He watched the colour drop out of her face. The breeze sent her hair across her cheek and she pushed it back behind her ear distractedly, eyes never leaving his face.
“Mr Allardice,” she whispered. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
Allardice spread his hands. “Oh Erin, is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked stepping in close. “Can’t I just look you up for old time’s sake? How’s . . . tricks?”
If anything she grew paler still at the deliberate choice of words, glancing sideways to see who was close enough to overhear. But as if sensing the atmosphere the women nearest had sidled away.
So much for feminine solidarity.
Erin caught at his sleeve, tugging at him, her face twisting with desperation. “Please,” she said low and urgent. “I’m out of all that now. I’m clean. I have a life. A proper job—”
“Receptionist at a fancy hairdressers,” Allardice supplied. “Do they know you used to—?”
“Please!” she said again through her teeth, eyes beginning to redden. “Look I did what you wanted didn’t I? I kept my mouth shut. What more do you want from me?”
Behind them the school doors opened and children flooded out like an emptying fish tank, all squeals and laughter. The mothers broke ranks and moved to greet them. Only Erin and Allardice remained stationary.
After a couple of beats Allardice gently removed her hand from his arm. “Just a reminder Erin,” he said. “That I know where to find you. That you still have a lot to lose. More these days I would have said, wouldn’t you?”
A tousle-haired little girl came running across the playground, her stride faltering as she picked up on the tension between her mother and the stranger standing alongside.
With a fearful glance, Erin wheeled away from him and bent to welcome her with arms open. The child ran into the embrace and allowed herself to be swept up, cuddled.
Erin turned back with the little girl on her hip, their heads close together. She seemed to regain a little of her courage now she had hold of her daughter. Maybe she was just putting on a brave face in front of the kid.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Erin swore. “And I won’t!”
“Good girl. Let’s keep it that way eh?”
As he spoke Allardice reached out and trailed the edge of one finger down the little girl’s cheek. Erin flinched but the child just regarded him mutely, eyes grave and huge in a chubby face. He tried a smile. It did not meet with a response.
“Cute kid,” he said stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. He began to turn away, paused. “She looks just like her father.”
55
“IDIOT!”
Myshka’s voice rose to a shriek as it lashed across the room, followed half a second later by a vase of roses. The vase hit the far wall at shoulder height and shattered into a splash of fragments, scattering a burst of broken petals like drops of blood.
Dmitry winced. She’d always had a temper and lately it seemed to have worsened.
“Myshka—”
“How could you let a girl—a nobody—get the better of you?” she demanded, whirling on him with both fists clenched and shaking above her head. “How could you let her get away?”
Dmitry got to his feet painfully. It was evening and he’d come back to Harry Grogan’s apartment knowing a showdown with Myshka was on the cards. He was in no mood to fight. His back was already turning purple from where that bitch had put the boot in and he’d been passing blood all afternoon.
Next time . . .
“I was there only to look again at the territory—to watch,” he said doggedly, trying to keep his voice soothing, reasonable. “And it was too public. Not a good place to take her—”
“It was an opportunity,” Myshka cut in sharply. “A wasted opportunity.”
Dmitry felt his own anger begin to rise but he wisely tamped it down. No point in both of them losing it and wrecking the place.
Besides she was right, damn her.
“It was and maybe I made an error of judgement,” he agreed simply. “I’m sorry.”
The admission and apology seemed to take her by surprise. She stood for a few moments biting her lip, a war of emotions raging in her face, behind her eyes. Then she let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping. She crossed to him, cupped his face with both palms.
“A great general is a man who adapts to circumstance, yes?” she murmured, smoothing her thumbs over his cheekbones. Her talon-like false nails seemed to come perilously close to his eyes. He forced himself not to flinch at the prospect of being blinded on an impulse. “And we cannot afford mistakes—not when we are so close.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But this girl is no general—do not forget that. She is, as you say, a nobody. A cleaner who got nosy. She is on the run. The police are after her.” He paused. “Why not let them catch her?”
“Maybe—afterwards,” Myshka said, pursing her lips. “Until then it would be better if we have . . . control over her, yes?”
“I have put the word out,” Dmitry said. “She cannot hide forever.” He peeled one hand away, pressed his lips into her palm and curled her fingers around the kiss. “The police already believe her guilty. The longer she evades them the more guilty she becomes. After all she has done this before has she not?”
Myshka smiled, faintly at first then wider. “You are right, of course.” She sighed, eyeing the broken vase, the strewn stems and dripping carpet with regret. “Nothing can stop us now.”
And if Dmitry heard the faintest trace of doubt in her voice he kept that to himself too.
56
By the time Kelly reached the tower block in Brixton the rain was coming on hard.
The only good thing about that was it kept people’s heads down and gave her the excuse to do the same. She had the baseball cap tucked well forwards over her face and was confident she was reasonably safe from discovery.
Besides, nobody willingly went to the cops round here.
Kelly had grown up in an area like this, in yet another overcrowded social housing project that hadn’t quite worked. Even so, community spirit had still played a part in those days—the drug-related crime hadn’t quite become all-pervading. She hadn’t been home in a long time. Not for several years before her downfall and certainly not since her release. Her brothers and sister had made it clear there was nothing for her there.
Few people were out on the street in this neighbourhood and those that were gave her a wide berth anyway. She felt like a stranger but somehow one who had never quite lost the look of belonging. Not only that but Kelly realised she was probably putting out fury in waves that were palpable.