Dead Tomorrow

her grip on it.
    ‘What kind of job?’
    ‘What do you want to do? What are your skills?’
    A truck rumbled slowly by, close to the verge. Romeo looked up at its large, dirty wheels, its black, rusting under-belly, its billowing exhaust. If he was going to do it, this would be a good moment. Push her, grab the bag, run!
    But suddenly he was more interested in what she was saying. Skills? There was a boy who had stayed with them recently, who talked about his brother who worked as a cocktail waiter in London and was earning over 400 lei a day. That was a fortune! Not that he knew anything about making cocktails. Someone else had said recently you could make that sort of money cleaning hotel rooms in London too.
    ‘Making cocktails,’ he replied. ‘Also, I’m a good cleaner.’
    ‘Do you have friends in London, Romeo?’ she asked.
    Artur whined, as if wanting more food.
    The woman opened her handbag and took out a fat purse. From it she removed a banknote. It was a 100 lei note. She handed it to Romeo. ‘I want you to buy some food for Artur, OK?’
    He looked at her, then nodded solemnly.
    Then she handed him another banknote. This was a 500 lei banknote. ‘That’s for you to buy anything you want, OK?’
    He stared at the money and back at the woman. Then, as if afraid she was suddenly going to snatch them back, he stuffed the money into his trouser pocket.
    ‘You arekind,’ he said.
    ‘I want to help you,’ she replied.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Marlene,’ she said.
    Despite her smile and her generosity, something about the woman was making Romeo very wary. He knew, from others he had talked to, that there were organizations that helped people who were living on the streets, but he had never tried to find one. He had been warned that sometimes, if you went to see them, you could end up getting taken into a government institution. But perhaps this woman really would help him get to England.
    ‘Charity?’ he asked. ‘You are with a charity?’
    She hesitated for an instant. Then, smiling and nodding her head vigorously, she replied, ‘Yes, charity. Absolutely. Charity!’

35
    Despite the arrival oftwo black, heavy-duty plastic body bags at the Brighton and Hove City Mortuary, containing the bodies that had been recovered from the Channel this morning, Roy Grace was in the sunniest mood he had been in for years.
    He didn’t mind that it was quarter to three on a Friday afternoon and that the post-mortems, depending on how soon Nadiuska De Sancha arrived, were likely to wipe out his plans for the evening. He was floating on air.
    He was going to be a father! That thought now dominated everything else. And at last night’s poker game he had won £550, his biggest win in as long as he could remember!
    What he loved most about poker, apart from the camaraderie of an evening relaxing with a bunch of male friends and colleagues, was the psychology of the game. You were very unlikely to win if you came to the table in a downer of a mood. But if you were upbeat, your enthusiasm could be infectious and you could, even with modest cards, dominate the game. But he hadn’t just had modest cards last night, he’d been on a complete roll. He’d had one hand of four tens, countless trips–three cards of a kind–full house after full house, and a bunch of high flushes.
    Alone with Cleo for a few moments, in the small mortuary office, with the sound of the kettle coming slowly to the boil, he put his arms around her and kissed her.
    ‘I love you,’ he said.
    ‘Do you?’ she said, grinning. ‘Do you really?’ All gowned up, she raised her arms. ‘Even like this?’
    ‘To the ends of the earth and back.’
    He truly did. After the poker game he had gone back to her house and showered the cash over the bed. Then he had lain awake beside her, too wired to sleep, thinking about his life. About Sandy. About Cleo. He wanted to marry Cleo, he was sure of that. More sure of that than of anything. He had made his mind up that in the morning he would start the process, long overdue, of having Sandy declared legally dead.
    And first thing this morning he had contacted a Brighton solicitor he had been recommended to, Susan Ansell, and done just that. He had made an appointment with her.
    Cleo kissed him. ‘Only to the ends of the earth?’
    He smiled, checked the door to make sure no one was coming in, then kissed her again. ‘How about to the ends of the universe?’
    ‘Better,’ she said. Then she