Nowhere Girl (29 page)

“Here.” Bridget opened the door to a room that had a KEEP OUT sign on the door, handmade in some plastics class by the look of it. Inside was a teenager’s room, obviously Ellie’s bedroom, and Cate felt the absence of the girl. Here, too, was the mess she would have expected to see downstairs. But Bridget was impatient, placing firm hands on Cate’s shoulders and moving her forwards, to the window.

“See?” she said, with arched triumph. “There he is. Watching.”

Cate could just make out the nose of a car, its bulk blocked by an oak tree. But she knew the car. Olivier must know she was here.

“He’s watching
me
, Cate, he’s not out in Germany or wherever searching for my daughter. And Jak’s people, they contacted you. We have to do this together. Anything we tell the police will just confirm my involvement. And yours. Please, Cate. We have to find Ellie first. If we involve the police I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.”

“I spoke to the girl again today.”

Jodie, who had been combing her hair free of tangles and tiny flecks that look like pieces of straw, stops and lifts her head. “How did you manage that, Amina?”

“Auntie takes Fahran for a nap every day, when the salon is shut. Usually I clean. But today I went to see Ellie.”

“Not a good idea, Amina. That girl could mean trouble for us.” She pulls a blade of grass from her hair, and finally it seems free of debris.

“Why are you so dirty?”

Jodie holds her slick mane up for me to inspect. “Not anymore. Dirt like this can be washed away.” Then she lets her hair drop and places her hands in her lap so I think for a second she is praying.

“Stay away from her,” Jodie says, which annoys me because why should she always be the one to give commands. She is examining her legs now, checking some scratches that have appeared on the shins, red and angry marks.

“How did you get those marks?”

“I tripped. It’s nothing.”

I feel I am losing her, somehow.

“Jodie, what has Jak told you about this girl? Auntie says she is our guest, so when is she going home?”

“You think my job is to rescue everyone in this world?”

Jodie is mad at me. She places her mouth on her knee as if she is kissing it. Both her legs are pulled up now and I see that on her inner thigh is a purple bruise, as perfectly round as a coin and then I realise that she is not just angry, she is also upset. And this pain is not nothing.

“What is it you do with Uncle Jak when you go out each day?”

Jodie moves her head so her forehead is to her knee, her words almost lost inside the curve of her body, which looks so small and damaged, the first time I have thought of her this way. Where is my Jodie, who kept me strong on the journey here and dreams of a better life? And then I see not Jodie but Pizzie, and I take her in my arms. This time I will be the strong one.

“Jodie, what is it that happens to you when you leave this house?”

And when she speaks, streams from her nose are running in her mouth and her eyes are weeping. “Don’t you see, Amina? They didn’t bring us here to help us better ourselves. We are here to be used up, our beauty and our bodies. What is happening to me now will soon be what happens to you, and to Ellie.
Harraga
is a factory, and we girls are what it produces. But we are broken goods, and I am the first to break. When I am all used up, you will be next, little one.” And I hug her harder then, comforting her but also myself, because I have never known Jodie to lie and it terrifies me.

I go to the mattress and lift it, checking the money from the English women is still there. For a moment I don’t feel it, but there it is, carefully placed in the folds of my yellow dress. I slide the dress free, smoothing the cotton and catching Omi’s scent. Inside the material is the twenty euro note.

Jodie sees me and starts to laugh, a laughter that is almost manic, scary because it is the very opposite of happy.

“That money is nothing. Nothing! You see this,” she points to a fresh bruise in the crook of her elbow. “To put medicine in me, something to take away the pain, costs double what you now hold in your hand.”

The small violet bruise inside her arm, I know what it is now, it is a puncture. I shiver and my hand bunches the yellow fabric of my precious dress.

“You need this medicine?” I ask, wary. I know about medicine to take away pain, the kind that goes into the body in needles. Even in Tizi Ouzi we heard of this, and people would come back from the city longing for this medicine, shaking and crying. Omi would help them to sweat out the longing, and use herbs to take away the shaking. I must get Jodie herbs.

“You would too, if your job was to lie on your back. Now stop talking to me and let me be. I’m tired of thinking.”

