‘Yes.’ Josie folds her arms across her body. Stares at the tiled floor. ‘A second bunker.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
EMMA
I’m in water. The coldness of it seeps through my clothes, my flesh, my ligaments and into my bones. My eyes flutter open and I expect to choke on the freezing cold liquid, but I’m surprised to find that I’m dry. There is no water. The room is dark. Confused, my gaze drifts down to my arms. Someone has removed my jacket. I’m lying on stone. I gasp, pull myself up to a sitting position and allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
It all comes flooding back. The panic as the people in the studio hurried out of the building. The fire alarm blaring. Finding Walnut on the stairs. The week of sheer pain, of missing her. Amy’s games with the letters. The tree. The hair.
I get to my feet and a blinding light comes on overhead. I shield my eyes from it and take a few staggering steps back, coming into contact with cold metal. When I turn around to inspect the barrier, I find metal bars in front of me. I’m in a cage, looking out at an underground room.
‘Gina,’ I whisper.
Amy drugged me and pushed me into a car, but before then she said I would be reunited with my daughter. Gina. My body spins around. My eyes lock on the tiny mattress in the corner of the cage, to the tiny body tucked into a duvet, honey-hued hair spilling over the pillow.
I lunge forward and drop to my knees, not even feeling the hard stone floor beneath me. Trembling hands reach greedily for the covers and yank them away. My hand flies up to my face. I fall onto my backside and crawl away from the thing in the bed.
There are footsteps coming down a set of steps I can’t see. She walks into the room and my head snaps towards her.
‘You found her,’ Amy says. She walks over to the bars and gently caresses them. ‘My baby.’
‘No,’ I whisper.
Amy doesn’t even notice me speak; she just stares at the thing in the corner. ‘I wanted you both to meet. It’s something I’ve wanted for a very long time. Emma, why don’t you say hello to my baby daughter. Say hello to Lily.’
I shake my head. ‘You lied to me.’
‘Yes,’ Amy says. ‘I did. I’m not sure what you expected.’
Finally, I allow my eyes to trail back to the mattress in the corner of the cage. The duvet is rumpled up on the floor from where I threw it back, uncovering the child beneath. But it isn’t a child, not a living, breathing child anyway. Instead, an incredibly lifelike doll lays on the crumpled bedding. Her face is perfect porcelain. Her hair is fine and downy. Her eyes are blue, staring up at the bars above. But she is not alive, and she is not Gina.
‘Where is my daughter?’ The back of my throat is thick with the taste of bile and my head throbs from whatever drug she gave me. But now that the initial shock of finding the doll is beginning to wear off, I can at least start to concentrate on what counts: finding Gina.
Amy backs away from the bars. ‘Say hello to Lily and perhaps I’ll tell you.’ She smiles, revealing slightly crooked teeth. They are darker than I remembered. Has she been living here? Wherever this is.
I take another quick look around me and a cold chill spreads over my skin. We’re below ground, in some sort of vault or crypt. The place reminds me of the crypts below York Minster that gave me nightmares when I was a child. This room, or crypt, is much smaller than the one in the cathedral, but still has the high, vaulted ceilings. The floor is dusty. There are cobwebs in the corners, plenty of shadows.
A few electric lanterns have been set up around the place, along with some candles, but the bright light comes from a portable spotlight, the kind builders might use on an outside job.
‘Well?’ Amy prompts.
‘Hello, Lily,’ I say.
‘Make sure she’s comfortable then.’ Amy nods towards the doll.
I can barely bring myself to do this, to play pretend with her. But I get back on my feet, walk across to the mattress and tuck the doll into the blanket.
When I walk across to the bars, Amy is smiling.
‘What makes you think I know where Gina is?’ she says.
My stomach drops. A heavy stone hitting the bottom of the ocean. I can do nothing but gape at her. ‘What?’
Amy just laughs and turns away.
I grab the bars, pressing my face between them. ‘You’re lying! You know where she is. You had her hair. That was her hair, I’m sure of it.’ I know the touch of my daughter’s hair; I know the smell of it. Surely I wasn’t wrong. ‘Come back, Amy! Tell me!’
