19
L eila
I wake up, stretch, and reach out my left hand.
Empty space. Zayn is not back yet.
I’d hoped—expected—that he’d arrive back overnight, but no. I’m alone in the bed.
I resisted phoning him last night, but only just. He told me he might be away for days, and he only left yesterday afternoon, so really, it’s not even been one full day.
What can he be doing in Birmingham? I didn’t even realise his boss had business there, but what do I know?
I swing my legs out of bed and perch for a moment. It’s still early, not quite seven o’clock, but I won’t be getting any more sleep. Might as well hit the shower, then go down and see what there is to eat. With luck I could run into Jack Morgan, or Jenna, Tony’s partner. Either of them would know when to expect them back, I should think.
My toxicology exam is later today. A four-hour paper, starting at one, and I absolutely can’t be late for it. I’m feeling a bit more confident, I’ve done a lot of work in the last couple of days and I may even have a sporting chance of passing.
I shut off the shower, wrap a fluffy towel round my hair, and drape myself in another, then pad back into Zayn’s bedroom. Thirty minutes later, hair still damp but no longer dripping, I make my way down to the kitchen.
Ruth is seated at the table trying to convince a dubious toddler of the merits of breakfast cereal.
“Try a little, Faith. It’s nice. Look.” She takes a mouthful herself, then takes an exaggerated show of how delicious it is. “Yum, yum. Mmm…”
Faith eyes her coolly before tossing her spoon on the floor and demanding a banana.
Ruth knows when she’s beaten. She sighs and reaches for the fruit bowl. “I guess there’s nutrition in a banana… Oh, morning, Leila. There’s coffee made if you want some.”
I prefer tea, but coffee is okay. I pour myself a cup and top up Ruth’s. “Any cereals left?”
“Loads.” Ruth shoves the box in my direction. “Bowls in the cupboard.”
I sort myself out and take a few mouthfuls, then set my spoon down. “Is Jack about? Or Jenna?”
“Jack’s in the office. Not sure about Jenna. Can I help?”
“I was wondering when to expect Zayn and the others back, that’s all.”
“Ah. Sorry, I’ve no idea. Missing him?”
“Yeah, I suppose. And he was going to give me a lift to the university later. It’s my exam today.”
“Someone else will give you a ride, that’s no problem. Or you could borrow my car. I’m not using it today.”
“Oh, well, I’m not sure…”
“Do you drive?”
“Yes, I passed my test two years ago, but I haven’t had much opportunity to practice.” I was always a bit of a nervous driver and certainly can’t afford my own car yet.
“Well, it’s time you did. That’s settled, then. It’s the white Peugeot in the garage. I’ll leave the keys on the table for you.” She gets to her feet and scoops up her daughter. “We need to be off. Good luck with the exam.”
She hurries off, leaving me to finish my breakfast alone. I take the opportunity to plan my day.
I have a couple of hours for last-minute revision, then perhaps an early lunch and set off to the university at around noon. The car is great, better than public transport, but I’ll still have to find somewhere to park, and I prefer to arrive a few minutes early, just to collect myself.
Back in Zayn’s apartment, I settle down in my usual spot by the window, files, books, and my laptop scattered in front of me. I’m reviewing recent field studies to assess the harmful impacts of new technologies on human populations and the environment, and most of it is familiar enough. I just need to go over my notes from the start of the year on diagnostic techniques…
Shit. I rifle through the documents before me but have to face the facts. My diagnostic stuff is in my old notebook, and I haven’t seen that among the papers and such like that Zayn collected for me. It must be still in my flat. I left a pile of notes in the bottom of my wardrobe, yes, that’s where it will be.
I check the time on my phone. It’s not yet ten o’clock, I have plenty of time to nip over to the flat, collect my notes, then head down to the university library to finish off my prep for the exam. Zayn said there was work going on, something to do with security improvements, but if the locks had been changed, he’d have told me, surely. And he did definitely say that Mehrban and Iftikar had been warned off and there’d be no more trouble from them. It’s safe enough for me to go about my normal business again.
My decision made, I grab my coat, shovel all my stuff into my huge leather work bag, and make my way down to the kitchen for the car keys Ruth promised me.
I find them just where she said they’d be and pocket them before strolling out to the garage. Jack’s there, with three of the men. He points out the white Peugeot and wishes me luck for the exam.
