The Informant by Susan Wilkins Page B

all clean.’
    Kaz gave him a sceptical look. ‘Yeah but where am I s’pose put it? They can search your room any time.’
    ‘Keep it here. I’ll give you a key. Take what you want, whenever.’ He checked the Rolex Oyster on his wrist and grinned. ‘Well, that’s sorted. Better get showered
and dressed. Don’t want you to be late for your probation officer, do we?’

11
    The wine bar was off Gresham Street, but there was a small French brasserie attached. At one o’clock it was packed to the gunnels with thirsty City workers and Kaz had to
shoulder her way through to the restaurant at the back. She saw Helen, already seated at a table in the corner, sipping mineral water and reading some documents in a folder. Kaz paused to watch
her. Almost a week out of jail and the euphoria had given way to confusion, a sense of dislocation, punctuated by moments of dread. She had half a mind to turn tail and flee, then a waiter was at
her elbow, a big bloke in a waistcoat with half a tablecloth wrapped round his middle. He said something that Kaz couldn’t quite catch because of the hubbub from the bar. Helen looked up,
caught her eye and smiled.
    The waiter escorted Kaz to the table, pulled out the chair for her and thrust a menu into her hand. Helen could see that Kaz was uncomfortable with the way she was being marshalled by him.
    The waiter inclined his head; his accent was French, but sounded fake. ‘Something to drink mademoiselle?’
    Helen dived in. ‘Could you give us a moment?’
    The waiter dipped his head again. ‘Of course.’
    He slid away and Helen beamed at Kaz.
    ‘Sorry. They’re a bit overenthusiastic in here, but the food is good.’
    Kaz shrugged.
    Helen scanned her face with concern. ‘You look a bit stressed.’
    Kaz sighed. ‘It’s the crowds. Tube was packed. Guess I’m not used to it.’
    ‘You do need to give yourself time to adjust.’
    They gazed at one another awkwardly across the table. Helen had deliberately chosen lunch and a busy restaurant near her office; she hoped the formal surroundings would help re-establish some
boundaries. Now, witnessing Kaz’s discomfort, she felt guilty.
    ‘I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.’
    ‘Nah, it’s fine. I gotta get used to London hassle again.’
    ‘How did it go with the new probation officer?’
    ‘Okay. Except he’s about fifteen.’
    Helen smiled. ‘Pity you lost Becky.’
    Kaz simply nodded in agreement. Becky, the offender manager who’d handled her case for about two years prior to release, had left to have a baby. Kaz liked Becky. She was astute, low-key
and had recognized immediately the importance of Helen in Kaz’s rehabilitation. Kaz had never revealed how she felt about Helen, but Becky had seemed to understand. Doing her GCSE’s,
applying to college, Becky had guided her through the whole process.
    Her replacement was an earnest, nervous young man called Jalil Sahir. He was rake thin and wore a short-sleeved, polyester shirt. Kaz found it impossible to imagine discussing anything personal
with him. She was beginning to think Joey was right, she just had to smile, give them the spiel and watch them tick their boxes. Joey had driven her to Basildon and waited twenty minutes while she
and Jalil had a pointless conversation. Then Joey had treated her to a milkshake.
    Kaz’s eyes darted round the restaurant. The hustle, the confidence needed to navigate London was wearing her down. There were too many people. She exhaled, allowing the breath to gently
hiss through her parted lips.
    Helen watched her with a sinking feeling. ‘Things turning out tougher than you expected?’
    Kaz gave her a scornful glance. ‘No, I knew it’d be tough.’
    ‘What about Joey?’
    ‘Haven’t really seen him to talk to.’ Kaz avoided Helen’s eye, she didn’t want to go there. And anyway Helen wouldn’t understand.
    Helen nodded, she sensed the need to tread softly instead of hammering Kaz with the concerns and questions that had