Her footsteps begin to climb up the stairs. In desperation, I grab the doll and pull her closer to the cage bars.
‘Tell me where she is, or I’ll smash Lily into pieces.’
The sound of the footsteps suddenly stops, then I hear them descend. Her face comes back into view, wan and sickly.
‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘I’ll do it.’
She shrugs. ‘It’s just a doll, Emma. I can buy another one.’ Her laughter echoes back up the steps, and I’m left in the cage with a doll for a daughter.
She doesn’t come back, no matter how much I scream and shout. She doesn’t come back and I’m left to examine my surroundings alone. These are the same sort of bars that I remember from the bunker. Did Hugh put this cage here? How could the police miss this second location? There was supposed to be an investigation after Aiden was found, but because Aiden didn’t remember much, and Josie didn’t know anything, it seems as though they missed this.
But maybe Josie will find something now. She promised to check his finances again. Maybe it’ll lead the police to wherever I am.
I take a walk around the cage. Just like in Aiden’s bunker, there is a small bed, the same place I found Lily. But there isn’t a toilet or sink. Perhaps he hadn’t got around to the plumbing or electricity yet. There’s no generator keeping the place going. Instead, there are several large plastic bottles of water and a bucket in the corner. There are stuffed toys lining the cage. I pick up a red dragon and press it to my face. All I smell is the same damp air I’m breathing in.
Aside from the toys, there’s a rug and a beanbag chair. That’s it.
I sink to the floor. What do I do now? How do I get out?
When I close my eyes, I’m back in the flat in Manchester. Making breakfast with Aiden at the table or playing with Gina in the park. Or she’s helping me out in the art studio, paint on her nose.
Stop.
Wishful thinking is going to get me nowhere.
Because of the high ceiling, this cage goes over my head and joins the wall behind me. The last cage Hugh built was floor to ceiling. I try to hook my feet between the bars and push myself up so that I can examine the upper section. Everything is welded together. But how long ago was this made? Is it secure? Will it hold me?
I soon find that I don’t have the upper body strength to lift myself up, so I drop to my knees and check the bottom of the cage. Could I lift it? It’s doubtful, but I try anyway. No. It won’t budge.
Moving the doll from the bed, I sit down and try to stop the increasingly terrifying thoughts from taking over. I’ve had claustrophobic nightmares for years, and now I’m living them. Not even deep breaths can keep my mind from spinning, but I have to think.
My eyes drift to the porcelain doll. Lily. There has to be a story behind this doll. Why does Amy have it? And why is it here? That’s something I can use.
I track all the events leading to this moment, from the most recent, to the furthest back in time. Firstly, whose hair was in the note that the teenage boy gave to me on the street? I’d felt that gut punch of motherly instinct when I’d touched that hair. Was I wrong? Or does Amy have Gina and is withholding her from me? I don’t know what to think anymore.
The sound of echoing footsteps and an opening door infiltrates the quiet. I instinctively move closer to the bars to wrap my fingers around the metal.
The stairs are too far away from the cage for me to see her descend, but a few moments later she t
urns a corner and is visible. She carries a tray containing some fruit, chocolate and what appears to be cooked meat with vegetables.
‘Rabbit again, Lily. Some for you too, Emma.’
I don’t say a word.
‘Don’t eat it if you don’t want to.’ She shrugs and sets the tray down. ‘It probably doesn’t matter.’
I don’t like the sound of that.
‘Away from the bars, please Emma.’ Her eyes remain fixed on mine until I do what she says.
I take three steps away and watch as Amy lifts the small bowls from the tray and pushes them through the bars of the cage. Could I drop to my knees, lunge forward, grab her arm and pull her close to the bars? I wait, ready for the next set of bowls, but when I drop forward, she moves away.
‘Stay still or you won’t eat, Emma,’ she says. ‘Don’t you want to keep your strength up?’