It takes me a few minutes to get the hang of the car. It’s an automatic, and I learned to drive in a manual, but it all seems simple enough. I lurch out of the garage and navigate the driveway in a series of jerky hops, but by the time I reach the main road I’m more or less under control.
So far, so good. I turn left and head for Stirling.
I pull up outside the house where I live, behind a huge skip half full of rubble and blackened furniture. I gape at it in horror.
What the…? Is that my wardrobe? Or what’s left of it?
I get out and peer over the edge of the skip. Yes, definitely my wardrobe, a grey veneer with black trim. Or it used to be. And I’m pretty sure I see my fridge as well. It was new, I only bought it a few months ago, now it seems like it’s been cremated.
I take the steps up to the front door two at a time and let myself in. Everything appears normal in the hallway. I start on the stairs. All looks well on the first landing, and on the second. As I make my way up onto my floor, I’m hit by the unfamiliar smell. Wet paint, and something else. Chemicals? Burning? Smoke?
Oh God! I break into a run.
Mine is the only flat on the top floor, and the door is missing. There’s just a gaping space where it should be, and on closer inspection, I spot my door propped on its side. Except, it’s not mine, it’s a new one.
Why do I need a new door?
I hear voices inside, male voices, voices I don’t recognise. I charge through the doorway to be met by a scene of utter chaos.
My home is…not here. Ripped apart. The furniture is gone, most of it, I assume, down on the pavement in a skip. The floorboards are bare where once there was a bright-blue carpet, and the walls are blackened with what seems to be soot. I stand, aghast, gaping at the four men in overalls who appear to be merrily chipping off my plaster.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” I stammer, grabbing the man closest by the elbow.
He seems almost as surprised to see me as I am to see him. “Miss? Can I help?”
“This is my house. My. House.”
“Oh, well…”
“What happened? What happened here?” I’m almost screaming at him, stunned with shock, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Miss, I think?—”
“Leila? I thought it was you.”
I whirl at the voice behind me, on the landing. It’s Gregory, my neighbour from one floor down. A nice enough guy, I suppose, though I don’t really know him.
He steps into the flat and glances to his right and his left. “Crikey, what a mess. Still, it’s coming on.”
“A mess? A mess ?” My fingers are tearing at my hair. “What’s this about? Do you know what happened here?”
He takes my elbow. “Shall we go downstairs to my place? I can put the kettle on.”
“I don’t want a kettle. I want my home back. I don’t understand…”
He tightens his grasp on my elbow and steers me out of there when my resistance melts away to be replaced by a sort of stunned numbness. “Let’s let these guys get on. We can have a chat downstairs, I’ll explain everything.”
In a daze, I let him manoeuvre me down one flight of stairs and into his flat. His flatmate, Orlando, has already made some tea. Between them they plonk me in a chair and wrap my nerveless fingers around the mug.
“I wasn’t sure about sugar…” Orlando murmurs.
I’m beyond thinking straight, and sugar is the last thing on my mind. “Just…what…? How…?”
“There was a fire,” Gregory begins. “Three nights ago.”
“I… I didn’t know. I wasn’t here…”
“I know that. Just as well, really.” Gregory pulls up a kitchen chair to sit in front of me. “Drink your tea, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
The words wash over me. I take in just a fraction of what he’s telling me, and he has to repeat himself several times before the awful reality sinks in.
“Someone torched my flat,” I repeat, as though saying it out loud will somehow make it real and comprehensible. “On purpose. They did it on purpose…”
“Yes,” Gregory agrees. “Yes, they did.”
“But…why? Why would someone do that? Who would do such a thing?”
“We didn’t know them, but they were both Asian, aged perhaps mid to late twenties.”
“There must be a mistake. No one would do that…”
“I’m sorry, Leila. There’s no mistake.” Gregory is not shifting. “It was arson, no doubt about it. And, as far as we could tell, they thought you were inside.”
The implications of his words clatter around in my head. “They were trying to kill me?” I breathe. “Me?”
Gregory nods.
“Who…? Who were they? Why would they…?” Further speech escapes me. I fall silent.
“Like I said, we didn’t know them, but I got the impression your boyfriend did.”
“My boyfriend?”
“Yes. The Asian guy who came with Tony and those two other blokes to survey the damage. I assumed…well, he seemed so fucking angry, I just thought…”
I nod. “Zayn? Zayn knows about this?” He knows my home was torched, and he said nothing. Bewilderment becomes anger. How could he keep this from me?
