by Ruth Dugdall
Jodie sees me and starts to laugh, a laughter that is almost manic, scary because it is the very opposite of happy.
“That money is nothing. Nothing! You see this,” she points to a fresh bruise in the crook of her elbow. “To put medicine in me, something to take away the pain, costs double what you now hold in your hand.”
The small violet bruise inside her arm, I know what it is now, it is a puncture. I shiver and my hand bunches the yellow fabric of my precious dress.
“You need this medicine?” I ask, wary. I know about medicine to take away pain, the kind that goes into the body in needles. Even in Tizi Ouzi we heard of this, and people would come back from the city longing for this medicine, shaking and crying. Omi would help them to sweat out the longing, and use herbs to take away the shaking. I must get Jodie herbs.
“You would too, if your job was to lie on your back. Now stop talking to me and let me be. I’m tired of thinking.”
So she curls up tight on her mattress and I move to hold her, my dress still in my arms. I lay behind her, half-covering her naked shoulder with the fabric of home. The act is a silent promise that I will fix this for all of us, if I am able. I can’t let Ellie become like Jodie.
It will take a second phone call, and this time the line won’t go dead. This time I will suggest a different meeting place, somewhere Auntie can get to easily by train, but somewhere Jak would never go.
And, after talking with Ellie, I know the perfect place.
Metz Cathedral.
Ellie
Ellie has been thinking about her mother often. The clarity of her mother’s presence cuts through her thoughts. Sometimes she believes her mother is in the room with her, telling her that everything will be alright, that this is just a very bad dream and Ellie will soon wake.
At other times Ellie feels her mother behind her, is aware of a single knuckle placed into the centre of Ellie’s back, nudging her spine, the way she does if Ellie slouches or isn’t polite enough to adults. And feeling this nub of pressure, Ellie knows it is her fault that she is locked in this squalid room, away from her family and friends, scared and alone.
Gaynor she thinks of less, simply because it is too painful. Ellie keeps her thoughts about her sister simple: she hopes that Gaynor is borrowing that new H&M dress she coveted, she hopes Gaynor has taken her iPod nano as she used to do. It used to annoy Ellie, but now Gaynor can use it freely. Ellie promises her sister, in her head, that if she ever comes home she will never yell again. The iPod is hers, a gift. She will be different, if she is allowed home.
Who is in control here, who is even making the decision to keep her locked up? The bulldog hasn’t been back since she came to the house. Maybe the woman is the real boss.
The house is quiet, sleeping. It isn’t always. Ellie sometimes hears the boy moving around, his mother speaking to him, or the sounds of feet in the room above. Where Amina told her that she and Jodie sleep. How is it that such normality can happen when she is here? Against her will? But she knows the door is locked and that screaming would only make it worse. She knows too, now, that no-one would come except the woman, or more often, Amina. She hasn’t seen Malik since he brought her here. These are the people who exist in her world.
The door opens and Ellie expects Amina, so is surprised to see Jodie.
Jodie, beautiful Jodie from Schueberfouer. She holds a finger to her lips, and Ellie understands. Jodie comes closer and Ellie sees how ill she looks, that although she is wearing the same red dress it is now grubby and unravelling at the seams. Her eyes are dull and her cheeks are dry and flaky. The skin on her arms is bruised with finger marks and needle points.
“Your mum planned this,” Jodie whispers, into her ear. “And Jak agreed, but now it is all fucked up. You have been here too long, I don’t see how he is taking you back home now.”
Ellie moves backwards, crablike, until her back thumps against the wall. As if moving away from Jodie will make her words disappear from where they worm their way, from ear canal to brain, gathering emotion as they go.
My mother planned this.
No. No it could not be, Ellie had never imagined she would be capable of this. This truth, so much worse than any other of the awful possibilities of her capture.
My mother.
Jodie stares at her, wide-eyed, and her voice stutters, “I wanted to warn you. We could help each other. Before you end up like me.”
