keys towards it.
‘Get a move on,’ the man who held her arm grumbled, pushing Asa towards the pavement. ‘In here,’ he added as one of the other men opened a black-painted door set back into the stone building, and suddenly Asa was being marched into a narrow passage with white-glazed walls like a public toilet, and up several flights of stone stairs, their edges worn and broken.
Then another door opened and Asa could hear a woman’s voice from somewhere inside as she was bundled along a corridor and into a square room with a bed and a dresser.
‘Stay here and keep quiet. Okay?’ the man commanded, staring at her. ‘Understand? Comprende?’ He frowned, lips twisting as he continued to stare at her. ‘Shhh,’ he whispered, putting a finger to his lips.
Asa nodded to show that she had understood his gesture if not the strange words he spoke. Then the door was closed and the girl listened to the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in the lock. She sat on the edge of the bed, her large dark eyes wide with fear. What was going to happen to her now? She took a deep breath, then wrinkled her nostrils. There was a bad smell in this room, a smell that Asa could not identify, both sour and pungent. It made her think of dead things.
She listened, straining to hear anything that might give a clue as to what was going on elsewhere in this house. Standing close to the locked door, the girl could make out the sound of human voices, but although it was impossible to know what they were saying, she felt a flicker of hope as a woman’s voice was raised in laughter, the men joining in. Where there was laughter there was some sort of joy, and perhaps that would include a lonely girl from Nigeria shivering in her borrowed coat.
As she heard footsteps approach, Asa stumbled backwards to the edge of the bed and clutched the coat around her body, eyes fixed on the door.
‘There you are.’ A stout dark-skinned woman wearing a red flowered dress opened the door, her hands clutching a tray of food. ‘Here, sit yourself down and eat.’ She placed the tray at the foot of the bed, eyes watching the girl as she backed away.
‘I won’t hurt you, little one,’ the woman said softly, stepping closer and brushing a hand over her hair. Asa looked into her brown eyes, recognising that age-old expression, the kindness of mothers. Then she was being hugged against the woman’s ample bosom, swaying back and forth as the woman shushed her.
Asa began to weep, all her unnamed sorrows flooding out, her mind too full of tangled emotions to know just what she ought to feel.
‘Would you like some breakfast?’ Maggie asked hopefully. The woman sat rigidly in the rocking chair that had been Maggie’s mother’s, several embroidered cushions at her back.
Vivien Gilmartin looked up, giving a brittle smile. ‘No thank you. I… I couldn’t eat anything…’ She broke off, putting her hands over her face for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, looking down at her lap. ‘It’s just…’
‘I’ve made the bed upstairs if you’d like to try and sleep,’ Maggie said, biting her lip and looking questioningly at her husband over the woman’s bowed head, the flame-coloured hair glistening like spun sugar in the lamplight. Lorimer raised his eyebrows in silent reply as if to say that he didn’t know what to do either.
‘Yes.’ Vivien was nodding now, rising shakily to her feet. ‘Perhaps that would be best.’
Maggie watched as her husband took Vivien’s arm, leading her through the room towards the stairs. His tall figure bent over the red-haired woman, one arm supporting her tenderly as they disappeared from view. A pang of something like jealousy shot through Maggie, astonishing her with its ferocity.
‘Stop it,’ she whispered, fists clenched by her sides, listening as the footsteps ascended the stairs. ‘He’s just being kind,’ she added. How many times had her husband assisted poor souls like this in the
‘Get a move on,’ the man who held her arm grumbled, pushing Asa towards the pavement. ‘In here,’ he added as one of the other men opened a black-painted door set back into the stone building, and suddenly Asa was being marched into a narrow passage with white-glazed walls like a public toilet, and up several flights of stone stairs, their edges worn and broken.
Then another door opened and Asa could hear a woman’s voice from somewhere inside as she was bundled along a corridor and into a square room with a bed and a dresser.
‘Stay here and keep quiet. Okay?’ the man commanded, staring at her. ‘Understand? Comprende?’ He frowned, lips twisting as he continued to stare at her. ‘Shhh,’ he whispered, putting a finger to his lips.
Asa nodded to show that she had understood his gesture if not the strange words he spoke. Then the door was closed and the girl listened to the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in the lock. She sat on the edge of the bed, her large dark eyes wide with fear. What was going to happen to her now? She took a deep breath, then wrinkled her nostrils. There was a bad smell in this room, a smell that Asa could not identify, both sour and pungent. It made her think of dead things.
She listened, straining to hear anything that might give a clue as to what was going on elsewhere in this house. Standing close to the locked door, the girl could make out the sound of human voices, but although it was impossible to know what they were saying, she felt a flicker of hope as a woman’s voice was raised in laughter, the men joining in. Where there was laughter there was some sort of joy, and perhaps that would include a lonely girl from Nigeria shivering in her borrowed coat.
As she heard footsteps approach, Asa stumbled backwards to the edge of the bed and clutched the coat around her body, eyes fixed on the door.
‘There you are.’ A stout dark-skinned woman wearing a red flowered dress opened the door, her hands clutching a tray of food. ‘Here, sit yourself down and eat.’ She placed the tray at the foot of the bed, eyes watching the girl as she backed away.
‘I won’t hurt you, little one,’ the woman said softly, stepping closer and brushing a hand over her hair. Asa looked into her brown eyes, recognising that age-old expression, the kindness of mothers. Then she was being hugged against the woman’s ample bosom, swaying back and forth as the woman shushed her.
Asa began to weep, all her unnamed sorrows flooding out, her mind too full of tangled emotions to know just what she ought to feel.
‘Would you like some breakfast?’ Maggie asked hopefully. The woman sat rigidly in the rocking chair that had been Maggie’s mother’s, several embroidered cushions at her back.
Vivien Gilmartin looked up, giving a brittle smile. ‘No thank you. I… I couldn’t eat anything…’ She broke off, putting her hands over her face for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, looking down at her lap. ‘It’s just…’
‘I’ve made the bed upstairs if you’d like to try and sleep,’ Maggie said, biting her lip and looking questioningly at her husband over the woman’s bowed head, the flame-coloured hair glistening like spun sugar in the lamplight. Lorimer raised his eyebrows in silent reply as if to say that he didn’t know what to do either.
‘Yes.’ Vivien was nodding now, rising shakily to her feet. ‘Perhaps that would be best.’
Maggie watched as her husband took Vivien’s arm, leading her through the room towards the stairs. His tall figure bent over the red-haired woman, one arm supporting her tenderly as they disappeared from view. A pang of something like jealousy shot through Maggie, astonishing her with its ferocity.
‘Stop it,’ she whispered, fists clenched by her sides, listening as the footsteps ascended the stairs. ‘He’s just being kind,’ she added. How many times had her husband assisted poor souls like this in the
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