I show them my phone.
‘Her beautiful face,’ says Mum, her hands in tight fists, her lips pursed.
I read it out. ‘NYPD are investigating the suspected homicide of a young British woman now named as Katie Elizabeth Raven. The victim was found in her apartment in Morningside Heights on the evening of . . .’
‘That’s it?’ says Dad. ‘No arrests? No suspects in custody?’
‘That’s all there is, Dad. If they’d had a suspect in custody they would have let us know first, surely.’
‘We’ll find out much more tomorrow,’ says Mum. ‘They have to arrest whoever did this to Katie, and lock him up forever so he rots in a cell.’
Dad pays the bill. The guy opposite tracks me with his gaze as we leave the diner. He has bright blue eyes and a moustache. He’s a pig if he thinks we’re his free evening entertainment.
Mum shivers as we step out into the street, and Dad gives her his scarf. A couple pass us by and they look enraptured with each other. Like the two of them are the only people in Manhattan.
‘Let’s try to get some sleep,’ says Dad. ‘Moll, you must be exhausted. It’s the middle of the night for you.’
‘I’m OK.’
‘We have to rest,’ says Dad. ‘At least try. The police will need our help tomorrow.’
We walk, Mum and me in front, our arms linked together in a way we haven’t done since I was nine years old, always with my sister on the other side. This feels unbalanced. Dangerously out of kilter. Dad is behind us. He’s got a strong protective instinct, always vigilant; maybe that’s where I inherited it from. He always taught us girls self-defence at home during the summer holidays. Basic punches and kicks and evasive techniques. He wanted us both to be safe.
I say goodnight outside our rooms and Mum rests her head on my shoulder and she whispers, ‘Why?’
Dad makes sure I’m secure in my room and then he goes to bed.
I want to unpack my bag as quietly as I can but there’s nowhere to put anything. No bathroom for my toiletries and no wardrobe for my clothes. I start to unpack items on to the ground but the carpet is stained so I abandon the unpacking and check my coat instead. I have the monkey fist and I have the weighted sock. One makeshift weapon in each pocket.
I leave my room as quietly as I can, and click the door shut. I linger outside my parents’ room but all is silent. The floorboards creak but I make it out and then I’m loose in New York City after eleven p.m. This is a classic Molly Raven risk-reward situation. One of the YouTubers I subscribe to explained the formula years ago, and I think it’s a sensible thing to heed. The risk of me staying here in this Midtown hostel with no means of adequately defending myself – besides the aeroplane-approved methods – versus the risk of a very cautious, calculated form of late-night shopping.
I don’t want to go out but I must.
I pass by a 7-Eleven and make a mental note to visit this place on the way back. I need water bottles and basic food supplies in case of a hurricane or dirty bomb. Unfortunately this is the wrong time of year to visit New York. If something like Storm Sandy hits again I need to be well prepared. For my sake and for the sake of my parents.
There’s a food cart on the corner of each intersection. I go up to it and talk to the guy.
‘Anywhere around here I can buy a baseball bat, please?’
‘You want a smoothie?’
‘A bat.’
‘A bat?’
I nod.
‘I dunno anything about no bats. The sports shop on 42nd is closed by now but maybe try the twenty-four-hour hardware store down on Broadway – you might get lucky.’
We exchange pleasantries, and I compliment him on his mango display. He asks me where I’m from. My name. I tell him I’m an admin assistant. He tells me he grew up in Kabul. We chat more. He tries to sell me a fruit salad.
‘Thank you, sir, but no thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Nice guy.
I walk down Sixth Avenue and try to stay away from the bright lights of Times Square. I don’t need that kind of craziness. There’s a souvenir shop across the street so I check around me and walk inside. It’s a deep cave of a place lined with I heart NY caps and shirts, FDNY car plates, and models of the Statue of Liberty in every size you could wish for. I buy a bunch of things including a hat and a novelty lighter and a multi-tool with the Brooklyn Bridge engraved on it.
At the hardware store I buy a miniature water filter that screens bacteria. I pick up a bottle of extra-strong hornet and wasp spray, the kind that shoots a stream of foam, and I choose a rape whistle. For Mum and Dad I get a dozen wire hangers, and then a half-dozen more for me. Two small tarpaulins and three mousetraps and one small powder fire extinguisher. I ask the guy behind the counter if he sells baseball bats and he looks at the items I’m buying and he says, ‘There something happening I should know about, is there?’