Good as Dead

THIRTY-EIGHT

Though Helen knew what time it was and that it would be dark outside, the light in the storeroom never changed. With no windows to the back and the shutters down in the shop itself, the sickly white wash of the flickering striplight had remained constant and, exhausted as she was, Helen knew that once again there was little possibility of sleep.

Akhtar was lying on his camp bed. He had one arm folded across his eyes, but Helen knew that he was awake.

The most recent call with Sue Pascoe had been brief and uneventful, which Helen knew was a good thing. It was becoming routine. The woman was good at her job, Helen decided; businesslike, but as friendly as she was required to be. Helen guessed that she could also be firm if the need arose, but for now she was doing all that was necessary to keep Akhtar calm and relatively relaxed.

Helen had once again reassured Pascoe that she and Mitchell were fine and in good spirits and, when the call had ended, Akhtar had thanked her for continuing to lie. He had made her more tea, asked her if there was anything she would like to watch on the television, before moving across to his bed and settling down.

Now, while he was still awake and feeling well disposed towards her, she decided to ask him a favour.

‘Javed… ’

He sat up and looked at her.

‘Can I call Thorne?’

‘Why?’

‘I understand why you didn’t want me to call my sister,’ she said. ‘But if I could speak to Thorne, then maybe he could call her. I just need to know that my son’s all right.’

When Akhtar looked at the phone on his desk, Helen knew that he was going to agree. She was still surprised when, instead of pointing the gun and sliding the handset across the floor, he left the gun where it was and handed the phone to her. It was as close as they had been to one another since Akhtar had bent down to uncuff and then remove Stephen Mitchell’s body.

‘Thank you,’ Helen said.

Akhtar nodded and returned to sit on the edge of his bed. ‘So you can tell them how well I am treating you.’

Helen dialled and the call was answered every bit as quickly as she had been expecting. Thorne had obviously recognised the number.

‘Javed?’

‘It’s Helen.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘It’s fine. Listen, I wondered if you’d be able to call my sister for me? I need to know that everything’s OK with Alfie, that’s all.’

‘No problem,’ Thorne said. ‘What’s the number?’

Helen told him. ‘And tell her that I’m all right and not to worry.’

‘I’ll call you back when I’ve spoken to her,’ Thorne said. ‘Is that OK with him?’

Helen raised her head and asked Akhtar the question. He thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.

They sat in silence, waiting for Thorne to call back, occasionally catching one another’s eye and smiling a little awkwardly like patients in a waiting room. Helen’s stomach rumbled loudly and Akhtar pretended not to hear.

Helen stabbed at the button the instant the phone began to ring.

‘Tom?’

‘Alfie’s fine,’ Thorne said, immediately. ‘He’s asleep now, obviously, but Jenny said he’s in top form. Giving her the runaround by the sound of it.’

Helen’s breath caught in her throat when she tried to speak. She managed to say, ‘Thanks,’ then took a few seconds. ‘Is he eating OK, did she say that? Because sometimes he’s fussy, you know?’

‘He’s fine. I promise.’

‘OK… ’

‘Probably hasn’t even noticed you’re not there,’ Thorne said. ‘You know what kids are like, right?’

Helen managed to laugh, but it felt tight in her chest. ‘Yeah, she’s probably spoiling him rotten.’

‘Course she is.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘She’s worried,’ Thorne said. ‘She’s your sister. But I told her how well you’re doing, and that you’re going to be seeing her very soon.’

‘Did she mention my dad?’

‘Yeah, he’s bearing up, she said. He’s worried too, obviously, but your sister told me she’d send him your love and tell him everything was going to be fine. Helen?’

‘Sorry, yeah… listen, thank you.’ She glanced up at Akhtar. ‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘Thank you, really. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.’

‘I can’t think of any,’ Thorne said.

Helen laughed and this time it felt a little easier.

‘And it is going to be fine, all right, Helen? So just hold on.’

When Helen had hung up, she held the phone out for Akhtar to take. He stood for a few moments, looking up at the striplight and shaking his head, then walked across to the same cupboard from which he had dragged the camp bed and reached inside.

‘Let’s see what we can do,’ he said.

With a small cry of satisfaction, he retrieved a wooden table lamp with a torn green shade. He carried it across to the desk then fumbled underneath with an adaptor until he had managed to plug it in. As soon as he had switched the lamp on, he turned off the overhead light and considered the effect.

‘Still too bright,’ he said. Then, ‘Wait.’

He stepped across and picked up one of the cushions that Helen had discarded after Mitchell had been shot. He pulled the cover off and held it up triumphantly, as though looking for her approval. Helen watched as he tried and failed to tear it, then walked across to the desk and took a large pair of scissors from one of the drawers. When he had finished cutting the cushion cover in half, he put the scissors back then carefully draped the square of dirty brown material across the lampshade.

‘There,’ he said, making final adjustments. ‘That’s much better. Not perfect, but at least you might be able to get an hour or two’s sleep. Before, it was impossible, I know.’

‘Thanks,’ Helen said.

Akhtar went back to his camp bed and lay down. Helen still thought that the chances of sleep were slim, but the light was better, she had to admit that, softer. Diffused as it was through dirty cotton and dried blood.