Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(80)

It feels strange, not putting on a suit and going to work, but it isn’t as if she has nothing to do while searching for a job. Jemima has made sure of that. Layla realized last night that there was more camaraderie in the girls’ bathroom at Silvey and Grayson than she has given credit for. Every woman there had to store her makeup bag in the toilets so she didn’t have to carry it across the office and hear someone say, “Off to apply some lippy, eh?” At times Layla wanted to say, “Off to have a wank, eh?” Her stash in the bathroom was simple—a Jocelyn rule: perfume, mascara, lip gloss, a brush. Four items that fitted in a pencil case. Too small for the large M & S bag Jemima handed over. She may have been sent in to clean out Layla’s office and find evidence that she has been compromising the firm, but Jemima held on to a manila folder labeled “Skipton” from Layla’s drawer.

In the kitchen, staff are arguing and music blares from someone’s iPod. Jimmy is at a table in the corner with Violette and Eddie, his head bent low as they talk. The kids are hanging off his every word.

Violette is the first to notice her standing there. Once, Layla was Violette’s favorite babysitter, but teenage Violette is a different story. She has a dismissive, disdainful look that could send the best of them into the fetal position. Nevertheless, she stands and kisses Layla on both cheeks.

“Eddie, this is Layla,” Violette says.

The boy has a mouth full of bread and can respond only with a few mumbles and a nod.

When Bilal walks in to speak to one of the chefs, Violette excuses herself and goes after him. Eddie follows with his plate.

“Well, Violette seems ecstatic to see me after all these years,” Layla says.

Jimmy holds out a hand and leads her outside. In the courtyard they stand in silence. She puts a hand to his face. He’s tense.

“Talk to me, Jimmy.”

“I can’t call the copper on them. I can’t.”

“They can stay with me.”

“Violette won’t stay put. Noor thinks she’ll head up to the place Etienne died, but I don’t know. She’s telling me nothing, and in about an hour I won’t have any control over the situation.”

He gathers himself. “I want you to promise me something, Layla. Go to those bastards and beg for your job back.”

“Are you going to waste time arguing with me about that? When we could be doing this?” She stands on tiptoes, kisses his mouth. When she hears a sound beside them, she glances over to see Eddie standing at the door with a plate of pita and baked egg yolks.

“I’m so confused,” the kid says. “I can’t get heads or tails of who’s related.”

“We’re not related,” Jimmy says, and can’t help laughing. Eddie disappears back inside.

A waiter steps out for a smoke, eager to talk football with Jimmy, so Layla goes back to find Violette and Eddie. When he sees her, Eddie whispers something in Violette’s ear and wanders off. Layla receives a loaded stare from a frightening miniature version of Aziza Sarraf. It’s the same look Jimmy’s mother had given her when Layla was seventeen and started sleeping with him. “If your mother finds out, it will all end in tears, habibi.”

It ended in tears for so many different reasons.

“Gigi reckons you were wasted at that dumb place you got sacked from,” Violette says.

“Thank you?” Layla is unsure if it’s a compliment.

“I’ve got some money saved, so I’d like to hire you, Layla.”

“Hire me?”

“For Noor.”

“Oh Violette, I’m not the right person to be talking to. I’m a solicitor.”

“Who’s out of a job because she sent an email to the Skipton police asking about my father’s death. Gigi overheard you telling Jocelyn. She says you’ve got a file. We think you’re the right person. It all begins with a solicitor.”

“Violette—”

“All my mother needs is someone smart who won’t give up. That’s what keeps happening—people give up because it’s too hard or the timing is wrong.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Layla says. “I’ll find out all I can about what happened with your father—”

“My father would have wanted you to take care of my mother first,” Violette says. “He loved you, Layla. The way he loved Uncle Jimmy. He used to tell my mum that Brackenham breast milk must have been pretty potent. That when a Bayat and a Sarraf put their heads to something, they never gave up.”

Layla sees a glimpse of tears, feels them sting her own eyes.

“I’ll give you all the money I have,” Violette says. “Just get my mum out of there.”

Jimmy returns with Eddie on his heels.

“Pity we can’t go on one of those double-decker bus tours,” Violette says, as if the intense conversation with Layla hasn’t happened. “Eddie wants to see Big Ben and I want to see where Wills and Kate live when they’re in London.”

“Yeah, heartbreaking,” Jimmy says, his voice gruff with affection. He puts an arm around each kid. “What were you speaking to Bilal about?” he asks Violette.

“A favor,” she says. “His two firstborn children.”





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