‘What do you want?’ Lottie asked, picking up her stuff from the floor and dumping it all back in her bag. She hurriedly tapped out a text to Detective Sergeant Boyd telling him she was going to be late, asking him to cover for her. A streak of guilt itched beneath her skin. She hadn’t had time for her daughter earlier and here she was entertaining a stranger. But something was telling her to listen to what she had to say.
The girl spoke rapidly in a language Lottie couldn’t understand.
‘Hey, slow down,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’
A head shake, shrug of shoulders. It reminded Lottie of Chloe. What age was this woman? Looking at her more closely, she thought she might be anywhere between sixteen and her early twenties. No more than a girl.
‘I’m Lottie. You?’
Deep brown orbs appeared to question her for a moment before their flecks of hazel brightened, lighting up the face.
‘Mimoza.’ The girl smiled, white teeth glinting in the morning sun beaming through the window.
Getting somewhere at last, Lottie thought.
‘Milot.’ The girl pointed to the boy.
‘So, Mimoza and Milot,’ Lottie said. ‘What do you want?’
Maybe she should offer tea. No. She needed to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Her phone beeped. Boyd. She glanced at the text. You are dead late. Corrigan’s on the warpath. Nothing new there.
Sean, her fourteen-year-old son, sauntered into the kitchen. ‘Who owns this?’ he asked, holding up a raggedy stuffed rabbit with long chewed ears.
Milot held out a hand and grasped the toy.
Sean mussed the boy’s hair. ‘What’s wrong, bud?’ He crouched down. ‘Why you crying?’
Shrinking into Mimoza’s chest, the child pursed his bottom lip over his top one while his little fingers slid up and down the rabbit’s worn label.
‘Can you play with him for a few minutes?’ Lottie asked. ‘Before you leave for school? Chloe’s already gone ahead.’
Sean nodded and bounced a hurling ball from one hand to the other. ‘Wanna play ball?’
The child sought his mother’s approval with his eyes and the girl nodded. Sliding from her knee, Milot followed Sean through the back door out into the garden. Lottie stared after them. It was the most she’d heard her son say in a month. She smiled across the table at the girl. Maybe allowing her into her home had had some use after all.
‘Son?’ Mimoza asked.
‘Yes,’ Lottie said.
‘Milot my son,’ Mimoza said.
She looked too young to have a child, Lottie thought.
‘I have little English. Is hard to explain to you. Easy for me to write in my language.’ She passed over the envelope.
Lottie glanced down. It was sealed, with foreign words written on the outside.
‘How am I supposed to know what this means?’
The girl said, ‘Find Kaltrina. Help me and Milot escape. Please, you help?’
‘Kaltrina? Who’s she? Escape what?’
‘I cannot tell much. I write down a little. You read?’
‘Of course. Is someone threatening you? Where do you live? What’s happened to this Kaltrina?’
The girl pointed to the envelope. ‘All there. Sorry it not English. I afraid.’
‘How do you know who I am? Why did you not call in to the garda … the police station?’
The girl shrugged. ‘It not safe. You help?’
Lottie sighed. ‘I’ll see if I can get someone to translate it for me. That’s all I can do at the moment.’ She glanced at the clock. She was going to be dead late for her first day back to work after almost four months off.
The girl caught her eye, stood up quickly and called the boy. Sean ushered him into the kitchen. The little fellow’s cheeks were flushed. Mimoza smiled up at Sean, took her son by the hand and went to the front door. It closed behind her with a soft click.
‘Did you find out anything from him?’ Lottie asked.
Sean shrugged. ‘He’s a great little hurler.’ He sauntered up the stairs towards the cavernous security of his room.
‘Hurry up, Sean. You’re going to be late for school. And don’t wake Katie.’
Picking up her bag with an exasperated shake of her head, Lottie stuffed Mimoza’s envelope inside and stepped out into the morning sunshine.
Reversing her car out of the drive, she noticed Mimoza and her son walking to the end of the road. Before they turned the corner, a smaller girl joined them, linking her arm into Mimoza’s.
When she arrived at the junction with the main road, Lottie glanced around and noticed a black car pulling away from the kerb at great speed. It drove along the outside of the line of traffic, squeezed in and disappeared. Had someone been waiting for her mysterious visitors?
As a break in the traffic appeared, she manoeuvred her car into the line of early-morning commuters, still thinking about Mimoza and her son. How did the other girl fit into the picture? Maybe the letter would explain it all.
Five
It was too hot for a jumper, but Chloe had been in such a state she hadn’t been able to find her long-sleeved uniform shirt. She resigned herself to sweating her way through the day in the heavy wool garment.
Pausing opposite Dunne’s Stores car park, she wiped away the perspiration bubbling on her forehead and debated skipping school. A man brushed past her and she was aware of him looking at her sideways, but she took no notice of him. The knot of anxiety in her chest was threatening to explode. Taking a few deep breaths, she continued up the hill, greeting other girls on the way, a smile plastered firmly in place.
At the bridge over the old harbour, she glanced down, almost casually, into the dark green canal water and realised she couldn’t face school. With exams a month away, she knew she needed to be in class, but she couldn’t do it. Not today.
The knot in her chest slowly untied itself as she hurried along the towpath, away from the ceaseless carefree chatter of the gaggle hanging around the school gate. She walked with unseeing eyes until she reached the small bridge where the canal linked up with the supply. Her dad had once told her the river was called the supply because it supplied fresh water from Lough Cullion to replenish the canal. God, she missed her dad.
Turning left, she walked along the riverbank for a few minutes before sitting down on the long grass, losing herself in the depth and height of the reeds. Opening her rucksack, she extracted from her pencil case a razor blade wrapped in soft white tissue.
She knew life was cruel. They’d lost their father, and then a few months ago Sean had almost died too. Her younger brother would never be the same again, tarnished with the memories of what had happened in that cursed chapel to him and Jason, Katie’s boyfriend. Katie was damaged too; even though she tried to act normal, Chloe knew her scars ran deep.
Did Katie blame their mother? Chloe hoped not, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that Lottie was somehow at fault; she hadn’t acted fast enough at the time to save the boys, and Jason had died.
Chloe was a fixer and now she felt helpless. She couldn’t fix her family. She couldn’t fix herself. She couldn’t fix anything. She turned the blade over and over in her hand.