The Power(35)

‘Do you have a good feeling about all women?’

Mother Eve shakes her head. ‘Not this good. Do you want to stay?’

‘Yeah,’ says Roxy. ‘For a bit, anyway. See what you’re up to here. I like your …’ She searches for the word. ‘I like how it feels here.’

Mother Eve says, ‘You’re strong, aren’t you? As strong as anyone.’

‘Stronger than anyone, mate. Is that why you like me?’

‘We can use someone strong.’

‘Yeah? You got big plans?’

Mother Eve leans forward, puts her hands on her knees. ‘I want to save the women,’ she says.

‘What, all of them?’ Roxy laughs.

‘Yes,’ says Mother Eve, ‘if I can. I want to reach them and tell them that there are new ways to live, now. That we can band together, that we can let men go their own way, that we don’t need to stick to the old order, we can make a new path.’

‘Oh yeah? You do need a few blokes, to make babies, you know.’

Mother Eve smiles. ‘All things are possible with God’s help.’

Allie’s phone beeps. She looks at it. Makes a face. Turns it over so she can’t see the screen.

‘What’s up?’ says Roxy.

‘People keep emailing the convent.’

‘Trying to get you out of here? Nice place. I can see why they’d want it back.’

‘Trying to give us money.’

Roxy laughs. ‘What’s the problem? Got too much?’

Allie looks at Roxy thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Only Sister Maria Ignacia has a bank account. And I …’ She runs her tongue over her top front teeth, makes her lips click.

Roxy says, ‘You don’t trust no one, do you?’

Allie smiles. ‘Do you?’

‘Price of doing business, mate. Got to trust someone or you’ll get nothing done. You need a bank account? How many do you want? Want some out of the country? Cayman Islands is good, I think, don’t know why.’

‘Wait, what do you mean?’

But before Allie can stop her, Roxy’s taken out her phone, snapped a picture of Allie and is sending a text.

Roxy grins. ‘Trust me. Got to find some way to pay my rent, don’t I?’

A man arrives at the convent before seven o’clock the next morning. He drives up to the front gate and just waits there. Roxy knocks on Allie’s door, drags her down the driveway in her dressing gown.

‘What? What is it?’ says Allie, but she’s smiling.

‘Come and see.’

‘All right, Einar,’ says Roxy to the man. He’s stocky, mid-forties, dark hair, wearing a pair of sunglasses on his forehead.

Einar grins and nods slowly. ‘You OK here, Roxanne? Bernie Monke said to look after you. Are you being looked after?’

‘I’m grand, Einar,’ says Roxy. ‘Super-duper. Just gonna stay with my mates here for a few weeks, I reckon. You got what I need?’

Einar laughs at her.

‘I met you in London once, Roxanne. You were six years old and you kicked me in the shins when I wouldn’t buy you a milkshake while we waited for your dad.’

Roxy laughs, too, easily. This is simpler for her than the dinner. Allie can see it.

‘Shoulda bought me a milkshake, then, shouldn’t you? Come on, hand it over.’

There’s a bag with – clearly – some of Roxy’s clothes and other things in. There’s a laptop, brand-new, top of the range. And there’s a little zip-up case. Roxy balances it on the edge of the open car boot and unzips it.

‘Careful,’ says Einar. ‘Rush job. Ink will still smudge if you rub it.’

‘Got that, Evie?’ says Roxy. ‘No rubbing them till they’re dry.’

Roxy hands her a few items from inside the case.

They’re passports, US ones, driver’s licences, social-security cards, all as legitimate-looking as if they’d been made up by the government themselves. And all the licences and all the passports have her photo in. Changed a bit each time: different hair, a couple of them with glasses. And different names, to match the names on the social-security cards and the licences. But her, every time.

‘We did you seven,’ says Roxy. ‘Half a dozen, and one for luck. Seventh one’s UK. In case you fancy it. Did you manage to get the bank accounts, Einar?’

‘All set up,’ says Einar, fishing another, smaller zip-up wallet out of his pocket. ‘But no deposits over one hundred thousand in one day without talking to us first, all right?’

‘Dollars or pounds?’ says Roxy.

Einar winces slightly. ‘Dollars,’ he says. Then, hurriedly, ‘But only for the first six weeks! Then they take the checks off the accounts.’

‘Fine,’ says Roxy. ‘I won’t kick you in the shins. This time.’

Roxy and Darrell kicked around in the garden for a bit, toeing at stones and picking bark off the tree. Neither of them ever even liked Terry that much, but it’s weird now he’s gone.

Darrell went, ‘What did it feel like?’

And Roxy was like, ‘I wasn’t down there when they got Terry.’

And Darrell went, ‘Nah, I mean when you did Primrose. What did it feel like?’