It was her sister Lenka, calling from Slovakia.
‘I’m going mad,’ muttered Erika, when she realised she was disappointed. ‘I’d rather get a call from a serial killer than my own sister.’ She took a deep breath and answered the call.
‘Ahoj zlatko!’ chirruped her sister. Lenka was sitting in her living room on a large leather sofa, covered in a sheepskin rug. The wall behind was a startling shade of orange and there were several photos of her kids, Karolina and Jakub, dotted about. Her long blonde hair was scraped up into a knot on the top of her head, and despite having a huge pregnancy bump she wore a hot pink strappy top.
‘Hi, Lenka,’ Erika smiled, speaking in Slovak. ‘You look like you’re about to pop!’
‘Yeah. Not long now,’ said her sister. ‘I had to phone you. I had my last scan and I’ve got news. It’s another boy!’
‘That’s great, congratulations,’ said Erika.
‘Marek is thrilled. He just took me to the jeweller in town – you remember, the posh one on the high street – and bought me an ankle bracelet.’
Marek was Lenka’s husband, and he had recently been jailed for receiving stolen goods.
‘How did Marek manage that?’ asked Erika.
‘He’s working again.’
‘Working? I thought he was in jail?’
‘He got parole a month ago.’
‘How did he get parole all of a sudden? He was sent down for four years.’
‘Erika, I knew you’d be like this…He remembered something that the police found useful, so they let him go… I’m also phoning to say you don’t need to send me any more money. Thank you.’
‘Lenka…’
‘No, I’m fine, Erika. Now Marek is back, things are good.’
‘Why don’t you start up another bank account? I’ll keep sending you the money and you put it to one side, keep it to yourself.’
‘You don’t need to look after me, Erika.’
‘I do. You know that people who work for the mafia always end up either being killed or banged up for life. Do you want to be a single mother with two kids – three, now you’re having another one with him?’
‘He’s worked hard at being good, and he got parole,’ said Lenka, putting her hands up angrily, as if this now gave him the edge on other fathers. ‘Life is different here, Erika.’
‘That doesn’t mean it’s right.’
‘You don’t understand. Can’t you at least be pleased? Marek looks after us. The kids have nice clothes, they’ve got iPhones. This little boy won’t want for anything. We’ll be able to get them into nice schools…’
‘God forbid they have to spend all those tedious hours studying, when Marek can go and threaten to kneecap their teacher!’
‘Erika, I don’t want to talk about this any more. I didn’t call to row with you,’ said Lenka, adjusting the knot on top of her head with an air of finality. ‘Anyway. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to ring your Skype. I phoned four times on Mark’s anniversary.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You should put up some pictures,’ Lenka said, peering through the camera. ‘Looks like a prison cell.’
‘I’m keeping it like this for when you and Marek visit. So he feels at home.’
Despite this, they both began to laugh.
‘The kids say hi,’ said Lenka, when they’d calmed down. ‘They’re out at the lido with their friends.’
‘Give them a kiss from me,’ said Erika. ‘And let me know when you go into labour, okay?’
‘Okay… I’ll let you know. Love you.’ Lenka put her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss. Erika returned it and then the screen went black.
After the Skype call, the silence was deafening in the flat. Erika’s eyes moved around the bare walls and then came to rest on the bookshelf, piled high with assorted junk. Next to the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey was the signed book Stephen Linley had given her. She got up and pulled out the copy of From My Cold Dead Hands and started to read.
62
Moss had taken advantage of her unexpected free Sunday and was glad to be home for her son Jacob’s bath and bedtime. She had just finished reading him a story and saw that he was asleep. She kissed his sleeping face and wound up his night light so it would continue to play its twinkly lullaby for a little while longer.
When she came outside onto the landing, her wife, Celia, was holding the phone.