“I’m so confused,” the kid says. “I can’t get heads or tails of who’s related.”
“We’re not related,” Jimmy says, and can’t help laughing. Eddie disappears back inside.
A waiter steps out for a smoke, eager to talk football with Jimmy, so Layla goes back to find Violette and Eddie. When he sees her, Eddie whispers something in Violette’s ear and wanders off. Layla receives a loaded stare from a frightening miniature version of Aziza Sarraf. It’s the same look Jimmy’s mother had given her when Layla was seventeen and started sleeping with him. “If your mother finds out, it will all end in tears, habibi.”
It ended in tears for so many different reasons.
“Gigi reckons you were wasted at that dumb place you got sacked from,” Violette says.
“Thank you?” Layla is unsure if it’s a compliment.
“I’ve got some money saved, so I’d like to hire you, Layla.”
“Hire me?”
“For Noor.”
“Oh Violette, I’m not the right person to be talking to. I’m a solicitor.”
“Who’s out of a job because she sent an email to the Skipton police asking about my father’s death. Gigi overheard you telling Jocelyn. She says you’ve got a file. We think you’re the right person. It all begins with a solicitor.”
“Violette—”
“All my mother needs is someone smart who won’t give up. That’s what keeps happening—people give up because it’s too hard or the timing is wrong.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Layla says. “I’ll find out all I can about what happened with your father—”
“My father would have wanted you to take care of my mother first,” Violette says. “He loved you, Layla. The way he loved Uncle Jimmy. He used to tell my mum that Brackenham breast milk must have been pretty potent. That when a Bayat and a Sarraf put their heads to something, they never gave up.”
Layla sees a glimpse of tears, feels them sting her own eyes.
“I’ll give you all the money I have,” Violette says. “Just get my mum out of there.”
Jimmy returns with Eddie on his heels.
“Pity we can’t go on one of those double-decker bus tours,” Violette says, as if the intense conversation with Layla hasn’t happened. “Eddie wants to see Big Ben and I want to see where Wills and Kate live when they’re in London.”
“Yeah, heartbreaking,” Jimmy says, his voice gruff with affection. He puts an arm around each kid. “What were you speaking to Bilal about?” he asks Violette.
“A favor,” she says. “His two firstborn children.”
37
Bish had to talk Saffron out of taking him straight home. The trip to Ashford and then over to Calais needed to happen sooner rather than later.
“Could you drive me to Bee’s?” he asked. “I’ll work out how to get around from there.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“One that will tell me what I already know. ‘Drink plenty of fluids and rest.’”
“Bish…”
“I don’t really have a choice,” he said. “Sorry. I feel as if I’ve stuffed up your day.”
She put on her indicator and turned illegally. “I was wanting to visit Sadia and Katherine and the kids in Dover,” she said, “so nothing ruined about my day.”
“I can’t believe you just did that,” he said. “Double lines.”
“Are you going to give me a ticket, darling?”
Her phone rang and when she answered it Bee’s voice came through on the Bluetooth. “Rachel wants an update on Bish.”
He looked at his mother. “Did you have to let them know?”
“I can hear you,” Bee said.
“Daddy’s fine, sweetheart,” he called out.
“Then what’s going on?”
“I’m coming down to see you.”
“Why?” He heard the alarm in her voice.
“I’m fine, Bee. I’m not dying. I just want to talk to you and Mum.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Listen,” he said before she hung up. “Did you take a photo of Lola and Manoshi dribbling while they slept on the bus the night before the bombing?”
“No, Bish. I’m not thirteen! Why?”
“I’ve found three versions of the same photo on three separate Instagram accounts. Just curious. Maybe you took one as a joke.”
“Why would I think that taking a photo of people dribbling is funny?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Why would the others?”
“Because they’re thirteen! Aren’t you listening to me?”
She hung up and Saffron glanced at him. “Why don’t you close your eyes and have a bit of a sleep?”
“No, Saffron. I’m not thirteen!”
She laughed. He couldn’t help laughing himself.
“I’ll come down to the hospital if you don’t mind dropping me off at Bee’s on the way back,” he said.
It was a pleasant drive down to Dover. They talked politics—local, national, and international—TV and films. His mother had an awful habit of not being able to contain herself when it came to revealing endings. They shared a love for Game of Thrones, and though he was two episodes behind, he already knew who had died in the past two weeks.
“Between you and Elliot, I’ve never had a cinematic surprise. He used to give away the cliff-hangers; you’d tell me about the deaths.”