Excerpt from Little Bee by Chris Cleave, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

We are cleaners.

All right. Its true you don't talk like one of them. Where do you want to go?

I had memorized the address on the United Kingdom Drivers License in my see-through plastic bag. Andrew O'Rourke, the white man I met on the beach: he lived in Kingston-upon-Thames in the English county of Surrey. I spoke into the telephone.

Kingston, please.

The girl in the purple dress grabbed my arm and hissed at me. No darlin'! she said. Anywhere but Jamaica. Dey men's be killin' me de minnit I ketch dere, kill me dead. I did not understand why she was scared, but I know now. There is a Kingston in England but there is also a Kingston in Jamaica, where the climate is different. This is another great work you sorcerers have done - even your cities have two tails.

Kingston? said the man on the telephone.

Kingston-upon-Thames, I said.

That's bloody miles away isn't it? That's over in, what?

Surrey, I said.

Surrey. You are four cleaners from leafy Surrey, is that what you're trying to tell me?

No. We are cleaners from nearby. But they are sending us on a cleaning job in Surrey.

Cash or account then?

The man sounded so tired.

What?

Will you pay in cash, or is it going on the detention centers bill?

We will pay in cash, mister. We will pay when we get there.

Youd better.

I listened for a minute and then I pressed my hand down on the cradle of the telephone receiver. I dialed another number. This was the telephone number from the business card I carried in my see-through plastic bag. The business card was damaged by water. I could not tell if the last number was an 8 or a 3. I tried an 8, be'use in my country odd numbers bring bad luck, and that is one thing I had already had enough of.

A man answered the call. He was angry.

Who is this? Its bloody six in the morning.

Is this Mister Andrew O'Rourke?

Yeah. Who are you?

Can I come to see you, Mister?

Who the hell is this?

We met on the beach in Nigeria. I remember you very well, Mister O'Rourke. I am in England now. Can I come to see you and Sarah? I do not have anywhere else to go.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then the man coughed, and started to laugh.

This is a windup, right? Who is this? I'm warning you, I get nutters like you on my case all the time. Leave me alone, or you wont get away with it. My paper always prosecutes. They'll have this call traced and find out who you are and have you arrested. You wouldn't be the first.

You don't believe it is me?

Just leave me alone. Understand? I don't want to hear about it. All that stuff happened a long time ago and it wasn't my fault.

I will come to your house. That way you will believe it is me.

No.

I do not know anyone else in this country, Mister O'Rourke. I am sorry. I am just telling you, so that you can be ready.

The man did not sound angry anymore. He made a small sound, like a child when it is nervous about what will happen. I hung up the phone and turned around to the other girls. My heart was pounding so fast, I thought I would vomit right there on the linoleum floor. The other girls were staring at me, nervous and expectant.

Well? said the girl in the purple dress.

Hmm? I said.

De taxi, darlin'! What is happenin' about de taxi?

Oh yes, the taxi. The taxi man said a cab will pick us up in ten minutes. He said we are to wait outside.

The girl in the purple dress, she smiled.

Mi name is Yevette. From Jamaica, zeen. You useful, darlin'. What dey call yu?

My name is Little Bee.

What kinda' name yu call dat?

It is my name.

What kind of place yu come from, dey go roun' callin' little gals de names of insects?

Copyright 2008 by Chris Cleave. Originally published as The Other Hand in Great Britain in 2008 by Sceptre, an imprint of Hodder & Stoughton.