Little Sister by David Hewson Page B

there . . .
    ‘She sent us a text,’ Kim said firmly.
    ‘Did she?’
    ‘She sent us a text. It’s on that phone you took from our room. You can read it for yourself.’ Always the more forceful one, she stared the Englishwoman down. ‘I think
you have. I think she’s talked to you as well.’
    It was the briefest moment of confrontation and the sisters wondered how she’d react. Fiercely or meekly. It turned out to be somewhere in between.
    ‘I know you’ve got lots of questions,’ Vera said quite calmly. ‘It’s only to be expected. But I can’t answer them, not straight out. I’m like you. In
the dark too. I am your friend, though. It’s people like me . . . people with your best interests at heart . . .they’re the ones who’ll save you. So long as you do what
you’re told.’
    Kim retrieved a wig from the bag and put it on again. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was like seeing a different her. Someone half-known, locked in a past she didn’t want.
    ‘That’s enough,’ Vera said. ‘It’s not a toy.’ She snatched the wig off her head and stuffed it in the bag. ‘When you leave here I want you looking like
you do now. They’ve got cameras everywhere. Every policeman in Amsterdam’s walking round with your photos. I bet there’s a reward if someone spots you. How does that
feel?’
    Mia took a deep breath and whispered, ‘Cameras?’
    ‘Right. So you come and go when I tell you. Them clothes. That hair. When we’re out, if we duck down an alley and I say so . . . then you put these on.’
    ‘Why would we do that?’ asked Mia.
    Vera leaned forward and shook her head.
    ‘How many times do I have to say this? Because I bloody well tell you.’
    Kim was about to get cross so Mia said very quickly, ‘OK. When can we go somewhere on our own? If we—’
    ‘Got to prove yourself first, girls. Can’t do anything until I know I can rely on you.’
    Ten minutes later they went downstairs. Vera checked the two of them over before they left. Then they walked outside.
    The day before – the interview in Marken, the car ride, dealing with Simon Klerk – was now a blur, almost as if it had happened to someone else. Especially that strange, intimidating
walk from Centraal station to the address they’d been given. They’d been too nervous to look around much. Now they couldn’t stop. It felt as if the city was watching them,
following every step as they trudged down the street, close together.
    Vera seemed to mellow, acting more kindly while they were out. Maybe she was nervous too. After a while she treated the two of them as if they were tourists. Together they walked through the
red-light district, gawping at the half-naked women in the windows beneath the fluorescent tubes. They stopped for espressos in a coffee shop and the Englishwoman bought some dope from the counter,
using words and terms the two of them didn’t understand. They went to a back room and watched her light up, waving away the hand-rolled joints she offered them. Vera shrugged and smoked one
all by herself, coughing badly the whole time.
    Men came and went, checking out the two of them, knowing they didn’t belong and wondering, consequently, why they were in this dingy dope joint close to the Oude Kerk, a part of Amsterdam
where timid church and boisterous depravity lived side by side and scarcely seemed to notice let alone care.
    ‘I suppose you’d rather have ice cream than a smoke?’ Vera asked when she was done.
    ‘Ice cream would be nice,’ Mia agreed.
    For the first time Vera laughed as if she meant it.
    ‘You really are a pair of kids, aren’t you? After all that’s happened.’
    ‘All?’ Mia asked and felt nervous.
    ‘It’s like you’re stuck in time. Never grew up at all in that place they kept you.’ She hesitated. ‘You’d think it’d be the very opposite.’
    It was hard for them to judge the tone she used. Sympathy perhaps. Or despair.
    ‘What do you know?’ Mia asked.