crack
at it. In the overhead lighting in the sitting room, it was obvious someone had taken a crack at Fareeda.
Her beautiful face was beaten black and blue, the damson shade matched her kameez, the silk ripped at the neck. Her nose was probably broken; the bleeding had just about stopped. Her top lip was
split, the lower swollen to cartoon proportions. No one was falling about laughing. This was the discernible damage; Bev knew damn well it wouldn’t be the full extent.
Hands on hips, she stood over the teenager so fired up she could barely spit out the words. “Who did this?” Her teeth hurt they were clenched so hard.
Fareeda mumbled something but Bev couldn’t decipher it through sobs and the lisp; two teeth were missing at least. She cut a glance to the older woman. “Sumi.” It wasn’t
a question. It was an order. Non-negotiable.
Sitting next to Fareeda, stroking her hand, Sumi shook her head. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”
“She’ll tell me.” Bev knelt on the carpet, coaxing, cajoling. Fareeda barely responded let alone revealed detail: what happened and, more to the point, who’d made it
happen. In effect the girl was protecting her attacker, a man who’d used her as a human punch bag. Bev felt desperately sorry for her.
“OK, have it your way.” She rose, turned at the door. “Get your coats.”
“Please, please don’t make me go.” Tears ran twin channels down the teenager’s bruised and bloody face. Bev reckoned you’d need a heart of brick not to be
moved.
“I’ll drive.”
“No!” Fareeda screamed.
“The hospital. You need checking over, then I’ll take you down the station for a statement.”
She gave a defiant stare, the first indication she still had some spirit left. “I’ll kill myself before letting you do that.”
“The fuck you will!” Shaking with fury Bev stormed across the room. “Never pull that line on me again. Got that?” Maybe she should tell Fareeda she’d spent the
night with a corpse, a woman who’d swallowed her bodyweight in happy pills. Another victim of sick violence.
Fareeda dropped her head, fiddled with the bunch of bangles round her wrist. “You don’t understand.”
“Got that right, kid.” Bev frowned, couldn’t catch Fareeda’s mutterings. Patience wearing thin, she snapped: “Say again.”
Eyes brimming, she tossed her head back, raised her voice to a loud shout. “Get this right too. If I speak out they’ll kill my mother. Maybe my sister, my niece. They don’t
care.” Tears dripped from her chin, splashed into her lap.
Bev knelt again, took the girl’s hands in hers. “Who will, Fareeda? Why will they? Tell me, love. We can stop them.”
Head high, the teenager held Bev’s gaze. “And if you can’t?”
She glanced at Sumi who was biting her lip looking shattered. Bev lifted a finger, too whacked to think properly. “One night. Then we’ll see.” She shook her head, gave a deep
sigh. “I need to sleep on it.”
It was three a m when the phone rang. Fareeda was in Frankie’s old room, asleep, presumably. A shocked and sober Sumi had taken off home shortly after seeing her cousin
to bed. Bev had grabbed a slice of toast, knocked back a half-bottle of Pinot and hit the sack. She’d zonked soon as her head touched the pillow. Now she wanted to stuff the bloody thing over
her head. Groaning, she fumbled for the receiver, snapped out her name.
Nothing. No one. Nada.
“I don’t frigging believe it.” She punched in 1471. Caller withheld. There’s a surprise. Half an hour later, still tossing and turning she swung her legs out of bed,
grabbed a dressing gown from the back of the door, headed for the loo. The gown was an unwitting legacy from Oz Khan, her erstwhile lover and former DC, now a sergeant in the Met. Its brushed
cotton used to smell of Oz. After he’d gone she’d bury her nose in the fabric, breathe in his scent wallowing in what-ifs and maybes. Then she’d lost his babies
at it. In the overhead lighting in the sitting room, it was obvious someone had taken a crack at Fareeda.
Her beautiful face was beaten black and blue, the damson shade matched her kameez, the silk ripped at the neck. Her nose was probably broken; the bleeding had just about stopped. Her top lip was
split, the lower swollen to cartoon proportions. No one was falling about laughing. This was the discernible damage; Bev knew damn well it wouldn’t be the full extent.
Hands on hips, she stood over the teenager so fired up she could barely spit out the words. “Who did this?” Her teeth hurt they were clenched so hard.
Fareeda mumbled something but Bev couldn’t decipher it through sobs and the lisp; two teeth were missing at least. She cut a glance to the older woman. “Sumi.” It wasn’t
a question. It was an order. Non-negotiable.
Sitting next to Fareeda, stroking her hand, Sumi shook her head. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”
“She’ll tell me.” Bev knelt on the carpet, coaxing, cajoling. Fareeda barely responded let alone revealed detail: what happened and, more to the point, who’d made it
happen. In effect the girl was protecting her attacker, a man who’d used her as a human punch bag. Bev felt desperately sorry for her.
“OK, have it your way.” She rose, turned at the door. “Get your coats.”
“Please, please don’t make me go.” Tears ran twin channels down the teenager’s bruised and bloody face. Bev reckoned you’d need a heart of brick not to be
moved.
“I’ll drive.”
“No!” Fareeda screamed.
“The hospital. You need checking over, then I’ll take you down the station for a statement.”
She gave a defiant stare, the first indication she still had some spirit left. “I’ll kill myself before letting you do that.”
“The fuck you will!” Shaking with fury Bev stormed across the room. “Never pull that line on me again. Got that?” Maybe she should tell Fareeda she’d spent the
night with a corpse, a woman who’d swallowed her bodyweight in happy pills. Another victim of sick violence.
Fareeda dropped her head, fiddled with the bunch of bangles round her wrist. “You don’t understand.”
“Got that right, kid.” Bev frowned, couldn’t catch Fareeda’s mutterings. Patience wearing thin, she snapped: “Say again.”
Eyes brimming, she tossed her head back, raised her voice to a loud shout. “Get this right too. If I speak out they’ll kill my mother. Maybe my sister, my niece. They don’t
care.” Tears dripped from her chin, splashed into her lap.
Bev knelt again, took the girl’s hands in hers. “Who will, Fareeda? Why will they? Tell me, love. We can stop them.”
Head high, the teenager held Bev’s gaze. “And if you can’t?”
She glanced at Sumi who was biting her lip looking shattered. Bev lifted a finger, too whacked to think properly. “One night. Then we’ll see.” She shook her head, gave a deep
sigh. “I need to sleep on it.”
It was three a m when the phone rang. Fareeda was in Frankie’s old room, asleep, presumably. A shocked and sober Sumi had taken off home shortly after seeing her cousin
to bed. Bev had grabbed a slice of toast, knocked back a half-bottle of Pinot and hit the sack. She’d zonked soon as her head touched the pillow. Now she wanted to stuff the bloody thing over
her head. Groaning, she fumbled for the receiver, snapped out her name.
Nothing. No one. Nada.
“I don’t frigging believe it.” She punched in 1471. Caller withheld. There’s a surprise. Half an hour later, still tossing and turning she swung her legs out of bed,
grabbed a dressing gown from the back of the door, headed for the loo. The gown was an unwitting legacy from Oz Khan, her erstwhile lover and former DC, now a sergeant in the Met. Its brushed
cotton used to smell of Oz. After he’d gone she’d bury her nose in the fabric, breathe in his scent wallowing in what-ifs and maybes. Then she’d lost his babies
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