by Sibel Hodge
‘The only shop that sells wooden stuff is Nightingale’s.’ He tilts his head to the other side of the street. ‘And Kitchen Dreams would do the kitchen stuff.’ He glances at his watch. ‘We could try them first before they close then do the rest of the shops if we have time. What do you think?’
‘I love the stuff in Nightingale’s. I haven’t been in there much in the last few years because Liam doesn’t like it, but, yes, that’s probably where I would’ve gone.’
So that’s what we do. We finish our lunch and walk across the street to Nightingale’s. It’s set on two floors with lots of Indonesian furniture, oak, mahogany, and reclaimed wood that’s been made into all sorts. The door is propped open with a tree trunk that’s now a plant holder.
It’s wood heaven. Things crammed everywhere so you have to wind yourself round the furniture. It’s also very expensive. Much more than I would be able to afford on my own.
The middle-aged salesman is dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. He wears a red and blue checked bowtie and reminds me of an old country gentleman. He’s chatting with a woman about teak oil, his well-spoken accent drifting towards me. We wander up and down the shop, my hands touching objects as I go by—a candleholder made of driftwood, a wooden photo frame, a carved salad bowl.
As I turn to look at a reclaimed wooden mirror, my reflection stares back and a spark of memory hits me like a surging pain in between my eyes. I stop and put my hand on a nearby table to stop the room spinning around me.
‘What is it?’ Jordan whispers in my ear, sliding his arm round my waist for support. ‘Do you remember something?’
‘I…I’ve been here recently.’
Jordan’s gaze meets mine in the mirror.
‘I remember. I did come in here after going to the estate agents. I had a look around and…’ I glance over at the salesman. ‘I spoke to him. I said I was looking for something a bit cheaper, and he told me about a place. Something…’ I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember it all. ‘He told me about somewhere nearby that makes cheap pine furniture. I don’t remember where, though, and I don’t remember what happened after.’
‘OK.’ He holds me close but not too tightly. ‘That’s helpful, then.’
The salesman is still chatting with the customer, talking about distressing wood now. I want to storm over there and scream at the woman to shut up. I want to grab the salesperson by his shirt and demand to know what he told me. Where he sent me. Hysteria is just a breath away. Jordan takes my hand and leads me towards him. We hover, waiting for him to finish. I shift from foot to foot, twisting my earring round and round. I’m so close to unlocking the answer I can taste the adrenaline in the back of my throat.
The salesman catches my eye then gives the woman a patient smile. ‘Well, if you need any more help, just ask. Feel free to browse some more. Looking doesn’t cost anything.’ He chuckles, as if he uses this line frequently. The woman wanders up the other end of the shop, leaving me free to question him.
‘Hi, do you remember I came in here nine days ago?’ I blurt out, fighting to quell the tremor in my voice.
‘What were you looking for?’ He gives me the same practised, polite smile he used on the woman.
‘Furniture. My hair was different then. Long and dark. I said you had some lovely pieces, but I was looking for something a bit cheaper and you recommended a place locally that made pine furniture.’
He raises a finger in the air. ‘Ah, yes, that’s right. I do remember. You know, our wood is very high quality, and only made from sustainable sources or reclaimed materials, but our prices are still competitive.’
‘Yes, it all looks amazing,’ I say quickly. ‘But you told me about somewhere else. The place that sells pine. Where is it?’
He nods a little, resigned to the fact he’s lost a sale. ‘He’s an excellent carpenter, but he works with the cheaper cuts, not the kind of discerning craftsmanship we have here.’
‘Can you tell us where it is?’ Jordan asks firmly. I have the feeling we could be here all day with the salesperson trying to talk to us.
‘My boss will kill me if he knew I’m telling you this, so please keep it a secret.’ He turns around to an antique wooden desk used as a counter and opens one of the drawers. He plucks out a card and hands it to me. ‘This is the place. Tom’s Wood Shack. It’s not really a shop, more of a workshop, really, but he makes things to order, too.’
‘Thank you.’ I practically pull Jordan out of the shop.
32
It’s a forty-five minute walk to the address. The town tapers out here into fields and lanes with views of open countryside all around. After the last house on the road, a dirt track runs along the side of it with a carved wooden sign on a fencepost that says Tom’s Wood Shack. An arrow points us down the track, so that’s where we head. About fifty metres along it, I can see a couple of old barns that must be his workshop and some ramshackle outhouses. In the distance behind the barns, a dog barks. A car whizzes along the main road.
I stop and sniff the air. The aromatic scent of pine hits my nostrils, and that’s when I know for sure I came here before. That smell, sweet and perfumed, triggers something in my brain. Flashing lights pop in my head like an explosion of fireworks. A chill of fear freezes my muscles, and I can’t move. The sensation of someone watching me is so strong I almost feel a burning gaze boring into my skin.
Jordan turns around when he realizes I’m no longer walking beside him down the track. ‘What is it?’ He strides back to me, puts his hands on my shoulders.
‘I…this…I…not…’ My mouth trembles so hard I can’t get the words out.
‘You recognize this place?’ His eyes are wide and questioning.
