepishly back at her. "They're fine. Very good. But how are you?"

She looked at him a moment, as though considering the question. "I'm OK. A bit...you know..." He could hear the slight tremble in her voice, as if she might cry at any moment. "But I'm...we're...going to be alright. They told me that Jude..."

"The nurse said they operated on his arm as soon as they brought him in, last night. He is sedated today, but should be able to see people tomorrow."

"Yes. That's what I heard, too." She turned and looked out of the large plate glass window again. A low growl of traffic from the main road below could be heard through the glass. The boy in the other bed made a rude comment about the state of the game he was playing.

He shifted slightly in the chair. "Try not to think too much about what happened yesterday. You may feel as if the tape is playing inside your head, over and over, and it's driving you mad. That's very normal in these situations. It will pass with time. Try to think about happy things."

She turned to him. The smile had gone. Her face was drawn and pale again. "I remember the noise inside the helicopter. They strapped me to some sort of...stretcher. I couldn't move my arms or legs. I...tried to ask them about...Jude, but they wouldn't talk to me. Perhaps they didn't hear me. Then...one of them stuck a needle in my arm and I went out." She was searching his face, remembering. "Can I tell you a terrible secret? I have to tell someone."

He nodded, trying to hold her gaze. "Sure."

"I...I wanted to die down there on the beach. I was sure that Jude was...you know...gone. And I wanted to die. And now I find out that he's... still alive...and..." Her face collapsed and she covered it with both hands, as the tears came and she shook with emotion.

He reached a hand out and grasped her shoulder. "It's alright, Sharon. It's alright."

She reached round with her left hand and grasped his and he could feel the wetness on her fingers. "It's OK. Let it all out."

When the tide of emotion had receded, Sharon composed herself and placed both hands in her lap. She stared straight ahead at the wall opposite. "I...I didn't have enough faith. I...should have known. I shouldn't have given up on him like that." Her eyes were red and raw and again tears rolled down her face.

"Sharon." He leaned towards her. "Sharon, these kinds of thoughts...try not to worry about them too much. Just...watch them come, and then watch them go again. It's just...your mind healing itself. Try not to..."
She turned to him, her face a mask of pain. "How do you know all this? How do you know?"

He smiled. "I'm a policeman. I deal with a lot of people who...have been through difficult experiences. It will pass, in time. Try to be patient."

She nodded and turned back to the window, as silence fell between them. He shifted the chair slightly. "You know it's really extraordinary... well...the way it happened. Quite amazing, really." She made no response, so he continued. " When we arrived at the cottage and found the door open and the place empty..."

She cut in. "How did you know? How did you know to come?"

"Well, we received information about an unknown group of bikers in the area, which rang alarm bells for us. One of my colleagues has some...contacts in the local gangs, and they passed the message on to him. We thought they were probably Bukovsky's men, so decided to come to the cottage straight away."

"And I told you the address before we left London, so you knew where we were."

He nodded. 'That's right. Good thing you did that." She was looking at him with a frown on her face. "Anyway, I was saying, when we got to the cottage and found no one there, but evidence that the men had been there waiting for you, well...to be honest, I feared the worst."

She nodded her head slowly and returned to gazing at the wall. After a pause, she said, " He tried to save me, you know. He pushed me into the shrubbery beside the front door, then took off up the path." She stopped, remembering yet again the horror of that moment. "Then by the time I had got back onto my feet he was gone, with one of them after him. I..." He could hear the catch in her throat." I...panicked. There was a second man coming for me. I took off round the side of the house and I could hear him behind me..."

He stroked her shoulder gently. "It's alright Sharon. You don't have to..."

"No, I need to tell somebody." Her voice was harsh now. "I should have gone after him. I might've been able to do something to help. I might've been able to..." She shook her head in frustration.

He knew better than to argue with her, letting her mind have free rein. They lapsed into silence again.

He took hold of her hand, and held it between his own. "Anyway, we were so worried. Couldn't see any trace of either of you. At first we thought they had taken you away. But then...we were looking at the mud in the lane outside the gate. We could clearly see footprints leading down the hill. When they stopped near the edge...well..." Now he regretted telling her this. "We..." She was gazing at him intently and he could see the pain in her eyes. He let it go.

