“What the hell is the matter with you now?”
“I can’t help it, it’s my nerves. I just want to go home, John,” she said shakily, then buried her chin in the collar of her coat, unable to look directly at him.
“Marion, just—just pull yourself together.”
“I can’t, John, I can’t, I don’t want to do this.”
“We are helping these girls,” he reasoned. “If they didn’t come to us, then God knows what would happen to them.”
“But if we are helping them, then why do we have to lie?”
“Because some people don’t know what’s in their best interests. Other more intelligent people have to make decisions for them.”
“But still it doesn’t feel right to me.”
“I don’t care what it feels like to you.” The word “feels” came out long and slippery, giving her the shudders. “You’ll do what I bloody well tell you, you stupid bitch!”
He slammed his hand against the dashboard in the way that someone hits an object rather than the person they really want to hurt. Marion’s eyes began to sting. She tried to stop her face from crumpling, but it was impossible. If he saw her crying, that would only make him angrier, but John knew her so well, he could sense tears long before they were pouring down her cheeks.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t start the bloody waterworks now.” He sighed.
“I’m sorry—” But Marion could not stop herself.
John forced a gust of air from his mouth.
“All right—I’m sorry for shouting at you. Just try and calm yourself down.” His voice became gentler.
Marion searched inside the glove compartment for a tissue but found only a single beige leather driving glove, supple as living skin, a pair of scratched sunglasses, and an uncapped tube of hand cream encrusted with grit. John gave her a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, and somehow the fact he was being kind to her made Marion feel even worse. She rubbed her eyes with the handkerchief and blew her nose. If the girl was coming, then Marion wished she would please hurry up, so they could get all this over with and be back home as soon as possible. She closed her eyes for a moment, filling her head with thoughts of her aunt’s flat with its soft pastel light and cozy furniture; she imagined herself lying on the sofa while Agnes cooked something nice for supper. She could hear her singing “My Favorite Things.” Marion began to hum the tune in her head.
“There she is,” said John suddenly. “That’s her, Violetta.”
Marion opened her eyes. A young woman with long black curly hair, dressed in a short denim skirt and wedge heels, was walking down the slip road and dragging a large wheely suitcase made from shiny pink plastic behind her. The girl’s legs were thinner than Marion’s wrist, and it seemed impossible that they could support even that tiny body.
The girl had to skip up onto the sloping grass verge to avoid a red car that was heading towards the McDonald’s drive-through lane. Her suitcase got stuck on the curb, and the driver of the red car beeped, even though he had more than enough room to get round.
Violetta. To Marion the name sounded gypsy-ish. You could see the raspberry-colored lipstick and glint of hoop earrings across the car park.
The girl glanced in their direction but didn’t seem to register the car. There were no other vehicles in the car park aside from a white painter and decorator’s van and a massive red Land Rover. Still the girl seemed hesitant and began to drift towards the McDonald’s building.
“What’s she bloody well playing at? I told her to look out for the silver Merc,” said John. “You’ll have to go and get her.”
“No, no, I don’t want to.”
“Just get out and wave at her.” John jabbed the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Then she’ll know we’re here to meet her.”
Legs stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, Marion got out of the car and waved at the girl. Violetta stared back blankly, then began dragging the suitcase towards them.
“You are the family of Adrian?” she called out in a strong foreign accent.
Though she was small, there was something fierce about the girl. The way she looked at her made Marion feel the way she did around animals; that they were working out the best place to bite or scratch.
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Marion.
Violetta wedged the pink suitcase onto the backseat of the car, then got in next to it. She looked about eighteen, nineteen at the most; her perfume of sickly sweet chemicals stung the back of Marion’s throat.
“I have had to walk so far in the rain and then I am nearly killed by cars. It was almost impossible to find this stupid McDonald’s. I do not know why you could not come to meet me at the proper place when I get off the ship.”
“It’s a ferry, not a ship,” corrected John.
“Ferry—ship—who cares—it is the same.” Violetta made an angry huffing sound, then bounced back heavily in her seat. “Adrian is not here?”
“No, no, Adrian couldn’t come,” John said briskly, “didn’t he tell you in the message?”
“Yes, but maybe—I had hoped.” Though she could not see her face, Marion imagined from her voice that the girl was pouting.
“You’ll see him in a few days, don’t worry.”
“So you are the people who will be giving me a job?”
“Yes.”
“You have child?”
“No. No we don’t,” answered Marion. “We aren’t married, we are brother and sister.”
Anxious that she should have kept her mouth shut, she glanced at John, but his face revealed nothing. As they left the car park, the old Mercedes tottered forwards, then stopped. John revved the engine. A car behind them sounded its horn. Marion felt the girl’s small strong hands grip her headrest, trapping a few strands of hair so they pulled on her scalp. Then the girl let go and began chattering away, filling the car with her loud, bright energy.
“Is the weather always so horrible in England? You know I like the sunshine. I think I will die of cold fever if is always like this. This is Mercedes car, right? It is very old, though, why do you have such an old car? Can you not afford to be in newer car?”
Neither John nor Marion answered these questions, but that didn’t stop her from asking more:
“It is very big, the house you live in? I will have good room and bathroom all to myself, correct? You will be very pleased with me at housekeeping, I am excellent at vacuum, remove dust, polish glass and metalworks. I learn skills in top five-star international hotel. I am very thorough. I can also cook many foods.”
Then she recited a long list of foreign-sounding dishes that Marion had never heard of.