6
L eila
The doctor, Megan, is almost as delighted as I am when I tell her my exam results. “You’ll make a good doctor. I wish you well.”
“Thank you, but I’m not sure…”
“What’s the problem?”
I sink into the chair she indicates. “It’s no good. My family won’t give up. I’ll be in danger as soon as they realise I didn’t die out there in the water.”
“What does Ethan say?”
“I don’t know. But Zayn thinks he can handle my uncle.”
“Then, he can. You can rely on them to keep you safe.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Maybe I can trust these enigmatic men, despite the air of danger coming off them in waves. They’ve certainly not let me down so far.
Frankie drops in with a spare tablet. “You’ll be needing this,” he announces. “It’s mine, but I don’t use it anymore.
“I couldn’t?—”
“Yes, you could.” He drops the tablet on my bed and leaves to get on with whatever geeky jiggery-pokery he may be working on. He gives me a cheery wave. “If you end up studying in Glasgow I may see you around the students’ union.”
Actually, Glasgow sounds pretty good to me. It was always my preferred option. I decide to place my faith in Zayn and I fire up the tablet to let them know I’ll be coming to Glasgow. The return email is speedy in coming. It’s probably an automated response but wonderful anyway.
Dear Ms Mansour,
Thank you for choosing The University of Glasgow. I am delighted to confirm our unconditional offer of a place in the University of Glasgow School of Medicine to commence in the academic year 2023-24.
At the forefront of clinical interventions and discovery, we are one of the largest and most prestigious medical schools in Europe. This means that by studying with us, you can be certain of benefitting from our outstanding facilities and pioneering teaching methods, including the best in clinical experience.
New undergraduate registration takes place on 21 August 2023, and you will be expected to enrol in the courses for your programme by the middle of September. Teaching commences on 25 September 2023.
Once more, may I welcome you to Glasgow and wish you all the very best in your future studies.
Yours sincerely
Ms. H. Rashid, Admissions Tutor
I’m tempted to kiss the tablet screen, but I settle for rushing through to her tiny office to tell Megan.
“I’m going to Glasgow,” I announce. “They confirmed their offer. I start in…” Shit! I reread the reply from Ms. H. Rashid. “Three weeks! I have to enrol by the middle of September. What date is it today?”
“August twentieth.”
“But I have nothing arranged. I need somewhere to live, and money, and…and…”
“Have you spoken to Zayn?”
“Why? I don’t see how?—”
“Here. That’s his number.” She hands me her phone. “Ring him.”
Well, I might as well share my news. I hit ‘call’.
“Megan?” He answers almost immediately. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s me. Leila. Megan lent me her phone.”
“Oh. Well, hi. How are things?”
“Fine. No, great, actually. I contacted Glasgow, they were my preferred option. They just confirmed their offer.”
“Hey, good for you.”
“Yes. And…no. They want me to be there by the middle of next month. That’s less than three weeks away.”
“Okay?”
“Not okay. I have nowhere to live. I don’t know anyone in Glasgow. I have no money.”
“You have your college fund. And your grant for the fees.”
“The grant is okay. The university will tell the student loan people that my place is confirmed and they’ll transfer the funds. But as for the rest…”
“Do you know your bank details?”
“Yes, obviously. But there’s nothing in there.”
“There soon will be. We need to go and chat to Frankie. I’ll come over to collect you.”
“I can meet you there. At the castle.”
“Okay, if Megan will let you out on your own. Has the concussion cleared up now?”
Megan has been listening. She gives me a thumbs-up sign.
“She says ‘yes’. When are you free?”
“Is now any good for you?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be in the hall.”
I arrive at the Caraksay Great Hall exactly nine minutes later and enter to find Zayn is not alone. He’s engaged in a rowdy game of football with two other men and three boys aged about twelve. The table has been shoved up against one wall, and chairs have been pressed into service as makeshift goalposts.
I wait and watch for a few moments, until one of the boys notices me.
“Dad, who’s that?” He points at me in the doorway.
The game stops, and all turn in my direction.