‘I…horrible…feeling.’ I’m panting now, sharp jerking breaths. Not enough air. I need more air. ‘Something…some…thing bad.’ Reaching deep inside, I struggle to grasp the distant memory and pull it to the surface. Vivid images flood inside my head now. The last time I was here.
One minute Tom was showing me some pine tables, and the next, he grabbed me from behind. One arm around my throat, holding me tight. One big hand over my mouth, stifling the scream of terror. For a moment I was so shocked I couldn’t move. I froze. Numb. As if the life was already sucked right out of me.
Then the adrenaline kicked in, and I struggled. But he was too big. Too strong. Couldn’t move. I could hardly breathe through his hand, sniffing oxygen hard through my nose.
Then…
A blank. That’s where the memory fractures.
Before I register what’s happening, Jordan is gripping my hand and leading me back up the track towards the main road. There’s a bench a little further along in front of the houses. He sits me onto it and crouches down on his haunches at my side, taking my hands in his and rubbing them vigorously.
‘OK, just breathe, Chloe. You need to calm down. Nothing’s going to happen. I’m here.’ He keeps his gaze on me.
I nod and shudder at the same time. Breathe. In. Out. Yes. Breathe. I take in deep gulps of air. My face is on fire, but my hands and feet are like blocks of ice.
‘Just keep breathing. You’re doing great.’
I don’t know how long we stay like that. It feels like an eternity until my breath slows and the shivers stop. My cheeks are wet, and I didn’t even realize I was crying.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ He sits beside me. ‘Did you remember something specific? Did it happen there?’
‘At first I didn’t, but the smell and the sound of the dog barking sparked something off. I got a really, really bad feeling. Like I was going to die. Like someone was suffocating me. And then I remembered him grabbing hold of me, his hand gagging my mouth so I couldn’t scream. But that’s where the memory stops. After that there’s just this big black void again.’
‘I don’t want you anywhere near here.’ He glances around, getting to his feet. ‘It’s best if I get you home safely, then you can call Summers and let him investigat
e things. Are you up to walking, or shall I call a cab?’ He pulls his mobile out of his pocket.
‘I don’t want to wait for a cab.’ I stand up on fragile legs. ‘Let’s go.’
He takes my hand and we walk away, but I can’t stop looking over my shoulder.
~~~~
When we get back to Jordan’s house, I sit on the step outside the kitchen door and light a cigarette. I take deep drags as John winds his way round and round my legs, nudging at me with his head.
‘Here.’ Jordan hands me a mug of strong coffee and sits next to me. ‘Are you OK?’
It’s the last thing I want him to ask. I’m not OK. Far from it. ‘I just keep seeing that place in my head. Being underground. Wanting to live and not knowing if I would. Running for my life through those woods. Part of me wishing I was already dead because the fear was too much.’ Inside I’m a quivering wreck, but my voice sounds surprisingly calm, as if I’m detached from it all. As if it happened to someone else.
‘It must’ve been terrifying.’
‘I don’t want to think about it, though. I just want to forget it happened, but I can’t. I don’t want to be scared all the time, but I am. It’s like I’ve exchanged one fear for another.’
‘Liam, you mean?’
I take a sip of coffee and the bitterness hits the roof of my mouth. ‘Yes.’
‘But you left him, and you escaped being held captive. You can get through the rest.’
‘I should call Summers.’ I get to my feet and go into the kitchen. I pick up my mobile then dial his number and wait for him to answer.
‘Chloe? How are you?’ Summers asks.
In the background, I hear phones ringing and loud voices talking urgently. ‘I’ve found out something you need to know.’
‘Yes?’ he says quickly then, ‘No, I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry, I was talking to someone else. We’ve got a major incident going on here. It’s all hands on deck. What did you find out?’
‘I went to an estate agent in town. The woman there took me to see a flat that I wanted to rent. I said I was going to go back and get some money for a deposit, since I’d left my purse at Sara’s. Then she said she dropped me back at the estate agent, and I went window shopping.’
‘No, get the other armed response unit out, too,’ Summers says to someone. Then to me, ‘Sorry, Chloe, carry on.’
‘I went to Nightingale’s in the high street, and they told me about a place called Tom’s Wood Shack.’ I look at Jordan, who’s watching me closely. ‘When Jordan and I went there, I had this horrible feeling something bad had happened before, and then I had a flash of memory. Tom attacked me. He grabbed me round the throat so I couldn’t move and clamped a hand over my mouth. I was trying to struggle, but I couldn’t. He was too strong. That’s where the memory stops, though, and I don’t know what happened after that. But I know I never made it back to Sara’s, because my bag and purse were still there.’ I expect him to trivialize what I’ve said, make some excuse about plausible scenarios and rational explanations, but to my surprise, he doesn’t.
‘Right, Chloe, I’m going to have to go now and deal with what’s going on here. But I’ll get Flynn to pick up this Tom and bring him in for a formal interview. As soon as we have him at the station, I’ll let you know, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll call you later.’ He hangs up.