Ellie understands that Jodie is trying to save her from the same fate, from being sold like a piece of meat, from being a victim of abuse. But Ellie feels her own abuse as something far darker and devastating: her mother’s neglect.
“How can I ever go home?” she asks Jodie.
The other girl does not answer. No-one could. But she slides a small kitchen knife from some hidden place in the fabric of her dress and presses it into Ellie’s hands.
“Save yourself,” she tells Ellie. “No-one is coming for you.”
She believes Jodie, believes her mother could do this. And as she curls her hand around the knife she knows that she can never go home, not now she knows just how deeply her mother despises her. But she could escape.
Day 9
Cate
Cate was in a court room, not as a probation officer or a victim, but as the judge. The wooden chair pressed against her spine, the black robes swamped her, the wig slid on her head. Cate knew herself to be an imposter but tried to hide it, though she couldn’t remember what to do and everyone was staring up at her expectantly.
Then, a voice. Calling from the twelve-strong jury, which seemed to be made up of her family, old colleagues and faces from the school playground in Luxembourg. The woman who stood, Cate knew best, she realised that, but she couldn’t remember how.
“How dare you pass judgement,” shrieked the woman. “It should be us, judging you!”
“I’m not guilty,” Cate choked out, but she knew it wasn’t true. The whole courtroom watched her stumble from the chair.
She woke, sitting bolt upright in the bed, sweat running down her back. Olivier was open-eyed, gazing up at her.
“What is it you are not guilty of?”
She wiped her eyes, fell back onto the mattress. “It was nothing, just a dream.” She could see their faces. Eva, Bridget, Liz staring back at her.
Olivier reached to touch her. “A bad one. Let me make it better.” He kissed her shoulder, her neck. Moved down to kiss her breast, but Cate pulled away.
She couldn’t make love to Olivier, it felt dishonest. She had lied to him, and that was just one thing of which she was guilty.
Olivier left for work half an hour later, dropping Amelia at school on the way, and Cate found herself relieved to be alone in the house. They hadn’t spoken properly. There was too much to say. He had seen her at the press conference, knew she had been to visit Bridget.
She stood on the balcony, leaning over the railing and breathing away tears, blinking sun rays and noticing the church, the tall Sofitel building in the distance, the white blocks of flats. How could the sun be so warm, Belair look so beautiful, when something so sordid, so disturbing had happened, right in the heart of the city? It all looked perfect. Maybe more so, because Cate knew she would soon be saying goodbye to Luxembourg.
She wouldn’t be able to stay, not after she’d aided and abetted the main suspect in a kidnapping case that her lover was overseeing. She could already imagine packing her’s and Amelia’s bags. What it would be like to close the door on this place?
She had woken from her nightmare to find that it was true: she was guilty. She deserved the sentence.
As she pulled up in front of the house, Cate saw that Bridget was in her habitual position by the window. Achim’s car was gone, and Cate was glad. He was one person who had been genuine throughout Ellie’s disappearance and she couldn’t stand to see him right now. Better to be with other liars.
As soon as Bridget opened the front door, Cate could feel her sick energy, her heightened arousal, th
e same that had worked so well in her favour at the press conference, but on this sad sunny morning it felt misplaced. Bridget’s movements were jerky and unfixed, her face was rosy with heat, her eyes dark. Cate saw it clearly then, the obvious truth that she had only realised recently, which had really been evident from the start: Bridget was mentally unstable. A woman who orchestrated her own daughter’s kidnapping had to be certifiable. Cate thought sagely that a mental illness might be the only thing that saved Bridget from prison when this was all over.
Cate was taking a lead role in this insane saga, without the same defence.
To be mad would be a blessing. To be sane on a day like today had to be far, far worse.
With Bridget beside her, Cate drove out of Luxembourg, past the Glacis car park where the Schueberfouer was still sleeping. Up to the Kirchberg plateau, past Mudam and the Philharmonie buildings, that Cate had not yet visited and doubted she ever would now. Onwards, looping the crazy interlocking motorways until she took the turning where they would meet Ellie’s kidnappers.
