The two women were panting, as if they’d been in a fight.

‘No problem,’ said the dark woman.

‘I’m Carla,’ said Frieda.

The blonde woman frowned. ‘I am called Mira,’ she said.

‘I am Ileana,’ said the dark woman.

‘Hello,’ said Frieda, holding out her hand.

Mira hesitated for a moment. Then she wiped her hand on her trousers and took Frieda’s.

‘You’re bleeding,’ said Frieda. There was a bubble of blood on Mira’s index finger.

‘Is nothing.’

Frieda knelt down and picked up a couple of the fragments. ‘You’ve had an accident.’

‘That was not the fucking accident,’ said Ileana.

‘Oh,’ said Frieda. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’

‘There is no fucking milk,’ said Ileana.

‘That’s all right.’

‘No fucking tea.’

‘I’ll go and get some.’

When Frieda got back with tea and milk, Mira was in the bathroom. Frieda made the tea.

‘Shall I pour a tea for Mira?’

‘No,’ said Ileana. ‘She long time there. The hair. The nails. The skin.’ She made a sound expressing contempt.

Frieda poured two mugs. Ileana looked at her suspiciously. ‘What you do?’

‘Different things,’ said Frieda. ‘I’m a nanny at the moment. Mainly.’

‘Children,’ said Ileana, as if that was all that needed to be said.

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Frieda. ‘What do you do?’

‘In a market. The Camden Market.’

‘On a stall?’

‘The Spanish food. The paella.’

‘Are you from Spain?’

‘Braşov.’

‘That doesn’t sound Spanish.’

‘Romania.’

‘Do you work with Mira?’

Ileana pulled a face. ‘Never. She is hairdresser.’

‘I’ve got to go in a few minutes,’ said Frieda. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

Ileana thought for a moment. ‘No rules. Buy own food probably. Help clean. Pay for the heat with us. Careful with bringing people.’

‘I will be.’

‘Mira has the boyfriend. English.’ Ileana pulled the face again.

‘Not nice?’

‘He just see the face and the body and the sex.’

‘All right.’

‘If lights go, there is box by front door.’

Frieda stood up. Ileana looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘You are English?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are here?’

‘Just for a bit.’

‘Strange.’

Frieda tried to think of something to say that would make it seem less strange, but she couldn’t think of anything.

18

Reuben gave a dinner. Josef was there, of course, since he lived with Reuben, paying no rent but fixing the house, buying the vodka and cooking most of their meals, and so were Sasha, Jack Dargan, Frieda’s sister-in-law Olivia and Chloë. Chloë was just back from college, where she was taking a course in joinery and carpentry.

‘It’s just a phase,’ said Olivia, who had dreamed of having a doctor for a daughter.

‘I’m learning how to make chairs,’ said Chloë. ‘Tables. That’s more than you’ve ever done.’

She and Jack sat as far away from each other as possible: they had gone out, split up, got together again, and now they had once more separated. Jack ignored her, his cheeks flushed and his tawny hair standing up where he had pushed his hands nervously through it. Chloë glared at him and sometimes made loud, sarcastic remarks. Olivia had got dressed up for the occasion: she wore a purple skirt and lots of beads, and had tied her hair up in a complicated arrangement, with what looked like chopsticks sticking out of it. Her eye shadow was green and her lipstick red and she was already on the way to being drunk and slightly tearful. She sat next to Reuben and told him how she had recently let herself into Frieda’s house and sat in the living room and howled. ‘Like a baby,’ she said. Reuben patted her hand and refilled her glass. Only Sasha was silent.

Josef had cooked far too much food. He had spent most of the afternoon preparing summer borscht with cucumber and lemon added, wheat soup, his familiar pierogis – savoury and sweet.

‘And holopchi,’ he said, putting the steaming dish on the table. ‘And pyrizhky.’

‘You know I’m a vegetarian?’ asked Chloë. ‘What can I eat?’

Josef sighed in heavy disappointment. ‘There is much cabbage,’ he said. ‘Cabbage rolls, cabbage buns. And soup with no meat.’

‘Fish? Because I don’t eat fish either.’

‘We all drink a toast to Frieda now.’

He filled six glasses to the brim with vodka and passed them around. ‘To our dear friend,’ he said. His brown eyes glowed.

‘To Frieda,’ said Reuben.

‘Who’s an idiot,’ added Jack.

‘To Frieda,’ said Sasha, softly, as if to herself, raising her shot glass but taking only a delicate sip.

‘Now that we’ve done that …’ said Reuben. He turned to Josef. ‘Well?’

‘What?’

‘I’m not blind and I’m not stupid.’

‘What is this?’ said Josef.

‘About Frieda.’

‘I know nothing,’ Josef said. ‘Nothing.’

‘Creeping round the house, leaving in the middle of the night, whispered conversations. And I can always tell when you’re lying. And you won’t meet my eyes.’

Josef bent across the table and stared into Reuben’s eyes. The two men stayed like that for several moments, the room around them quite silent. Then Olivia began to giggle and they sat back. Josef knocked back another glass of vodka and wiped his forehead with a large handkerchief. Reuben sipped thoughtfully at his glass of wine.

‘We’re her friends too,’ Reuben said.

‘Sacred promise,’ said Josef.

‘Where is she?’

‘No. That is secret to her.’

‘But you’ve seen her?’

‘I cannot say.’

Sasha spoke, so quietly they had to lean forward to hear her. ‘If Josef’s made a promise, he should be allowed to keep it,’ she said. ‘Frieda has good reasons for wanting to remain hidden.’ She tossed the rest of her vodka down her throat and spluttered.

‘Whose side are you on?’ asked Reuben.

‘I didn’t know it was a question of sides.’

‘I help her find place,’ said Josef.

‘To live?’

‘My friend sort it.’

‘Where?’

‘Gone from there now.’

‘Gone? So where was she?’

Josef made a vague helpless gesture.

‘Where is she now?’

‘I do not know.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I am not.’

‘Is she all right?’ This from Chloë, who spoke in a fierce whisper as if someone might be listening in.

‘Hair all gone and odd clothes.’

‘Hair gone?’ gasped Olivia. ‘All of it?’

‘Why doesn’t she come to us?’ said Chloë. Her eyes had suddenly filled with tears and she blinked them away.

‘She doesn’t want to get us into trouble,’ said Reuben. ‘She’s protecting us.’

‘Fuck that,’ said Olivia, ferociously, and one of the chopsticks fell out of her hair. ‘If she’d killed ten men I would still be on her side.’

‘She hasn’t killed anyone,’ said Sasha. Her face was white and her cheeks very pink. Her fingers plucked at the tablecloth. ‘That’s the point. If the police think it’s her, they won’t find who really did it.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Jack.

‘I just do.’

‘She’s told you, has she?’

‘No!’

‘Why have you gone all red?’ Olivia was examining her. ‘You look slightly feverish.’

‘I’m just tired.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Olivia. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I keep thinking,’ said Jack, ‘that we should ask ourselves what Frieda would do.’

‘We know what Frieda would do because she’s gone and done it.’

‘I mean, in our position. Would she just sit and wait, like we’ve been doing? Except Josef, of course.’