There is no one at the desk at Angel Lodge. A few people stand around she makes instant judgements:
Hair skin eyebrows, Kurd: ‘Do you know where the Osman family … live, are staying, Nur Osman?’
A shrug.
Sari skin face shape, Pakistani: ‘Do you know the Osmans, Somali family?
‘No, no, sorry.’
Long body shape lips, Somali: ‘The Osmans, Nur Osman, have you-‘
‘Gone. Gone in the minibus, gone to a hostel North.’
‘Do you know where, how I might contact them?’
The man smiles, ‘You tell me and I will take them home. No one here will tell me anything.’
‘Surely someone-‘
‘I must go, if I stay here they will decide I must live somewhere else also.’
‘I can help. Give me your number.’
The Somali man shakes his head and leaves.
Clara looks round. Everyone has gone. She waits a few more minutes in the empty reception then heads home along the prison wall.