‘Tasha,’ Tom said, ‘I would prefer to have this conversation with Emma while you’re in the room, because I think it’s really important that you don’t think anybody’s hiding anything from you or lying to you. You have to trust us – me, Emma, the police, social services – all of us.’
Tom caught Emma’s look. ‘Social services – what’s it got to do with them?’
Tom sighed. He had anticipated this but not managed to deal with it well. Emma had just ignored every breath he had uttered on the subject.
‘We have to tell them she’s back, Emma. She’s a minor and you don’t have parental responsibility for her.’
‘Yes I do. I’m her stepmother.’
‘Well, actually no you don’t – whatever you would like to believe. You can apply for it, but you don’t have it by default, and Tasha has never lived with you – barring those unfortunate days earlier in the year. So we have to tell them, or you’ll be breaking the law.’
Tom could see Emma’s mouth set in a determined line, and he decided to deal with that later.
‘Of more concern is the immediate threat to Tasha, and by association, to you and Ollie.’
Tasha’s head shot up.
‘But nobody knows I’m here.’
It was clear that Emma had said nothing to Tasha about Finn McGuinness or the phone call she had received, and Tom knew he had to play this carefully.
‘Not at the moment, that’s true. But I’m going to ask if you’ll do something, Tasha, something that will help us to send Finn McGuinness to prison for a very long time. You might want to say no, but if you’re considered to be competent as a witness, and I can’t see any reason why you wouldn’t be, you can be compelled by the prosecution to be a witness in his trial. You see you’re the only person who can irrefutably tie him to Ollie’s kidnap. You understand that all charges against you have already been dropped, don’t you? You’re not in trouble with the police. We know you acted under duress – but we really need your help.’
Tasha looked terrified.
‘It will be our job to keep you safe. I know Finn is evil, and you’re right to be scared of him and what he can do – even from prison – but we’ll take care of you.’
Tasha looked down at her hands where she was picking at a hangnail.
‘He’s got people looking for me,’ she said quietly.
Just as he had done eight months ago, Tom felt a swell of emotion when he looked at this kid and thought of the suffering she had endured.
‘We know,’ he said gently. ‘They phoned Emma, to say they’re watching the house – but we don’t think they’ve got people looking 24/7 – more a random check.’
‘They killed Andy.’
Tom nearly missed it, she spoke so quietly.
What the hell
? He leaned forwards and rested his arms on the table, speaking softly. ‘Who’s Andy, Tasha?’
Without lifting her head and speaking in little more than a whisper, Tasha told Tom what Andy had done for her: how he had tried to protect her, and how he had been stabbed in the gut for his trouble.
Was there no end to this girl’s suffering?
‘Would you like me to try to find out what happened to him?’
Tasha’s head shot up. ‘Would you do that for me?’ she asked. ‘Really? If you do that for me, I’ll say whatever you tell me to say to the courts. Please – will you?’
Tom nodded. ‘Of course. But you don’t have to say what I want you to. You just have to tell the truth. That’s all anybody would ever ask of you, Tasha.’
‘So what happens now?’ Emma asked.
‘When were you next planning to go and shout Tasha’s name in central Manchester?’
‘This afternoon – about now, actually.’
‘Do you follow a pattern?’ Tom asked.
‘Well, it’s not a strict pattern, but I usually go the same days because those are the days when we’re not doing something else. So, a sort of pattern.’
‘So go,’ Tom said.
Emma looked as if he had punched her.
‘What, and leave Tasha on her first day home? She needs me, Tom. I can’t do that. She’s in pieces.’
‘Yes you can. I’m not working this week – I’ve taken a few days’ leave. I’ll stay with Tasha. Stick to your routine, and they won’t come looking. If you go into town today, it won’t occur to them that Tasha’s here. In the meantime, we’ll work out somewhere to take Tasha for her own protection.’
‘Wait a minute. You don’t take Tasha anywhere without me and Ollie. We’re a family – we all go.’
‘I think it would be wise if Tasha was taken into protective custody, Emma. Just until the trial’s over.’
‘And then? Will it make any difference if McGuinness goes to prison? Won’t he want revenge then?’
‘Let’s take it a step at a time.’
