“I’ll get the car. Hold on.”
“Wait-how drunk are you?” said Hannah.
“Stone-cold bloody sober after that little incident. And I’d be pretty unlucky to get Breathalyzed between here and the farm. Or would you rather try and walk him home like that?”
“All right, go on,” she said, as Ilir sat down again, putting his hands over his head in pitiful supplication. Hannah crouched down and put her arms around him, rested her chin against his streaming hair. A tender gesture unlike any Zach had seen her make before, and in spite of himself he felt jealousy needling him.
They managed to coax Ilir into the backseat of Zach’s car; then Hannah climbed into the front, and Zach pulled away, the steering wheel slipping through his wet hands. Focusing his eyes through the sheeting rain was difficult, and he was glad when they turned off the road onto the farm lane, and there was no chance of meeting any other traffic.
He pulled the car as close to the farmhouse as he could, but they still got drenched as they helped a shaky Ilir out again. The rain was implacable. Between them, Hannah and Zach half carried him through the kitchen and upstairs to his room, dodging piles of detritus and abandoned furniture. Opening the door was like walking into another house altogether. Ilir’s room was spotlessly clean and tidy. The bed was neatly made up with sheets and blankets tucked in tightly; the curtains were laundered and drawn to; no clothes or shoes lay around on the floor; a bottle of deodorant and a comb sat unobtrusively on the mantelpiece below the wall mirror, and the carpet was immaculately vacuumed. Hannah caught Zach’s incredulous gaze.
“I know.” She threw up her hands, let them fall. “Believe me, I told him he was welcome to tackle the rest of the house, but he says only this room is his, and the rest is not for him to interfere with.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“No, he didn’t mean it like that. He was being considerate. Tactful.” She sat down on the edge of the bed beside Ilir and wrapped the bottom of the blanket over his feet.
“I am not dead. Do not speak like I have gone,” Ilir muttered. Hannah smiled.
“Of course you haven’t gone. We thought you’d passed out.” Gingerly, Ilir sat up a bit straighter and touched his fingers to the cut above his eye, which was still oozing blood.
“I will pass out if I do not have coffee,” he said.
“I’ll make us some,” said Zach.
“And I’ll get some cotton wool and wash that eye.”
“Don’t nurse me, Hannah. I am not a baby.”
“Then don’t act like one, and take your medicine,” she said flatly.
Down in the kitchen Zach put the kettle on and watched Hannah digging around in cupboards and drawers for a glass bowl, salt, cotton wool.
“Is Ilir here… illegally?” he asked. Hannah scowled, and didn’t look up.
“Technically. Maybe. But does he have a right to be here? You bet he does.”
“Can’t he get a visa or something?”
“Oh, gee, Zach, we hadn’t thought of that. Look, if there was a quick and easy way to get the paperwork sorted out, we’d have done it, okay? He doesn’t even have a passport.”
“Jesus, Hannah-what if that Ed bloke really does call the police? You could get in trouble, couldn’t you?”
“I could get in trouble?” She turned, squared up to him fiercely. “Ilir used to live in the Roma Mahalla in Mitrovica. His whole community was persecuted out of their homes after the war, and forced to live in refugee camps. The one where he was put was built on the spoil heaps of a lead mine. A lead mine, Zach. Cesmin Lug, it was called. It’s shut now, but they left them living there for years. It killed his parents. The children there grow up with lead poisoning. Now the UN has rebuilt some of their homes in Mitrovica and is trying to move them back-to a city where they will still be discriminated against, and live in fear of racist attacks. To a city none of them have called home for a generation. And you’re saying I could get in trouble, if he’s sent back?” She shook her head incredulously.
“I just meant… Well, you can get a huge fine for employing an illegal.”
“An illegal? Doesn’t he have a name anymore?”
“That came out wrong… I didn’t mean-”
“What are all our little fears, compared to what he faces if he gets deported?” she said. “What does the price of my lambs matter, or you finishing your book, or putting a name to this relationship? How big is any of that, compared to what he’d have to live with?”
“Did he get you into it? Into whatever you’re involved in? Smuggling… selling fake pictures… I guess he must have more contacts in that world than you would.” Hannah stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment, and then anger made her eyes blaze.
“Drop it, or leave right now. I mean it.” She raised her arm and pointed to the door, and Zach saw that the finger at the end of that arm was not quite steady. It trembled.
“All right,” he said softly. “All right. I’m just… I’m worried for you.” Hannah let her arm drop, gathered up the cotton wool and salt water.
“Don’t be. I’m fine.” She turned and went back upstairs.
For a moment, Zach considered walking out. Setting off into the pounding rain, alone, thwarted. He tried to picture Hannah running after him, the way she ran after Ilir, but he knew it was far more likely that she’d let him go. He searched the kitchen for a pot of instant coffee, made three mugs, and dumped sugar into each one when he couldn’t find any milk he’d be willing to use. Was it just that he knew she was keeping secrets from him? Was that all that made him stay? In which case, he should leave. He should have nothing more to do with her, because to publicly pursue the authenticity of the Dennis pictures would be to expose Hannah. But then he pictured her, standing at the end of the stone jetty, staring out at the empty spread of the sea, all alone. The resolute set of her shoulders, the way she faced the world head-on, with her jaw set, while at home, in private, everything was chaos and neglect. His head was aching, but he knew with total clarity that he didn’t want to leave her. He shut his eyes for a moment, cursed, then took a swig of one coffee and picked up the other two, walking carefully back towards Ilir’s room.
He heard their voices from about halfway up the stairs, low but distinct. The stairs didn’t creak, didn’t give him away. Unbidden, his feet slowed. He took one more step up and then froze, listening, hating himself.
“I haven’t told him anything, I promise,” Hannah said. Zach’s jaw clenched in protest.
“I know, I know. But what if the police come, Hannah? What if Ed calls them, like he said he would?”
“That pig was so drunk tonight he could barely stand… he won’t even remember what went on tonight, or what he said.”
“But what if he does?”
“If he does… well. We just have to hang on till next Tuesday. That’s all. Three more days, Ilir, then it’s done! You can disappear… If the police come, you can hide. I’ll say you ran away after what happened in the pub. I’ll say I don’t know where you are.”
“You can get in trouble for this, Hannah. You would do this for me?”
“Of course I would. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Everything will work out, you’ll see. Three more days, Ilir. Three! That’s no time at all.”
“I am sorry for before. For the pub. I should not have got angry. I should not have provoked him.”
“Hey-I never want to hear you apologize for punching Ed Lynch, okay? Every blow that man takes is a service to society.” Zach could hear a smile shaping Hannah’s words.
“What will you tell Zach, when it is done?” said Ilir. Not wanting to hear more, Zach took three steps up, to stand in the doorway. Two sets of eyes swiveled to look at him.