Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(49)

‘If anything goes wrong, I’ll feel guilty.’

‘Good.’

I hand him the envelope with the money that I’ve earned over the past two nights, plus my savings, and the shrapnel I stole from Cyrus’s bedside drawer and his car. Morty slips the envelope into his back pocket without bothering to count. I have no idea why people like Cyrus and Morty trust me, but it gives me all the feels inside.

Poppy instinctively takes the passenger seat, as though she knows that she’s riding shotgun from now on. We have our own wheels and that means freedom. We can go anywhere we want. Well, maybe not anywhere. The tank is only a quarter full, and I just gave Morty all my money.

‘Where shall we go?’ I ask Poppy. ‘London? Paris? New York might be a stretch.’

I wonder if it’s possible to drive to Albania. I picture myself arriving in my village in the mountains – the one I struggled to find on a map. I would drive down the main street, waving to the girls I knew at school. I still picture them being small with pigtails and hair ribbons and school tunics, but they’d be grown up now. Some will have jobs or be married.

‘Look at me, I have my own car,’ I’d say. ‘And this is my dog. And I live in a big house in England.’

In reality, there is only one person I want to see – my best friend, Mina, who lived in a shack beside the railway yards with the other Roma families. Nobody else would remember me except Mina. I wouldn’t tell her the truth about what happened – how Mama never set foot in the promised land and Agnesa didn’t get to marry a prince and live in a castle, which is what she’d dreamed about since she was old enough to dream.

I drive carefully, getting used to the mirrors and positioning the Mini on the road. Cyrus thinks I’m an anxious driver, but I get nervous when I’m with him because I want to prove myself. I’m more confident when he’s not watching me. Poppy has her nose to a crack in the window, navigating the world through scent.

I try the radio and get nothing but static. The aerial is broken. I’ll get that fixed and buy car seat covers and floor mats and air freshener because Poppy just let one rip and almost suffocated me.

After crossing Lady Bay Bridge, I pull over and type Portland Road into my phone, asking for directions. The posh voice reminds me of Mrs McCarthy, the manager of Langford Hall.

Portland Road isn’t very long. Mostly it is full of old terraced houses with bay windows and tiny front gardens. I drive along it slowly, looking for any obvious blocks of flats.

Towards the far end, near the T-junction, there is a modern-looking building made of concrete and brick. Rubbish and recycling bins are lined up outside, each painted with numbers and letters that must correspond to flats.

I climb the stone steps and come to the front door. There are five post-boxes. Mitch said Lilah was on the ground floor, one of the low numbers. Poppy is sitting at my feet, looking at me expectantly.

I try one of the intercom buttons. Nobody answers. I try another.

‘Yeah?’ says a male voice, sounding annoyed.

‘I’m looking for Lilah.’

‘Wrong address.’

He hangs up. I buzz again.

‘It’s really important I find her,’ I say. ‘It’s about her dog.’

‘Flat two. She works shifts.’

I try to thank him, but he’s gone again. Prick!

Nobody answers the buzzer.

‘We’ll come back,’ I tell Poppy. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

As we turn back onto Portland Road, I notice a food truck parked near the corner. A picture of a sombrero and a cactus are painted on the side, next to a menu of Mexican street dishes. My stomach gurgles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. A man is lifting the sides.

‘Are you open?’ I ask.

‘Not yet.’

‘When?’

He’s about to answer when I notice a woman turning the corner. She’s walking on the far side of the road. Her overcoat is unbuttoned. Underneath, she’s wearing dark blue trousers and a light blue tunic – a nurse’s uniform. Her long hair is pinned to her scalp and she’s chatting on her phone.

Retreating to the stone steps outside the flats, I take a seat and pull Poppy between my knees. The woman appears. She ends her phone call and searches in her shoulder bag for her keys. She’s not looking as she climbs the steps and doesn’t see me until the last moment, when she lets out a squeak of alarm.

I act equally surprised.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘That’s OK. We surprised each other.’

She steps around me and stops. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

‘My uncle Mitch.’

As I say the words, her eyes widen, but she pretends that she didn’t hear me.

‘Mitch Coates. He lives here,’ I say.

She turns away and puts a key in the lock. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘This is his address. I came here once, years ago.’

‘He left.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘Away from here.’

She doesn’t want to say he went to jail. Poppy is trying to be friendly, wagging her tail. Lilah gets tangled in her lead and has to unwrap it from around her legs.

‘I have to find him,’ I say. ‘It’s really important.’