Kassab gave her hand a squeeze then got up and walked to the window, at the end of her bed. Turned back to face her. "And yet, here you are – both of you – alive and...well, pretty well, considering." His face softened and he turned to the window, where dark clouds seemed to be collecting on the far horizon. "It's almost as if..."

"What? As if what?"

"As if someone was watching over you. We call him Allah."
She said nothing for a space. Then, "Yes. I thought that too." An orderly had arrived with a trolley and was asking the boy what he would like. "Thank God," she whispered.

He smiled at her. "Allahu Akbar."

The tall, dark-skinned man wheeling the trolley was now advancing on them. He nodded at Kassab. "Allahu Akbar. Now, would you like summat to eat or drink?"

He grinned. "Have you got a coffee?"

The man grunted. "Not from round 'ere, then. Yeah, course I 'ave. Milk and sugar? 'Ow 'bout you, luv? What would you like?" He asked kindly.

She gave him a weak smile. "Glass of water, thanks."

"Any biscuits?" They both declined. He gave them the drinks. "Alright then. Be good. See ya bit later on." And he wheeled the trolley out of the room.

After a few moments, Sharon resumed, " So, you said they were gone when you got there...? "Yes, that's right."

"So...does that mean...?"

"But then late last night we got news from the local outlaws. They were onto them too. It seems they chased them somewhere the other side of Whitby and forced them off the road. They pulled their guns out, but apparently thought better of it when they saw the numbers they were facing. The locals called us in and they're now in custody."

She was gazing at him with that frown again. "Wow!"

He grinned at her. "Indeed. Fantastic cooperation between the public and the police, wouldn't you say?"

She smiled back at him. "I would. That's great news. I was thinking..." "That they could come after you any time and try again?"

She nodded slowly.

"No. You don't need to worry about that any more. They're gone. You're safe now." She was still frowning at him. "But what about...?"

"Bukovsky?" He shook his head. "News came in during the night. Dutch police arrested him yesterday in Amsterdam. He's wanted in several countries on a string of charges." He paused and breathed deeply. "The good news is that we'll be able to roll up his whole organisation. He'll give us everything we need. It won't be hard to persuade him to do that."

She was looking at him wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open, then she turned to the window. "This really is a day of miracles, isn't it? Yesterday too. I can't..." He could tell that she couldn't hold it in any more. As she started to sob quietly and then more loudly, he sat on the bed beside her and placed one arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him and let it all out.

#  Epilogue

The basement room of the Mamma Mia Restaurant in Leeds was lit mostly by candlelight, from candelabra, placed on tables in the corners and two more on the table itself. This created an ethereal, enchanted atmosphere around the large circular table and the guests who were gathered there. Jude looked in awe at Reggie opposite, dressed in suit and tie and smiling happily at everyone, at David and Mollie, Sharon's Mother and Father on his right, all in their Sunday best, pleased as punch to be part of the marriage feast. Rupa and Mahmood, with little Lunah between them, sat on his left, Rupa resplendent in a pale green sari, with swirls of cream and lilac passing through it, a golden brooch pinned to her right shoulder, Mahmood suave and debonair in a white suit and dark tie, Lunah laughing and giggling at everyone, in little white pants and a pink top. She was tucking into her roll and butter, while her mother fussed and tried to stop her from throwing bread in all directions.

Lastly he turned to Sharon, on his left, the love of his life and today his bride. She had chosen a pale yellow ball gown with lace around the top, covering her shoulders and arms. She wore a tiny white fascinator in her hair, which she was worried about, and every so often would touch and adjust. Despite this, she glowed with happiness and beamed at everyone, while below the table she stroked his leg and his knee with her right hand, every so often looking up at him with her secret smile.

Jude did not know what expression he wore, but from deep within he felt a profound contentment, a rejoicing, which seemed to throb with a life of its own, as it radiated outwards through him and beyond, to everyone in the room. He grasped Sharon's hand and held it fast against his leg as he reached out for a bottle of water with his good arm and poured some into her glass.

