The flat was silent. The students upstairs, for all their exuberance, rarely partied until 4am. They were asleep, as was her flat mate Jill, a plain, bookish girl who kept herself to herself, liked early nights and slept with earplugs in. Kate liked being awake when everyone else was asleep. It made her feel secure, confident that no-one was watching or expecting anything of her.
The world was asleep, and Kate felt free as a bird.
When she heard the gentle knock at the front door, she initially thought she must be imagining it. But no, there it was again, louder this time. Her hard-won calm evaporated, but she decided to ignore the intrusive noise. It was probably just some pissed up student who’d got the wrong flat. Just ignore it, she told herself. They’ll go away.
The knocking got louder and more insistent. Kate muttered: “La, la, la can’t hear you.” Then she heard the rattle of the letterbox and her name being whispered through it.
“Kit,” said the voice. “Kit, I know you’re in there. Open up.”
Kate sighed. “For fuck’s sake,” she cursed under her breath as she lifted herself out of the foam. “What now?” She towelled herself down and pulled on her bathrobe, the moth eaten old silk one with the holes in it, and went to let in her brother, James.
“What bloody time do you…” Her half-angry diatribe died in her throat as she pulled the front door open and saw the woman.
“Thank God,” said James. “Help me get her inside.”
Kate’s brother was not tall — about five foot seven — and the woman dwarfed him. He stood in the cold hallway, holding her up. Her head lolled on his shoulder and her feet dragged across the threshold as he and Kate manhandled the unconscious woman into the flat. James kicked the door closed behind him.
“Bedroom,” said Kate.
They gently lowered the unconscious woman onto Kate’s bed. Just for a moment, Kate hesitated. She looked at the woman’s face in the light and was suddenly taken aback. Despite her height, this was the face of a child. Kate mentally re-categorised her — this wasn’t a woman, not quite yet. If she was eighteen, it was only barely. This was a girl; a girl wearing white stilettos, stockings and suspenders, a red basque torn open to reveal her left breast, and nothing else. She had been severely beaten. Her hair was long and blonde, her cheekbones high and her lips full. Kate thought she looked Eastern European.
Her training kicked in. “Call 999,” she said as she lifted the girl’s eyelids and shone the bedside lamp into them, checking pupil dilation.
“I can’t, Sis,” said James, who fidgeted nervously at the end of the bed.
“Fine, then I will.” Kate lifted the handset from its cradle on her bedside cabinet, but James scurried across and made to grab it from her before she could dial. They struggled for a moment before Kate let the phone go and returned to the girl.
“James, this girl needs a hospital,” said Kate, checking the airway for obstructions. “What the hell is going on here? Who is she?”
James was hovering at her shoulder, putting her off.
“For God’s sake, sit down and tell me what’s going on,” she barked as she took the girl’s pulse.
He lingered for a moment then went to sit at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands anxiously.
“I’m in trouble, Sis. Really bad.”
“Save it,” snapped Kate. “The girl.” Check skull for evidence of blunt trauma.
“Her name’s Lyudmila. She’s a prostitute. Kind of.”
“Not your type though.” Examine limbs and ribs for signs of breakage.
“She’s from where I work.”
“You’re a student. You don’t work, you scrounge.”
He didn’t say anything more except: “Is she going to be okay?”
Kate focused on her patient. When she’d assured herself that the girl was in no immediate danger, she pulled the quilt over her and left her to sleep it off.
She grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, ushered James out while she dressed, then joined him in the living room. He was boiling the kettle in the kitchenette. She nipped into the bathroom, collected her wine, then returned to the cracked leather sofa, tucked her legs underneath herself and said: “Get your tea. Sit down. Start at the beginning.”
James plonked himself down at the other end of the small sofa, cradling the mug and biting his lip. Kate had seen her brother up against it more than once — the time he’d been attacked on the street by gay bashers; the day he was expelled from school — but this twitchy nervous wreck was barely recognisable as her flamboyant, devil-may-care, overconfident younger sibling. As he opened his mouth to speak she had an inkling that everything in her life was about to change. She felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach.
But before James could begin, there was another, louder knock at the door.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. His face went even paler, his eyes widened with fear and he stared at Kate like he’d just seen a ghost.
“Who is it?” she asked, but he wasn’t listening.
“They must have followed me. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.” He leaned across and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t open it. Just stay quiet, maybe they’ll go away.”
The knocking came again, louder this time.
“James, it’s 4am and the lights are on. They know we’re here. Who is it?”
“They’re looking for her.” He pointed to the bedroom.
“Why? What are they going to…”
There was a sudden loud crash from the front door, which rattled on its hinges.
“Fuck!” cried Kate, suddenly, finally, scared.
There was another crash and this time she could hear the wooden door frame begin to splinter.
The door to the second bedroom opened and Jill stood there in her sensible flannelette pjs, rubbing her eyes and digging in her right ear for her earplug.
“What the bloody hell’s going on?” she asked sleepily.
Kate leapt up and reached for the phone. “Sod this,” she said. “I’m calling the police.”
“No, Kate, please,” shouted James as he rose to his feet.
Another crash from the door. This time it flew open with a huge crack of shattering wood. All three of them turned to see an enormous man framed in the doorway.
With a square head and haircut to match, the man’s shoulders were so wide he had to turn a little bit sideways and stoop to fit through the doorway. His suit was large and baggy, more like a tent, and he lumbered into the room, his eyes narrowed and threatening.
James stepped forward, putting himself in front of Kate and Jill. He hunched his shoulders like a dog that’s about to be told off by a pack leader, lowered his head, held out his hands in supplication, and started to beg.
“Petar, mate, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. Nate was out of it and Lyudmila needed help, y’know. At least I didn’t go to a hospital, right? Right? I mean, I did good not to go…”
The man raised a huge, ugly paw and backslapped James across the face with such force that he flew sideways, crashing into the sideboard and collapsing to the floor in a dazed heap, the silhouette of the man’s hand etched onto his face in livid red.
“Hey,” shouted Kate, stepping forward and jutting out her chin defiantly. “You leave my brother alone.”
He raised his other hand and gave her the same treatment. It felt like being hit in the face with a girder. It lifted her off her feet and sent her sprawling into the kitchenette, scrabbling for purchase on the lino.
It was the first time in her life that anyone had ever hit her. She sat there, stunned, so surprised and shocked that she had no idea how to react. Out of the corner of her eye she registered Jill stepping backwards into her room and closing the door. The giant ignored her, instead opening the door to Kate’s room where the injured girl was still in the bed.