The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  Fifteen minutes later, she was pushing Jake and trying not to think about the strangeness of the words that had come out of Rosie Latimer’s mouth. Liz felt frozen through, and knew it wasn’t to do with the sub-zero temperatures the UK was experiencing.

  The house was cold, and she turned the heating up high; after putting Jake into his cot for a nap, she made herself a drink. Comfort drinking – there was something special about wrapping your hands round a mug of tea, and relaxing.

  So, you’ve had the brat, then. The words seemed to echo in her brain. What did Rosie know?

  Liz took out the small, non-descript phone, and toyed with it. Should she text him? Would it cause more problems than solve them? Indeed, dare she text him?

  Liz could feel a headache starting, and popped two painkillers before picking up the phone again. She typed a message but then deleted it. Indecision. Could she bear to speak to him? Would he want to speak to her? She thought back to that awful afternoon when she had told him of her pregnancy, and remembered his words. I’ll come and get you, no questions asked, and with the same amount of love in my heart.

  In the end, it became simple. No words of love, no ‘can we talk’ request, just a tight little message; Does Rosie know?

  She finished her cup of tea, and went to gather up the laundry. With the washing machine drumming quietly, silence from Jake’s bedroom, and time to herself before Dan arrived home from school, she moved into the lounge and took the love phone with her – Phil’s name for the phones only they used. And it had been about love; even now, after all this time, she missed his touch, his presence, his mind so in tune with hers. There was still no reply, and she sighed. It could never be over; what she would give to feel his arms wrapped around her one more time.

  Surely, they had been careful enough… Phil had never expressed any concerns that Rosie suspected he was seeing someone else. And if Rosie hadn’t used the word brat, if she had said so you’ve had your baby then, Liz wouldn’t have given any further thought to it. There had been venom in the way the word brat had been delivered.

  Liz hadn’t received a reply by the time Dan came in from school. He popped his head round the lounge door.

  ‘Nice and warm in here,’ he said, blowing her a kiss.

  She smiled. ‘It wasn’t when I arrived home. We having something warming tonight?’

  ‘Certainly are. Bangers and mash with mashed carrot and swede. That sound okay?’

  ‘Sounds delicious. Your dad will be pleased.’

  Dan laughed. ‘He’s pleased with anything that doesn’t contain lettuce.’

  He blew Liz a kiss and disappeared into the kitchen. She picked up the love phone one more time, saw that she had had no response, and silenced it before zipping it back into the pocket in her handbag.

  A wave of disappointment washed over her, and she knew it would never be over between her and Phil, never.

  Chapter 5

  The reply came at 3am.

  Yes. I love you.

  Chapter 6

  Jake slept well. He went all through the night, finally waking Liz at just after seven. Gareth stirred as he felt her get out of bed.

  ‘Should I get up?’ he mumbled, pulling the duvet so that it enclosed his shoulders.

  ‘Might be a clever idea,’ she responded. ‘It’s gone seven.’

  He sat up with panic etched on his face. ‘I didn’t set my alarm, did I? I relied on that nocturnal kid waking at his usual six!’

  ‘Nope, no alarm. You want the shower first, I take it?’

  He moved at speed. ‘Thanks.’

  She heard the water within seconds of him leaving the bedroom.

  It was only when both Gareth and Dan had left that Liz took out the phone. She saw the message and felt the blood drain from her face. She had to speak to Phil, she had to know how much Rosie knew, or how much she was guessing.

  She pressed speed dial 1 and waited for him to answer. It went straight to voicemail, so she disconnected. He must have switched it off, because she knew he would never ring anyone but her on it. She sent off a small text, and put the phone on the coffee table, taking it off silent.

  Ring me if before 3.30 pm.

  She hoped he would. She felt a shiver of anticipation as she thought about talking to him again. He had a rich, deep, timbre to his voice, that sounded especially good over the airwaves, and she knew if she did speak to him again, she could easily be lost.