So she curls up tight on her mattress and I move to hold her, my dress still in my arms. I lay behind her, half-covering her naked shoulder with the fabric of home. The act is a silent promise that I will fix this for all of us, if I am able. I can’t let Ellie become like Jodie.

It will take a second phone call, and this time the line won’t go dead. This time I will suggest a different meeting place, somewhere Auntie can get to easily by train, but somewhere Jak would never go.

And, after talking with Ellie, I know the perfect place.

Metz Cathedral.

Ellie has been thinking about her mother often. The clarity of her mother’s presence cuts through her thoughts. Sometimes she believes her mother is in the room with her, telling her that everything will be alright, that this is just a very bad dream and Ellie will soon wake.

At other times Ellie feels her mother behind her, is aware of a single knuckle placed into the centre of Ellie’s back, nudging her spine, the way she does if Ellie slouches or isn’t polite enough to adults. And feeling this nub of pressure, Ellie knows it is her fault that she is locked in this squalid room, away from her family and friends, scared and alone.

Gaynor she thinks of less, simply because it is too painful. Ellie keeps her thoughts about her sister simple: she hopes that Gaynor is borrowing that new H&M dress she coveted, she hopes Gaynor has taken her iPod nano as she used to do. It used to annoy Ellie, but now Gaynor can use it freely. Ellie promises her sister, in her head, that if she ever comes home she will never yell again. The iPod is hers, a gift. She will be different, if she is allowed home.

Who is in control here, who is even making the decision to keep her locked up? The bulldog hasn’t been back since she came to the house. Maybe the woman is the real boss.

The house is quiet, sleeping. It isn’t always. Ellie sometimes hears the boy moving around, his mother speaking to him, or the sounds of feet in the room above. Where Amina told her that she and Jodie sleep. How is it that such normality can happen when she is here? Against her will? But she knows the door is locked and that screaming would only make it worse. She knows too, now, that no-one would come except the woman, or more often, Amina. She hasn’t seen Malik since he brought her here. These are the people who exist in her world.

The door opens and Ellie expects Amina, so is surprised to see Jodie.

Jodie, beautiful Jodie from Schueberfouer. She holds a finger to her lips, and Ellie understands. Jodie comes closer and Ellie sees how ill she looks, that although she is wearing the same red dress it is now grubby and unravelling at the seams. Her eyes are dull and her cheeks are dry and flaky. The skin on her arms is bruised with finger marks and needle points.

“Your mum planned this,” Jodie whispers, into her ear. “And Jak agreed, but now it is all fucked up. You have been here too long, I don’t see how he is taking you back home now.”

Ellie moves backwards, crablike, until her back thumps against the wall. As if moving away from Jodie will make her words disappear from where they worm their way, from ear canal to brain, gathering emotion as they go.

My mother planned this
.

No. No it could not be, Ellie had never imagined she would be capable of this. This truth, so much worse than any other of the awful possibilities of her capture.

My mother
.

Jodie stares at her, wide-eyed, and her voice stutters, “I wanted to warn you. We could help each other. Before you end up like me.”

Ellie understands that Jodie is trying to save her from the same fate, from being sold like a piece of meat, from being a victim of abuse. But Ellie feels her own abuse as something far darker and devastating: her mother’s neglect.

“How can I ever go home?” she asks Jodie.

The other girl does not answer. No-one could. But she slides a small kitchen knife from some hidden place in the fabric of her dress and presses it into Ellie’s hands.

“Save yourself,” she tells Ellie. “No-one is coming for you.”

She believes Jodie, believes her mother could do this. And as she curls her hand around the knife she knows that she can never go home, not now she knows just how deeply her mother despises her. But she could escape.

Cate was in a court room, not as a probation officer or a victim, but as the judge. The wooden chair pressed against her spine, the black robes swamped her, the wig slid on her head. Cate knew herself to be an imposter but tried to hide it, though she couldn’t remember what to do and everyone was staring up at her expectantly.