I smoke more cigarettes, stubbing out one and then lighting another immediately. I’m unable to concentrate when Jordan speaks. My whole body is a jumble of nerves. All I can think about is the police getting Tom off the street so he can’t get me again. What will he say when they question him? Will he deny it? Will he be smug and pleased with himself that he’s managed to get away with it for so long? Does he have another poor woman tied up in that underground hole to take my place?
‘…will be OK…Summers…’ I’m so lost in frantic thought I don’t hear Jordan speaking at first.
I shake my head and turn to look at him. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’
‘I said it’s going to be OK. They’ll get him, and this will be all over.’ He squeezes my hand. I squeeze it back and give him a tight smile, but I’m not so sure. Will it ever be over? When something like this happens, does the horror ever go away?
My mobile phone ringing later makes me drop my cigarette, burning my finger. My heart kicks out an erratic beat as I answer.
‘I just wanted you to know that we’ve got Tom,’ Summers says. ‘Flynn’s dealing with it until I can get back to the station. I’ll keep you updated with any developments.’
‘Thank you.’ I release the breath I’ve been holding onto and slump forward with relief. My kidnapper is off the streets and can’t hurt me now. I’m finally safe.
33
Jordan’s mobile rings in his pocket. He pulls it out and says, ‘Hey, sis, how are things?’ A pause. ‘What?’ He stands up, shoulders tensing. ‘When?’ He runs a hand over his hair. ‘Is she OK?’ A longer pause. ‘I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’ He hangs up and casts a worried look in my direction. ‘That was my sister. Mum’s had a fall and broken her hip. She’s been taken to A&E. I have to get up there.’
‘Of course, you go. I’ll be fine.’ I make ushering actions with my hands. ‘There’s no danger now, is there?’
‘You’re sure?’ He looks torn. ‘Do you want to come with me? I know it won’t be much fun, but…’
‘No. Really, you go. I’ll just go back to my house and collect some more things while you’re gone.’
‘What about Liam?’
‘It’s OK, he’ll be at work. And, anyway, there’s nothing he can say to me now that’s going to hurt me or make me change my mind.’
‘I’ll meet you back here later, then.’ He grabs his keys and heads out the door wearing a worried frown.
I walk to my house and stand outside, a million memories tumbling in…
The night I first met Liam. Sara and I were in a club, dancing. I was drunk. I wanted to dance all night, and laugh, and flirt. Pretend I was all the things I wanted desperately to be. I was good at pretending by then.
He stood at the edge of the dance floor watching me. It wasn’t the fact he was watching me that made me look twice. It was the way he was watching me, as if I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As if I mesmerized him. Later he told me that the first minute he saw me, he knew I was the only woman for him. He said whatever it took, he was going to make me his.
The day Liam asked me to live with him after only a month together, and I was so happy, hopeful, and in love, of course I said yes. He brought me to life when I didn’t even realize I was dead. I was awake for the first time in forever. When he picked me up from the flat I shared with a couple of nurses, we were both so excited about it. He wouldn’t let go of my hand as he drove back here, and every few minutes he’d give me these little ecstatic looks, grinning from ear to ear. He carried me over the threshold, even though we weren’t married yet, and I laughed so much my stomach hurt. It was going to be my first proper home. My first house. I thought we’d stay here forever.
The thrill of anticipation as I rushed home from work every day to put my own key into my own front door. Even relishing the thought of housework, just because I was doing something useful to keep our place tidy and clean how Liam liked it.
Making love on a blanket in the garden one summer’s night. The scent of jasmine I’d planted wafting through the air. It was gentle and slow. Afterwards, we lay on our backs, staring at the stars as Liam taught me about the different constellations, with our warm limbs wrapped round each other and sweat cooling on our skin.
A few weeks before we were married, how Liam surprised me for my birthday by paying off the debt from my student loan still hanging around my neck. It was tough trying to survive at Uni alone with no family support. Even though I worked in a shoe shop at weekends and a pub in the evenings, I was barely surviving. The cost
of my rent alone was eating through the loan, never mind all the stuff I needed for my studies.
In the beginning, he took care of me and loved me. I was alone for most of my life, and suddenly there he was. He became my family, and I was so grateful for the safety and security he gave me. And I wonder if it’s really his fault things went wrong, or mine. If I were stronger, I wouldn’t have let it happen. Maybe I’m as stupid as Liam says for thinking you can change someone who doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong with them.
Perhaps my childhood made it possible for someone like Liam to come along and manipulate me; take control of me. There was something programmed deep inside, waiting to surface so I was destined to become a victim. Some inner need to seek love and praise at any cost.
Well, not anymore.
A twinge of regret and sadness hits me as I open the front door. I wander through the lounge and dining room then into the kitchen. Everything looks the same as when I left it. Everything except me.
I take the stairs two at a time, retrieve a small holdall from the top shelf of my wardrobe, and begin packing. I grab a couple of pairs of shoes from boxes and put them in first. I slide clothes off hangers, fold them neatly, and layer them inside. Underwear from my drawers goes next. I don’t want to take anything. I don’t want clothes that remind me of this past life, but I can’t afford to buy a whole new wardrobe, so I must.