  She switched on her laptop and sent emails to both Tom and Oliver, informing them that she was working from home, if they had anything for her that she could deal with. A reply came back with some speed from Tom, reminding her that she was on her day off, and while they were struggling in a coffee-free environment, they would not be contacting her unless her office blew up. Or they needed her.

  She smiled. She gave them an hour, and knew something would wend its way through the ether towards her.

  She worked on some documentation in the care home case, and after picking up the phone for the fourth time, decided that maybe it wasn’t good to work on such a complex issue when her mind wasn’t on it. She followed Jake’s progress around the furniture as he clung on for dear life, and knew he wasn’t so far off being a walking toddler. He was such a cutie, but he truly was beginning to look more like Phil every day. Heartbreakingly, guiltily so.

  It wasn’t an issue – Gareth would never have considered for one moment that the baby, the unplanned baby, wasn’t his. She felt a gentle twang of the heartstrings every time she held her son. More than a gentle twang, a whole symphony of twangs.

  ‘Shall we go shopping?’ she said to the little one. He held up his arms at the sound of her voice, and sat on his bottom with a thud. She laughed at the shocked expression on his face, and scooped him up.

  ‘Come on, cosy toes and hands today, you’ll have to cope with a red nose.’ She dressed him warmly, loaded him into the pushchair, and put the small phone in her pocket. Her iPhone went in her bag.

  It was bitterly cold, and she walked briskly, pulling her scarf up over her nose. It hurt to breathe in the frigid air. The whole country had been in the grip of an icy spell for several days, with no end in sight. As she walked, her mind played around with summer holiday spots. It didn’t really warm her, but the thoughts were productive.

  An hour’s walking saw them arrive at the shopping mall, and she went to the stationer’s shop. She loaded the pushchair with paper, printer inks and biros – a five-minute search for a pen that morning had caused her to check what supplies were running low.

  She directed her steps towards a coffee shop: kindle time, and peace, combined with a coffee. Jake woke while she was enjoying the break.

  She handed him his sippy cup, and he smiled, toothlessly. They shared the rest of her cookie, and as she was about to stand to leave, the phone rang.

  For a second, she froze. It had been so long since she had heard that ring tone proclaiming Chris Montez’ undying devotion in The More I See You, that she felt tears sting her eyes.

  She pulled it from her pocket and pressed the answer button. Silence.

  ‘Hello? Phil? Is that you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Phil? I can’t hear you.’

  Silence, the silence where you know someone is there, but they’re not going to speak.

  And then nothing, as the caller disconnected.

  No words spoken, no sounds made.

  She shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. The phone went back into her pocket, with a hope that he was in a bad signal reception area, and he would call later.

  She pushed the heavily loaded pushchair on to the tram, and sat in the small designated seat by the pushchair section, playing with Jake and listening out for the ringtone. It didn’t ring, and she walked the short distance from the tram stop with a heavy heart.

  It was toasty warm inside the house, and she quickly stripped Jake of all the outer garments she had used that had turned him into a stiff little doll-like figure. He seemed relie
ved to be a normal child once again, and he crawled rapidly around the lounge in ever decreasing circles.

  Liz tipped the small toy box of cars, trucks, dinosaurs, farm animals and assorted Peppa Pig vehicles, switched on Netflix to provide him with back-to-back Peppa Pig, and moved to the small office area they had set up, in order to be ready for her part time return to a job that really demanded full time attention.

  With Jake holding a mini Peppa in one hand and a dinosaur in the other, Liz watched for a moment as his eyes followed the fat pigs on the television screen.

  She opened her laptop, and logged in, then placed the small Nokia to one side. He had to ring. He had to ring.

  She checked her emails, dealt with two that were easy answers, forwarded a file to Tom, the Tom who had said it’s your day off, and answered a personal one to Nora, a long-time friend from university days.