Then, a voice. Calling from the twelve-strong jury, which seemed to be made up of her family, old colleagues and faces from the school playground in Luxembourg. The woman who stood, Cate knew best, she realised that, but she couldn’t remember how.

“How dare you pass judgement,” shrieked the woman. “It should be us, judging you!”

“I’m not guilty,” Cate choked out, but she knew it wasn’t true. The whole courtroom watched her stumble from the chair.

She woke, sitting bolt upright in the bed, sweat running down her back. Olivier was open-eyed, gazing up at her.

“What is it you are not guilty of?”

She wiped her eyes, fell back onto the mattress. “It was nothing, just a dream.” She could see their faces. Eva, Bridget, Liz staring back at her.

Olivier reached to touch her. “A bad one. Let me make it better.” He kissed her shoulder, her neck. Moved down to kiss her breast, but Cate pulled away.

She couldn’t make love to Olivier, it felt dishonest. She had lied to him, and that was just one thing of which she was guilty.

Olivier left for work half an hour later, dropping Amelia at school on the way, and Cate found herself relieved to be alone in the house. They hadn’t spoken properly. There was too much to say. He had seen her at the press conference, knew she had been to visit Bridget.

She stood on the balcony, leaning over the railing and breathing away tears, blinking sun rays and noticing the church, the tall Sofitel building in the distance, the white blocks of flats. How could the sun be so warm, Belair look so beautiful, when something so sordid, so disturbing had happened, right in the heart of the city? It all looked perfect. Maybe more so, because Cate knew she would soon be saying goodbye to Luxembourg.

She wouldn’t be able to stay, not after she’d aided and abetted the main suspect in a kidnapping case that her lover was overseeing. She could already imagine packing her’s and Amelia’s bags. What it would be like to close the door on this place?

She had woken from her nightmare to find that it was true: she was guilty. She deserved the sentence.

As she pulled up in front of the house, Cate saw that Bridget was in her habitual position by the window. Achim’s car was gone, and Cate was glad. He was one person who had been genuine throughout Ellie’s disappearance and she couldn’t stand to see him right now. Better to be with other liars.

As soon as Bridget opened the front door, Cate could feel her sick energy, her heightened arousal, the same that had worked so well in her favour at the press conference, but on this sad sunny morning it felt misplaced. Bridget’s movements were jerky and unfixed, her face was rosy with heat, her eyes dark. Cate saw it clearly then, the obvious truth that she had only realised recently, which had really been evident from the start: Bridget was mentally unstable. A woman who orchestrated her own daughter’s kidnapping had to be certifiable. Cate thought sagely that a mental illness might be the only thing that saved Bridget from prison when this was all over.

Cate was taking a lead role in this insane saga, without the same defence.

To be mad would be a blessing. To be sane on a day like today had to be far, far worse
.

With Bridget beside her, Cate drove out of Luxembourg, past the Glacis car park where the Schueberfouer was still sleeping. Up to the Kirchberg plateau, past Mudam and the Philharmonie buildings, that Cate had not yet visited and doubted she ever would now. Onwards, looping the crazy interlocking motorways until she took the turning where they would meet Ellie’s kidnappers.

As instructed during the second phone call, Cate was driving them to Metz, just over the French border and forty minutes from Luxembourg. Thinking it would be an industrial city, Eva had said as much, she was surprised to see grand facades of buildings, massive granite blocks towered into majestic homes that overlooked a pretty river, and all of it overseen by the sandstone cathedral.

Bridget was oblivious to all of Metz’s charms, and simply stared straight ahead, leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped in her lap.

“I really believed Jak wanted to help me,” she said, for the hundredth time. “How could I have been so stupid? I let her down. I let him take my little girl.”

Cate remained silent because she didn’t trust herself to speak. The anger, which had erupted when Bridget had first told her that she orchestrated Ellie’s kidnapping remained, but she also saw how broken Bridget was. What mattered most was finding Ellie and Cate knew that if Olivier arrested Bridget, then Ellie would never be found. Her goal was to find the girl, what happened to Bridget beyond that point was out of her control.

Cate’s one hope was that the kidnapper would ask for money, a sum that Bridget could access easily, and that this part of the nightmare would be over.