5

When I arrive at the office on Friday morning, there’s a message from Ellie.

‘It’s urgent.’ Lucy hands me a telephone attendance note. ‘She needs you to call her back straight away. I tried you on your mobile.’

‘I’ve only just left court,’ I tell her. ‘I haven’t had a chance to listen to my messages yet.’

I head up the stairs to my room and dial Ellie’s number.

She picks up immediately. ‘Sarah?’

‘Hi, Ellie. Everything OK?’

‘Yes, but I need to get my bail conditions changed. I need to go away this weekend.’

‘Has something happened?’

A pause. ‘Yes. My gran’s ill. I think she’s dying. I need to go and see her before she... before she...’

‘OK. Leave it with me. I’ll contact the court. When do you need to leave?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘Kent.’

‘And when will you be back?’

‘I’m not sure. Can’t you just get the condition removed?’

I hesitate for a moment. ‘It’s not that simple, Ellie. The court normally asks for two days’ notice.’

‘Two days? No way. My gran could be dead by then. I need the condition removed today.’

I glance at the clock on my phone. I’ve got to get to Camberwell for two. But there should be enough time. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But it’s tricky. You were lucky to get bail in the first place. We might need to offer something in return.’

‘Like what?’

I think about this for a moment. ‘Do you have a passport?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if you could get me your passport this afternoon, I might be able to sort something out.’

‘Why do you need my passport?’ Ellie sounds unhappy.

‘It will be an assurance to the court that you’re not going to leave the country, that you’ll answer your bail a week on Tuesday.’

Ellie sighs. ‘OK. Tell them whatever you have to tell them. But please get it sorted today. I don’t want the police to come knocking on my door again tonight, ’cause I’m not going to be there.’

‘Ellie... wait...’

But she’s gone.

After several phone calls and emails to the court, my application is placed before a judge, who agrees that if Ellie’s passport can be handed in to her nearest police station this afternoon, the condition to live and sleep at her home address will be removed.

‘Good news,’ I tell Ellie when she picks up the phone.

‘It’s sorted? Great. Thanks a lot, Sarah.’

‘Hold your horses,’ I tell her. ‘They need your passport first. Can you drop it in to me? Or to your nearest police station?’

‘Seriously? I have to do that today?’

‘Ellie,’ I reprimand her. ‘I did tell you this!’

‘Thing is,’ she says, ‘I’m not at home right now.’

‘Well, where are you?’

‘I’m... I’m on the King’s Road. I’m nowhere near my place.’

I sigh. ‘Look, Ellie, this isn’t going to happen unless you surrender your passport. That’s the deal. How long will you be?’

She is silent for a moment. ‘Thing is, I was hoping to go this afternoon, straight from here.’

‘To Kent?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where’s your passport? At home?’

She hesitates. ‘Yes.’

I’m trying to figure out which train she’d need to take, from which station – London Bridge? No, probably Victoria – when she says, ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.’

‘Ellie. Wait,’ I say quickly.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got a hearing at Camberwell Magistrates’ this afternoon. Is there anyone who can pick up the passport for you?’ I ask. ‘Get it to me at court?’

She says, ‘My neighbour might.’

‘Who’s your neighbour?’

‘Marie. Marie Thacker. She’s got a key.’

‘Get it to me there, OK? I’ll hand it in for you.’

‘Yeah, OK.’

‘So, what time can I expect your neighbour?’ I ask her.

‘I don’t know. I’ll... I’ll call you.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as I can.’ And then she’s gone.

*

I’m finished at court by three o’clock, but there’s still no word from Ellie. I call her number and leave two messages before leaving a further message with the ushers and walking up Camberwell New Road to the shops. I stand at the bus stop, trying to decide what to do. If she doesn’t hand her passport in today, then the bail condition to go home tonight stands. If she does neither and the police knock on her door tonight, she’ll be circulated as wanted. If that happens, she’ll be arrested and her chances of getting bail again will be virtually zero. She hated it in prison; they had her on suicide watch. She might not see the light of day again for months. Years, if she’s convicted. I can’t understand why she isn’t taking this more seriously.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and select Ellie’s number again. It rings out, yet again, and goes to voicemail, where a husky-voiced but typically laconic Ellie says, ‘It’s Ellie. Leave me a message.’

I end the call, open Google Maps and tap in Ellie’s address.

I’m directed across the road and down a narrow street that’s tucked in between a nail bar and an Indian takeaway. The delicious scent of spices emanates from the back door of the restaurant, making me feel hungry in spite of the run-down appearance of the street. As I turn the corner, I’m faced with the grubby backyard to the restaurant, which is full of tatty, dirty-looking cardboard boxes and potato peelings. A skinny cat snakes its way in and out of the boxes, looking for food.

