Screams in the Dark Read Online Free PDF

while she waited for Emir at Central Station. She sipped from a cardboard cup of frothy latte and picked at a warm croissant, enjoying the melted butter and strawberry jam. What the heck, she would get back on her diet tomorrow – again.
    She lapsed into daydream mode, watching the bustle and wondering what stories lay behind the people meeting and greeting, or those parting with bear hugs and tears in their eyes. A dishevelled middle-aged woman with a drinker’s bloated face shuffled along pushing a supermarket shopping trolley with various plastic bags filled with what looked like all her worldly goods. She plonked herself wearily on a bench next to a slim, welldressed woman around the same age, who instantly bristled and shifted up a little. The trolley-pusher took a can of strong lager from her bags, put it to her mouth and swigged it. Then she turned to the lady. ‘Y’all right?Roastin’ innit?’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
    The thin-faced woman nodded, her nose turning up a little.
    ‘Want a drink?’ The drunk shoved the can of lager towards her.
    The woman shook her head and looked away.
    Rosie wondered what their stories were, what had reduced the drunken woman to this. She remembered, as a little girl, shopping in the city centre on a winter’s day with her mother, when they came across a woman lying in a drunken sleep over the warm air vent outside Central Station. Rosie had been aghast and sad at the sight. She kept saying to her mother to look at the state of her. ‘We should pray for her, Rosie,’ her mum had said. ‘She’s a poor soul. And she’s somebody’s mother.’ Even as a child, the words had struck a chord with Rosie, and for months she was haunted by the moment, quietly living in dread that one day her mum would end up like that, sleeping over an air vent at Central Station, with people saying, ‘She’s somebody’s mother.’
    She was relieved when she saw Emir coming towards the Starbucks. She watched him standing outside, looking nervously around him. He was tall and slim, his dark hair unkempt and his pale face unshaven. His black leather jacket was zipped up even though it was sweltering hot in the bright sunshine that had followed last night’s thunderstorm. She waited for him to turn around; when he did, she waved and he caught her eye.
    ‘Hi Emir.’ Rosie spoke quietly as she eased herself off the stool to greet him.
    ‘Hello,’ Emir nodded, his dark eyes bloodshot.
    ‘Let me get you a coffee. You want something to eat? You hungry?’ Rosie motioned him to a table in a quiet corner.
    He shook his head. ‘Coffee please. Black. Thank you.’
    Rosie returned with coffee and a croissant. She figured he was hungry but was too polite or nervous to say.
    ‘You might eat something, Emir,’ Rosie smiled. She scanned his face. ‘Don’t be frightened, Emir. I will be your friend. I want to help you.’
    He took a sip of his coffee, then tore off a piece of the croissant and ate it.
    ‘So, Emir. You want to talk to me a little of what you were saying yesterday?’
    ‘I can’t find my friend. You can help?’ There was desperation in his voice.
    ‘I hope so.’ Rosie touched his arm. ‘Tell me, Emir. Can you tell me a little about where you come from … what happened to you?’ She spoke slowly, hoping he would understand. ‘You know, back in Kosovo.’
    He nodded. ‘My English not so good. Only a bit in school.’ He tore off another piece of croissant and ate it, sipping his coffee. ‘In my village, my mother, father and sister killed. My friend Jetmir the same for him. His father die when he was boy, and his mother killed by Serbs. They burned her house and she die.’
    Rosie shook her head. ‘So bad, what the Serbs did over there. I know. Go on.’
    ‘Jetmir and me, we come together to Macedonia, to the border. We there many days with many people hungry and sick. Some die in the mud. People walked for days to get across border. We have nothing.