The taxi pulls away at a cruising speed. I want it to go faster but the driver won’t break the speed limit, even though I tell him it’s an emergency.
“Ring the police then, love,” he says. Well, I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?
I turn on Lindy, “What’re you doing in my taxi? Why did you tell your disgusting brother about the hut?”
Lindy shrugs and stares out the window. I grab her shoulder and wrench her around. “What’s your game, you cow?”
Lindy eyes me as if I’m some sort of slug and then she says, “What if Terrence follows you? What’ll you do then?” That makes me go cold. She’s right. I can’t face Terrence on my own. But it still doesn’t add up. “How does he know about Mohammed anyway, you must have told him.”
Lindy’s staring out of window again and she says in her bored voice, “He guessed, I didn’t say nothing.”
“Liar,” I yell, and I feel like smacking her one. “How could he guess where the hideout was?”
The driver is getting fed up with us and he snaps over his shoulder, “Settle down, girls, I don’t want any trouble, and which one of you is going to pay for this?”
I show him the twenty-pound note and he relaxes. At least Dad’s good for something for once, I think.
“Terrence guessed the same way I did, saw you running in and out of the bushes. You bunch of losers,” says Lindy. “No idea how to keep a secret.”
You can imagine the secrets they keep in her family. We’re on the last mile before the yacht club road and it feels as if we’re moving in slow motion. We must get there before the police and smuggle Mohammed away to my house. Mum will have to cooperate or I’ll threaten to run away from home. This is desperate.
Then Lindy says, “Is Two Percent dead?”
“What do you care?” I snarl back and she gives a slight shrug but she doesn’t look away.
“I don’t know,” I say grudgingly, “but he spoke to me before I left.”
She gives a brief nod and not for the first time I wonder if she really is as bad as the rest of her family. After all, she could have given Mohammed away herself and instead she helped him with his wounds. But I still don’t trust her.
We finally get to the top of the yacht club road and the driver refuses to go any farther. “Private road, I’ll get a ticket,” he complains, but I think he’s just lazy.
I pay him and leap out of the car and start running. I can feel panic rising up inside me and then Grandpa’s voice sounds in my head. “When you’re out at sea,” he used to say when we were standing on the beach and watching all the boats tack from side to side, “keep your rudder steady, don’t sail too close to the wind, too risky.”
Just having Lindy here feels like taking a huge risk, but it’s too late now.
I slow my breathing as I run to calm myself, like my marathon trainer taught us. At least I don’t have to get into the newspapers to get Dad’s attention. Don’t need to now if he keeps his promise. That would be a first.
I can hear Lindy puffing away behind me trying to keep up. Then I’m crawling through the hole in the fence and she’s close behind me, complaining about snagging her tights on the wire. I scramble through the bushes panting hard, terrified what I will find. But the padlock is still gleaming on the locked door.
When we get around the side Lindy says, “I’ll stay here, keep an eye out for Terrence.”
I hesitate for a nanosecond and then throw myself through the window, calling out, “Mohammed, get up, grab your stuff!”
But Mohammed is slumped in the sleeping bag and I have to shake him awake. “The police are coming.”
That does it. His eyes open and fear floods his face. He starts muttering in Arabic and fumbling with the zip.
I grab a plastic bag and start filling it. The bag splits almost immediately and everything spills back onto the floor. Mohammed climbs slowly out of his sleeping bag and starts pulling on his shoes.
“Use the sleeping bag, you muppet,” sneers Lindy through the window. Of course, that’s what I did the first time! Very quickly I’ve packed up everything and emptied the hut, leaving just a patch on the floor where some juice spilt.
I bundle Mohammed out the window and throw the sleeping bag onto the ground. Outside Mohammed leans up against the hut wall, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. How far can he get like this? And then I hear the sirens.
Lindy and I lock eyes and for a second she looks as scared as me.
Did I misjudge her too?
“We have to get out of sight,” I hiss.
I grab Mohammed with one arm and stagger off toward the bushes, practically dragging him along. Lindy tags behind, dragging the sleeping bag along the ground.
The sirens have stopped and I can hear men’s voices near the Lifeboat Station, shouting, “Over here, must be that old hut.”
Did Terrence give them the GPS coordinates as well?
We stumble toward the bushes and I’m nearly in tears. Mohammed falls down twice and Lindy drags the sleeping bag while I pick him up. I’m waiting for her to yell to the cops, “This way!” but she doesn’t say anything.
We finally reach the bushes beyond the hut. They are really dense and for the first time since Samir was stabbed I feel a flicker of hope. We’ll burrow deep inside the thicket, wait for the police to give up and leave. Then we’ll go back to my house and . . .
But my imagination fails me as Mohammed’s legs give way and he falls so heavily against me I tip backward and crack my head on the ground. I can almost feel my brains rattle and I lie there with my eyes closed for what seems like ages.
When I open my eyes again the sky spins above me and there is a sharp pain in the back of my head. Mohammed is sprawled across my body and I can hardly breathe. Freezing water from a puddle is soaking my hair and I’m thinking, It’s over, give it up while you can.
But Mohammed is groaning and he needs me more than ever. So still feeling really groggy I manage to push him off and get up on my knees.
Lindy is standing over us, staring down.
“Pick up the bag,” I snap, “and get it in the bushes.” She gives me a surprised look and then just does it silently.
I grab Mohammed’s face with both hands and whisper, “Come on, nearly there,” but he doesn’t move. There’s nothing for it, I have to pull him myself. I grab him by the feet and heave and heave until I think my shoulders will dislocate. I can only move him a few yards at a time.
We’re not going to make it, I think in a panic, as the voices of the police come closer and closer.
But I finally get him under the bushes and out of sight. Just in time!
Squinting through the leaves, I can see two policemen come around the corner of the hut and lean into the open window.
It’s Good Cop and Bad Cop.
If Lindy even looks as though she’s going to call out I’ll throw myself on her and throttle her.
But instead of Lindy giving us away there is a terrifying rustle in the bushes behind us.
Oh my God! We’ve been discovered!