Peggy arrived at Wellbeloved armed with a full name, date of birth, and various other bits of knowledge gleaned from the passport and papers of the man whose flat Emmy and Amrita had moved into.
The only thing she was lacking was a chair. Hers was once again occupied. This time, Sarah was the interloper. Madge, Carole, and Peggy were Sarah’s silent partners in the business. Hypothetically silent, at least. Peggy was reasonably certain Madge had more say in her daughter’s running of things than Sarah would have wished.
Cookie made straight for Sarah, and sat on her feet, gazing up at her adoringly.
Sarah stroked the dog’s tall ears. ‘Morning, Aunties.’ She pulled herself from the chair with the ease of youth. ‘Sorry, I was just chatting with Mum about some childcare issues.’
Peggy squeezed past the woman to claim her seat. ‘Is something wrong?’
Sarah waved the question away as she headed back to the café’s main room. ‘Ugh, don’t get me started. I’ll let Mum fill you in while I get your drinks. Morning, Ms Spencer.’ Baz was just coming in the door. She greeted her friends before following Sarah to the front counter.
A few minutes later, as Baz settled in, Peggy turned to Madge. ‘So what’s got Sarah’s knickers in a twist? Surely she can’t think you object to an evening of looking after those boys of hers?’
Madge bent down to remove her knitting from its bag. As she sat back up, she shook her head. ‘Of course not. I’d be happy to have them any evening. No, the trouble is with Henry’s daycare.’ She turned to Baz. ‘That’s Sarah’s youngest. He’s almost four. George is seven – he’s in school full-time, of course. But Henry doesn’t start until September.’
Peggy removed her computer from her bag and set it on her lap.
Madge untangled her yarn and picked up her needles. ‘Henry goes to the local nursery, just around the corner from here. But when Sarah dropped him off this morning, the owner told her she’s going to have to close up shop in a few weeks. The building’s landlord is doubling their rent. Doubling it! Can you imagine? Disgusting. What kind of person throws babies out on the street? What a disgrace.’ She sucked air through her teeth noisily.
Normally, Peggy found Madge’s constant disapproval noises distracting and melodramatic. But in this instance, she was inclined to agree. ‘That nursery’s been there for more than a decade. All over south-east London, landlords are raising rents and forcing small, independent businesses out. It’s unscrupulous. They won’t be happy until every high street is identical to every other high street. A Tesco at one end, a Sainsbury’s or an M&S at the other, with a load of betting shops in between.’
Sarah arrived and set the drinks tray on the table. ‘Here you go, ladies.’
Peggy picked her espresso up and drained it in one go – without even pausing to savour the aroma. ‘And only a Costa or a Starbucks for your coffee.’ She slammed the cup back down.
Sarah sneered. ‘Starbucks? You must be kidding. You wouldn’t forsake my shop for one of the big chains, would you?’
Peggy wiped her lips with her fingers. ‘Definitely not. No, we were just talking about this business with the nursery. It’s not right.’
Baz shook her head. ‘What a terrible business. I’m so sorry, Sarah.’
Sarah huffed and put her hands on her hips. ‘It’s unfair. Unfair to the kids whose routines will be interrupted. And to the parents who are suddenly going to have to scramble to find alternative arrangements. But especially unfair to Debs – she’s worked so hard to build her business.’ She pressed her lips together and inhaled before continuing. ‘Can I ask you ladies a favour?’
Madge removed items from the tray and arranged them on the table, her wide sleeves in danger of being dipped into someone’s tea. ‘Of course we can look after young Henry. He’ll be quite happy to play with his granny while you work.’
Sarah bent to pick the now-empty tray up from the table. ‘Cheers, Mum. I’m grateful for that … but it’s not what I meant. I was actually hoping you could maybe help out the entire community.’
A barked laugh escaped Peggy. ‘I’m not getting into the daycare business. Not my forte.’
Chuckling, Sarah shook her head. ‘No, I suppose not. But that’s not what I was getting at either. What I meant was… You ladies are… I don’t know if you’re aware of your reputation in this little corner of London.’
Baz swallowed as she looked up at Sarah, the colour draining from her face. ‘Our what?’
Sarah laid a hand on Baz’s shoulder. ‘You wield a lot of power around here. Everyone respects you. People listen to you. When you ladies speak, people pay attention.’
Baz’s shoulders rounded. ‘Oh.’ She breathed out slowly. ‘That’s certainly true. It’s like I said when I first met you – you seemed like folks who looked out for your community. And even I, outsider that I am – or was, I suppose… Anyways, it was apparent even to me that you get things done.’
Peggy raised both eyebrows and looked pointedly at Baz. ‘We get things done.’
Baz nodded. ‘You do. That’s what I said.’
Peggy scowled. ‘Oh for pity’s sake, woman. You’re one of us. We make things happen.’ She drew a circle in the air, indicating all four of them. ‘We. Us.’
