Shopping with the Enemy Read online

  ‘Michael! Petrov!’ Svetlana shouted.

  Everyone turned, expressions of astonishment on the faces of the men, pure happiness on the faces of the boys.

  ‘Mama!’

  ‘Mama! You came!’

  The joy in those voices spurred Annie on.

  The boys raced towards Svetlana, before the men could stop them. Svetlana grabbed hold of them and with a bloodcurdling shriek ordered the men: ‘Leave us alone! Leave us alone or I will kill you both. I will kill you!’

  Then she turned and ran with her sons, straight past Annie, back to the car.

  ‘IN! IN!’ she ordered the boys.

  The men were rooted to the spot with sheer surprise – but just for a moment. Now they began to run too.

  Annie found herself alone on the pavement between the men and the car. Holding an empty champagne bottle.

  Oh God.

  She knew she had to delay the men just long enough for Svetlana to get the car started. So she put her head down, her arms out and charged, roaring at the top of her voice.

  Whump.

  She collided hard with one of the men and they both fell sprawling and winded to the ground.

  Owwwww.

  The champagne bottle at the end of her outstretched arm somehow landed a direct hit on the other man’s ankle and for a moment he was hobbled.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  She heard the Bentley engine start up.

  The traffic warden was shouting in German. Maybe he’d not had time to put the parking ticket on the windscreen.

  As the man she’d run into picked himself up, something clattered to the ground. At once Annie knew she was looking at some sort of weapon – a knife or maybe worse. She instinctively kicked at it, sending it flying towards the gutter and causing the man to shout at her.

  Now she was in serious, possibly even deadly, trouble. But at least she could hear the Bentley pull away, the engine revving wildly. Svetlana was trying to find the bite point, get into gear and away.

  The traffic warden was still shouting furiously. Maybe Svetlana had run over his foot … The Bentley, its engine roaring and jumping, began to move up the street.

  The men were shouting and cursing in a language Annie suspected was Russian. They ignored her in her winded and undignified heap on the pavement and ran to the big black car right in front of her. They leapt in, slamming the doors shut and sparking up the engine.

  Annie picked herself up. The BMW was parked facing the other way and this street was too narrow to turn in. Svetlana had a chance, she really could get away from them if she kept the Bentley going at speed.

  The champagne bottle was miraculously still in Annie’s hand.

  What could she do to stop this car leaving with just a champagne bottle in her hand?

  Should she throw it?

  The engine roaring, the car was about to pull off and chase after Svetlana and her boys.

  Then, in one of the bravest, most foolish moves Annie had ever made, and hoped she would ever have to make, she ducked down and placed the bottle in the gutter right in front of the BMW’s rear tyre. Then she backed away as quickly as she could.

  There was a terrifying, exploding sound followed by a tinkling shower of sharp, stinging pieces of glass. Annie turned on her heel and ran blindly.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Austria

  The volunteer

  Corduroy car coat (charity shop)

  Red T-shirt (market stall)

  Jeans (Lidl)

  Black trainers (Nike)

  Total est. cost: €40

  ANNIE HAD BEEN crouching behind the bins at the back of a block of flats for some time now; about thirteen minutes, according to her watch. She wondered how much longer she should wait here to be sure she was totally safe. It was dirty and smelled of cat wee.

  In fact, she was dirty and smelled of cat wee and when she lifted her head from her knees she could see small blood marks on her skirt. She put her fingers to her face and realized that there were four or five small cuts which were bleeding.

  Now what?

  She didn’t know where Igor’s men were … she didn’t know if it was safe to come out … she didn’t know where Svetlana was. In fact – what was she supposed to do now?

  She was in Vienna without a map, she’d left her handbag in the car, so she didn’t have a penny or one single bank card, and she looked as if she’d been in a fight. She imagined that her chances of getting arrested for vagrancy were probably quite high.