The wedding had been extraordinary. Sharon's Father, David, had insisted that he conduct the ceremony, at his former church in Leeds, and they had been happy to oblige him. St Wilfrid's Anglican was a large, well-appointed church in the Anglo-Catholic tradition, which was delighted to have their former Vicar conduct his daughter's wedding there. Waiting for Sharon to join him at the altar, he had been nervous but exhilarated at the same time, as Reggie stood beside him as best man and they had listened to the excited buzz of the small congregation gathered in the front pews behind them. This muted chatter seemed lost in the vast space which enclosed them, but nothing could dampen their enthusiasm as they awaited the start of proceedings.

As the organ burst into 'Here comes the bride' he had not been able to resist looking round, as Sharon, resplendent in her yellow gown, worried about tripping over it, had walked up the long aisle from the front entrance, her hand on Mahmood's arm, unable to stop smiling at everyone and everything around her. When she had joined him at the front, her elbow touching his, he had looked down at her with such elation and delight, knowing she felt the same; he had been sure there must have been an incandescent light emanating from the two of them, lighting up the church, so powerful was the feeling between them.

David, dressed in his cassock, beaming at the two of them, had said the opening prayer, naming them and asking for God's blessing on their union. At this point Jude had felt himself start to choke up inside, as his throat constricted and an involuntary sob rose up from within. He had started to panic that he would not be able to say the words aloud that needed to be said. What
if he was incapable of speaking, and dissolved into child-like tears? He felt for Sharon's hand, and found it. She seemed to understand his fear, for she gave him a reassuring squeeze and looked up at him. He dared not look back at her, for the panic that she might see in his eyes. He said a quick prayer, asking for God's help and strength to support him, then he had breathed deeply and slowly, and felt a level of calm return, as he realised that her father had moved on to the Bible readings.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13, 4 – 7)

After the readings, her father had started to speak to the congregation. Without going into details, he had alluded to the fact that Jude and Sharon had recently been through a very traumatic and terrifying time. "In fact, we thank God that my daughter and her chosen one are here with us today. We nearly lost one or both of them. But we believe that God was watching over them; he was their rock and their high tower; he brought them through the valley of death and delivered them from evil." He paused and looked round at the small mixed group gathered at the front of the church, then a broad smile spread across his face. "And so it is with great joy that we are gathered here this morning, to unite Jude and Sharon in Holy Matrimony before God and all of you here today, sure in the knowledge that this is God's will and he gives them his blessing on this happy day."

He had invited the congregation to stand and the Rite of Marriage itself began. When it came to the exchange of vows, Sharon had been first. Standing face to face with him, she had looked up into his eyes and, with loving devotion, had recited after the priest:

"I Sharon, take you Jude to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times, in sickness and in health. I will love and honour you all the days of my life."

He had expected that the choking would return and he would be rendered speechless. In fact he felt tears welling and then rolling down his cheeks, but his prayer had been answered, because through the tears he was able to face her and recite the same words, which thrilled him to his soul. They had gazed at each other for a long moment, then her Father had blessed them, and joined their hands together.

Turning to his daughter. "Do you take Jude as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forwards, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

Her eyes never left Jude's. "I do."

He had felt Reggie nudge him and hand him the first ring. This he placed carefully on Sharon's finger. When he had said his own part and Sharon had given him his ring, they kissed and to his surprise Sharon had seized him and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close, as the small congregation clapped and cheered.

Now, he got up and went round the table, pouring water for all his guests. Reggie was congratulating Sharon's father on the ceremony and asking about the church building. Given the gleam in Reggie's eye, Jude felt sure they would soon be discussing the theological subtleties dividing the Catholic and Anglican traditions. Sharon's Mum got up and gave him a warm hug, telling him with heartfelt sincerity how delighted she was that her daughter had
found such a wonderful man to marry, and she knew they were going to be very happy together. She finished with, "Welcome to the family!" And gave him another cuddle.

Mahmood got up and shook his hand and kissed him three times on the cheeks in the middle eastern way. "Well done, Jude! You've made an amazing recovery – so glad to see you fit and well and so happy today! The ceremony was very beautiful." He grinned. "Maybe Rupa and I should get married in the Anglican Church too!"

