Free Rich Promise by Ashe Barker

through Sunday, and head for Carlisle first thing Monday morning.
    I sigh, lean my head back against the headrest and stare at the roof of the Discovery. Someone, I think it may have been Margaret, once said to be careful what you wish for. I wished for some way to remove my sisters from my mother’s care and influence. It seems I have it. But at what a price.
    Mrs Kirk may not be the most reliable source of information. I only have her word for it that my mother has been charged with offenses connected with people trafficking or drugs. Still, it seems to be a fact that she’s been remanded in custody and my sisters have spent weeks in care, so we’re not talking speeding tickets here. Maybe the social worker dealing with my sisters can fill me in of the official version of all that, or at least point me in the direction of someone who can. It will all have to wait, though. There’s no point trying to contact anyone until Monday. My sisters are in safe hands as far as I know, no reason to suppose otherwise. Things are under control. It’s just me who isn’t, and it’s vital that I calm down before I face Dan.
    I draw in several more long, deep breaths before I consider myself fit to run that particular gauntlet. I clamber from the Land Rover, lock it carefully, then make my way to the entrance turnstiles. There’s no queue, most visitors probably arrive during the morning to get their money’s worth, so I go straight to the little kiosk.
    “I’m here to see Dan. Dan Riche, the vet?”
    “Oh right. I saw that, there was a message…” The teenage girl behind the tiny little desk peers at me through glasses that could definitely benefit from a good clean, then leans down to rummage behind her somewhere. A few seconds later she comes up with a scrap of paper. She squints at me curiously. “Are you Summer Jones?”
    I nod, not really listening, just keen for her to push the pedal or whatever and release the turnstile gate so I can get in. My brain’s still working furiously to process the whirling tangle of information, thoughts, impressions and emotions the last hour has unleashed, the last thing I need is a to make small talk with some bored adolescent.
    I quash that uncharitable thought. She’s only doing her job, I suppose. She glances at me, then back at her scrap of paper. “Right, it says here you’re a friend of Dan’s. I’m to issue you with a permanent guest pass. Can I just take your details please?”
    “Details?” This sounds difficult. What details?
    “Name, contact details, date of birth.”
    Right. Those details. Even in my present state, I can manage that. I reel off the required information and Miss Smudgy-Specs writes it down on a little card, which she shoves into a mini-laminator on a shelf behind her. Moments later she pushes my shiny guest pass across the counter. I’m reminded powerfully of the second time I met Dan. He engineered a guest pass for me that night too, to prevent the over-zealous security staff at the BDSM club from ejecting me from the premises. It seems he makes a habit of dealing with officialdom for me. Pity he can’t help with my more pressing issue.
    “Enjoy your visit, Miss Jones.” The kiosk attendant is smiling brightly, and she gestures to me to push the gate. It opens under my touch, and I nod my thanks as I scurry through. Once on the other side I drag out my phone to text Dan.
     
    I’m back. Just near front gate. Where are you?
     
    I stroll down the main drive leading to the first enclosure. There are giraffes in there, tall and graceful, sharing their huge space with four solid-looking rhinos. The species’ seem to co-exist quite peacefully—a lesson to us all.
    My phone pings and I glance at the screen.
     
    Main building. Have you eaten?
     
    No.
     
    It’s getting on for mid-afternoon. I’ve not eaten since Dan shoved a bowl of Corn Flakes at me this morning. I realize I’m ravenous.
     
    Meet me at the restaurant. Follow drive down to middle