‘Hi, Peter. What are you doing here?’
‘I need to talk to you, Vivien.’
There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice, which made the smile on her face fade quickly.
‘Sure, go ahead.’
‘Not here. How about going for a walk?’
Surprised, Vivien left her desk, and soon they were outside. Curtin set off in the direction of Third Avenue and Vivien fell into step beside him. There was tension in the air and he attempted to lighten it. For whose sake she wasn’t sure.
‘How are things? Bellew still keeping you all on a tight leash?’
Vivien came to a halt. ‘Stop beating about the bush, Peter. What’s going on?’
He looked at her from another place. And it was a place that Vivien didn’t like at all.
‘You know what this city’s like. Escort services, crap like that. Asian Paradise, Ebony Companions, Transex Dates. Eighty per cent of the places that advertise massage, health treatments, that kind of thing, are covers for prostitution. It happens everywhere. But this is Manhattan. This is the centre of the world, where there’s more of everything…’
Peter came to a halt, and finally made up his mind to look her in the eyes.
‘We had a tip-off. A luxury apartment on the Upper East Side. Used by men who like very young girls. Boys, too, sometimes. All minors, anyway. We went in, rounded up the people we found. And…’
He made a pause that for Vivien was a premonition. In a thin voice, she uttered a supplication as long as a single word. ‘And?’
And the premonition became reality.
‘One of them was your niece.’
The whole world started whirling like a carousel out of control. Vivien would have preferred to die than feel what she was feeling just then.
‘I was the one who went into the room where…’
Peter didn’t have the strength to add anything else. But his silence let Vivien’s imagination run wild and that was worse.
‘Luckily I knew her and managed by a miracle to keep her out of things.’ Peter put his hands on her arms. ‘If the story gets out, then social services get involved. With a family situation like yours it’s possible she’d be put in an institution. She needs help.’
Vivien looked him in the eyes. ‘You’re not telling me everything, Peter.’
A moment’s pause. Followed by something he’d have preferred not to say and she’d have preferred not to hear.
‘Your niece is doing drugs. We found cocaine in her pocket.’
‘How much?’
‘Not enough to suggest she’s dealing. But she must be doing quite a bit every day if she reached a point where…’
Where she prostituted herself to get money, Vivien completed the sentence mentally.
‘Where is she now?’
Peter gestured with his head towards a point somewhere along the street. ‘In my car. A female colleague is keeping an eye on her.’
Vivien shook his hand, to convey her gratitude and feel his warmth in return. ‘Thanks, Peter. You’re a friend. I owe you one. Hell, I owe you a lot.’
They walked to the car, Vivien going that short distance like a sleepwalker, with an urgency in her and at the same time a fear of seeing her niece and…
… the same anxiety with which she was waiting for her now.
A sound of footsteps behind her made her open her eyes again, bringing her back to a present that was only a little better than the past.
She rose and turned towards the entrance. Her niece was there, holding a gym bag. She was as pretty as her mother, and, like her mother, she had been broken in some way. But for her there was hope. There had to be.
John Kortighan had stayed back, in the doorway. Protective and vigilant, as always. But so discreet that he did not want to intrude on this private moment. He simply gave her a nod that was both a greeting and a confirmation. Vivien returned the greeting. John was the right-hand man of Father McKean, the priest who had founded Joy, the community that was taking care of Sundance and other kids who’d been through similar experiences.
Vivien lightly touched her niece’s cheek with her hand. She couldn’t help feeling guilty whenever they met. Guilty over all the things she hadn’t done. Guilty over being so busy dealing with people who meant nothing to her that she hadn’t realized that the person who most needed her was the one closest to her, who, in her way, had asked for help and nobody had listened.
‘Nice to see you again, Sunny. You’re looking very pretty today.’
The girl smiled, with a wicked but not provocative gleam in her eye. ‘You’re pretty, Vunny. I’m beautiful, you ought to know that.’
It was game they’d played since she was a little girl, when they’d given each other these nicknames as a kind of code. In those days, Vivien would brush her hair and tell her she’d be a great beauty one day. Maybe a model, maybe an actress. And together they would imagine all the things she could be.
All except what she’d actually turned out to be …
‘What do you say, shall we go?’
‘Sure. I’m ready.’
She picked up the bag, which contained a change of clothes for the days they would be spending together.
‘Did you bring your rock gear?’
‘You bet.’
Vivien had managed to get two tickets for the U2 concert at Madison Square Garden the next day. Sundance was a fan of the band. The concert had been one of the main reasons why she had been granted these two days away from Joy.
‘Let’s go, then.’
They walked back to where John was standing. He was a well-built man of medium height, simply dressed in sweatshirt and jeans. He had a frank, open face and a positive air. He looked like a man who thought more about the future than the past.
‘Bye, Sundance. See you on Monday.’
Vivien held out her hand, and he shook it. He had a firm grip.
‘Thanks, John.’
‘Thank you. You both enjoy yourselves now. Go on – I’m staying here for a while longer.’
They went out, leaving him in the quiet of the church.
The evening had chased away all trace of natural light, clothing itself artfully in artificial lights. They got in the car and set off for Manhattan. Vivien drove calmly, listening to what her niece was saying, letting her talk about whatever she wanted to talk about.
Neither of them mentioned the girl’s mother, as if there was a tacit agreement between them that all dark thoughts were banned from now on. They weren’t trying to betray or ignore their memories. They both knew, without having to say it, that what they were trying to rebuild wasn’t only for the two of them.