‘Mr Barolli’s car’s picking me up at the end of the square,’ she said.
‘Nobody told me.’
‘I’m telling you now, OK?’ she snapped.
He nodded, but still looked unsure. She went outside and down the steps, aware that he was following her. As she walked off along the pavement, she could feel Bri’s eyes on her, tracking her movements. But she was out, free, alone.
Except her mind was still full of turmoil, rage, disbelief.
Precious is dead.
It couldn’t be. Not just like that. It couldn’t.
She walked fast, aware of watchers parked in cars, her father’s people. She hurried along, head down.
Precious, dead.
No. Please no.
She walked, faster, faster, out of the square and away. She half-wondered if Bri would come after her, check that she really was being picked up. Her breath came in ragged gulps. She was aware that she was crying, but only vaguely, and she was alone.
Would he come now, would he try to snatch her again? Rufus Malone, the bogey-man, the one who was always hidden, the one who’d tried to blow up her mother, to kill Alberto. He would have hurt her if he’d caught her, maybe as bad as he’d hurt Precious. All this bastard knew was death and destruction.
‘Bring it on, you scum,’ she muttered furiously under her breath. She could outrun anyone, she was fit and she was strong and she would kill him, kill him, avenge Precious, she would do it, yes she would.
She stopped walking. People were passing her on the pavement, casting curious glances at this tear-stained girl. Cars were driving by, taxis, vans. She felt her heart pounding thickly in her chest, felt consumed by the need to lash out, find him, hurt him.
Come on, you fucker. Here I am. Come and get me. It’s me you want. Not Precious. Me. So bring it on.
She stood there, and looked around. Traffic. People. Cars. Vans. And… oh. One long black car with tinted windows pulling in, swerving to the pavement, blocking her progress.
Was this him?
She was out in the open and she was alone.
Easy meat.
Only not so easy. Her detour to the kitchen had netted her a fourteen-inch knife and it was in her bag right now, so let him try it, let him just try.
She looked at the car, at the blank black windows. Clutched her bag tighter against her.
Here it came.
This was it.
An electric window at the back of the car hissed down and a man’s face was there.
‘Layla? What the fuck?’ said Alberto.
Layla stared at him. For a moment, so great was her grief and distraction, she didn’t even know him.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked.
Layla felt herself dissolve, standing on the pavement holding her bag with the knife in it. ‘Precious is dead,’ she said helplessly, and then the tears came, great wracking sobs that shook her entire body. Suddenly she was bent double, howling with grief.