I’m conscious that I’m going out of my way to help Ellie, doing exactly what Gareth told me not to do: getting involved. But I somehow can’t bring myself to get on a bus and head back to Holloway, not just yet. She’s a young girl without a mother or father, a child, still, in so many ways, alone in the world. Underneath her abrasive veneer, I know that she’s suffering. I can’t bring myself to abandon her to her fate.

Cedar Court is an ugly mottled brown concrete block with white PVC frontages on the edge of a small estate at the bottom of Eastfield Road. I can hear the distant shrieks of children, coming from the local primary school, and as I walk up the steps and along the first-floor balcony, I can hear more shrieking coming from inside one of the flats. It’s the noise of a man and a woman shouting, I realise, as it gets louder and I get closer, but it’s not until I’m right outside that I realise it’s coming from the flat next door to Ellie’s. Could this be Marie Thacker? I wonder. The neighbour with the key?

I hesitate a moment, before knocking, but the argument is in full flow and doesn’t appear likely to stop in the very near future. There’s no door knocker or bell, so I tap on the glass of the front-door window as hard as I can. The man’s voice bellows something out in the background. I hear the woman respond and I wonder for a moment if they are just going to ignore me and carry on their argument. I am about to knock for a second time, when I hear the woman’s voice, still shouting, but getting closer.

‘Just shut the fuck up, will you, there’s someone at the door!’ she screeches, from the other side. I hear the rattle of a chain and then the door opens and a woman appears. She is significantly overweight, a disadvantage that isn’t assisted by her hairstyle, scraped back against her head in a tight greasy bun to reveal a larger than average neck and the broadest of shoulders. A gigantic cleavage protrudes from underneath a grubby white vest-top. The woman has a lit cigarette in her hand, which she’s waving unsteadily in the air. She reeks of alcohol.

‘Marie?’ I ask.

A spiral of cigarette smoke snakes its way from her hand to my face, making me cough.

She looks at me suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Sarah. Sarah Kellerman. I’ve come to pick up something for Ellie Stephens, your neighbour. She said she was going to call you about it. She says you have a key to her flat?’

Marie wobbles a little and appears to look straight through me.

‘Give... me... the fucking... money!’ bellows the male voice from inside.

‘No!’ Marie yells back at him. ‘Not if you’re going straight back down the Camby Arms to spend it on that tart.’

She disappears out of sight, leaving the door ajar. Everything goes quiet for a moment, but then I hear a thump and can see through the gap left by the open door that there is a shaven head and a bare shoulder moving around in the hallway, followed by a huge tattooed forearm. The door bangs shut and then bounces open again, and I realise with alarm that this is because Marie is behind it, trying to get it open, while the man pins her up against the wall, one arm twisted up behind her back. I can see she’s in too much pain to speak.

‘That’s it. Let it go,’ he tells her, as if talking to a small child.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ she screeches, finally, but her voice is muffled.

‘Marie?’ I call her name, tentatively.

The door flies open and the shaven head and full set of tattooed shoulders appears. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

Marie appears behind him. I can see that she’s crying.

‘I’m here to collect something for Ellie, next door,’ I say. ‘Do you know where she is?’

Marie wipes her nose with the back of her hand and looks me up and down. ‘Are you her solicitor?’ she asks me.

I nod. ‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. She’s probably at work.’

‘Work?’ the tattooed man sneers at Marie. ‘Is that what she’s calling it these days?’

Marie flashes back, ‘Yeah, well I didn’t hear you dissing her when you were taking her money.’

The tattooed man glares first at her, then at me. His face then breaks into a smile. He turns back towards Marie and cups her chin in his hand, leaning his face in towards hers and pushing his mouth up close to hers. For one awkward moment, I think he’s going to start kissing her, that they’re going to make up, with me just standing there in the doorway. But then I hear him hiss, softly, into her face, ‘Shut... your... fucking... trap.’

The door opens fully. The man briefly inspects a bundle of notes that he’s holding in one hand and then shoves them into his jeans pocket before stepping brusquely past me and heading off down the balcony towards the stairs.

‘Wait!’ Marie screams after him. ‘I’m coming with you!’

The man ignores her and carries on walking.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

Marie nods and wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands. ‘Oh shit,’ she says, glancing down at the floor. She crouches down to retrieve the still smouldering cigarette end she’s dropped. She winces as she stands back up.

‘Are you hurt?’ I ask. ‘Do you want me to call someone?’

Marie ignores me. She lifts her right arm high in the air and launches the lit cigarette over the edge of the balcony behind me. She winces again with the movement, which clearly causes her pain, and then lurches past me in the direction she’s just thrown the cigarette end and hoists herself up, so that she’s hanging over the wall.

‘Marie, stop!’ I shout, thinking she’s about to either jump or fall right over the edge.

‘Darren, fucking wait, will you?’ she yells, and then, ‘Fuck you!’ at the top of her voice. ‘Bastard!’

She drops back down again onto the balcony and rubs her shoulder. She turns and looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You’re the one who got her bail,’ she observes.