Tom turned to look at Tasha. The girl looked terrified, and Emma had clearly picked up on this too.
‘Tom, the safe option might be protective custody. But I don’t think it’s the right option for Tasha. She needs the security of a home.’ Emma turned to Tasha and gave her a gentle smile. ‘She needs to feel loved – and she is loved.’
Tom said nothing for a minute. He couldn’t force anybody into protective custody, and emotions were running high. He was going to have to come up with a plan, but for now it would have to be one step at a time.
‘Go to Manchester. I’ll stay with Tasha. She can have a soak in the bath, and then we’ll have a talk through what might happen in court. I’ll contact social services too – and don’t pull that face, Emma. It absolutely has to happen. Then we’ll see where we’re up to by the end of the afternoon. We all want what’s best for Tasha, so let’s not forget that.’
Tom tried not to look at Tasha’s face. She was scared, and he knew she had every right to be.
15
Tom’s nice. He doesn’t seem like a policeman and he doesn’t look like one either. He’s wearing dark-blue jeans and a black jumper that looks like it would be soft as a kitten. I’ve not touched it, of course, although I nearly hugged him when he said he was going to try to find out about Andy. I can hear the murmur of his voice when I’m in the bath, because the bathroom’s right over the kitchen – but I can’t hear what he is saying.
I don’t stay long in the lovely, soapy hot water. I could have stayed for hours, but I want to know about Andy, so I dry myself quickly. Wrapped in a towel I cross the landing to go to the room I used to sleep in. I don’t know if it is still my room, but I hope so.
I push the door open and stand, staring into a room I hardly recognise. I look over my shoulder to make sure I’ve got the right door. But I know it’s for me. I don’t know how she did it, but Emma has decorated the room that I have been holding in my imagination for years. Only she’s done a better job.
I’ve never had my own bedroom – well, at least not since I was six years old. But I’ve dreamed about it. The one thing I’ve wanted more than anything was to feel it was clean – not like the foul-smelling, musty bedroom at the Slaters’, where I doubt if the sheets were changed as often as once a year. Emma has somehow understood this. She’s painted the walls a very pale green like new apples before they’re ripe, and it feels as if the room is inviting me in and welcoming me. I take another step, hoping and praying that I’m not wrong – that this really is for me. As I walk barefoot across the pale, soft carpet, I see there is a tree stencil like the one in Ollie’s bedroom, but more flowery and detailed, painted in white and covering the wall behind the bed. The bedding looks so crisp and bright it would be a shame to sleep on it. I turn round and round, trying to absorb every detail. All the furniture is an even paler shade of green than the walls – almost white but not quite – and there is a huge splash of colour from the throw and cushions piled on the bed. They seem to have been made from pieces of random fabric in bright shades of everything from turquoise to deep pink, in stripes, flowers and geometric shapes.
I sit down cautiously on the edge of the bed, scared to disturb the perfection. Has Emma done this for me? Could I have been living here all this time?
I stand up again and walk over to the wardrobe. I pause for a moment, clutching the handle, scared to look inside in case somebody else’s clothes are there – some other girl that I don’t know about. I hold my breath and open the door. Inside are all the clothes Emma bought for me in the few days I was here earlier in the year, some still in their packaging. I pull open drawers at random, and find the same. Underwear, socks, jumpers – all clean and ready to wear.
I don’t want to leave this magical place, but I want to know about Andy, so quickly I grab some clothes. The leggings are a bit short now – I must have grown. But they’re baggy, of course. I don’t care – because one thing they are is clean.
When I get downstairs, Tom is making me something to eat. He says I look like I need fattening up a bit, so he’s made me a huge dish of macaroni cheese with crispy bacon on top, and he gives me a big glass of cold milk. It’s really delicious, but now he says we need to talk.
‘The next few days and weeks aren’t going to be easy, Tasha, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Until we get Finn McGuinness sent down we have to accept the fact that you are going to need to be kept safe. As I said, I’m afraid you’re the only person that can tie him without question to Ollie’s abduction. At least, the only person who might be willing to say so. Once he’s been sent down, we can monitor his communications with the outside world and make sure you come to no harm.’