Rupa got up too and held him close. "Thank you for everything, Jude. You always so kind to me and Lunah; thank you." She stroked Mahmood on the shoulder, "I also met love of _my_ life." She gazed fondly at her man, then back to him. "All because... you and...your house." There were tears in her eyes. Lunah wanted to join in too, so Jude picked her up and she threw her little arms around his neck and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek.

When he finally got back to his seat, the waiter had arrived with wine and was busy filling their glasses. When he had done, Jude rose, holding his own glass and a hush descended on the private room. "My dear friends...I don't make speeches, in fact, I'm hopeless at it, but I just wanted to thank you all for coming. We've all been through a lot together, since chance," he smiled at Reggie, "or God, brought us together at number 15 Hampton Row." He paused and looked at each of them. "I don't know about you, but I have learned so much in the short time we have been together. I have met some extraordinary people." He looked down at his wife, across at Reggie and the others. "I have had some terrifying experiences...and I have had some life changing experiences." He put down the glass and rubbed his left arm with his right hand, where the metal plates, below the skin, still ached at times. "I have learned to open up to the... spiritual side of life. I have learned to acknowledge God and have started on a journey of faith. I am only at the beginning, but I mean to... follow this for the rest of my life. For this I have to thank my dear friend, Reggie." He raised his glass. "To Reggie!"

They toasted Reggie, who raised his glass in return and drank.

"I have come to know some wonderful people." He smiled at Rupa and Lunah and Mahmood and at Sharon's Mum and Dad. "And finally I have met and come to love the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with; my darling wife, whom you all know." He bent down and kissed her lips, while the rest of the company clapped their approval. He stood up again and lifted his glass. "So to all of you, I say thank you for sharing this most sacred of days with us, and may we all remain friends throughout long and happy lives. To you all!" There were shouts and applause as they all drank, even Lunah swigged her cup of cordial, which Mum had brought along especially.

One or two others looked as if they might rise and make speeches of their own, but Jude motioned with his free hand. "No more speeches now, please. Later, if you must. For now, let's eat. Come on, here are the menus; let's choose and order."

Later, after the meal, Jude was able to sit next to Reggie and drink a glass of wine with him, although the former priest, by this stage had a small glass of amber coloured liquid in his grasp.

"Well, old friend," he looked into Reggie's face. "How is the world treating you?" The older man chuckled. "Pretty much as it always has, but I'm used to it."

"I never thanked you properly for all the work you did in the house – finding new people, looking after the money, and all the other jobs that come with it. That was a huge task for you, but you did it without a murmur. Thank you for that." Jude clasped him firmly on the shoulder.
"Oh, that's alright. Actually I enjoyed it." Reggie grinned. "Rather fun to be the boss, even if only for a while. Much more fun that dealing with teenagers in the classroom, that's for sure!" He looked at his host carefully. "Speaking of which, I was going to ask you, do you have plans for the house? I mean are you and Sharon going to come back and live there? I imagine you'd rather get a place of your own, wouldn't you?"

Jude gave a wry grin. "Actually, I haven't really worked that one out. We certainly would like to find a place of our own, of course; but as to what happens to the house....I hadn't really got that far, yet."

They fell silent and looked around the table, where Sharon and her Mum and Dad were chatting animatedly with Rupa and Mahmood. But where was Lunah? Feeling a child-like grip on his ankle, he looked down to see the little girl grinning up at him expectantly. He leaned down and scooped her up onto his knee, where she sat contentedly playing with his tie.

Reggie, delighted to see Lunah at close range, caressed her dark, curly hair. "Actually I have a proposal for you in that regard."

"You do?"

"Yes. Father Bryan was talking to the Bishop and he called me in for a chat the other day. I told him all about your house, and how I had been looking after it for you recently. He was most interested and told me he was looking for a property to acquire to use as a first sort of,,, training ground for potential candidates for the priesthood."

"Is he indeed?"

"Yes. Not in the sense of an actual seminary for training priests, but more like a kind of first sorting house; for young men who had expressed an interest in the idea." He sipped from his glass. "I mean, a lot of Catholic young fellows have an idealistic urge to help the world and their fellow man, and think the way to do that is to become a priest. But of course they have no notion of the level of commitment or discipline required. So his thought is to give them a taste of all that, to weed out the sheep from the goats, as it were."

