55 Hiding

“What are you doing?  You can’t bring her...  My sister’s going to be here any...”

“Look, Sammy, I just do what I'm told, right?  Smiler says bring the girl ‘ere, I bring ‘er ‘ere.”

“But...  I told Smiler I was busy today.  How am I supposed to explain her to my sister?”

Bluto, six foot ten of solid muscle, shrugged.  “Not my problem, mate.”  He dropped the unconscious girl on Sammy’s sofa and squeezed himself back out of the front door of the flat.   “I’ll be back for her tonight.”

Sammy closed the door and looked at the girl from where he stood, trying to assess whether she was really unconscious.  It was well within the bounds of possibility that she was a plant.  Unable to decide from a distance, he moved closer.  She was breathing deeply and regularly, but there were no other signs of life.

He glanced at the clock.  Alison would be here in five minutes; he would have to hide the girl with the throw on the back of the sofa, a nod to interior design that he was suddenly grateful for.  He draped it gently over the girl, just as there was a sharp rap on the door.

He crossed the room and opened the door, careful to keep himself between the door and the sofa.

“Hi, Alison!” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion but replied to his greeting.

“Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make you a cuppa,” he continued, aware that he was grinning inanely.

“O...K...”

“How’s Mum?” he asked as he ushered her through the kitchen door and closed it with a sigh of relief.

“What’s...?” began Alison but he put a finger to his lips and made a writing motion.

She frowned but caught on, beginning a long and involved story about some trouble over a prescription whilst rummaging in her bag for pen and paper.  When she produced them, he fairly snatched them out of her hand, pointing urgently at the kettle.

“I’ll get the kettle on!” he said, a little louder than necessary, whilst Alison filled it, switched it on, then made a fuss over finding cups.

Meanwhile, Sammy was frantically writing on the pad: THERE IS AN UNCONSCIOUS GIRL ON THE SOFA – UNLESS SHE’S ONLY PRETENDING.

He held it up for her to read and she nodded to show she understood.

I THINK SMILER MIGHT BE SUSPICIOUS.

Alison was still talking about their ‘mother’s’ prescription but she shrugged a silent, ‘Why?’.

DUNNO – I SWEAR I’M DOING THIS RIGHT.  TOO RIGHT!

She gave a puzzled frown as her mouth said, “...so I think she really needs to change her medication and I’m taking her to the doctor myself next time.”

I’M LOSING IT!  I’VE HIDDEN MYSELF SO WELL, I DON’T KNOW WHO I REALLY AM

I’M PRETENDING TO HIDE A GIRL FROM YOU BUT REALLY I’M HIDING YOU FROM HER

I DON’T KNOW WHICH WAY IS UP!

Aloud, he said, “That sounds like a good idea.”

She took the pen and paper while he took over making the drinks.

IT’S A HAZARD OF DEEP COVER – THEY EXPLAINED IT – THAT'S WHY I’M HERE AS YOUR HANDLER

“I know,” he said quietly as he placed the cups on the table.

“So, what have you been up to?” she asked, handing him the writing materials.

He made up some stuff, the kinds of things men of his age would normally do, whilst writing down everything he had actually been doing with the gang he was infiltrating.  As he was writing, a thought struck him and he added it to the end of the list.

SHE MIGHT BE TRAFFICKED

Alison frowned and he jerked his head towards the living room.  Understanding dawned and she nodded.

I COULD GET HER OUT

She shook her head vehemently but he held up his hand.  “Hear me out,” he said.  “I’m a decent bloke - the ‘other’ me, I mean.  I don’t think I'd stand for it.”

She frowned, putting her finger to her lips.  Sighing, he went back to describing an imaginary event at the pub as she wrote.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

“I want to stop hiding…”