  She patted the pocket of her jacket, hoping against hope – oh, hallelujah! There it was: her mobile phone! She took it out and looked at the screen. She had one bar of battery charge left, probably just enough for a couple of texts, and maybe even one short call.

  ‘Where you?’ she texted Svetlana.

  ‘We hv boys,’ she texted Harry.

  Harry would do something. He would leap into action. Annie always thought of Harry as a sort of pinstripe-suited, bowler-hatted, ultra-posh, middle-aged legal Batman. He came to the rescue with the kind of heavyweight backing every girl needed once in a while: the force of an expert lawyer.

  It was time to leave the bins. Slowly she stood up and brushed herself down, then she walked towards the gate and stepped out into the street.

  It was still very early and hardly anyone was around. But, desperate not to bump into the Igor mafia again, Annie walked quickly away in the opposite direction to the house. She needed a main street. As soon as she was somewhere with cars and cafes opening up for the morning breakfast trade, she would feel safer.

  At the thought of a cafe and breakfast, her stomach gave a theatrical rumble.

  Shut up! she willed it. Now is not the time.

  Several streets later and she was on a busier road. Although everyone she passed gave her a strange look, she walked on, feeling a little safer with every step.

  Harry or Svetlana would call her. Someone would help her out, she was sure of it.

  ‘Ein Kaffee?’ a voice called out.

  Cafe? Coffee? Could this mean coffee?

  She turned her head and saw a little stall set up with a coffee machine and a plateful of bread rolls.

  A young man with curly hair and a cheerful smile was holding up a paper cup.

  ‘I have no money,’ she said slowly, hoping he would understand.

  He shrugged.

  ‘You don’t need money,’ he replied in English.

  What kind of heavenly city was this? They set up booths and gave people their morning drug of choice for free?

  ‘Really?’ she asked, approaching the stall.

  ‘Do you need some help?’ the man asked with a sincere and sympathetic smile.

  Annie took the paper cup he was holding and took a long, warm mouthful. It was weak, milky, instant coffee, but it tasted like the best ever premium blended, hand-roasted, lovingly crafted, bijou coffee house cup.

  It tasted gorgeous.

  She took another sip and another, then looked properly around. There was a bench on either side of the booth and on each bench two or three men were sitting, cradling their paper cups. Some chewed on the bread rolls.

  The men had the matted hair and dirty, worn-out clothes you only saw on beggars.

  This was a soup kitchen; well, a coffee kitchen.

  Oh good grief, had the man behind the breakfast counter honestly assumed she was a homeless person?

  She looked down at her outfit. Two days in a car had not done her stretchy, patterned go-anywhere dress many favours. The dress had gone everywhere, including behind the cat wee bins.

  Her denim jacket was filthy from her encounter with the pavement and her refuge behind the bins. She knew her skin and hair must be a complete mess. Mascara last applied almost twenty-four hours ago. Well, who knew where it was now? Probably heading towards her chin. Plus she was covered in small bleeding cuts.

  No wonder he’d offered her a free coffee.

  ‘Do you need help?’ he asked again in his c
harming, accented English. ‘We have someone who comes every morning from the … erm … government?’

  Annie couldn’t help backing away from him. The thought of having to explain why she was here to someone from the government was terrifying.

  ‘To help,’ the man emphasized.

  ‘No, I’m fine … I’m really fine. I’m just waiting for a friend.’

  But really? Things were far from fine.

  She had one bar left on her phone. Svetlana was obviously focused on trying to get her boys out of Igor’s clutches. It was quite possible she would forget about Annie altogether. In fact, knowing Svetlana, it was completely possible she would forget about Annie altogether.

  So what was she realistically going to do if Svetlana didn’t come back for her? Annie would have given anything to be able to call Ed. But she needed to save the precious little bar on her phone. If she lost that, she would have nothing. It was the modern equivalent of a tiny flame in the hearth. She couldn’t let it go out.

  ‘Are you a visitor to Vienna?’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘Are you sure you would not like our doctor to look at your face? I can take you there.’

