the gap where the shutters met the pavement. I had no alternative. Pulling my jacket straight, I smoothed my dress and forced myself on.
Inside, the red plastic two-seaters were full of people eating cooked breakfasts and drinking tea, the sizzle of egg and bacon providing a backtrack to their quiet conversation.
I approached the counter and was greeted by a hip-level mass of frizzy bleached hair, bobbing around by the till. I leant over and saw a girl on all fours, busy picking up a scattered pile of serviettes. Sensing my presence, she heaved herself back up to standing and brushed her hair out of her eyes. My breath caught in my throat. It was Kimberley. Keith’s niece. She was still here.
‘Is Tommy around?’ I asked, trying to contain my surprise.
‘Depends,’ she said, eyeing my jacket and dress. ‘Who’s asking?’
I took in her thick dark eyebrows and small, black eyes. There was something about her face, her features, that reminded me of someone. I wondered why the police hadn’t questioned her when they came out here to do their canvassing. Maybe she hadn’t been on shift that day or maybe she had lied to them about her connection to Keith. Whatever the reason, her being here was a good sign. It meant it was likely Keith and the boy hadn’t gone far. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.
In the kitchen beyond I noticed someone reaching inside one of the metal fridges. Obscured by the door, all I could see were the bottom of their black-and-white-checked chef’s trousers and black trainers. Tommy. My heart stuttered in my chest.
‘A friend; a friend is asking,’ I said loudly, waiting for Tommy to recognise my voice. At that, the fridge door closed shut. My heart beat a little faster. But the person who emerged wasn’t Tommy. Instead, I found myself staring at a young black guy wearing a back-to-front baseball cap.
Kimberley watched my reaction with amusement.
‘He’s upstairs,’ she volunteered, apparently deciding to take pity on me. ‘In his flat.’ She nodded at the entrance. ‘Back out the way you came, first on your right.’
I did as she said and, after finding the door in question, I knocked hard and waited.
Nothing.
I was about to knock again when I heard someone pounding their way down the stairs. Fighting the urge to run and hide, I pulled my face into a smile.
The door opened and then there he was, blinking against the bright morning sun. His chest and feet were bare; it seemed I’d woken him.
‘You.’
‘I was in the neighbourhood.’
He crossed his arms and I noticed how his forearms were a tanned, golden brown, his chest white. The contrast was so sharp it made it look like he was wearing a T-shirt.
‘I did not expect to see you again.’
‘I stopped for a drink at the shop,’ I said, my voice shaky. ‘But it seems to have closed down?’
He smiled.
‘You better come in.’
Relieved he hadn’t, after all, shut the door in my face, I followed him up the narrow stairs. When I reached the top I found myself in an open-plan kitchen and living space, empty except for an L-shaped black leather sofa and an enormous plasma TV on the far wall. There was only one photo on display; a small, square snap framed in silver, it sat on a shelf next to the TV. I moved in close to the photo. It featured three children: two boys and a girl standing outside a terraced house. The washed-out oranges and yellows of the print and the boxy, thick-fringed haircuts suggested the photo had been taken some time in the late sixties or early seventies. In the picture the children had their arms wrapped around each other, their eyes screwed up against the sun.
I picked it up, wanting to study it more closely.
‘Who is this?’
‘Me and my brother and sister.’ Gently, he took the picture from me and replaced it on the shelf.
I sniffed the air. An old fried-food and washing-powder smell seemed to have sunk deep into the walls, floor and ceiling.
Tommy headed for the small kitchen that took up one corner of the room and began to fill the kettle.
I walked over to near where he stood and leant against the fridge.
‘Has Keith moved?’
Getting two mugs out of a cupboard, he set them to one side and used a spoon to tap out a rhythm on the kitchen counter while the kettle boiled.
I’d gone in too fast. I tried a change of tack.
‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch.’