书虫1级《雪莉·霍姆斯和立陶宛青年案》3. 与卡丽交谈

3. Talking to Carrie

Carrie doesn't come the first evening. I sit there for two hours, and drink a lot of coffee. Five big cups, black, no sugar. It's a good thing I like coffee.

But she comes the second evening. I'm sitting with my back to the wall, watching the door. Through the café window I see Ant in her black clothes. She's walking past, slowly, looking into the café. A minute or two later Carrie comes in, and walks over to my table. Red hair, green eyes, no smile. I stand up.

Hi, Carrie. I'm Shirley Homes. Thanks for coming. Have a seat. Can I get you a coffee, or a tea?'

I'm using my head teacher voice. Right, girls, sit down. Open your books. Get to work. I don't want Carrie to have time to think.

She doesn't want coffee, or tea. She wants to have an argument.

I'm not going home,' she says. 'So you can forget that. I don't need my family. I have a new life now.'

I watch her face, and she stares back at me with angry green eyes. I don't think Carrie is in trouble. Carrie knows what she wants, and Carrie gets what she wants. I think Carrie makes trouble. I begin to feel sorry for the boyfriend.

Why are you here, Carrie?' I say. 'What did your friends say to you?'

A minute or two later Carrie comes in, and walks over to my table.

She doesn't answer, just looks at me.

Did they tell you about your mum – crying all night because her little girl is living on the streets, because her little girl is taking drugs, because her little girl is in big, big trouble—'

Suddenly, Carrie has a lot to say. 'I'm NOT living on the streets!' she shouts at me. 'And I don't do drugs – I NEVER do drugs! Who told you all this? It's NOT TRUE!'

People in the café turn their heads to look at us. I smile around at everybody. A smile to say, Everything's fine here. Just a big sister, little sister argument. Happens all the time. Enjoy your coffee, have a nice day...

I look back at Carrie's angry face.

But your mum doesn't know that,' I say quietly. 'At night, when she can't sleep, she thinks about those things. You're only fifteen, Carrie, and it's a big bad world out there. Of course your mum is afraid for you.'

Carrie looks down at the table. 'Yeah. Well...' She looks up. 'But I'm OK. I'm fine. You can tell her that.'

Why don't you tell her?' I say. 'Call her. Text her.'

Carrie stares at me. 'Who sent you?' she says. 'Mum? Or was it my dad?'

Your mum.'

Look, I'm not texting mum, because I don't want my dad to know. I don't want to see him again, ever.'

People in the café turn their heads to look at us.

We're not talking about your dad,' I say quickly. 'I know all about your dad. We're talking about your mum. And your mum needs to know you're all right. But she needs to hear it from you, not me. She texts you every day, you know. And you never text back. Never.'

Carrie looks away. 'I got a new mobile, and changed my number. I never got her texts.'

I laugh. 'Very good, Carrie. You read detective stories, right? Always change your mobile when you don't want people to find you. Dangerous things, mobile phones.'

Carrie nearly smiles. 'Tomas says—' she begins, then stops.

Is Tomas your boyfriend?' I say. 'The one from Lithuania? Are you still with him?'

Of course I'm still with him!' Carrie is angry again. 'I love him and he loves me. We're in love!'

I try not to smile. How wonderful to be fifteen, and in love for the first time!

That's great,' I say. 'I'm happy for you. But please, please text your mum. Tell her you're all right.'

OK,' says Carrie. 'This evening.' She looks at her watch and stands up. 'I must go. I'm meeting someone.'

Thanks for coming, Carrie. And remember that text.'

She walks out of the café, and fifteen seconds later I'm following her. She's walking down the High Street, maybe to the bus station. I've got a minute, but I must be quick.

A private investigator always needs to carry a big bag. I stop by a shop window, and open my bag. Three seconds later, I'm wearing a blue T-shirt over my red T-shirt. In another five seconds, I have a wig on, and my short black hair is now long blond hair. Now I'm walking away from the shop window, and I'm wearing glasses. My big brown bag is now inside a small black backpack. No time to change the shoes. Carrie is a long way down the street. I walk fast, nearly running, and watch her red head in front of me.

When I get to the bus station, I can't see her at first, and walk quickly past all the people waiting. She's there, waiting for the number 71 bus. I wait too, about twenty metres away, and I'm reading the evening newspaper with great interest. (A private investigator always has today's newspaper in their bag.) But Carrie doesn't look round.

When the bus comes, Carrie goes upstairs. This is good news for me because I can sit downstairs, at the back of the bus. I can see Carrie when she gets off, but she can't see me.

It's a short bus ride, only ten minutes. Carrie gets off the bus, and turns left into a small street. I'm thirty metres behind her. Carrie looks round, once, and sees someone with blond hair, in a blue T-shirt, and glasses. She doesn't know me.

Halfway down the street, she crosses the road and goes into a big old house. I walk past the house, not too fast, not too slow. I can't follow her into the house because there are no other people around. You can only hide easily when there are lots of people around.

I'm reading the evening newspaper with great interest.

I take the next right, walk for ten minutes, then turn around and come back. This time I walk to the front door of the big house. There are six bells by the door with names next to them. It's a house with six different apartments. I look at the names, but there isn't a 'Williams' next to any bell. Well, of course not. She's living with her Lithuanian boyfriend. I look at the names again... John Ozumba, K. Brown, Lili Sardelli, R. varnaite, T. Grigas, M. M. Westerbrook.

Varnaite and Grigas... Lithuanian names, I think. Tomas Grigas, perhaps?

You can't stand in a quiet street and watch a house. Everybody looks at you and says, 'Who's that woman? What's she doing?' But you can watch a house from a car. People often sit in cars, waiting for somebody, having a sleep, checking their phone messages...

I go home, make some spaghetti for dinner, and text Edith Williams.

Saw C today. She's fine.

More tomorrow.

There are six bells by the door with names next to them.