Songbirds(50)

I shook my head. ‘Do you think they are connected?’ I said, once the woman had gone.

He responded by raising his eyebrows and opening both of his palms – he was at a loss. ‘I knew there was a problem when the first girl went missing,’ he said. ‘Rosamie. I placed her. She came here three years ago through an agency; she worked for a man who was no good to her. He beat her. God knows what else. She came to me for help. With some difficulty, I got her out of the clasp of her agent and found her a better home. She moved in with a British family in Akrotiri. They were good to her, and she was pleased with them. She would come here on Sundays, eat and talk with the other women. She was a good dancer too, loved the music here. One Sunday she didn’t come.’

He paused there. The phone rang again, but this time he turned it over and ignored it. ‘Billie Jean’ was playing in the back hall, and a couple of women were standing close to the booth chatting.

‘The next Sunday,’ he continued, ‘she didn’t turn up again, and I thought it was odd. The following one, her employer came here to tell me that she’d gone.’

‘She’d gone,’ I repeated. It seemed the only thing I could manage to say.

‘Mrs Manning went to the police, but they convinced her that Rosamie had run away to find employment in the north of Cyprus. Poor woman didn’t know what to believe. But I knew Rosamie. She came here beaming every Sunday because her bruises had faded, because she was happy with Mr and Mrs Manning. She would bring me a cake or biscuits, always thanking me. She said I had saved her life. Why would she run away? It doesn’t make sense. You see, when you clump people together and don’t understand their personal stories, you can make up any bullshit and convince yourself it’s the truth.’

By now the ash from his cigarette was long and he threw it in the ashtray and took another out of the box, holding it between his fingers without lighting it. At this point Devna came in with a tray of coffee, two glasses of water and a plate of sesame fingers. She was a slim girl who looked like she could easily have been fifteen, but there was an assurance and confidence to her movements and posture which made me think she was older. I hoped she was, at least. She wore faded jeans with slits at the knees and a brightly coloured shirt. Large, silver, hooped earrings shone through her dark hair as she leaned over the desk, placing the tray on top of some paperwork.

‘They don’t know anything about life,’ Tony said, looking at Devna. ‘They’ve come from small communities, labourers in fields.’ I watched Devna’s fingers as she took the glasses and cups from the tray, placing them on the table – long, dark, beautiful fingers, her nails painted earth-green.

‘They say they want to send money to their families, but a lot of them come to find freedom. They think they’re going to be flying free in Europe. Back home they usually earn 200 euros a month; here it’s around 500. But what do they do? They look at TikTok and photographs on their phones all day and think about which boys they like. Isn’t that right, Devna?’

Devna laughed but said nothing.

‘Don’t you like boys?’

‘I do,’ she replied with a smile, ‘but that is not why I am here.’

‘So why are you here? Tell Petra why you are here.’

‘Please, madam,’ she said, smiling again with glistening lips, ‘this is your coffee and water.’

‘If they were clever,’ Tony said loudly, more to Devna than to me, ‘they would save!’

Devna turned her back to him and winked at me. There was a faint smile about her lips, a knowing in her pitch-black eyes. I took the wink to mean: Don’t listen to him, we know perfectly well why we are here.

Someone called Tony from the kitchen. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, leaving me in the booth with Devna.

‘I’ll tell you why I’m here,’ she said; and now that Tony was gone her voice was sharper, louder. ‘Tony is a good man, but he still doesn’t really understand. I came because I saw no other way forward at home. There was no work, nothing I could do. I have a brother who is disabled, he can’t walk or talk. My parents are old now. I have to send him money. Tell me, who will do this if I don’t? I was working night and day at home and it wasn’t enough. They say we have a better life here, but is that a reason to treat us like children, or worse, animals?’ There was a fierceness to her words. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ Her gaze was firm and penetrating.

‘Yes,’ I said, without looking away, feeling the full force of this woman’s determination and strength. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do. Have you told Tony this?’

‘Of course I have,’ she said. ‘He knows. He knows. He likes to tease me. The others don’t know, though. They see me as a robot.’

I gulped down the water and placed the empty glass back on the tray.

Tony returned and Devna winked at me again, smiled and left.

‘I can see that you’re distressed,’ he said. ‘And I want to hear your story. But first, let me tell you about the other missing girl, Reyna . . . Reyna was a different matter altogether. She came here five years ago with her sister, through an agency. Her sister, Ligaya, was relatively happy with her employers but Reyna was miserable. She worked for an old woman who shouted at her and she felt pretty homesick most of the time. One night, she went out and never returned. Ligaya came here, a wreck, a week later. She was crying a lot and I had to calm her down before I could understand anything. Reyna’s phone was switched off. She had left everything – her passport, other precious items, she went out with the clothes she was wearing and the shoes on her feet and never returned. The old woman wasn’t bothered – she was advised to find another maid, and she did. Poor Ligaya got my details from some other girls and came to me because she was afraid to go the police.’