As instructed during the second phone call, Cate was driving them to Metz, just over the French border and forty minutes from Luxembourg. Thinking it would be an industrial city, Eva had said as much, she was surprised to see grand facades of buildings, massive granite blocks towered into majestic homes that overlooked a pretty river, and all of it overseen by the sandstone cathedral.
Bridget was oblivious to all of Metz’s charms, and simply stared straight ahead, leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped in her lap.
“I really believed Jak wanted to help me,” she said, for the hundredth time. “How could I have been so stupid? I let her down. I let him take my little girl.”
Cate remained silent because she didn’t trust herself to speak. The anger, which had erupted when Bridget had first told her that she orchestrated Ellie’s kidnapping remained, but she also saw how broken Bridget was. What mattered most was finding Ellie and Cate knew that if Olivier arrested Bridget, then Ellie would never be found. Her goal was to find the girl, what happened to Bridget beyond that point was out of her control.
Cate’s one hope was that the kidnapper would ask for money, a sum that Bridget could access easily, and that this part of the nightmare would be over.
They arrived in Metz city centre over an hour early for the designated meeting and Bridget wanted to go straight into the cathedral, but Cate persuaded her it would be a mistake. Two British women, one looking like she wanted to tear her hair out with grief, could hardly sit in a pew for an hour without drawing some attention.
“Let’s get a drink,” Cate said, leading them to an Italian café within the shadow of the cathedral. Although empty, they took seats outside, at a cheerful red-and-white polka dot table under a red awning. Cate asked the waiter for a carafe of wine and even though Bridget said she couldn’t eat, Cate ordered them both a bowl of risotto. It would pass the time, and Cate was hungry; she hadn’t eaten properly since the evening meal with the Massards and Bridget looked like she was wasting away.
After Cate had finished her risotto, and Bridget had picked, moving stodgy grains around the bowl, they paid and made their way to Metz Cathedral. It was oppressively beautiful, ancient stories glazed into over-bright windows, sealed between shapes cut from stone. Religion teaches harsh truths. Cate thought to herself. Jesus, sacrificed by his own father for a greater good. Bridget, the mother willing to sacrifice her daughter to teach her a valuable lesson.
In the nave, the only light came through the Old Testament images. Cate could not imagine God’s mercy in such a place, though she could surely feel his judgement.
Shivering, Cate sat back in the pew and Bridget leaned against her shoulder for support. Even the square angles of the seat felt like a mild suffering. The woman beside her whispered, “There she is.”
“Auntie will be waiting for you,” the girl had said on the phone.
The woman was shrouded in a lace veil, sitting in the side chapel, dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows, designated for silent prayer and lit by banks of tea lights, their flames flickering specks of orange light.
Cate waited in the pew, watching as Bridget moved forward and took a seat beside the veiled woman.
She didn’t want to watch the conversation unfold, she bowed her head and prayed that Ellie would soon be home. Let this work out. Let it be soon, she begged a god that she wasn’t sure she believed in.
Amina
I want to tell Jodie about our trip to Metz, but when she arrives home she has a fever. She lies on her mattress, shaking as if she is cold, though she feels hot to the touch. She won’t talk to me, but her bruises speak a language I am beginning to understand.
The only thing she asks about is Ellie. She is concerned, suddenly.
“Ellie will be fine,” I tell her, stroking her back, though gently as the slightest touch seems to be causing her pain.
Jodie shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Amina. Jak is talking about how to get rid of her. He is frightened of arrest.” I want to tell her then, that everything will be okay, that Auntie and I have sorted it all out with Ellie’s mother, but Jodie closes her eyes. Her whole body shakes and I can see that nothing I say will reach her now, she is lost inside herself. Instead I hold her, and rock her slightly, until we both fall asleep.
