through Jodie’s case file, reading and re-reading random passages. Eventually, after an hour of inertia, she decided to take a break. She walked to Port & Port on the western end of Whitechapel Road. She liked the bar for its unique position between East London and the city, and for the blackboard outside that said in bright yellow chalk, ‘I’d eat here,’ a quote which was then attributed to, ‘The owner’. Inside, an ensemble of high beams, sturdy wooden furniture and dusty artefacts gave it a comfortable old-barn feel.
She ordered a drink and settled in a booth in the corner. She shrugged off her blazer and placed some files across the table: her excuse for drinking alone. She checked her phone and noted acidly that Luka hadn’t tried calling. She picked up a file and scanned it blindly. She was bored. She was always fucking bored. She glanced at her watch, not even sure what she was waiting for. She put down the file and picked up another. As she did so, she heard a purposeful cough at the next table. Her eyes – trained to ignore such puerile plays for attention – remained fixed on the sheet of paper. After a beat, she sensed movement towards her.
He was dressed in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and slim black tie. As he sat down opposite, she noticed the muscles of his arm flex beneath the suit. He wasn’t her type – far too built for that – but he had her attention.
‘You probably haven’t drunk enough for this. I certainly haven’t drunk enough for this but,’ he paused, ‘you’re stunning. And I knew that if I left this bar without talking to you, I’d regret it. So tell me to get lost and I’ll get on my way. I just have to know that I tried.’ He barely waited for her to respond. ‘But, if you want – and it’s what I really want – I can buy us another drink and we can sit and talk about whatever you want: the perversions of the Marquis de Sade or the plight of the Congolese, who should have won Bake Off or the latest shade of lipstick – anything.’ His eyes searched hers and grew confident as he gleaned the reaction he intended.
A smile curled at the corner of her lips. She knew exactly what type of man he was: the type that recycled pet names from each of his flings and used women as landmarks (‘you know the place, the one with that sexy blonde waitress with an arse like an onion’), but it mattered less than it should.
‘I’m going to take that as a yes,’ he said with a smile. He strode to the bar, his frame tall and powerful – almost twice her size.
As she watched him, she felt her conscience tug. She was angry at Luka but could she really sit here with a stranger and pretend he didn’t exist? She sat stock-still for a moment and then, making a decision, gathered up her files and strode to the bar. She stopped the stranger mid-order.
‘Listen, I’m sorry but I have to go.’
His head tilted back in askance. ‘No, come on!’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’
He clasped his hands in mock agony. ‘Okay, but please, please leave me your number.’
‘I don’t give out my number.’
‘Okay, then give me your phone and let me put in mine.’
She shook her head with a smile. She knew not to do that after a friend of a friend used her phone to call his own hence securing her number, and then doggedly pursuing her for a good six months.
The stranger reached over the counter and picked up a ballpoint pen. From his pocket, he retrieved a receipt and scribbled down his number. ‘Then please take this and please call me.’ He pressed the note into her hands. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
She accepted.
‘And at least tell me your name.’
‘It’s Zara.’ She glanced at the piece of paper. ‘And yours?’
He leaned forward and whispered it in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.
She closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Goodbye, Michael.’ She left the bar without turning back, knowing he was watching her go.
Nina Sahari was on her back. Her cut-off T-shirt revealed a smooth, taut belly and her silken hair fell around her head like a fan. She reached up and threw the ball against the ceiling, catching it again with ease. Her green eyes – a much-desired result of her Pathan roots – blinked off tiny bits of plaster that rained down around her. She chewed her gum and blew it into a bubble, then popped it with her tongue and licked the sticky substance off her lips.
‘What is up with you anyway?’ She glanced at Jodie in the corner. ‘You’ve been totally deranged lately. I know your mum’s been ill but FFS.’ When Jodie said nothing, Nina sat up in exasperation. ‘Come on. It’s not like she’s got cancer; she’s ill coz she likes to drink. Why should you have to stay home and suffer for it?’
Jodie grimaced. ‘She’s going through a rough patch.’ In truth, she was no worse than usual but Jodie needed a reason to hide.
Nina sighed ostentatiously. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch. It’s just that there’s nothing to do in this shitty place. I’m bored and I’ve missed you.’
Jodie stirred in surprise. She felt a sudden warmth for her friend, normally so poised and aloof.
‘Christ, don’t get all emosh on me.’ Nina rolled her eyes but then gestured to the bed. ‘Come on, tell me what’s up.’
Jodie walked over and sat gingerly. Nina, for all her bluff and bravado, showed a keen sense of awareness whenever things were wrong. At school, she wielded this power for both good and evil, lending succour to the girls she liked and cruelly skewering those she did not. In year eight, she would pick out the girl who’d started her first period, or the one wearing a bra for the very first time and use it to tease them without mercy. Now, eager to learn what was wrong with Jodie, she honeyed her voice so that it was soft and warm, and encouraged her to speak.
Jodie shifted on the bed, wanting to please her friend but sick at the thought of sharing her story.
Nina placed an arm around her. ‘Come on. Whatever it is, I’ll help you fix it.’
Doubt lanced through Jodie’s stomach, mixing with the dead weight of fear. She opened her mouth to speak, then quickly closed it again. She took two rapid breaths, then gathered her strength and said, ‘You remember Kuli’s party?’
Nina’s interest was piqued, her brows arching over jade green eyes. ‘Yeah. What about it?’
‘At the party, the last time I saw you, you were dancing with that boy from Redbridge.’ Jodie’s words were soft and stilted. ‘After a while I couldn’t find you so I went out to the canal. I felt stupid in your clothes and wanted to be alone. After a while, I heard footsteps.’ Jodie tensed, fearing Nina’s reaction. ‘It was Amir.’
Nina’s face flushed red. ‘Who was he with?’
‘No one.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Okaaay. And then?’
Jodie picked at a thread in her quilt. ‘He came up to me and started talking.’
Nina frowned but said nothing.
‘I
