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“No. She will be shunned. The stigma…” Alessia’s voice trails off.
“Wow. That’s awful. Her parents?”
Alessia shakes her head in answer to his unspoken question.
“Okay. Let’s take her back to Reading and put her in touch with Leticia.”
Bleriana is quiet. She’s seated with Alessia in the rear of Maxim’s bigger car, the Discovery. They hold hands and make occasional small talk, but Alessia can sense her friend’s growing anxiety as they get closer to their destination. Maxim, following the route guidance, comes off the motorway, and they head toward Reading town center.
“I wish I could come with you,” Bleriana says quietly.
“I know.” Alessia squeezes her hand and glances at Maxim. Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and she wonders if she should press Maxim to change his mind.
“I have to be here because of meetings,” Bleriana says.
“You do?” This news slightly consoles Alessia. “Meetings?” she asks.
“Yes. A counselor. And a social worker.”
Bleriana can’t come to Cornwall. “I see. I am glad you are seeing a counselor.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon. I promise. You have my mobile number. Call me. Whenever.”
* * *
We pull up outside a modest terraced house in the backstreets near Reading station. I climb out and join Bleriana and Alessia on the small driveway. The front door opens, and a middle-aged woman steps out. She has a friendly, open face, and her teeth are dazzling against the darkness of her skin when she smiles. “Bleriana, welcome back.”
A pale, portly, balding man, who must be in his early fifties, appears behind her, wearing a Reading FC shirt and jeans. His smile is as warm and friendly as his wife’s. Well, I assume they’re married, and these are Bleriana’s foster parents. Alessia introduces herself as Alessia Trevelyan and me as her husband. I like that she doesn’t flaunt her title. Sometimes, it’s just not the done thing.
And she gets it.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans seem like lovely people, but when they ask us to join them for tea, I politely refuse. I’d like to get on our way.
Bleriana turns, hugs Alessia, and murmurs a teary goodbye in Albanian, then offers me a goodbye, with a nod, from a safe distance.
“Come.” I hold out my hand to my wife, and we head back to the car.
From the passenger seat, Alessia gives them a wave, her eyes shining, and I know she’s tearful. I put the Discovery in drive, head down the street, and reach over to grab her hand.
“She’s going to be okay. They seem like good people.”
“They are. Bleriana is overwhelmed by their kindness.”
“You’ll see her soon.”
Alessia nods and turns to stare out of the window.
“Do you mind if I put some music on?” I ask.
“No.”
“Any requests?”
She turns dark, sad eyes to me and shakes her head.
“Oh, baby. Do you want me to turn around and pick her up?”
“No. No. We can’t do that. She has to see her social worker and her counselor.”
I blow out a breath. Relieved. “I’m glad she has support. She’s going to be okay. She’s like you. Self-sufficient. She came to find you through me. That was courageous on her part.”
Alessia gives me a slight smile. And I’m tempted to remind her she was crying the last time we headed to Cornwall but decide against it. Instead, I switch BBC Radio 6 on the sound system and let the music wash over me from an old timer, Roy Harper, his song “North Country” from 1974.
Hmm. I’d like to learn to play this on guitar.
* * *
“Do you want to stop for lunch?” Maxim asks.
“I’m not hungry.” Alessia’s heart is heavy.
“I can’t tempt you with a panini?”
She smiles, albeit reluctantly. “That seems so long ago.”
Maxim laughs. “It was. A world away. I’m hungry. Please, can we stop?”
Alessia’s smile broadens. “Of course. I don’t want you to be hungry.”
* * *
Alessia stays glued to my side, her hand in mine, as we make our way through the motorway services building at Sedgemoor. We buy ham-and-cheese toasties and coffee at Costa Coffee but decide to eat and drink on the road.
“One day, you won’t think twice about being in a service station,” I try to reassure Alessia when I open her car door.
“I hope so,” she replies, but her eyes follow me as I walk around to my side of the Discovery, and I know she doesn’t feel safe. The thought is depressing. I knew this might happen if she was exposed to her recent past and that awful underworld again.
It will take time, mate.
Time.
Once inside, I place the coffee cup in a holder, remove my sandwich from its wrapping, and take a big bite. I start the car and pull out of our space. “You didn’t get to tell me about your last day on the course. How was it?” I ask, with my mouth full and some butter dribbling down my chin.