We are woken in the middle of the night by Auntie’s cries. In the moonlight Jodie and I face each other, both of us listening to the voices, the shouting coming from the bedroom below. Jodie looks startled. Though the words are not clear I know what Jak has been told.
Jodie is wide-eyed with fear. “Jak sounds angry. He may be angry with me. I did not make good business yesterday, I was too sick.”
“Hush, Jodie.” I place my hand on her skin. It is still warm. I want to calm her, to make her see that he is not angry because of her. “It is not what you think.”
Another yell from below, this time followed by a crash of something being thrown against the wall. Jodie begins to shake. “He is very angry.”
“They aren’t shouting about you, Jodie. Auntie is telling him about Ellie. That she is leaving here tomorrow.” I whisper as an afterthought but also as a prayer, “Everything will be well, inshallah.”
Jodie’s pupils are so dark they are like holes in her skull. She is really very sick, I cannot see how she will be able to go to work tomorrow.
“Where is Ellie going?” she demands, her teeth chattering after she speaks.
“Home. Once her mother has taken Fahran to the hospital to make him well again.”
She shakes her head, confused. “Fahran is having treatment?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling how relieved the news makes me feel inside. “It has all been arranged. Alhamdulillah.”
Jodie shivers and lays back on the mattress. She licks her lips so I know she is thirsty. “I have fever,” she says, “I must be delirious. I thought you said Ellie was going home to her mother. But her mother is to blame for this.”
“Shhh, hush Jodie, what you’re saying makes no sense. Just rest,” I reply, carefully tipping some water through Jodie’s cracked lips.
Finally, she sleeps. Despite the shouting downstairs that lasts until the first birds can be heard. Then there is silence, and I hope that Auntie has won, that Jak is silent because he has accepted our plan.
I get up and go downstairs. When I walk into the kitchen, Auntie is pulling Fahran’s jumper over his head, and then she holds him close. She is crying silently. Fahran gazes at me and I see he is bewildered, unsure of what is going on. I reach a hand for his fingers and he grips me in his small fist.
“Is it okay, Auntie?” I ask, and she nods. She holds me close and I feel her heart beating against mine.
“We are doing this to save him,” I say, and she nods again. Pulling away from me, Auntie’s eyes are swollen and her skin is blotchy. I have never seen anyone as upset as this. When I left Algeria, Omi cried for me but not like this, there is no glitter of hope in the water of her tears. But
she has told Jak, and he must be in agreement. He will drive Fahran to the meeting place, and then all will soon be well.
Fahran is dressed to leave the house, clutching his favourite toy, a brown bear that is missing one eye.
Jodie is still feverish, unable to leave our bed, so Auntie is looking after her. I think she is afraid to leave the house, to be with Jak. He has not spoken yet, and as he moves around the kitchen collecting his keys and wallet his face is full of clouds. Finally, he is ready to go and he reaches for his son, who seems to sense trouble and pulls back.
“Take me too,” I say to Jak, before I have had time to consider what I am saying. “I will look after Fahran on the journey.”
It would be the first time I have left the house since the day I arrived in Luxembourg and I see Jak hesitate. He doesn’t know me. I think of what happened to Jodie when she left the house, and wonder if I have made a mistake.
But then Auntie speaks to him, one hand rested on Jak’s arm. “Yes, this is a good plan. Take Amina with you. I trust her and it will give Fahran comfort.” Jak does not speak. He makes no sign that he agrees, but we all know that he does. And I see that Jodie was right when she spoke of women’s power.
I take Fahran’s hand and together we walk towards the white van.
Day 10
Ellie
In the night there was shouting, the bulldog arguing with his wife, and this morning I heard the van leave, very early.
I think I am alone in the house, but then I hear the woman crying. She’s in the room below, which I know is the kitchen, and upstairs is silent so I assume that Jodie and Amina have also left in the van.
Today may be my best chance to escape, it may not come again. The woman is alone and sick with grief. If I’m going to get away the time is now.
I begin to call, like I did when I first arrived but soon learned not to.
