9

He picked Candice up the next afternoon. She had two carrier bags, her worldly belongings. She gave Sammy as much of a hug as her bandaged arms would allow.

‘See you again, Candice,’ Sammy said.

‘Yes, see you. Thanks ...’

Lost for an ending to the sentence, Candice opened her arms wide, bags swinging.

They stopped off at McDonald’s (her choice) for something to eat. Zappa and the Mothers: ‘Cruising for Burgers’. The day was bright and crisp, just right for crossing the Forth Bridge. Rebus took it slowly, so Candice could take in the view. He was heading towards Fife’s East Neuk, a cluster of fishing villages popular with artists and holidaymakers. Out of season, Lower Largo seemed practically deserted. Though Rebus had an address, he stopped to ask directions. Finally, he parked in front of a small terraced house. Candice stared at the red door until he gestured for her to follow him. He hadn’t been able to make her understand what they were doing here. Hoped Mr and Mrs Petrec would make a better job of it.

The door was opened by a woman in her early-forties. She had long black hair, and peered at him over half-moon glasses. Then her attention shifted to Candice, and she said something in a language both women understood. Candice replied, looking a little shy, not sure what was going on.

‘Come in, please,’ Mrs Petrec said. ‘My husband is in the kitchen.’

They sat around the kitchen table. Mr Petrec was heavily built, with a thick brown moustache and wavy brown and silver hair. A pot of tea was produced, and Mrs Petrec drew her chair beside Candice’s and began talking again.

‘She’s explaining to the girl,’ Mr Petrec said.

Rebus nodded, sipped the strong tea, listened to a conversation he could not understand. Candice, cautious at first, grew more animated as she told her story, and Mrs Petrec was a skilled listener, sympathising, showing shared horror and exasperation.

‘She was taken to Amsterdam, told there would be a job there for her,’ Mr Petrec explained. ‘I know this has happened to other young women.’

‘I think she left a child behind.’

‘A son, yes. She’s telling my wife about him.’

‘What about you?’ Rebus asked. ‘How did you end up here?’

‘I was an architect in Sarajevo. No easy decision, leaving your whole life behind.’

He paused. ‘We went to Belgrade first. A refugee bus brought us to Scotland.’

He shrugged. ‘That was nearly five years ago. Now I am a house painter.’

A smile. ‘Distance no object.’

Rebus looked at Candice, who had started crying, Mrs Petrec comforting her.

‘We will look after her,’ Mrs Petrec said, staring at her husband.

Later, at the door, Rebus tried to give them some money, but they wouldn’t take it.

‘Is it all right if I come and see her sometime?’

‘But of course.’

He stood in front of Candice.

‘Her real name is Dunya,’ Mrs Petrec said quietly.

‘Dunya.’