“Ah, you got here.” Zayn jogs over to me. “You remember Ethan, our boss? And this is his brother, Aaron.”
Both men approach, smiling.
“Nice to see you again, Ms Mansour. Are you feeling much improved now?”
“Yes, I am, thank you.”
The other man, Aaron, grins at me. “Good to see you up and about, Ms Mansour.” The boys have clustered around us, too. “These three tearaways are Tomasz, Ethan’s son, my lad, Jacob, and Tony’s son, Robbie.”
One of the boys clutches Ethan’s hand and tugs. “It’s only a girl, Dad. Are we playing?”
Ethan bows his head to speak to his boy. “Tomasz, you know better than that. Where are your manners? Ms Mansour is not ‘only a girl’. She’s our guest and she’s very welcome here in our hall. Apologise, please.”
The lad looks contrite. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Not to me. Apologise to her.”
Tomasz shuffles towards me. “Sorry, miss.”
“My name’s Leila, and that’s perfectly okay. I’m not offended, but Zayn said to meet him here. I’m sorry I spoiled your game.”
“You didn’t, Leila.” Ethan ruffles his son’s hair. “You go play. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Aaron leads the eager troop back onto the ‘pitch’.
Ethan regards me for a few seconds. “I understand congratulations are in order. Medical School, eh? In Glasgow.”
“That’s right, sir. I just accepted their offer.”
“Less of the ‘sir’. It gives this lot ideas. Ethan is just fine. Do you have anywhere to live in Glasgow?”
“No, si— I mean, Ethan. That’s one of the problems. I start there in three weeks, so I need to get a flat or a room somewhere. And quick.”
“I have a house in Stirling. Cristina used to live there before we got together, and I never got round to selling it. It’s converted into an HMO. That’s a house in multiple occupation,” he adds, seeing my puzzled expression. “Perfect for students. Individual rooms. There’s a shared kitchen I seem to recall, but they all have their own shower and loo. Zayn asked me if there were any rooms spare, and there’s one. It’s on the top floor, and it’s yours if you want it.”
I gape at him. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t know if I can afford it. How much rent do you want?”
“I don’t need any rent. But I would expect you to keep an eye on the place while you’re there, let me know of any issues, repairs needed, that sort of thing. The other tenants are all students. There are, I gather, five of them currently, and I’d expect you to collect their rents on my behalf and let me know if anyone doesn’t pay up.”
“You…you want me to work for you?” All my instincts are screaming at me that this is dangerous territory. These people may have been kind to me, they saved my life, no doubt about that. But they are…what? Criminals? I’m not entirely sure what the set-up is round here, but something doesn’t seem quite right.
“You could call it that,” he agrees. “Oh, and you get to keep the rent you collect, to go towards your living expenses. It’ll save you getting a job in a bar or waitressing.”
It’s a good offer. It sounds too good, in fact. Too good to be true? “I’m not certain…”
“Well, the offer’s there if you want it. Let me know.” He shifts his gaze to Zayn. “You on your way to see Frankie?”
“That’s right, boss.”
“You might want to check the kitchen on your way up.” He swings around to head back into the game. “I think I’m in goal.” He raises one hand in a wave and jogs back across the stone flags to where his team is waiting.
Frankie isn’t in the kitchen, to Zayn’s apparent amazement. We find him up in his computer room, hunched over a tablet. He glances up when we enter.
“Ah, you’re here.”
Zayn drags a rickety chair over, having cleared a stack of magazines off it first. “Have you got anywhere?” he asks Frankie as I take the seat he offers.
“Oh, yes. He’s not short of a bob or two, our Uncle Abdul. What does he do for a living?” Frankie is tapping something into the keyboard of one of his desktop machines to bring up a list of some sort.
Zayn turns to me, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m not sure. He has businesses…”
“Buys and sells cars by the look of this. Dodgy motors, probably.”
This is news to me, but I’d believe anything of my uncle since I saw that damning video.
Frankie continues. “Anyway, I found half a dozen accounts with various banks. He likes to shift his cash around.”