Baz flushed. ‘Oh.’ But the very slight smile on her face spoke volumes.
Madge peered at her daughter over the top of her glasses. ‘So what are you asking of us?’
Sarah shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I was hoping you’d have a word with the landlord? You could try getting them to see how important that daycare is to this community.’
Carole was studying a spot on her skirt. Peggy recalled the day she’d bought it. Carole said the floral pattern resembled blood spray.
‘It wouldn’t hurt to have a chat with the landlord,’ Madge said. ‘We can’t promise they’ll change their mind – but we can certainly try.’
Sarah’s grin was infectious. ‘Thank you.’
Her fingers continuing their work, Madge looked at her daughter. ‘Leave the contact details and we’ll have a word.’
Shaking her head, Sarah replied, ‘Debs comes in for coffee most afternoons. I’ll ask her to come and talk to you tomorrow morning if that works for her.’ She turned to head back to the room, then stopped with a hand on the thick stone wall. ‘Thanks, Mum. Aunties.’
As Sarah disappeared around the corner, Madge poured a steaming red fluid from her teapot into a china teacup. She leant back and took a sip. ‘Now then. What have we learnt about this young man the girls mentioned last night – the second missing man in our community?’
One of Peggy’s petty pleasures in life was in forcing Madge to wait. It was why she occasionally showed up a few minutes late to events. And this morning it was the reason she said, ‘Were there homework assignments, Miss? Only I don’t recall you assigning anything. Hang on, let’s see.’
Peggy pursed her lips for a second before continuing. ‘The girls told us about the young man who lived in their flat before them. And we had some crackers and cheese and a rather delicious chutney. Oh, and of course there was that rum cake you made. And the cupcakes. And the cucumber sandwiches. And the egg and cress sandwiches. And the doubles. And Baz brought some delicious Bakewell tartlets. In short, there was quite a lot of food. But I don’t remember any homework, I’m afraid. Baz, do you recall Madge passing out any assignments last night?’
Madge sucked air through her teeth. ‘If you are quite finished, Peggy.’
Baz looked like she was trying to stifle a chuckle. ‘Actually. I did do a bit of digging, as it happens.’ She clamped her mouth shut at a look from Madge. ‘But I can wait to tell you what I learnt.’
Madge crossed her arms – the woman really did need to learn some patience. ‘No, you go first. Please, I insist.’ She glared at Peggy as she spoke.
Baz held a hand up almost in supplication. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she said – which was patently ridiculous since she hadn’t interrupted at all.
Madge held her mouth firmly shut.
Peggy exhaled noisily. ‘Oh, go on, Madge. Don’t get all het up. You know I can’t resist teasing you sometimes. I promise I’m finished now. And Baz promises too – don’t you, Baz?’
Baz zipped her mouth closed.
‘Now.’ Peggy arched an eyebrow. ‘What did you learn about these missing men?’
Madge sat up straight and looked at both women in turn. After a few moments, apparently satisfied there would be no further interruptions, she said, ‘I have a few connections in the immigration law community.’ Peggy had to bite her tongue to keep from cutting Madge off once again to ask her how Chuk was. ‘Now, no one I spoke to has heard of this young man – at least not based on what we learnt from Amrita.’
Madge took another sip of her tea then rested the china cup on her knee. ‘But I did discover a few things. Firstly, most asylum seekers in this country are genuine and most claims are granted – eventually. The process isn’t quick or simple but it does seem like they usually make the right decision. And in fact, most applications that are denied are due to technicalities. Insufficient paperwork or evidence or the applicant failing to understand one of the questions.’
Someone at another table dropped a crumb. Cookie appeared like a large, sable flash and snarfed it up – much to the surprise of the other patron. ‘Oh my days! Where did you come from?’ Cookie allowed himself to be patted for a few moments before returning to his spot under the table.
Peggy looked at the last words she’d typed in her newest novel. Will and Kitty were gazing at one another longingly on the banks of the Thames.
‘Around half of applicants who appeal the initial decision are ultimately successful,’ Madge continued. ‘Now this is where hosts like me come into play. This appeals process is torturously slow. That this man was able to rent an apartment of his own suggests he may have come to this country with significant resources. The process of applying for asylum and living here without being able to work is prohibitively expensive.’
Peggy was getting impatient. ‘Yes, yes. We have a government of heartless bastards. We know this. Skip to something we don’t know.’
Madge scowled. ‘I’m setting the scene. My point is that it’s not uncommon for people to vanish during the process. The fear of being deported sometimes overcomes the strength of the bonds people may have formed in their new communities.’
Peggy rolled her eyes as she returned her focus to her novel. None of this was new information. She flexed her fingers and began typing.
