‘But-’
‘That’s not a suggestion, Layla. That’s an order.’
Layla drank her tea and said nothing. Much as she resented her mother barking out commands, after what happened last night she was – grudgingly – glad to have her here, taking charge.
Annie stood up.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Layla.
‘This and that,’ said Annie, heading for the door.
‘And what does that mean?’ demanded Layla.
‘What it says,’ said Annie. ‘Stay here. No running around the park or anything like that.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘Good. Use the gym in the basement if you want. And there’s the outside pool. Steve’s left one of the boys on the door, his name’s Bri. You’ll be quite safe here.’
‘You’re saying I can’t go out?’
‘I’m saying it’s wisest not to. Seriously, Layla: stay inside. I’ll be back in about an hour.’
By dawn Rufus was climbing the walls of the rented flat in Islington with anxiety. Orla should have been back hours ago. The previous night she had gone to bed still angry with him. Given the mood she was in, he’d sensed that sharing a bed was out of the question, so he’d gone to sleep on the couch. At one o’clock he’d woken to find her all dressed up in black like a ninja, fired up with excitement about what she was about to do.
‘I should come with you,’ he’d said, worried for her.
‘No!’ she’d been adamant. ‘Keep away, Rufus. I don’t want your help, not with this. We stick to the plan, this time. No deviations.’
He nodded. He wasn’t happy, but this was her quest, not his.
‘If anything goes wrong, anything out of the ordinary happens, we meet back at the farm. OK?’
He wanted to kiss her, but knowing it would not be welcomed he merely nodded.
‘I’ll be back by six. If I’m not, stick to the plan.’
‘I’ll say a prayer for you,’ he said.
‘Don’t bother,’ sniffed his beloved. ‘I don’t need your prayers. Say one for her, she’s the one who’ll need it.’
But now it was seven the following morning and Orla hadn’t returned.
Her orders had been crystal clear: If I anything goes wrong, we meet up back at the farm. But he couldn’t just go back to Ireland, not if it meant abandoning her. He loved her. Anything could have happened.
He got dressed, not bothering with breakfast, stuffed his gear into a backpack – safer than leaving it here in the flat – and went out and hailed a taxi to take him to Holland Park. Having paid the driver, he loitered at the end of the square. He could see the house where he’d almost caught the girl. The place was quiet, no signs of life. His car, the one Orla had taken the previous night, was parked a few doors down. It was a Fiat, bought cheaply off an East End car lot a couple of weeks ago. He strolled towards it, glancing in as he drew level. It was empty, the keys still in the ignition. He took off his backpack and carefully placed it on the front passenger seat, then got behind the wheel and closed the door, his mind in turmoil, his eyes glued to the dark blue doors of the house.