“Does that mean my money is gone? Disappeared?” I was relying on that college fund.
“Not at all,” he mutters. “He thinks he’s clever, but he’s no match for Casey’s ‘Dosh Digger’ program.”
“Casey’s what?” I’m baffled.
“It’s based on banking software but with some interesting…refinements. With this, I can hack into pretty much any bank account and track where any deposit came from, and where he sends payments to.”
“I see.” I think.
“I also checked your father’s accounts, and sure enough, seven months ago he transferred the sum of thirty-six thousand, six hundred and fifty pounds to his brother-in-law. Does that sound like your college fund?”
“I didn’t think it was as much as that. I thought it was about thirty-five thousand.”
“There must have been some interest earned. It’s done pretty well since, as well. Abdul invested wisely, in a stocks and shares ISA.” He looks up, grinning. “He’s obviously thinking of tax efficiency.”
“Tax…?”
“There’s no tax payable on an ISA,” he explains. “And he’s earned an average of six percent on it over the last seven months. The balance now stands at thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and eighty.”
“I just want my thirty-five back,” I begin.
“Bollocks,” Zayn declares. “We’ll have the lot, interest as well. It’s yours, Leila. You need that cash.”
“Maybe, but?—”
“Give me your bank details,” Frankie interrupts my protests.
“It’s just a building society account, and there’s nothing much in there…”
“Which building society?”
I tell him the name, and moments later my paltry bank balance appears on the screen.
“Is this you?” he asks.
I nod. “How did you do that? Isn’t this stuff supposed to be secure?”
“Nothing online is secure, not really. Not when a decent hacker gets to work.” He taps a few more keys, and the balance on my account miraculously changes. I am now the proud owner of thirty-eight thousand, five hundred and thirty-five pounds.
“There you go. It’s all yours now.” Zayn gives me a hug. “Spend it wisely.”
“Better still, invest in an ISA,” Frankie suggests. “Like Uncle Abdul.”
We’re heading back down the gravelled pathway towards the clinic when Zayn’s phone rings. He answers.
“Hey, Megan.” He pauses, then, “Yes, she’s still with me. We’re just on our way back.” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” He hangs up.
“What was that about? Tell me what?”
“Megan’s ready to discharge you. Clean bill of health.”
“Oh. Well, good. But…”
“You could go to Stirling, start getting settled in.”
“I’m not even sure about that house. Working for your boss…”
“Well, your choice. You can certainly afford somewhere else now. While you decide, Mrs McRae has found a guest room for you in the castle if you want it. Just for a few days. It’s not especially large, but there’s an ocean view, I gather.”
“That’s really kind.”
“I’d prefer it if you don’t leave just yet. I need to have a word with Uncle Abdul, just to make sure he fully understands the situation, and the consequences if he attempts anything else.”
I just stare at him. “You can’t. He’s…he’s dangerous. You saw that.”
He simply smiles at me. “He’s going to discover just how dangerous I can be. I think I can persuade him to listen.”
I shake my head. “He might do something to you, if he thinks you’re a threat. After what he did, I wouldn’t put anything past him. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“I’m certainly a threat to him, and he’s going to fully appreciate that soon enough. He won’t be doing anything to me, though, or to you. Not again. I need to know you’re going to be safe once you leave here.”
I can only stare at him, lost for words. “Why? Why would you do this?”
He cradles my jaw between his hands. “I like you. I care about you. I went to all the trouble of dragging you out of the ocean.”
I gaze up into his handsome features, take in his deep chocolate-coloured eyes, the determined set of his jaw, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I like you, too,” I whisper. “I think I like you very much.”
“That’s good.” He lowers his head, brushes his lips across mine. “Friends, then?”
“Yes. Good friends.”
He straightens, his grin slightly crooked now. “Shall I show you your room?”
“Please.” Did I just invite a man to my bedroom? A dangerous man, or so he tells me, a man I barely know.
He takes my hand. “It’s this way.”
It seems I probably did. Bring. It. On.