‘Not on the phone,’ Steve said. (Why not? Was someone listening to their phones? Andy had a sick feeling of panic.) ‘Get your arse to Silver Birches pronto,’ Steve said. ‘It’s all hands to the pump down here.’
‘Well, I’ve got my hands full, as it were, here, with these lovely Polish ladies that I’m chauffeuring,’ Andy said blandly, smiling at the girls in the rear-view mirror. He caught sight of himself. His smile was less of a smile and more of a death rictus.
‘Just bring them with you, for Christ’s sake,’ Steve said. ‘It’s where they’re going to end up anyway.’
Andy stretched his death-rictus grin even further in case the girls were suspicious. Should have been on the stage, he thought. Mr Congeniality. He could have done a turn at the Palace. He’d been to see the summer-season show, the Eighties revival thing – Barclay Jack et al. It had plumbed new depths of mediocrity. Andy had been unwillingly dragged there by Rhoda because, apparently, she used to date the magician. ‘A lifetime ago,’ she said. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Andrew.’ He hadn’t been worried. Not until she said that anyway. Rhoda and the magician had greeted each other with air kisses and theatrical ‘Hello, darling’s – which was not the Rhoda that Andy knew. He had felt jealous for a moment, although he suspected it was the jealousy of ownership rather than passion.
‘Nice handbag,’ the magician said to Rhoda, spotting her Chanel bag.
‘It’s a fake,’ Rhoda said to the magician. ‘Can’t you tell?’
‘Dunno,’ the magician said. ‘Everything looks fake to me.’
‘Angel of the North,’ Andy said automatically as they passed the great rusted wings, looming over them in the dark. There was silence in the back of the car and when he glanced behind he saw that both girls had fallen asleep. The smaller one had her head on the shoulder of the taller one. It was a touching picture. They were the right age to be his daughters, if he’d had daughters. Anyone looking at them might think he was their dad, driving them home. From a concert. Or a holiday. He felt momentarily blindsided by the loss of something he’d never known.
The girls didn’t stir until they were turning into the driveway of Silver Birches.
‘We’re here?’ Nadja asked sleepily.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’ The place was in darkness apart from the porch light that was casting a dim glow over the front door. Andy drew the car to a halt. No sign of life unless you counted the pale moths throwing themselves suicidally against the light. No trace of an incident, unless it was something that had killed everyone in Silver Birches without any mess. A sound wave or a silent alien force.
‘This is a B&B?’ Nadja asked, giving her sister a shake to wake her.
‘Yes, love,’ Andy said. ‘It doesn’t look like much from the outside, I know. But it’s nice and cosy inside.’
She gave her sister another shake and said, ‘Wake up, Katja, we’re here.’ The girl’s tone was sharper this time, with a note of urgency to it that made Andy uneasy. She tried to open her door but there were child locks fitted at the back. ‘Can you let us out, please?’ she said crossly.
‘Hang on, love,’ Andy said, hitting Tommy’s number on the phone. ‘I’ll just find out where the reception committee is.’
Tommy didn’t answer the phone, but the front door flew open suddenly and Vasily and Jason appeared. With a practised move they sprinted to the car, opened the back doors and pulled out a girl each.
The Poles were fighters, Andy could have predicted that. They kicked and struggled and screamed. The younger one in particular – Katja – was like a wild animal, a spitfire, he thought. Watching from the car, Andy was surprised to find that there was a part of him that was willing the girls to win. No chance of that – the battle was over when Jason took Katja’s lights out by punching her in the head. He slung her over his shoulder like a sack of coal and carried her inside, followed by Vasily dragging a yowling Nadja along by her hair.
Andy had been so absorbed by the scene in front of him that he nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a loud knock on the car window.
‘We’ve got a problem, Foxy,’ Tommy said.
Hansel and Gretel
The last thing that Harry had seen was Crystal standing in the road screaming