Kitty looked up at the sky. ‘Love doesn’t see with the eyes, but with the mind. Why do you think Cupid’s always painted blind?’
Will crossed his arms, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. ‘That’s very good, you know. I might borrow it.’
After a few tedious minutes, Madge arrived at something Peggy – who was only half listening – found marginally useful to their investigation. ‘Once we have the young man’s full details, my contact promised to check around and see if he can find out who was handling his case—’
‘I can help with that,’ Peggy said. ‘I’ve got his papers. But we won’t need Chuk to find out the name of the solicitor. I have that too.’ She opened a very different file on her laptop.
Madge nodded. ‘Excellent. What can you tell us about this man?’
Peggy squinted at the screen. She’d always had excellent eyesight – she’d never worn glasses and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. ‘Wilson Joseph. Born 1982 in Dominica. Worked for a local newspaper.’
Baz frowned. ‘That doesn’t explain his wealth.’
Peggy scoffed. ‘Indeed. But it sounds like he came from money. And it does look like he’s got good reason to fear returning home. Dominica is one of the last places in the Caribbean where homosexuality remains illegal. “Gross indecency” is punishable by up to twelve years in prison and, while the Prime Minister says they don’t prosecute homosexual acts between consenting adults committed in private homes, there are no laws against discrimination or hate crimes.’
She shook her head. ‘I found an article from the paper where Wilson worked, dated shortly after he left the country. They outed him and suggested he’d been trying to seduce a number of his colleagues to join him in his “wicked lifestyle”. They even got a quote from his mother. Apparently, Wilson studied journalism and spent a semester abroad in Toronto. She said her son “turned gay” during his time in Canada due to “gay propaganda”.’
Peggy bit her lip to keep from going off on a tangent. ‘It’s your fault, Baz. You and the rest of your countryfolk with your inclusivity and your tolerance.’ The bitter tang in her mouth wasn’t from her espresso.
Baz lifted her eyebrows. ‘I wish I could say that everyone in Canada was so welcoming.’
After a few moments, Madge peered over her specs. ‘And what about you, Baz? Did you do anything last night to further our investigations?’
‘Last night? No.’ Baz studied the work in her embroidery hoop before plunging her needle into place.
Although no discussions had taken place the night before as to who would do what or that there would be expectations on each woman to further the group’s aims, Peggy knew Madge didn’t look kindly on indolence. And, to be honest, she felt a twinge of disappointment that Baz wouldn’t take it upon herself to at least undertake some research.
Baz looked up and smiled. ‘No, I’m definitely more of an early bird than a night owl. I went straight to bed when I got home after our lovely tea party.’ She pulled the needle back through the face of her embroidered scene. ‘Of course, I did get straight onto the computer this morning to do a bit of digging.’
Peggy gave a sly smile. They’d chosen well when they’d welcomed Baz into their group.
‘The land registry is a marvellous thing.’ Baz sat up straighter. ‘Did you know you can look up any property in this country to see when it last sold? And for a small fee, you can even check who currently owns it. All kinds of information is available.’
Madge looked up. ‘I don’t think every property is listed – only those that have sold since 1997.’
Baz’s eyebrows raised briefly. ‘Hmm. Interesting. Still… Now, sadly, you can’t see tenant names – though I suppose that would be an invasion of privacy. But it is possible to view a history to see when a property has been listed for sale or to let. If it sells, you can see the date the sale closed and how much it sold for.’
Narrowing her eyes, Peggy leant forwards over the top of her computer screen. ‘What property were you looking at? And, I’m curious, what were you hoping to find?’
Baz studied the scene outside the window for a moment, watching the cars, vans, cyclists, and pedestrians passing by. ‘I lay in bed for several hours, unable to fall asleep.’
She poured herself another cup of tea from the floral-patterned teapot and stirred in some oat milk. ‘I knew you’d be counting on me to do my share of preparations and research. Peggy, you were the one with the details pertaining to this second missing young man. And Madge, if I live a thousand years, I can never hope to build the local network you have. You know everyone and everyone knows you. But just as I fell asleep, I thought about looking up the landlord.’
Baz shook her head and blew out a breath. ‘But it was all for nothing. The flat is owned by an overseas corporation in the Seychelles – CCTM Holdings. I followed the trail for a while, trying to see if I could find where it leads, but it’s a shell company – layers upon layers of useless information. I’m sorry, girls. I wanted to make a worthwhile contribution to the investigation and I spent two hours digging into it – but I came up with nothing useful.’
Peggy felt a flash of irritation. ‘Stop that. This is not the time for a pity party. You researched a trail of evidence we wouldn’t have considered. The fact it didn’t lead anywhere is neither here nor there. It was a trail that was worth following.’
Madge nodded. ‘You bring a different set of skills and a fresh perspective. And you’re our friend. Peggy’s right. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. We’ve got an investigation to get on with.’