‘It’s for emergency situations. Afterwards, you’re going to want to ask questions. But that’s all I know.’
Sara looked at Baz, her eleven-year-old features stern. Baz shrugged.
‘If it gets me the money, I don’t care.’
‘Good,’ said Sara. ‘First, we need a phone.’
They were on the embankment, sitting on a low wall, looking at the passers-by.
The voices in her head were loud this morning, a babbling chorus just under her perception, sounding like a crowd whispering to each other in a nearby room. Words leaped out at her every so often in an unsettling fashion.
Pssspsss … shhhshhh … dubdubdub … two two.
Baz surveyed the crowds in a professional manner. After a few minutes, he hopped off the wall and dived into the slipstream of a group of Chinese tourists following a guide carrying a raised flag.
Hsss … hsss … four four.
What seemed like a minute later, Baz materialized at Sara’s side, a phone cupped in his hand.
Hmhm … tuttut … shsh … three seven.
‘You said a hundred quid,’ said Baz.
Sara pulled the elbow-length gloves up before she took the phone from Baz. She was still unsure what had spooked Penny and Lionel and caused them to take such elaborate precautions. Her mother would know, and until she found her, Sara had decided she wasn’t going to take any risks.
Oh seven seven one two two four four.
The voices hissed the numbers, an incantation that ran in a loop over and over. She pressed the keypad of the phone in the same sequence, tipping the screen at an angle so it was obscured from Baz’s view. She then pressed the call button and to her relief, as before, the line rang once and then disconnected. A second later a text arrived: SAINSBURY’S LOCAL 141923894814.
Sara looked around her quickly, her eyes searching the surroundings.
‘We don’t have much time. They’ll be on their way.’
‘Who?’ asked Baz.
Sara looked over his shoulder and then pointed.
‘Sainsbury’s!’
A hundred yards behind them was the white-and-orange sign of the supermarket chain. Sara elbowed past Baz and sprinted towards it, caroming off tourists as she ran.
‘Wait, my phone!’ shouted Baz, running after her.
When Sara reached the shopfront, there was one person using the cash machine and two more waiting. She stepped to the front and addressed the line.
‘Sorry, it’s an emergency.’
The man in front looked at her with bemusement.
‘Is there a “My Little Pony” sale somewhere?’
The smile curdled on his face as Baz ran up to them.
‘You heard her. It’s an emergency,’ said Baz, stepping into the man’s personal space.
The man held up his arms in surrender. ‘All right, mate. Stand down.’
The woman using the cash machine left, and Sara stepped in and punched in the code from the phone.
The screen went blank for a few seconds, and then the whirring sound of cash being counted could be heard from within.
Sara looked over to Baz, who stared back speechless. Before he could ask a question, the mouth of the machine opened and five twenty-pound notes slipped out. Sara grabbed them and ran.
‘Hey!’ shouted Baz and launched after her.
Sara flew down alleyways and raced across squares, abruptly changing her course every hundred yards, zigzagging as far as she could from the cash machine. She ran over a dual carriageway and saw the sloping decline ramp of an underpass nearby and sprinted down it, Baz’s cries and heavy footsteps trailing her.
Once she was safely underground, she let him catch up. Baz could not speak at first and dry heaved, his torso bent double, his hands on his knees.
‘One time they had a helicopter,’ said Sara, as he caught his breath. ‘We’re safer underground. Here.’
She handed him the five crisp notes.
‘One hundred pounds.’
Baz snatched the money from her.
‘How … did that happen?’ he blurted out between gulps of breath.
‘It’s for emergency situations. That’s all I know,’ said Sara, chewing her lip.
Baz looked at the notes in his hand with a sense of wonder.
‘How long before we can do it again?’
‘They’ll be crawling all over the area now,’ said Sara.
‘Who’s they?’ asked Baz, his voice rising with frustration.
‘I need to find my mother,’ she said. ‘She knows. She’ll help.’
She fished into her jacket pocket and pulled out a page torn from a newspaper, carefully folded. Above the short article was the grainy photo of her quarry.
‘I called the place this morning,’ continued Sara. ‘She’s been moved to a hospital. They’ll be watching her, so I need help distracting them. Are you listening?’
Baz took the newspaper from her hand.
‘That’s your mother?’
‘No,’ said Sara impatiently, ‘Janey Small. She’ll know where my mother is.’
Baz handed the paper back to Sara and took a deep breath.
‘The bottom line is: you need help,’ he said.
The statement surprised and disarmed her. The isolation of the last three weeks had seeped into her bones, keeping her in a constant state of fight-or-flight, separating her from the world. The acknowledgement of Baz’s words was such a relief it brought tears to her eyes.
‘Yes.’
‘OK,’ he said, ‘what’s the plan?’