I remain in my crouch, watching her, waiting for her to move first. She does. She takes one step. I launch myself at the bars, right arm stretching through, fingers groping wildly at thin air. She laughs. She’s two steps out of reach.
‘You’re just making it harder on yourself,’ she says, lifting one eyebrow.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ I say, dropping my arm but remaining close to the cage.
‘Three steps back. Unless you want to starve.’
She’s enjoying this, the power. Is that because she’s felt powerless her entire life? She was always so easily led. She needed to be, most of the time. That’s why she was never respected, why she became Hugh’s pet. But now it makes sense that she trained to be a teacher, because every day between 8 and 3, she got to wield a little bit of power over vulnerable human beings. I’m beginning to understand her, and maybe I can use that. Obediently, I take three small steps back.
Amy tosses the fruit through the cage, not caring if it bruises on the hard floor. Then she slides the last bowl through, snapping her body into standing position and stepping swiftly away. The fact that she moved so quickly tells me that she’s worried about a physical confrontation. I suppose we are quite evenly matched.
‘Go on.’ She nods to the food on the floor of the cage.
I bend down, pick up the food. ‘Where am I?’
She shrugs.
‘It’s a church, isn’t it?’ I say.
‘A chapel.’ She lowers herself to the floor and sits cross-legged. Her posture is straight, but relaxed. Everything has gone according to her plan and now she is content. Nothing I or DCI Stevenson or DI Khatri or Aiden or Rob or anyone else has done has made any kind of difference.
‘Hugh made this?’
She nods. ‘It isn’t quite finished. There’s supposed to be more to it. A working toilet. A sink. He was going to build a fence around the entire building to make sure no one came inside.’
‘This is where Aiden’s replacement was supposed to come.’
‘Not exactly,’ Amy replies. ‘Hugh was going to move the child around to make it more convenient for him.’
‘Why would he need that?’
‘So that he could be closer to London when he needed to be.’
‘And you’ve kept it waiting for me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me where Gina is, Amy. I know you have her. Is she upstairs? Is she in the chapel? Please tell me she’s safe. Let me see her. Whatever happened between us, please. You know my family doesn’t deserve this.’
Amy’s eyes flicker. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Your aunt and uncle are dead. You can move on now. You’re not the victim anymore.’
She scoffs. ‘I was never a victim.’
I shake my head. ‘I saw your house. I heard what your neighbour said about your uncle and how he yelled at you. I saw your photo album and I saw your mother. I know that you were good once. I saw it. Why else do you think I invited you camping that time?’
‘To ridicule me!’
‘Is that what you think? No, Amy, no. That’s not why. They were off their faces on pills. I don’t think even they planned to cut your hair.’
‘It wasn’t just that,’ Amy says. ‘They shat in my tent. A month later, the girl who cut my hair beat me up and stole my necklace. When I went home, my uncle hit me for losing it. He hit me . . .’ she trails off. ‘There is so much more to all this than you could imagine. You have no idea what I’ve been through in my life, so be quiet.’
‘You can tell me, you know. Here is your audience, Amy.’ I gesture to the cage. ‘Tell me.’
She just smirks. ‘Not yet.’
I reach forward and wrap my fingers around the bars. ‘Listen to me. You’re not that girl from school anymore,’ I say. ‘You can be better than this. Better than those bullies. Let me go to my daughter. Please. I’ll do anything. Tell me where she is!’
She shakes her head. ‘That’s not the plan.’
‘What plan? Hugh is gone. You’re in control now. You can change the plan whenever you like.’
She doesn’t say another word. Instead she stands up and she walks out, ignoring me as I rattle the cage in desperation.
Chapter Thirty-Three
AIDEN
As we emerge from Josie and Hugh’s house – I continue to call it Hugh’s house in my mind because I can’t think of it any other way – the midday sun warms my skin. I forgot to put on the high SPF cream Mum buys for me. My skin is still delicate, so I hurry to the car and get in the backseat, watching Dad and DCI Stevenson amble down the drive.
The first thing I do is check my phone. Finally, a reply.
