The Girl in the Ice

‘And the kids’ fathers?’

‘They’re actually her grandkids, and who knows? Stick your finger in the phone book.’

Woolf removed the dressing and started to clean the bloody bite mark with a fresh one.

‘Are they homeless?’

Woolf nodded.

‘Could we get them into emergency social services, bed and breakfast?’ asked Erika. She could still see Ivy, standing in the car park smoking under the harsh lights and mouthing off to no one in particular. The kids were huddled around her, flinching as she gestured with her arms.

Woolf laughed darkly. ‘She’s banned from most of the B&Bs and hostels for soliciting.’

He lifted off the bandage and applied a large square plaster to the back of Erika’s hand.

‘Thanks,’ said Erika, flexing her fingers.

Woolf started to pack up the first aid kit. ‘Now you know what I’m going to tell you. You need to see a doctor about the bite. Get a tetanus jab, and you know . . . Street kids, not healthy.’

‘Yeah,’ said Erika.

‘And I have to log this down. Everything what happened. She pulled a knife on you. He bit you . . .’

‘Yes, and I hit him. I hit a bloody kid . . . It’s fine. Do your job, and thank you.’

He nodded, took his seat again and pulled out some paperwork. Erika turned back to look outside, but Ivy and the kids were gone.

10

It was bitingly cold outside. The main entrance of Lewisham Row Police Station was lit up, but the car park was a pool of darkness. Long rows of cars twinkled with frost under the street lamps, and beyond, the traffic crawled steadily by. Erika’s hand was still throbbing. She pointed the key fob to her left and clicked, then did the same to her right. A car down the far end of the car park gave two pulses of orange light. She cursed and set off, dragging her case through the deep snow.

She stowed the case in the boot and got inside. The car was freezing, but smelt new. She turned on the engine and activated the central locking. When the heaters had warmed the inside up a little, she pulled out of the parking space and drove slowly towards the exit.

Ivy was standing on the pavement outside. The children were huddled together under her arms, shivering uncontrollably. Erika stopped level with them and opened her window.

‘Where are you going, Ivy?’ she asked. Ivy turned, the wind catching a wisp of her long grey hair and pressing it against her face.

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ said Ivy.

‘I can give you a lift.’

‘Why would we get in a car with a kiddy-bashing pig?’

‘I’m sorry. I was really out of order. I’ve had a bad day.’

‘You’ve had a bad day. Try being me, love,’ snorted Ivy.

‘I can take you wherever you need to go, and the kids can warm up,’ said Erika, noting the little girls’ bare legs underneath their thin dresses.

Ivy narrowed her eyes. ‘What do I have to do in return?’

‘All you have to do is sit in the car,’ said Erika. She dug out a twenty-pound note. Ivy went to take it, but Erika held it away. ‘You get it when I drop you off, provided there’s no more knives, or biting.’

Ivy shot the little boy a look and he nodded obediently. ‘Fine,’ she said. She opened the back door and the kids clambered in, crawling across the back seat. When Ivy got in beside Erika, she gave off a nasty, tramp-like whiff. Erika swallowed the fear of Ivy’s proximity.

‘Seat belts,’ she said, thinking that it would be safer for her if they were all strapped down.

‘Yeah, we wouldn’t want to break the law,’ laughed Ivy, pulling the seatbelt round and fastening it with a click.

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Catford,’ said Ivy. Erika pulled out her phone and clicked on her Google maps app. ‘Bloody hell,’ said Ivy, ‘I’ll direct you. Go left.’

The car was a very smooth drive, and as the street lights played over the windscreen, the unusual combination of Ivy, her grandchildren, and Erika settled into an almost comfortable silence.

‘So. You got any kids?’ asked Ivy.

‘No,’ said Erika. She put on the windscreen wipers as a dusting of snow hit the windscreen.

‘You a lezzer?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t bother me. I don’t mind lezzers. You can have a good drink with a lezzer, and they’re good at DIY . . . I tried it once, mind. Didn’t like the taste.’

‘Of what? DIY?’ joked Erika.

‘Very funny. Sayin’ that, I’m thinking of going lezzer again. I’ll have to split the money but I’m getting sick of the taste of cock.’