‘It is amazing that you managed to find this place.’
The force of Danny’s laughter tips his head slightly back. ‘What did your father say to you? He knows people.’
He certainly does – enough to spring Miriam out of jail and make the charges go away.
Taking the car into a tight turn he tells me, ‘Originally I emailed the picture of the centre to contacts who work for councils, social services and the charity sector. And one of my guys came good. He has thirty-odd years working in local authority.’
I’m distracted by a text message from my manager, Janice.
The lawyer is working out a treat. I predict you’ll be back at work in no time.
This business with the lawyer again. I still have no idea what she means. I’ve got so much going on in my head that touching base with her about this matter keeps being pushed down my to-do list.
‘Problem?’ Danny quizzes me.
‘No.’ I put my phone away. ‘Nothing that can’t wait until later.’
We drive down a North London suburban road that must have once been quite prosperous, and then fallen on hard times, its stylish houses subdivided into flats and bedsits. Now it’s on the up again, a hive of activity with the scaffolding, skips and paint jobs of the professional classes moving in.
Danny slows the car and stops. ‘This is it.’
The house we sit outside has a happy vibe about it. Maybe it’s the whiteness of its paintwork, the gleaming glass of its windows or the assortment of kids’ toys in the front. And the banner stretched across the front:
COMMUNITY CRèCHE. OPEN TO ALL. RATED OUTSTANDING.
The words are circled by a chain of children who represent the colours of multi-racial London dancing and laughing together. A scowl of complete confusion mars my skin. I don’t understand this. What are we doing at a crèche?
‘What’s going on?’ I glance at Danny sharply.
He looks confused. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
He releases an annoyed shot of air. ‘That business with Miriam made me forget.’ Apologetically he lays a hand over mine. ‘My contact informs me that this was once the Suzi Lake Centre. But it shut down a long time ago.’ My heart sinks. ‘I thought if we came here maybe the manager of the crèche knows something of the building’s history.’
He squeezes my hand. ‘This is good. Don’t get despondent. We’re on the right track.’
Spirits slightly revived I follow Danny towards the black front door, which opens so fast I wonder if the manager has been lurking near the entrance waiting for Danny’s arrival.
It’s a woman, who has the middle-aged softness that children love to embrace. And I say children because that’s what I hear in the background: the music of little voices and tinkling laughter.
She is full-on enthusiastic, all over Danny, crowding him from all angles and effectively cutting me out. ‘Let me warn you now, Mr Greene,’ she’s breathing into his face, ‘I’ll be slipping you the forms later so you can join our list of sponsors.’
She certainly knows he’s a wealthy man. But there’s something else. She’s drawn to my father’s magnetic quality. The way he nods and affirms everything she says, the way he breathes, ‘I see’， the way those baby blues of his touch her with magic. Then my mind switches to another image. Monochrome, dull, outdoors; Danny shouting at Miriam in the street.
‘Call me Danny and I’ll be delighted to support your work here. This is my daughter, Eva. As a doctor she’ll be very interested in your work.’
I catch his eye to ask: Will I?
His answer: Play along.
She’s certainly going all out for her sponsorship. ‘Take your time looking around.’
I walk step by step with the manager. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Three years.’
This is no good. ‘And may I ask what the place was before?’
‘I’ve no idea but it was empty for a while before we moved in.’
‘It wasn’t some kind of centre?’
‘I wouldn’t know. You could check online, of course, perhaps it was once.’ Her face suddenly scrunches up with displeasure when she spots a little girl pulling a boy around by his ear, her features twisted into mischievous pleasure. ‘Will you excuse me?’ Her tone changes. ‘Sabrina! Let go! Now!’
While the manager marches off to restore order, I slip back to the reception area. A leaflet rack provides me with the crèche’s exact address details, which I immediately plug into my phone and search. The only thing that comes up is the details of the building’s sales over the years. And something else that leaves me puzzled.