The Last Witness

on the same side of the fence more than you probably realized.’

‘But I was barely more than a child, Uncle Christos. Only fifteen! At least at her age she had a voice; she should have said something, she might have been able to-’ She stopped herself, realizing she was launching again into a diatribe about how much more her mother could have done. She didn’t want to spoil the mood for the restaurant, and she hated to see Uncle Christos’s face darken: the lighter, jovial side would suddenly be gone, he would remind her too much of her father. Despite her own feelings, she understood why Uncle Christos felt so deeply grieved by the split in the family: Andreos and her father long dead, her years apart from all of them, and now the thought that her mother might die after years of being alone without any reconciliation between them, was too much for Uncle Christos to take. She reached across and gripped his hand.

‘You’re right. I should make the effort some time. And perhaps when I’m through all this, will be that time. I can show up at her door with my son for a big re-union. She’ll know then that I have back what I want — there’d be no reason for me to still hold any resentment. I’m there at her door because I want to be there, not because I feel I have to be there.’

Uncle Christos smiled tightly and patted her hand. But as he looked away again, she could tell that he was only half re-assured: it could be just another excuse, pushed out of reach again by being tied to something that might never happen. She had so many hopes and desires riding aboard this, and now Uncle Christos’s hopes that one day their shattered family would be patched back, she’d strapped to the same possibly doomed ship.

At least they didn’t have to wait long to know. Two calls the next day could decide it: Montreal or Chicago.

But when the next morning Terry called with the good news that the Canadian embassy had confirmed they had a Stevens family listed in October, 1970 for immigration to Montreal, ‘Father, mother and a young baby,’ Elena had other problems: two calls late the night before from young Lorena.

Gordon phoned her about them not long after she’d called with the news from Terry. ‘They came through to your studio, so I didn’t even hear the phone ringing last night and didn’t play the answerphone back until just now.’

‘I see.’ She swallowed slightly, then asked Gordon to play them. ‘ I should hear them.’

‘Okay, one second.’ But Gordon sounded hesitant, as if worried the effect they might have on her. A rustling and clicking as Gordon set it up, then Lorena’s frail, uncertain voice.

‘Elena… Elena… I thought you were going to help me. Since you came to the house… I… I’ve heard nothing… and Mr Ryall is still coming to my room. Please, please… if you can hear me, pick up the phone…’ A moment’s silence, then the sound of soft whimpering before the line went dead. A short beep, then her voice again.

‘… He… he doesn’t touch me when he visits… maybe he’s frightened to since you visited. But he does touch me in the dreams… and they’re so real… sooo… I… I don’t know what to do.’ A pause, a sniffle as she battled to control her tears. ‘Please… if there’s anything you can do, Elena. I’m sorry to call you like this… but I don’t know who else to call. If you’re there…’ The tears had finally stopped; only shallow breathing as Lorena waited on expectantly for the phone to be picked up before finally she gave up.

Elena took a second to compose herself as Gordon lifted the receiver away from the dull dialling tone. She pictured again Lorena reaching out her hand to the back window of Nicola Ryall’s Range Rover; but nobody was there to grip on to that hand, to help her.

Elena took a fresh breath. ‘How did you get on with Mikaya?’

‘I finally found someone in the village ready and willing to speak up: Joe Hawley at the garage. He had a run in with Ryall over a bill last year. Apparently, Mikaya’s at Durham university — hardly anyone down here sees anything of her anymore. I’ve phoned the university twice now and left messages, but no return call as yet.’

Elena sighed. ‘Might still prove fruitful, but I’m not sure we’ve got the time now to wait.’ They’d agreed that the best way to help Lorena was through finding out more about what had happened with Mikaya. Gordon had offered to start digging while Elena was in London looking through her father’s things. But now with Lorena sounding so distressed, she began to reassess: Mikaya might well decide not to speak to them now or at any time, and they had to do something quickly. She outlined her new plan.

‘You’re crazy,’ Gordon said after a pause; as if unsure for a second that she was serious. ‘It’s far too risky.’

‘Maybe so. But look where I am now from not taking risks, not standing up to my father. Twenty-nine years without seeing my own son, and too afraid to admit that I’ve even got a son to anyone — just so that I don’t have to face it myself. Pathetic. If something is happening with Ryall and I do nothing, I’d never forgive myself. Lorena could end up in a few years time where I found myself — so screwed up that she empties a bottle of pills down her throat as the only way out. And Ryall’s just like my father: the only way is to make a stand, push back. Otherwise they’ll just steam-roller straight over you.’

‘I still don’t like it.’ Only a few ways Gordon could see it going right, and far too many of it all going horribly wrong. But he could tell that her mind was made up: he might as well start thinking of ways to help her, try and reduce the risk. Whichever way the chips fell, one thing looked certain: from this point on, their lives were going to be very different.

SIXTEEN

Viana wore a mask covering her bruise for her dancing that night: bright turquoise feathers with cream tinges, it covered one eye and swept in a semi-circle down one side of her nose and across just under her left cheekbone. She’d had it made especially by a friend who made costumes for the annual Caribbean carnival.

She’d felt self-conscious at first, as if people could somehow see the ugliness of the swelling on her face behind the mask, or guessed that she was covering something. But as she realized people were none the wiser, and that with some it even heightened the mystique, the allure — made her stand out from the other girls — she relaxed back into her normal rhythm.

She saw Georges turn up an hour after opening, but she didn’t want to rush over. Roman had assured her that he should be staying for the evening, or even if he did leave for a while to eat, he was going to be back to do the take at closing. She bided her time, kept half an eye on him between dances. For the first fifty minutes he was busy with a technical guy checking all the cash registers, just as Roman had said would happen. She waited until about fifteen minutes after the technician left before sidling over. Georges was sat at the bar nursing a beer while Azy was at the far end serving another customer.

‘Hi, Georges.’ She perched on the bar stool next to him. ‘You should come by more often. We always get stuck with that goon Roman.’

‘Trouble with the cash registers.’ He waved his beer towards the bar register and smiled back. He wasn’t sure what was more important: her paying him a complement, or taking a swipe at Roman while he wasn’t there.

‘Ah… and we thought it was because you couldn’t keep yourself away from us all here.’ She mocked a hurt expression.

‘Yep, that’s it.’ He raised his glass in acknowledgement and took a quick slug. ‘Couldn’t keep away from that smile, Viana.’ He remembered all of the girl’s names, even though he came by the club at most twice a month. He thought it was important in a trade where they were usually treated impersonally: pieces of meat just to gawk at. He often talked with the girls, and Viana had been as free and easy with the smiles and talk as any of them. But what had stayed with him most was that along with another girl, Amparo from Costa Rica, noble aims lay behind their work: they were both helping their families out. Amparo simply because of their dire poverty, while Viana was saving for surgery to help her mother’s crippling arthritis. ‘How’s your mother now? Closer to having the money together?’

‘Yeah. Quite close now. Thanks.’ She flinched slightly at the mention. This sting tonight would go a long way towards helping pay. Nor did Georges have any idea that if it wasn’t for her habit, she’d have probably had the