Deborah knew Zawadi meant that the circumstances of the eight-year-old’s arrival looked virtually the same as those that had heralded Bolu Akin’s arrival: in the company of two adolescents. She couldn’t blame her for that reaction in light of all that had happened to her. In a fashion that was only too typical, the tabloids were in the process of dissecting Zawadi thoroughly, every inch of her life and the life of her ex-husband as well. So no matter why the boy and two girls had come to Orchid House, Zawadi was going to be cautious to the tenth degree. Deborah clarified with, “The other is a girl. She’s been crying and so has the child. And the boy’s been beaten.”
“I cannot help beaten boys. He should go to the police.” Zawadi’s mouth formed a straight line that claimed her decision had been made.
Narissa came into the corridor where Deborah was still standing in the office doorway. She looked in the direction of the little group that had arrived. She said, “Zawadi, they’re just in the corridor. I’m going to—”
Clearly, Zawadi wasn’t having that. She rose. Deborah stepped back to give her passage. She followed her and Narissa to where the newcomers sat. They all got to their feet at Zawadi’s approach. Deborah handed each of them a bottle of water.
Zawadi went to the boy. Her expression changed from hard to wary to alarmed in the time it took her to put her hand on his arm. She said to the older of the two girls, “This one needs A and E.”
“He won’t go,” she said. “His dad did this to him. He’s scared the same happened to his mum so he wants to go back to help her.”
Zawadi said to the boy, “You’ve a voice?”
He nodded but he didn’t speak. The little girl had tried to hide herself behind him, and he drew her out and put his arm round her shoulders. “This is Simisola,” he finally said. “I’m Tani. She’s Sophie. Sophie says you c’n help us.”
Sophie said, “Simi’s dad means to have her cut. He had it all arranged with someone he’d found in town. Tani’s mum tried to stop him. But he beat on her. Then we—me and Tani—tried to stop him with a protection order. We had it filled out but it got ripped to shreds by Tani’s dad. We mean to fill out another.”
“He’s setting up to take Simi to Nigeria,” Tani said.
“Has he passports?” Zawadi spoke brusquely, as if unwilling to let any emotion enter into her conversation with the kids.
“Yeah.”
“You have them?”
He shook his head. “I di’n’t have time to look for them, but I think I know where they are.”
“Come to my office.” Zawadi sounded abrupt, and Deborah wondered if it was disbelief that was triggering her reaction or something else. And while Deborah couldn’t blame her for caution, this situation looked straightforward. One didn’t counterfeit injuries like those on the boy.
A mobile rang suddenly. Tani dug his smartphone from his jeans. He looked at the screen, apparently saw who the caller was, and said, “I got to take this,” and to Sophie, “I’s from the market.”
They heard only one side of the conversation, which consisted of, “Tiombe, you’re back? . . . Oh. Right. No worries . . . I found a place, so—”
And then he listened for a bit to what Tiombe was relating to him. He looked at Simisola. Then he looked at Sophie. He said, “What’d she tell him, then?” and he listened again. Finally, he said, “？’S’okay. Really. But I wish Bliss’d rung me before she—”
More listening and then, “Yeah. Guess so. I ’preciate the inf’rmation.”
A few more words and the call ended. He said to Sophie, “We got seen in the market couple of times, me and you. He knows ’bout you.”
“But not my name!”
“Not yet. Least, that’s how it seems.”
“I was only ever there with you, Tani. I don’t think I ever talked to anyone. No one actually knows me there. Did you tell anyone my name?”
He shook his head, and Zawadi said, “What’s this going on, please?”
Tani said, “My dad’s looking for Simi in Ridley Road Market. He’s got two shops there. Tha’ was a friend ringing. The person who works with her left her a message that my dad’s been asking questions round all the shops ’n’ stalls. Simi’s pals with them. They got a hair salon.”
“That was one of them who rang you?”
“Yeah. Tiombe. She’s in Wolverhampton jus’ now. Soon’s my dad started asking questions round all the stalls and shops, her partner rang her to send me the message.” He said to Sophie, “We can’t—me an’ Simisola—we can’t go back to your house, Soph. If he finds out your name and shows up and we’re there, it’ll be real ugly.”