“Yes,” she said. Charles stared at her, paralyzed by the word. “Take them to the hospital. Straightaway. They cannot wait for a doctor, or an ambulance-take them now. Dorchester. Tell the doctor there what they’ve eaten…”
“But you’ll come with us-you’ll come and help. Take Élodie. Delphine! Open the doors for us!” Charles wrestled Celeste’s jerking body into his arms and carried her towards the door, and Delphine rushed ahead to clear the way, and Dimity was left to lift Élodie. She did it slowly, almost tenderly. The thin little body was like a peculiar wood, hard and unyielding and yet warm at the same time. No flicker of movement over her face, no change of expression at all as Dimity lifted her. And as she carried her down to the blue car, Dimity did not think she could feel the movement of air from her open mouth anymore. There was nothing behind the black disks of her eyes. Dimity’s skin crawled away from Élodie as she climbed into the car, and there she remained, trapped beneath her with no way to escape.
Zach stared in amazement at Hannah’s cluttered kitchen table; or rather, at the figures seated around it. Ilir was standing foursquare to the door, defensively, his face still racked with fear and anger, and he was holding the hand of a tall, thin woman, who, in turn, had her arm wrapped tightly around a little boy of about seven or eight years of age. Zach stared at them, and they stared back at him. Their faces were pale with fatigue. The woman’s hair was dark brown, long and straight, parted in the middle and tied back in a simple ponytail. Her forehead was lined with worry.
“Zach, let me introduce you to Rozafa Sabri, Ilir’s wife, and their son, Bekim,” said Hannah, standing beside him, her body still tense with emotion.
“Hello,” said Zach woodenly. Ilir said something impatient in a language Zach couldn’t understand, and Rozafa looked up at him anxiously.
“In English, Ilir?” said Hannah.
“They cannot stay here. Not even for one night.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Rozafa… there’s been a slight hitch.” Zach felt all eyes turn to him, as if he were to blame. He was sweating beneath his jumper and coat, an uncomfortable prickle that made him fidget. “Zach’s going to take you somewhere safe. It seems that… that the police might be coming here shortly-”
“Policija?” said Rozafa, her eyes widening. The child beneath her arm did not react. He gazed distantly at Zach as if only half awake. When his mother stood up and pulled him up with her, he moved slowly, clumsily. Rozafa stooped, gathered him into her arms, and looked from Hannah to her husband. Ready to run, Zach saw. However tired she might be, she was ready to take her child and run. They were plainly exhausted, badly in need of rest. With a guilty flush, he reminded himself how convinced he’d been that Hannah was smuggling art, or drugs, when it had been something far more precious, far more fragile.
“Now do you see? Why I couldn’t tell you? Why this needed to be kept a secret?” Hannah asked him intently.
“You could have trusted me. I would have understood.”
“I didn’t know that. Not for certain. But I’m trusting you now. Take them somewhere else. Right now, before the police show up. Okay?”
“Where… how should I take them? Should I take the jeep?”
“No-they’ll see you go up the lane, and you can’t drive off into the fields without headlights-you’ll get killed. Go on foot-somewhere safe. Anywhere.”
“The Watch. I’ll take them to The Watch,” he said. Hannah hesitated, frowning, and then nodded.
“Good. Keep out of sight. We’ll just have to hope they don’t think to look there.”
“Why would they?”
“Because… No, never mind. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Go on-hurry!”
Glancing up the lane, which was sunk in darkness, Zach ran across the yard with Ilir and Rozafa close on his heels. This is unreal, he thought, in a quiet hindquarter of his brain that was staying well out of it and watching to see what would happen. At the gate that led into the fields spreading up to The Watch, Ilir stopped. He spoke rapidly to his wife in what could have been Serbian, or Albanian, or Roma, and Rozafa replied, her voice high with alarm, as Ilir turned to go. She put out her hand and grasped his sleeve.
“Isn’t he coming with us? Aren’t you coming with us, Ilir?” said Zach.
“Hannah might need me here, when they come. I will stay with her.”
“But they might ask to see your passport…”
“If I leave, they will wonder where I am. Maybe they come looking,” said Ilir resolutely. “Now go-take them somewhere safe. Please.” He stared at Zach for a second, and Zach read the dread of their discovery in his face, and he nodded.
“Keep your mobile switched on,” Hannah shouted as they hurried away.
They ran as quickly as they could up the dark hillside, which was steeper on that side of the valley. Tussocky grass tripped them, and it was almost easier to lean forwards and use hands, to scramble on all fours. When they’d gone two hundred meters or so, they reached a fence and paused. Zach turned to look over his shoulder. The three police cars were pulling into the farmyard below them; no sirens, but their blue lights impossibly bright in the darkness.
“Down! Get down,” he said. Rozafa stared at him in incomprehension, and he realized that her English was not as good as her husband’s. He pulled at her as he sank low to the chilly, wet hillside, and she copied him, crumpling herself over the little boy. He could hear her whispering gently to him, a stream of soft words that might have been a song, or a nursery rhyme. Zach could smell fear on their unwashed skin, and he swallowed, feeling the vastness of this responsibility settle onto him. Rozafa had no choice but to trust him, not only with her own fate but with that of her child. He turned to look up the hill, but could see nothing but darkness. Shreds of sheep wool surrounded them, hanging from the wire fence like garlands and dancing in the wind. The smell of them was greasy and rich. Below them six police officers, one leading a bounding Alsatian, climbed out of the cars and ran over to the house. Three peeled off and jogged around to the back, cutting off the exits. There was nothing in there for Hannah to hide, but Zach suddenly felt frantic at the thought of her trapped inside, under attack.
“God, I hope that dog only sniffs out drugs, not people,” he muttered. Rozafa’s head came up at once when he spoke, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Come on,” he said.
They hurried on up the hill, and after a short distance Zach turned and took the little boy from his mother, hoisting him up to ride piggyback, and hurrying on again. The child weighed almost nothing. A piece of driftwood, fresh in off the sea. Zach suddenly realized how dangerous it must be to cross the Channel in a small fishing boat at night; how long and uncomfortable and dark that journey must have been. Human jetsam, exhausted and on the brink; on the edge of disaster. He could not imagine risking what they had risked, could not imagine how frightened they must be. He tightened his grip on Bekim.
After ten minutes that felt like an eternity, Zach saw the white shape of The Watch looming faintly in the darkness up ahead. Gasping for breath, he led them to the front door of the cottage, passing the boy back to Rozafa as he knocked. He turned to look down the hill again, desperate to know what was happening at Southern Farm. There was nothing to see. The police cars still sat on the yard, one set of blue lights flashing. Zach knocked again, and thought about how confused and afraid Dimity had seemed when he’d turned up earlier in the day.
“Dimity, it’s only me, Zach. I’m… back again. Please, can we come in? It’s very important… Dimity?”
“Zach?” Her voice came through the door, faint and croaky.