I raised my eyebrows. “Please.”
When she returned I switched topics. Told her about my latest cases. I know she won’t blab about it to anyone. She was suitably appalled at the account I gave her of the attacks on the Ibrahim family.
“How quickly can the council act, then?”
“I don’t know. It’ll be up to their solicitors to decide if the evidence is strong enough. Then they’ll either get injunctions outlining how the behaviour of the parties has to change – not approaching the Ibrahim’s house or family, that sort of thing – or they’ll go for terminating the tenancy and they’ll repossess the properties.”
“That would be best, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t sound as though they’d pay any attention to an injunction.”
“Yes. They might even move the Ibrahims in the meantime. It’s horrendous what they’re having to put up with.” I had a drink, enjoying the taste of the beer. “The other thing I’m on is a missing person. Well, sort of. She left for university in 1976 and hasn’t been seen since.”
“What, not by anybody?”
“No. But nobody’s been looking, either. She was pregnant so it’s possible that she just went off and had her baby and created a new life for herself or had it adopted or had an abortion. Take your pick.”
“How do you find someone after all that time?”
“Slowly,” I smiled. “It’s not easy but I’m hoping the university will have a reference for where she went and failing that I’ll try the General Records Office for births and marriages.”
“So who’s your client?”
“Her brother, he’s a lot younger, there were just the two of them. Father’s dead now and their mother’s dying of cancer. I think he wants to give them a chance to make amends. I suppose also if he doesn’t find her he’s really on his own, no family anymore. But the mother has no interest in finding her daughter. Snapped his head off when he suggested it.”
“Ah.”
“So, if I do find her I think there’s going to have to be a lot of delicate negotiations before there’s any deathbed reunion or anything like that. Do you remember that really hot summer? Seventy-six. The drought. That’s when she left home.”
“Yes, I was in Yorkshire, we had stand-pipes in the street. Doesn’t half make you careful with it – luggin’ it about.”
“My Dad drained the bathwater down a pipe hung out the window to use on his vegetables. Everyone else had given up. The ground was rock hard. Long time ago.” I took a drink. “So, I’m busy, busy enough. And you?”
“More of the same.” Diane was working on a collection of textile pieces for a Bank and continuing to create her own prints as well. Her hands were stained a light blue and there were traces of crimson under a couple of her nails. Inky hands were always a good sign with Diane. Proof of production. She was most ratty when she hadn’t had chance to muck about with paint as she put it.
