Helen Black - A Place of Safety

I for one am not about to surrender everything I hold dear.

Mass immigration has been a disaster and it’s got to stop.

We are at saturation point.

Write to your MP saying you will no longer tolerate being a second-class citizen in your own home.

Boycott shops owned by in-comers.

Fly the flag of St George with pride.

Snow White closed the lid of her laptop. She hated to leave a live discussion but she needed to pick up her husband’s shirts from the dry-cleaners’. She checked the clock. If she didn’t dilly-dally she’d still have enough time to pop into the butcher’s and get home in time for the live podcast.

A hostel had recently opened in Manor Wood, within half a mile of Sam’s school. The building, Hounds Place, had previously been a police-station house but had been bought up by a professional landlord who saw the potential for squeezing five desperate refugees into each room.

The influx of nearly thirty foreigners into a small village like Manor Wood had not been greeted with overwhelming delight. The infamous hospitality of the English countryside did not, it seemed, extend to the raggle-taggle bunch of young men and women who had risked everything to leave their wartorn homelands.

Lilly had begged Rupes to let her represent two fourteen-year-old boys who had fled the Taliban. Without any relatives in the UK care orders had been made without fuss or objection so the use of Lilly’s time had been negligible. Two had become four, then a teenager from Bosnia arrived and another from Uganda. Although she kept the increasing numbers quiet, particularly from Rupes, Lilly now represented at least half the kids in there. It didn’t take up too much of her energy, she told herself, as she checked her watch.

As soon as she crossed the threshold a young man in a checked shirt and denim jacket sidled over.

‘Hello, Artan,’ said Lilly.

He should have been a good-looking boy with his full pink lips and the blackest of lashes, but something about him always unnerved Lilly. His entire family had been killed in Kosovo, but he never seemed angry or sad or even confused. He was cold.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

Artan shook his head to indicate that things were not good. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘I’ve got twenty minutes,’ said Lilly.

They went to the kitchen and the few residents who had been sitting around chatting got up and left. Something was very wrong.

‘Have you been arrested again, Artan?’ Lilly asked. A month ago she’d got him off with a warning for shoplifting.

‘It is nothing like that.’ His eyes were vacant, devoid of any clue as to what lay beneath.

‘Are you in trouble?’ she asked.

‘Something has happened to my friend,’ he said.

‘Something bad?’

‘Very, very bad,’ said Artan.

Alarm bells started to ring. ‘Has he been hurt?’

‘It’s a girl,’ said Artan. ‘And yes, she has been hurt.’

The alarm bells were pounding out now. The three-minute warning.

‘Go on,’ said Lilly.

‘Some boys from the village have taken advantage of her,’ said Artan.

‘You mean she’s been raped?’

Artan nodded.

‘Has she been to the police?’ asked Lilly.

‘It is not so simple,’ said Artan. ‘She doesn’t trust them.’

Lilly nodded. Despite special suites and task forces, most rapes continued to go unreported, and refugees were even less likely to take their chances with the authorities.

‘She doesn’t think the police will believe her,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘She drank alcohol with these local boys and went to the park with them,’ he said. ‘They will say she wanted to have sex.’

‘Why did she go with them?’ asked Lilly.

‘Because her mind is not clear,’ he said.

The silence was thick between them. Lilly knew all their stories were horrific. That none of them were unscathed.

‘Can you promise these boys will be convicted?’ he said.

‘No one can make a promise like that.’

Artan leaned towards her, his voice dropping. ‘Is there a good chance?’

Lilly weighed her words very carefully ‘Rape is one of the most difficult offences to prove, and in a case like this where it’s one girl’s word against three presumably squeaky-clean schoolboys it would be even more difficult.’

Artan closed his eyes, his breathing slow and heavy.

Lilly shivered. ‘But that’s not to say she shouldn’t report it.’

‘Why?’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘So that she can be humiliated again and again?’

When he opened his eyes they seemed even more desolate than before.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lilly.

She thought she saw a flash of anger skitter across his face.

‘We are not animals,’ he said. ‘These boys must be punished.’

* * *

Twenty-four pounds.

It was daylight robbery.

Still, it was the best organic beef from cows allowed to roam freely around their farm in Sussex. Mr Simms even had photos of ‘the girls’ above his counter, all doe eyes and bell collars. Some thought that was a step too far but Snow White saw nothing wrong with it. Grandpa had kept chickens and had slit their throats in front of her for Sunday lunch. She could still hear the damned squawking.

People these days had no respect for the provenance of their food. They wanted everything clean and shrinkwrapped.

She had taught her children that life just wasn’t like that. When a fox had killed every last one of their pet bunnies she had told them to stop crying and let them sit up with her until midnight when she took him out with her shotgun. ‘Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.’

She put the meat in the fridge and logged on to her laptop.

Welcome, Snow White—today’s live podcast will start in five minutes.

Excellent. She hadn’t missed it.

Humming to herself, she made a pot of Darjeeling.

Lilly’s mind was still heavy with what she had heard. When she pulled into her son’s prep school she almost hit a Mercedes and its driver hooted. Lilly was tempted to give her the finger, but such a gesture would be considered rude and vulgar, an unforgivable sin for the middle-class parents among whom Lilly already had few friends.

She was about to berate herself once again for giving in to her ex-husband on the subject of schooling when her mobile rang.

The voice was Irish honey. ‘Hello, gorgeous. Got time for a natter?’

Lilly got out of the car and smiled. ‘For you,’ she said, ‘I’ve always got time.’

It was Jack McNally, a copper Lilly had known for years, and had flirted with for nearly as long before he’d finally made a move.

‘What are you wearing?’ he asked.

Lilly laughed. ‘I’d like to say a basque and fishnet stockings.’

A passing parent wrinkled her nose. Lilly wanted to stick out her tongue.

‘But,’ said Jack, ‘I’m sensing a “but”’.

‘To be honest, I’m at school, and even I’m not brazen enough to parade around here in my undies.’

‘You wouldn’t want to make all those yummy mummies jealous,’ he said.

‘Now I remember why I like you.’

She sauntered to the football pitch where Sam, in goal, was in position to save a penalty. Lilly hardly dared watch, even though it was only a practice session. ‘So how’re things?’

‘Same old, same old,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she groaned, as Sam batted the ball clear of the goal, the slap of the leather against his skin audible even from the touchline. Though it was undoubtedly uncool for a nine year old to show any pain his middle-aged mother couldn’t help herself.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You sound a bit distracted.’

‘I had a funny meeting just before you called.’