‘Yes,’ I agree.

She nods slowly, moving her head up and down in an exaggerated manner. ‘You did good,’ she says, approvingly. ‘You looked after El. Got her out of that fucking hole. Well done.’

‘Well... thanks,’ I say. ‘But the thing is, she’s disappeared on me. I need her passport. She needs to hand it in to the police this afternoon. If she doesn’t, she’s heading right back to prison.’

Marie frowns. Her eyes meet mine. Hers are glazed, red and tired, her face pink, blotchy and lined. She’s probably only in her early twenties, not much older than Ellie, but there’s a world of difference between them. ‘No.’ She shakes her head vigorously. ‘That ain’t gonna happen. Wait there,’ she says, and steps past me, back into her flat.

A moment later she reappears. She steps out and slams her front door behind her, walks next door to Ellie’s and pokes a key into the lock, wiggling it around a little before it finally goes in and the door swings open.

‘Come on,’ she says, moving her arm in a wide arc and pointing it at the door.

‘Marie, I...’

But before I can say any more, she disappears inside. I tentatively step in after her. I know this is wrong. I shouldn’t be here – who knows what I might find? Drugs? Guns? But I also know that, whatever happens, Ellie’s not coming back here tonight and I really don’t want to be explaining my involvement to the judge, or to Ellie, when she gets picked up and produced in the cells for breaching her bail. I haven’t got time to mess around. I’m with Marie, after all, and Ellie’s given her a key.

I follow Marie down the hallway to the living room. It’s a nice little flat, small but homely, and surprisingly neat and tidy. Marie goes into the kitchen and starts to rummage through the cabinets and drawers.

‘Check the bedroom,’ she calls out to me. ‘If it’s not here, it’s gonna be in one of the drawers in there.’

I find the door to the bedroom, which is pretty and feminine. Lilac drapes hang from the small window and there are matching lilac cushions with patchwork hearts scattered over the bed, along with a fluffy pink throw. Finn’s cot is wedged tight between the bed and the wardrobe, a lone stuffed sheep sitting on top of the baby blue summer duvet.

I open the top drawer of the chest of drawers and feel around inside, the soft sensation of silk underwear cool against my hand.

Marie appears in the room behind me.

‘I can’t do this,’ I tell her. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should go.’

‘Do you want El to go back to the slammer?’ she asks me, taking over and rummaging through the drawers below.

‘No, but—’

‘So come on then.’ She checks the bedside cabinet and then slides back the mirrored door to the wardrobe. It’s full to bursting with expensive-looking dresses and handbags and a shoe rack that’s crammed with an impressive selection of patent leather heels. Is Ellie shoplifting? I wonder, suddenly. Is that what she’s up to? Or are Marie and Darren stealing for her? Is that why she’s giving them money? How else could she afford clothes like these?

‘I’ll wait out there,’ I tell Marie, nodding towards the hallway.

A moment later Marie finishes looking through the bedroom and pushes past me to the living room. I follow her and watch as she lifts sofa cushions and rifles through more drawers and shelves.

Eventually she stops and puts her hands on her hips. ‘It’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere,’ she says. ‘There ain’t nowhere else to look.’

I nod. ‘OK.’

‘Did she definitely say it was here?’ she asks me.

I think about this for a moment. ‘Not exactly.’

We stand in the living room for a moment looking at each other. Suddenly, there’s a loud bleeping noise, which makes me jump out of my skin. Marie wrestles her phone out of her jeans pocket. She glares at it for a moment, utters the word, ‘Bastard!’ and then makes a bolt for the door.

‘Marie, wait!’ I run after her into the hallway, but she doesn’t stop. I follow her outside and slam the door behind me, watching as she wobbles unsteadily along the balcony and, seconds later, disappears into the stairwell.

I follow her down the steps and then walk along the road in the direction of the Oval, back to the bus stop.

My phone rings. It’s Anna.

‘How are you getting on?’ she asks.

‘If you mean with Ellie, I’m not sure, to be honest. What do you know about a grandmother who lives in Kent?’

Anna hesitates a moment before saying, ‘What grandmother?’

‘She asked me to get her bail varied so that she could go and visit her this weekend. She’s sick, apparently. Dying.’

‘She’s never mentioned her to me,’ Anna says. ‘She told me she had no family at all. I’ve asked her the question, outright, and she told me “no”. It would have made all the difference with the child protection proceedings if she’d had a family member who could have supported her in keeping Finn with her.’

‘Hmm. That’s what I thought.’ I contemplate this for a moment. ‘She’s supposed to have handed her passport into the police this afternoon. I went to her flat. She’s not there and neither, it seems, is her passport.’

‘What? So what are you saying?’ asks Anna.

‘I don’t know for sure,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just a hunch – and I hope I’m wrong. But I think she may have jumped bail.’