“She told you that?”
He couldn’t quite lie. Shrugged reluctantly. “She thinks you’re disappointed.”
“I am disappointed. Violette knows how I feel about smart girls turning into needy sex objects for dumb boys.”
“Maybe she’s too smart to be serious about him,” he tried.
Noor retrieved a photo from her pocket. The one of Bee, Violette, and Eddie. She pointed to a corner and Bish saw something he had missed before. “She’s serious about this person,” Noor said. “It can only be Crombie.”
One of Violette’s fingers was entwined with another finger, its owner out of frame. It was a tiny detail that spoke of a great intimacy. Not a fumble of adolescent groping—just two fingers linked.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
“Because Violette’s never had a boyfriend, so what are the chances that within seven days she’s going to have sex with one boy and hold hands with another?”
“How do you know she’s never had a boyfriend? They do lie, you know.”
Noor sent him a look that said she knew what she was talking about.
Bish thought back to the interview that day with Braithwaite and Post. After a bomb and carnage and being locked in a cupboard and threatened, it was mention of Charlie Crombie kissing the girl from Worthing that had made Violette weep.
He tried to lighten the mood. “Anything else, Sherlock?” he asked.
She pointed to his daughter. Bee was staring into the lens, looking luminous.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Can’t you see? She’s in love with whoever’s taking the photograph.”
Bish heard the buzz of the door and Gray was there.
“The acting governor wants you back in your cell,” he ordered Noor, before turning his attention to Bish. “And Mummy with the BBC voice is downstairs waiting for you,” he mocked. “We’re just getting you a wheelchair.”
After a moment Noor held down her hand to Bish and, greedy needy fool that he was, he let her help him up, his fingers lingering in hers like those of the two adolescents in Violette’s photograph. He chanced a look at her and saw the flare of something in her eyes. A salve to the emptiness that sometimes threatened to suffocate him.
36
Friday morning, Layla steps into Algiers Street Food, inhaling the smell of coffee and baked eggs. Bilal is behind the espresso machine talking to a customer. He looks up and his eyes send her to the door leading to the kitchen.
It feels strange, not putting on a suit and going to work, but it isn’t as if she has nothing to do while searching for a job. Jemima has made sure of that. Layla realized last night that there was more camaraderie in the girls’ bathroom at Silvey and Grayson than she has given credit for. Every woman there had to store her makeup bag in the toilets so she didn’t have to carry it across the office and hear someone say, “Off to apply some lippy, eh?” At times Layla wanted to say, “Off to have a wank, eh?” Her stash in the bathroom was simple—a Jocelyn rule: perfume, mascara, lip gloss, a brush. Four items that fitted in a pencil case. Too small for the large M & S bag Jemima handed over. She may have been sent in to clean out Layla’s office and find evidence that she has been compromising the firm, but Jemima held on to a manila folder labeled “Skipton” from Layla’s drawer.
In the kitchen, staff are arguing and music blares from someone’s iPod. Jimmy is at a table in the corner with Violette and Eddie, his head bent low as they talk. The kids are hanging off his every word.
Violette is the first to notice her standing there. Once, Layla was Violette’s favorite babysitter, but teenage Violette is a different story. She has a dismissive, disdainful look that could send the best of them into the fetal position. Nevertheless, she stands and kisses Layla on both cheeks.
“Eddie, this is Layla,” Violette says.
The boy has a mouth full of bread and can respond only with a few mumbles and a nod.
When Bilal walks in to speak to one of the chefs, Violette excuses herself and goes after him. Eddie follows with his plate.
“Well, Violette seems ecstatic to see me after all these years,” Layla says.
Jimmy holds out a hand and leads her outside. In the courtyard they stand in silence. She puts a hand to his face. He’s tense.
“Talk to me, Jimmy.”
“I can’t call the copper on them. I can’t.”
“They can stay with me.”
“Violette won’t stay put. Noor thinks she’ll head up to the place Etienne died, but I don’t know. She’s telling me nothing, and in about an hour I won’t have any control over the situation.”
He gathers himself. “I want you to promise me something, Layla. Go to those bastards and beg for your job back.”
“Are you going to waste time arguing with me about that? When we could be doing this?” She stands on tiptoes, kisses his mouth. When she hears a sound beside them, she glances over to see Eddie standing at the door with a plate of pita and baked egg yolks.