I don’t know what to say. If I don’t do this, Finn will get a much shorter prison sentence. I know it. But if I do speak against him, will I ever be safe? Will Emma? Will Ollie?
‘What are you thinking, Tasha?’
I’m not sure if I should tell him what I’m frightened of, so I play for time.
‘Did you find out about Andy?’
Tom nods. ‘I’ve spoken to Becky, my inspector. Do you remember Becky? She’s going to make some phone calls, and as soon as we know anything, I’ll tell you. I promise. It was very smart of you to do what you did. I wouldn’t normally praise somebody for stealing a handbag, but in your case it was a really bright idea.’
He looks at me and smiles, and I know he’s waiting for the answer to his question about what’s worrying me.
‘If I say something in court about Finn, he’s going to want to get me, isn’t he?’ I don’t know why I’m asking a question that I already know the answer to.
‘He’ll be locked up, so Finn won’t be able to get to you. But I won’t deny that he has contacts outside prison – other members of the same gang or people that are just plain scared of him. He and Rory were just one part of that organised crime group. You might not know this, but they all answered to a boss – a man called Guy Bentley. He’s dead – but somebody else will have taken over. We’re going to look after you, though, I promise.’
I still don’t really know what that means. Will they look after me until the trial or after the trial or both? Will they look after Emma and Ollie too? And for how long?
I should leave here and go somewhere different where nobody gets hurt just by being with me. I should go to London or Leeds – somewhere where nobody has ever heard of Tasha Joseph. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to walk away from all of this, though, from my one chance of a family.
And maybe nowhere is safe.
16
It was freezing cold in central Manchester, and Emma was glad of it because it gave her a reasonable excuse for not staying long. Nobody would think it odd that she only shouted about Tasha for fifteen minutes instead of the usual half hour – especially with a toddler sitting shivering in his pushchair.
He wasn’t cold, of course. He was snug as a bug in a rug, to be honest – but still, it made a good excuse. She couldn’t wait to get back to see Tasha and wondered if she had discovered her room yet. Emma had loved doing it. To her it was a sort of talisman – its special magic working hard to bring Tasha home. She had thought about buying new clothes, but teenage girls change size and shape so quickly, and she didn’t know when Tasha would be home. She had only known, without any doubt, that one day she would be back. And now she was. Emma hugged the thought to her, thinking of all she was going to do to take away the pain of her last few years.
As she drove home she was so busy thinking about what treats she could make for Tasha and Ollie’s tea that she didn’t notice until the last moment the strange car parked in her drive. It wasn’t Tom’s. His was further in, closer to the house.
For a moment, Emma felt a rush of dread. Whoever it was, it seemed Tom had let them into the house. Were he and Tasha safe?
She pulled up behind the car, blocking it in. Whoever it was, they weren’t getting out of there until she – Emma – said so.
She jumped out of the car and lifted Ollie from his chair, trying to root one-handed through her bag for the front door keys.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open with her hip, anxious to know what was going on and who was in her house. As she pushed the door closed, she heard voices coming from the kitchen – the deep rumble of Tom’s voice and the lighter, higher tone of a woman. She
breathed again. A woman didn’t seem so threatening. Maybe it was one of Tom’s colleagues.
Emma lowered Ollie to the ground so that he could trot along at his own pace – which was usually at a bit of a run. Ever since he had started to walk he had had a tendency to put his head down and charge, rather than walk at a normal speed, and this time he was heading straight for the kitchen door. He had pushed it open and was through before Emma could take her coat off.
‘Wow, Ollie, that was some entrance,’ she heard Tom say with a laugh. Definitely not an unwelcome visitor, then.
With a smile, Emma followed Ollie through the door, and Tom and the woman both stood up. Emma glanced from one to the other, and then at Tasha. Apart from the fact that the girl looked clean, there was something else. She seemed nervous and uncertain – not the girl Emma had left, and much more like the child of eight months ago. Emma’s ready smile collapsed, and she gave Tasha a questioning look. Tasha looked down at her hands.
What was going on?
The woman was holding out her hand. ‘Mrs Joseph, I’m Elizabeth Webster from social services. Mr Douglas called me with the exciting news that Tasha is here, safe and sound. Congratulations. You must be thrilled.’