‘Layla?’ Ellie bustled into the kitchen.
‘Hm?’ asked Layla, wondering if she was going to hurl.
‘Your dad’s here.’
‘Dad!’ Layla ran out into the hall and flung herself into her father’s arms.
‘It’s OK, I’m here,’ said Max, hugging her tight.
Suddenly all the fear and bewilderment she’d been holding in became too much for her and she started to cry. Max’s eyes met Ellie’s over Layla’s shoulder.
Taking the hint, Ellie heaved a sigh and left them to it. Sometimes, she found it hard to believe that soft-hearted Layla really was Annie Carter’s daughter – she was nothing like her.
‘It’s so awful,’ Layla was sobbing.
‘We’ll fix it,’ said Max. ‘Whatever it is.’
‘How?’ she wailed.
‘Where can we talk?’ asked Max, rubbing her back reassuringly.
‘Oh… in here,’ said Layla, and led him into her bedroom. Max followed her in and closed the door, leaned against it. Layla sat down on the bed.
‘Tell me all about it,’ he said.
Layla told him, leaving out nothing. The man pursuing her in the park. The intruder her mother believed to be Orla Delaney. The car bomb.
‘Mum could have been killed, you know. She was so brave and I was just… useless. She could be dead now,’ she said, dropping her head into her hands.
Her mind stalled, unable to comprehend such an outrage. All right, she couldn’t relate to her, but Mum had been a constant, solid presence in her life, and to think of her gone for ever – that was too terrible to contemplate.
‘Layla…’ Max came to the bed and sat down beside her. He gave her shoulder a tiny shake. ‘She wasn’t hurt. The main thing is, you’re both OK. And you’re safe here.’
‘Yeah.’ She might well be safe here, but… stupid as it might sound, what she felt right now was hurt. Rejected. Her mother had sent her away yet again. ‘I’ll lose my job if I don’t go in tomorrow,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘They’re laying people off, and if I don’t show up-’
‘Fuck the job,’ said Max. ‘Stay here. Just until we know what’s happening.’
‘What is happening?’ asked Layla in despair.
‘That’s what I’m going to find out,’ said Max.
DI Sandra Duggan was doing the door-to-door on shops and offices up and down the street where Annie Carter’s car had been done. She was getting nowhere in a hurry. Nobody knew a damned thing. Nobody had seen a damned thing. They looked at her, saw FUZZ writ large all over her, then she flashed the badge and they thought, I don’t need this trouble. So far everyone she’d spoken to might as well have been deaf, dumb and blind for all they’d told her.
She was tired. Her feet were aching. She was sick of looking at these people and seeing only lies and evasion staring back at her. Then she went into the charity shop and the girl behind the counter – who was tricked out in kohl eye make-up, sucking on a lollipop from a bristling potful of lollipops beside the till – said yes, she’d seen something.