  This was so kind, so sympathetic that Annie could detect a prickly, snuffly feeling at the back of her throat.

  ‘No, no, I’m fine. I’m a tourist, a visitor. Is there a bus to the airport?’

  ‘Yes, and a tram.’

  ‘Where do they leave from?’

  He gave her the simple instructions, then reminded her of her obvious predicament: ‘But you said you have no money.’

  ‘No.’

  What was she to do? Barter her way on with an empty coffee cup?

  ‘You buy a ticket in a shop, you validate it on the machine, but most tourists do not understand the system and do not pay. It is not so serious for tourists.’

  ‘Really?’

  Annie had a feeling that getting to the airport would be good. At airports, they understood about lost handbags and lost passports and tourists stranded abroad. They would have the systems in place. She would go to the police and maybe she could get her phone charged, then she’d be able to call Ed – even if he was in school. He could wire money to her, pay her airfare with a credit card. This could all be sorted out and she would be home very, very soon.

  All she had to do was get to the airport without paying.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Austria

  Tram passenger:

  White, green and pink floral dress (Peek & Cloppenburg)

  White trench coat (Gap)

  Green sandals (Schuh-Welt)

  White-strapped watch (Swatch)

  Total est. cost: €340

  ANNIE WAS THE first to jump off the tram at the terminal. She couldn’t stand the guilt for one more second. For the entire journey, she’d kept her head down and avoided the many disapproving glances she imagined were being directed at her.

  Because she’d jumped on without stamping her ticket, like she’d seen every single other passenger do. Because she didn’t have any luggage, not even a handbag. Because her clothes were grubby and her face was smeared with dried blood.

  She was a sight. A fright!

  Imagine if a fan of How To Be Fabulous spotted her now? In the best-case scenario, she’d be the subject of an emergency intervention makeover; in the worst case, she’d be fired.

  As she walked through the automated glass doors, the sight of trolleys full of luggage and rows and rows of check-in desks was a relief. She would find the airport police and explain her predicament to them. Surely, they would be used to tourists without passports turning up to ask for help.

  As she passed under the huge departure boards, she thought she might as well check to see when the next flight was departing to London. Her eyes scanned down the list of cities: Berlin, Zurich, Warsaw … Gatwick. The next flight was at 9.50 am., in 55 minutes with British Airways. Maybe if she got really lucky, she could make it onto the flight.

  She could be home by lunchtime. She could be soaking in a long, long hot bath within a few hours. This whole nightmare could be over by then. No, she reminded herself, not with no money and no passport: that would take some time to sort out.

  She looked above the row of check-in desks in search of the British Airways logo. There it was – there were the people who could take her home.

  And there she was!!

  A tall blonde woman, back towards Annie, with two boys, one on either side of her. Both with jet black hair, wearing tennis whites.

  It was Svetlana!

  Svetlana was queuing to get onto the British Airways plane. Svetlana was going to head back to London without even a thought as to where Annie was or how she would get back home!

  Annie began to run towards her.

  ‘Svetlana!’ she called out as soon as she was within range, ‘SvetLANA!’

  The blonde head swivelled round.

  ‘Annah!’

  Svetlana’s look of relieved surprise quickly turned to dismay.

  ‘Oh! Annah! What has happened?’

  Annie hurried towards her: ‘Are you all OK?’

  ‘You got away from them? No one’s following?’

  ‘Are you going to get on a plane all right?’

  They started talking at once, firing questions at each other.

  ‘Harry sort everything,’ Svetlana said.

  ‘Mama came to get us. Just like she said she would and she’s very proud of me using my phone,’ Michael said, holding the gadget up for Annie to examine.

  He looked more happy and relaxed than Annie had ever seen him look before.

  ‘Mama came,’ Petrov added, smiling, his hand attached firmly to Svetlana’s coat. As if he was determined not to ever let go of her.

  ‘My boys are fine. Both fine. I’m so proud of them both,’ Svetlana said, putting her arms protectively round their shoulders and squeezing them in tightly.