  And still the phone remained silent. She checked that she hadn’t accidentally switched it to that mode, and replaced it by her side. It was just after two, and at half past three the silent aspect would have to be activated, and the phone re-zipped into her bag, away from prying eyes.

  Her work completed, she opened a special file, one entitled quite simply book. This was a file that gave her a great deal of pleasure, although not opened on any sort of regular basis. She loved history, and one day, while on the tram going to work, had come up with an idea for a book set in France, in the days of the revolution. She was writing it for herself; she loved the research aspect, possibly even more than the writing, and knew it would never leave her computer. It was a project to fill her time, when she had any spare.

  She took the notebook out of her drawer, went through the notes she had made, and typed, one eye on Jake as he renewed his acquaintance with Peppa in yet another episode, while chewing on a stuffed dog, and one eye on the computer as she typed in her handwritten notes. There were no eyes spare for the front window, and she missed seeing Daniel walk past it.

  She heard his key go into the front door, and she threw her notebook over the phone. A glance at the bottom of her screen showed her it was 15.42; how stupid was she not to have set an alarm?

  Dan came through to the lounge and kissed her. ‘Good day, Mum?’ He bent down and picked up Jake, who giggled at his big brother and waved Peppa in his direction. ‘And you, Jakey boy? Good day?’

  ‘We’ve walked,’ said Liz. ‘Walked it to Crystal Peaks, bought some stationery I needed, and came back on the tram. It was damn cold though.’

  ‘You’re working?’

  ‘I’ve done a couple of things for work, but I’m adding a bit to the book.’

  ‘The book…’ He dramatized the way that he spoke, and Liz laughed.

  ‘Cheeky monkey. Yes, the book. You wait until I’m a famous author and Spielberg wants it for a movie.’

  ‘I thought you said it was being written for you?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll have to become a personal friend of Spielberg then, cut out the middleman, the publisher.’

  Dan ruffled her hair. ‘Good for you. Will it make us rich?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘Very rich.’

  Dan replaced Jake in the middle of his toys, and walked out of the room. ‘Boeuf bourgignon for tonight,’ he called from the hall. ‘That okay? It’s already in the freezer.’

  She lifted her head and smiled. What had she done in her previous life that was so spectacular, fate had given her the gift of a chef in the making for a son?

  She quickly retrieved the buried phone, switched it to silent and zipped it into her bag. With her hopes dashed, she closed the laptop, and attended to her youngest son’s nappy. She took him to bed for a half hour nap, and went back down to the kitchen.

  She sat at the table and watched what Dan was doing. A coffee appeared in front of her.

  ‘You okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. I was lost in the French revolution.’

  ‘So, going back to work isn’t an issue, then?’

  ‘Not at all. You know I love my job…’

  ‘But you love Jake more.’

  ‘Stop being grown up, and get back to your cheffing.’

  ‘Just keeping an eye. And I’m only defrosting…’

  ‘Do you really think I’d give everything up for Peppa Pig overdoses?’ She sipped at her drink and tilted her head.

  ‘If you’re looking at it like that, no. You’re good, Mum, I won’t check up on you again.’

  She picked up her coffee and returned to the lounge. ‘Get on with the meal, slave, and stop worrying!’ she called. She tidied away the toys, plumped up the cushions, and pulled her bag towards her. She quickly took out the Nokia and looked for messages. Missed call.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Damn. He’d managed to ring again. She allowed herself the luxury of scrolling back through the many messages they had exchanged from the start of the relationship, and went through them a second time as enlightenment dawned.

  When Phil had bought them the phones he had made her promise to always delete every text, every bit of evidence of calls between them, in case Rosie or Gareth came across the phones. We can always say they are phones kept for work calls, he had said.

  But she hadn’t been able to delete them. She wanted to keep them. His love had enfolded her through the texts, she couldn’t delete them. The texts were the untold story of their love.

  The last three or four were different. He had always ended his texts with love you, sweets; there wasn’t one text from their relationship that didn’t have those words. It wasn’t on the newer ones.