FAITH: What?? Are you OK?
FAITH: Aiden, I’m so worried about you. Are you OK?
I quickly type back: I’m fine.
‘That must have been hard for you, mate,’ Dad says, pulling me from my thoughts. DCI Stevenson gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car.
I’m not sure what to say, and I don’t know how to say it, so I just nod, before looking back at my screen.
FAITH: I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could comfort you at least.
‘Do you think it’s possible?’ Dad’s eyes reach mine through the rear-view mirror. ‘Did he ever . . . ever mention a second bunker to you?’
My heart is hammering. Between Dad’s sad eyes in the mirror and Faith’s sad messages, I feel like I need to console both of them somehow. I lean forward, put my head in my hands, pull at my hair with my fingers. Someone reaches back and touches me, but I move away from them, I shrink back. The car feels too small and I want to open the door and run away, but I force myself to stay. I lift my head and the car begins to move. Outside, the sun goes behind a cloud and my skin begins to cool down.
Once I’m composed again, I reply. ‘It’s possible. He once mentioned that he wished I was halfway between London and Bishoptown. Hugh would travel back up to Bishoptown in the middle of business trips in London.’
Dad roars, punches the dashboard, the glovebox pops open. DCI Stevenson calmly reaches across and closes it.
‘Well, perhaps he bought some sort of property. A house, a piece of land, whatever it might be, he had to spend money on it. There’ll be a paper trail and this time we’ll know what we’re looking for.’
‘But this isn’t Hugh is it?’ Dad says. ‘It’s Amy. What if we’re wrong?’
‘She’s finishing what he started,’ Stevenson says. ‘And she’s punishing the person who brought it all down in the first place.’
‘Emma?’
‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Or Aiden. Perhaps both.’
But I’m only half listening. Instead, I feel the vibration alert on my phone, and I open up my messages.
ME: I wish you could as well.
FAITH: You know I’m thinking of you, don’t you?
ME: Yeah, I know. Thank U.
FAITH: You mean the world to me.
FAITH: I mean it.
ME: You mean so much to me too.
I pause, my skin on fire, my fingers hover above the screen. What can I say to convey how she h
as made me feel these past months?
ME: You help me process the world.
FAITH: I love you so much.
ME: I love you too.
DCI Stevenson spends a lot of time on the phone talking to various team members. Every now and then I see him take out a packet of chewable indigestion tablets and take two. At other times he sits and stares into space. We’re usually crowded into the B&B, but right now we’re sitting outside in the little garden behind it. Perched on the wrought iron garden furniture.
The sun is intermittent, often masked by clouds. Shadows come and go along the lawn. Grandma makes tea or delivers soft drinks. They’ve asked their B&B customers to go home so that they can concentrate on the disappearance of Mum and Gina.
I’m quizzed a lot. Do I remember what Hugh said exactly? Did he mention any specific locations? Was I supposed to move there? Was he going to keep both me and a second child? Did he mention finding a second child?
But my answers aren’t detailed. The truth is, I remember some of what he said, but I tuned a lot of it out because the conversation was scaring me. All I know, and all I tell them, is that I believe he was looking for somewhere convenient for him.
Bringing back the memories makes my stomach churn and my hands shake. I just want it to be over.
DCI Stevenson wipes sweat from his brow and sits back on the chair. For the past fifteen minutes he has been pacing the length of the lawn, talking on his phone again. ‘We have a warrant for Hugh’s offices. We have officers checking maps for world war two bunkers. We have officers checking the woods and the surrounding area. We’re going to find them.’
‘I don’t think I can sit here and wait,’ Dad says. He stretches out one leg as though it’s aching, and then flexes his fingers.
‘You’ve done too much already,’ Grandma warns. ‘You need rest.’
‘No. No I can’t.’ He stands, takes a few paces. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He turns to DCI Stevenson. ‘Where can I check? Where can I go?’
‘It’s best that you let us handle it, Rob,’ Stevenson says, not unkindly. ‘I swear we’re pulling all of our resources. We’re going to find them.’
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