  ‘We are getting back to London just as soon as we can,’ she added, ‘where I will meet Igor. We must sort this out once and for all.’

  ‘So I managed to stop the men in the car?’

  ‘I think so. They didn’t follow. But Annah, what happened to you? What happened to your face? I couldn’t stop to find you. I had to get away.’

  Annie shrugged. She would probably have done the same … wouldn’t she? But as far as she knew Svetlana hadn’t even texted – hadn’t even sent the words: ‘meet me at the airport.’

  ‘I put the champagne bottle under their car wheel and it exploded,’ Annie admitted. ‘Hopefully, it ripped their tyre apart, but I didn’t stay to find out.’

  ‘Annah! You are amazing.’

  ‘So …’

  There was an expectant lull. Annie wondered what was coming next. She hoped Svetlana was going to offer Harry’s help to her too. She wanted to be boarding the next BA flight and arriving back in sane and sensible London in a few hours.

  ‘Annah, I would really like you to come with us …’

  ‘Yes? That’s what I’d like too.’

  ‘But, I … well, Annah, I need you to drive the Bentley back to the hotel.’

  Hotel? Which hotel? Surely Svetlana couldn’t mean the Villa Verdina? What!

  ‘I know. I know is a very, very big favour to ask,’ Svetlana went on, ‘but I have message from the Villa, if they do not get the Bentley back today, they will declare it stolen and even go to the police. So the Bentley must go back and we still have luggage at the hotel. I think is easiest solution if you take the car back and get the luggage.’

  ‘You want me to drive all the way back to Italy?’ Annie asked, feeling completely winded.

  ‘I have money, plenty of money for your journey.’

  Svetlana opened her clutch bag and Annie knew she was about to be handed a wodge of euro notes. It was always Svetlana’s solution: fistfuls of money.

  ‘But I want to go home,’ Annie protested. ‘I’m exhausted. I’ve about had enough of all of this.’

 
‘I’m so sorry, Annah. You will go home. You will fly home first class from Milano, just as soon as it can be arranged, maybe even later today, if you can get there quickly enough.’

  ‘But I want to go home now. I don’t want to drive all the way back to Italy. I have a concert to go to and the twins’ birthday party …’

  She’d lost track of time. When were those things even happening? Tomorrow? Could it already be the day before the twins’ birthday?

  ‘Annah, please … I know you have done so much for me, too much. I really am so very thankful. But I have to take the boys to London and you are the only person I can ask to do this one more thing. I know it is too much. But still I ask you, as my friend.’

  Svetlana was actually doing gratitude, real heartfelt gratitude. Annie had seen it just a handful of times before and it always moved her. Svetlana was a proud and fiercely independent woman who thanked people rarely but always sincerely.

  ‘Madam, can I see your tickets please?’ the agent behind the check-in desk asked.

  Annie was left looking at the boys.

  They were totally worn out and not nearly as neat, tidy and groomed as usual. Their tennis outfits were stained and grubby. Maria would have a fit when she got them safely back.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, kneeling down to be on their level.

  ‘OK,’ Michael replied, while Petrov shrugged.

  ‘We would never have been able to find you without the emails, Michael. You were really brave. Your mum is incredibly proud of you. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I know,’ Michael said, his chest swelling.

  ‘We never have to go to the school in Russia,’ Petrov added. ‘Mama promised.’

  ‘No. I’m sure your dad will have to say a really big sorry for all this.’

  Michael giggled at the thought.

  ‘Did Michael look after you?’ she asked Petrov.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes,’ Michael agreed. ‘Petrov was brave too.’

  ‘I think you’re going to be much better friends now you’ve had this adventure together.’

  ‘Yes,’ Michael said, then he reached over and ruffled his little brother’s hair: ‘you weren’t a baby hardly at all.’

  Svetlana finished checking in and turned back to them: ‘Annah, if you take the car back to Italy I promise Harry will help you sort everything out. New plane tickets, everything.’