“He told me he’d spoken to them, warned them. That I’d have no more trouble from them…” I’m babbling now, desperately trying to make some sense of all this. “He told me I was safe…”
Gregory and Orlando remain silent, exchanging sympathetic looks. They offer me more tea, which I accept in a daze. Suddenly, I jump to my feet.
“I have to go.”
“Okay. Where are you going?” Gregory stands, too. “You’ve had a shock. I could call someone.”
I shake my head. “I have an exam. I need to go. I can’t be late…”
“You’re going nowhere, not just yet.” Orlando places himself in front of me.
I’m dimly aware that Gregory is on his phone, but I ignore him.
“They were my cousins. Stupid thugs, both of them, but if Zayn has warned them off… I’ll be safe now.”
Orlando shakes his head. “I don’t know your boyfriend, but I didn’t get the impression it was a warning he had in mind.”
I round on him. “What do you mean? What did he do, then?”
“We don’t know, but…it didn’t seem like they only meant to have a little chat.”
“You’re saying Zayn might have hurt them?” I accuse angrily.
“Well, perhaps. He was…fucking furious. And, let’s face it, they had it coming.”
“He can’t have done anything, not like that. He wouldn’t, not without telling me.”
Neither of them has an answer for that. I sink wearily back into my chair, an awful sense of dread gnawing at my insides. Could it be true…? Has Zayn actually hurt my cousins? Maybe they deserved…something, like Orlando said, but…”
I let my head fall into my hands. This can’t be happening, it really, really can’t be happening.
“Leila? Leila, are you all right.” A gentle hand on my shoulder gives me a small shake. “It’s time to come home now.”
I raise my gaze. Ruth is here, looking down at me, a soft, sympathetic smile on her face.
I blink, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Gregory phoned the mansion. He thought you might need a ride home.”
“But I have your car. It’s parked outside. I need to go to the university…”
She shakes her head. “You’re in no fit state to drive or do an exam. We’re taking you home.”
We? For the first time, I notice she didn’t come alone. Her husband is lounging in the doorway.
He murmurs to Gregory as his wife eases me onto my feet, “Thanks for taking care of her. I’ll send someone over to collect the car.”
Trying to argue with Jack Morgan is futile, I know that. I allow myself to be steered out onto the stairs and back down to the ground floor where a large, black Audi is parked behind the modest little Peugeot. I slide into the back seat, followed by Ruth.
“What about my exam?” I protest, but weakly. I really don’t feel like it right now.
“We can sort something out,” Jack answers from the driving seat. “There must be retakes or something.”
There are, but… It’s not ideal, but I can see I have no choice. I subside into silence.
The journey back to Caernbro Ghyll gives me an opportunity to think. To plan. As soon as the Audi glides to a halt at the front steps, I’m out and charging up to the main door.
“Leila, wait…” Ruth calls after me, but I’m not listening.
I run up the stairs and let myself into Zayn’s apartment. First things first, I dial his number on my phone. If he has some sort of explanation, I might as well hear it. Maybe he can make all this go away.
The call goes to voicemail. I leave a message. “Zayn, I went to my flat. I saw the…damage. Call me. Please.”
I wait for ten minutes, but no returned call. I try again and leave another message. “I know it was Mehrban and Iftikar. What did you…did you do something to them?”
I pace the floor for a further ten minutes before trying again. “Zayn, I need to talk to you. Call me back. Please. It’s urgent.”
I wait half an hour before admitting defeat. He isn’t going to phone me back. I make another call, this time to my Auntie Farina, Uncle Abdul’s wife and Mehrban and Iftikar’s mother.
“Auntie?” I blurt as soon as she answers. “It’s me. Leila.”
“Leila?” She sounds to have been crying. “Is it you?”
“Yes, Auntie. I?—”
“Have you seen your cousins?” she demands. “Or your uncle?”
“I…no,” I begin. “I was?—”
“They’ve disappeared,” she sobs. “Two days ago, and not a word.”
My knees go weak. I sink onto the bed. “What…what happened?”
“I don’t know,” she wails. “The boys went to work, as usual. They never came back. I’m so worried. The police say they’re not vulnerable, not a priority, but I know something’s wrong. They would never just go off, not without saying anything.”
“The police?” My head is spinning. “You called the police?”
“Of course, I had to. It’s been two days.”
“Yes, I see, but…”
“Are you sure you haven’t heard anything from them? Or your uncle?”