"I see." Jude paused to stop Lunah from strangling him with his own tie. "And would this scheme involve yourself?"

Reggie nodded. "Yes, he would ask me to be the director, if you like. I'd have help from others, of course, but I would be the live-in person responsible for the residents."

Jude raised his eyebrows. "This is a bit of a change for you, isn't it? It sounds as though there's some rehabilitation going on here, I mean in terms of you in relation to the church."

Reggie smiled distantly. "Yes, you could say that. He asked how I was liking the teaching job and I told him frankly the answer to that! He asked if I would be interested in working for the church again, and when he explained the proposal, I said I'd be delighted. Of course," He placed his hand on Jude's sore arm, "It all depends on whether you actually want to sell the property. I just thought I'd run the idea past you."

Jude looked across the table at his wife, excitedly listening to Rupa's plans for her own wedding. She looked across and blew him a kiss. He did the same, then cocked an eyebrow at his friend. "As long as the price was right, of course." He smiled. "I mean, it would make a lot of sense to sell it, I think. To be honest I was worried about you, not wanting to turf you out,
after all you had done for me, naturally. But if you would be guaranteed accommodation there, then...I mean Sharon has a good job, but I don't, at the moment, and if it meant we could buy a place for ourselves outright, free of debt, well...that would be ideal."

"Mm. Well, I don't want to rush you into anything. You need to talk to Sharon about it as well, of course. But please think about it. The Bishop would be pleased, I would be delighted and if it suits you both, as well, then...I mean, it might work for everybody."

Jude took a sip of wine and allowed Lunah to slide back down onto the floor. "In a way I'll be sorry to see the place go, since it has so many memories for us, both good and bad." He looked around the table again. "But then, I think those friendships and connections have all sort of...reached their natural conclusions, and...well, you would still be there yourself – so I know the place would be in good hands. Perhaps I could even visit you there sometimes?"

"Of course, my friend. Of course! Be delighted to see you anytime."

"Well I think we're agreed then. I will talk to Sharon about it, but I can't imagine she'd object, given the financial advantage to us."

Much later, when Lunah had fallen asleep in her mother's arms, and all the plans and hopes and fears and dreams for the future had been discussed and aired, all the hugs and kisses had been given and all the farewells exchanged, Jude and Sharon sat alone at the table and looked at each other.

She reached out and took his hand. "Well, my love. We've done it. Are you sure you won't regret it?"

He raised her fingers to his lips. "Never. And I've never been so happy in my life. I just can't tell you."

She stroked the top of his bald head, ran her finger down his cheek, around his nose, back to his lips; she drew closer, till he could feel her sweet breath on his face. "Never say never."

*

Back in London, removed in space and time, and alternate universes, the writer sits at the laptop computer and stares at the screen. The page is filled, the story is told, the race is run. He sighs and closes the lid. Around him the house waits, unmoving, listening to the sound of its own silence, as a sudden gust of wind disturbs the night, ruffling the fur of a squirrel who turns in his sleep in the gutter on the roof.

He gets up wearily and opens the door, standing on the dark landing, gazing up at the stained glass window of St George, erect on his horse. He mounts the stairs to the top floor and opens each door in turn, gazing in at the dusty furniture, the roughly made beds, moving through the house. In the shadowy kitchen he makes a cup of coffee and takes it out to the conservatory at the back; lowers himself into one of the wicker armchairs and stares through the panes at the night. A cat curls itself round his legs, tail pointing upwards, then leaps into his lap and settles itself comfortably.
Another gust of wind whistles by and is answered by a northbound train rattling over the bridge nearby. He can just make out the moon, riding high through the scudding clouds, as the branches of the tree move in the breeze.

FINIS

#  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to acknowledge the following sources, with many kind thanks and much appreciation:

  1. All this useless beauty. Song lyric, Elvis Costello.

  2. The Mass of the Roman Catholic Church.

  3. The Prayer of St Francis De Salles.

  4. Prayer to St Jude.

  5. The Thought Fox. Poem, Ted Hughes.

  6. Do not go gentle into that good night. Poem, Dylan Thomas.