  He wasn’t sending them, somebody else was.

  Chapter 7

  Gloomy, always gloomy. The small light that was never turned off gave a tiny glow, enough to see the opposite wall. Phil knew he was in a cellar, chained and attached to a wall. The chain extended long enough to allow him to use an old toilet in the corner, wash in the tiny hand basin next to it, and not an inch further. He hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone for a long time – how long, he had no idea. There were steps leading up to a door, but his chain only allowed him as far as the foot of the stairs.

  Phil had never seen his captor. In his head, he called him Captor, but he was only guessing it was a man; it could easily be a woman.

  The only clue he had about the length of time of his captivity was when he first came around, the weather was still warm. It had changed and Captor had provided two old blankets. Phil shivered through most nights.

  There had been no verbal communication, no written messages, nothing other than a dumb waiter that clattered down to the cellar, holding food for the day.

  It annoyed him intensely that he couldn’t remember getting here. He could only assume that he had been drugged in some way, because he had no injuries, other than a small bruise on his arm. He had tried asking questions, but to no avail. The person at the top of the dumb waiter never spoke, and there was never any activity, until what he presumed was the following morning.

  Phil had given up with the questions. The thoughts in his head were slowly driving him mad. Why? Why was he here? Did his kidnapper think he was someone else? Almost all the time his thoughts drifted towards his family; to Rosie, to Melissa – and to Liz.

  Rosie had been truly vitriolic when he had confessed to loving Liz, much to his surprise. There had been nothing between them for years, and he had been shocked by her reaction. You’re my husband, not hers. She’s got her own husband. And does the bitch love you?

  At first, he had wondered if Rosie could be Captor, but he ruled it out. She was a gentle soul, under normal circumstances, and he couldn’t see her as an evil cow capable of doing this to him. They had simply drifted apart following Melissa’s accident, lived together more as friends than anything, so, no, he couldn’t see her being this cruel.

  His thoughts drifted towards Liz when he heard the rattle as the dumb waiter descended. He stood patiently until the noise stopped, before moving across to it. It wasn’t how he imagined a dumb waiter to
be, so guessed this had been constructed specifically with his incarceration in mind. It had a small door to keep the contents of the box structure from falling out as it descended from above.

  He took out the carrier bag; it contained two sandwiches, two bottles of water and two bags of crisps. It hadn’t been any different for the whole of the time he had been there. He heard the dumb waiter rattle its way back to the top, and he opened a bottle of water, and took a long drink.

  He was shocked to hear the rattle begin again. He watched it with apprehension, and when it stopped, he moved across to open the door once more. Inside was a second plastic bag, this time a much larger black bin bag. He lifted it out and carried it across to his camp bed.

  He had been wearing shorts when he had been taken. This bag contained jeans, a jumper, a couple of T-shirts, boxers, thicker socks – and he groaned. How long did they intend keeping him?

  He had washed his existing clothes as best he could in cold water in the tiny hand basin, but they took so long to dry he had almost given up on that idea. Maybe Captor had a conscience after all.

  There was an extra blanket and he felt grateful to the unknown person who had supplied him with it. He sat down on his camp bed and gathered the contents of the large bag to him.

  And cried.

  Chapter 8

  The boeuf bourgignon was beautiful, warming, tasty and eaten. Liz raised her glass of wine. ‘To the chef. That was delicious, Dan.’

  Gareth nodded. ‘So much so, I don’t think I could face a dessert.’

  ‘I’ll put the apple and blackberry crumble in the freezer then,’ Daniel said, smirking.

  ‘Ah… maybe a small amount,’ Gareth joked. ‘Is it with custard?’

  ‘Would I offer anything else?’

  ‘Not in this house, probably not,’ his father said with a laugh.

  Liz tried to join in with the banter, but worry had settled over her like a nimbus cloud, and she wanted to be on her own, to think.