“No. Nothing. I’m sorry…”
There’s more sobbing down the line. I’m out of words of comfort, if I ever had any.
“I need to go now, Auntie. I’m sorry. I hope they… I hope they come back soon.”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the bed.
Two days. They haven’t been seen for two days. Deep in my soul, I know they’re not coming back. Never.
I know what I have to do, but first I make one final attempt to reach Zayn.
“I spoke to my auntie. They’re gone, all of them. Two days. Two fucking days. What did you do? What did you fucking do?”
There’s nothing more to be said. Galvanised into action, my decision made, I grab my holdall from the wardrobe and start throwing my stuff into it.
“Going somewhere?”
I whirl at the male voice behind me. Jack Morgan is in the doorway, regarding me with an expression that might almost be sympathy, but I doubt he’d recognise that emotion.
“Yes,” I snap. “I’m done here.”
“Without talking to Zee?”
“I tried. He isn’t picking up.” I glare at him. “I need a lift into the city centre.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
“The police,” I bite out. “It’s time all this was…was stopped.”
“I don’t think so.” He moves into the room. “You can’t go to the police, and you can’t leave. Not until you’ve spoken to Zee.”
“Are you going to stop me?” I demand, somewhat foolishly, I realise, the moment the words leave my lips. Of course he can stop me, and he will. By force if need be.
Sure enough: “Yes. If I have to. I prefer it not to come to that, though. Shall we talk?”
“What is there to talk about. Zayn murdered my family. Didn’t he?”
“Leila…”
“ Didn’t he? ”
“Yes,” he concedes at last. “You could say that.”
I collapse onto the bed. “Why? Why would he do that? There was no need, he could have?—”
“There was every need,” Jack replies, cutting off my protests. “It was them or you. Zayn cares about you. Maybe he even loves you, I don’t know. But I do know he needed to protect you, and this was the only way.”
“It wasn’t, surely. There was evidence. Witnesses. They’d have been arrested for arson. Attempted murder, even.”
“Yes, perhaps. And they might even have been charged. It’s even possible a jury might have convicted them. You can never tell. But what if that didn’t happen? What if they somehow wriggled out of it? They’d deny everything, obviously. They’d come up with alibis to prove they were nowhere near your flat. It’d be Gregory’s word against theirs.”
“What about the video of them trying to drown me?”
“Are you looking forward to explaining to the police why you waited two years before mentioning it? No, thought not.” He pauses to let me think it through. “Zayn’s way was best.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be right.”
“Well, think of this, then. If the police get involved, that will be inconvenient for us, but we’ll cope. We can pull a few strings, settle everyone down again and make it all go away. But if they have specific names— Zayn, Tony, Rome, Nico—they’ll be brought in for sure. Questioned, quite possibly charged with murder.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t?—”
“Murder means an automatic life sentence, whatever the reasons. Is that what you want?”
“No, obviously not, but there were special circumstances.”
“Fuck the circumstances. I don’t want my men in jail, and I’m not letting it happen. Am I clear?”
“I…I…” Does he mean to keep me a prisoner here?
Jack continues, his tone softer now. “The first time they tried, you were lucky. Lucky that Frankie just happened to be messing with his new telescope at the exact time they were out there on the ocean, and lucky that he saw what happened. Lucky, too, that he raised the alarm, and we had a fast launch ready, and were able to get to you in time.”
“I know that, and I’m grateful, but?—”
“As long as you stayed off the radar you were safe, but they tried again, the first chance they got. And you were lucky again. Zayn had moved you out of the flat earlier that day. And Gregory was late home that night and saw them breaking in. He was on hand to put out the fire or the damage would have been much more extensive, even endangering other tenants.”
“You’re right. That was just good luck. But…”
“But, they would have tried again. And again, and they’d have kept on trying until eventually they got lucky. You were a threat to them, they couldn’t let you live. You do see that, don’t you?”
“I do. I know all that, but we can’t just take the law into our own hands.”
“We can, and we do. It works. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
He waits for my further protests, but I have none.
“Remember this, Leila. You got lucky. Twice. They only had to ever get lucky once. And, they would have. Eventually. And you would have been dead. Zayn wasn’t prepared to stand by and watch that happen. He put a stop to it, and now you have your life, to live as you please. No hiding, no running away all the time. He did what he had to do, and he gave you that chance. Now, it’s up to you how you repay him.”
He turns on his heel and leaves me to ponder on that.