by Linda Coles
“So where are we heading now?” Rob asked Bernard, who was busy steering with one hand and fumbling for his cigarettes with the other. The van swerved across to the next lane as he pulled them free from his inside jacket pocket. It was a good job the M25 was quiet for a change.
“Back home, I’d say. No point going back to the house. There’s nothing there. You want dropping somewhere?” A plume of blue smoke filled the driver’s side as Bernard took a couple of heavy drags on his cigarette.
“Back to my flat, I suppose.”
“I ain’t driving all the way over there at this hour. I’m not a bleedin’ taxi service, you cheeky sod.”
Rob figured as much, but thought he’d ask anyway. On Christmas Eve at such a late hour there wouldn’t be much in the way of public transport, and taxis would likely be scarcer still. He’d have to chance the train. Or thumb a lift.
“Drop me at the train station, then. I’ll get home from there. Leatherhead isn’t far from here.”
Bernard grunted in reply, sounding like the Neanderthal he was. It had been a stressful night and both men were anxious about what had happened. With no proper plan in place and having made it up as they went along, there was ample room for error, something neither of them was particularly happy about. But there was no going back and changing things now. It was way too late. They’d have to pray the trail didn’t snake back to their front doors.
“Look,” said Bernard, stubbing his fag butt out under his foot on the dirty rubber mat. There must have been at least another twenty more with it. “We should steer clear of each other for a while, lay low. I’m going to get the hell out of Dodge, maybe catch the train to France, hide out there or move further south. I suggest you do the same. It’ll only be a matter of time before they find the house, and Martin’s body.”
At the mention of Martin, Rob waited a moment before adding, “Yeah, probably a good idea. What a bloody mess, though. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There wasn’t meant to be any real trouble,” he said, his voice rising with each word, his anger mounting. “That’s what you both said: nobody would get hurt. But they did.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, would you? We’ll both be out of it soon enough. And Martin? Well, he was collateral damage, unfortunate, like. So stop blubbering and figure out what you’ll do to keep clear of the shit that will undoubtedly start flying.” Bernard reached into his pocket again for another cigarette and struggled to light it. The motorway was almost empty as he swerved out of his lane for the second time then corrected his steering. The pull on the wheel jolted Rob, who had been busy gazing through the side window, deep in thought.
“What the—?” he yelled as he righted himself in his seat.
But Rob wasn’t the only one who noticed the van swerving. Two cars behind sat a motorway patrol car, the officers minding their own business as they made their way back to the station at the end of their shift. Rob spotted it in his side mirror, but it was too late. As he opened his mouth to tell Bernard, blue light reflected around the inside of the van as the patrol car gained, then pulled alongside them in the adjacent lane. Bernard glanced across at it. The driver signalled for him to pull over.
“You’ve no choice, have you?” Rob said, defeated. “We’re hardly going to outrun them in this pile of crap. This isn’t an episode of The Bill, more’s the pity.” Bernard wasn’t convinced, however, and carried on, the siren from the police car sounding harsh to their ears as it reverberated around the tin can of a van.
Rob had another go. “Pull it over! Don’t be a dumbass. We’ll never get away, so let’s see what they do. Might be nothing.”
That seemed to pacify Bernard; they might only want him over for a rear light out or something equally trivial. He flicked his indicator to pull over and drifted to a stop on the hard shoulder. Both men sat silently, waiting. In the vehicle behind them, they knew the officer would be doing a vehicle check and both men hoped it didn’t throw up anything that they couldn’t handle.
They were correct. A vehicle check was indeed taking place, a check that showed that the van was a vehicle of interest to the Croydon police in a possible abduction case. The two traffic officers looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“Better take a look then, hadn’t we? I guess we’ll not be getting back for a mince pie just yet.”
As Officer Michaels approached the driver’s side of the van, his partner slipped down towards the passenger side and waited, largely in case the passenger decided to make a run for it. He’d had it happen before and didn’t fancy taking his chance with a chase in the wet so late on Christmas Eve. He should be on his way home.
“License, please,” Michaels demanded wearily, and waited for Bernard to hand it over.
“Not with me. Sorry. I’ll have to drop it in to you.” Bernard was playing for time, with no intention of confirming who he was if he could get away with it.
“What’s your name, sir?’
“Bernard Marks.”
“Is this your vehicle, sir?”
“No, it’s a mate’s.”
The officer nodded, like he’d heard it all before. “Well, Bernard, do you want to tell me why you were weaving across lanes on two separate occasions?”
“Ah, sorry. I was struggling with a packet of cigarettes, nothing more.” Bernard tried a bright smile. It didn’t work.
“Have you been drinking, sir?”
“I had a couple at lunchtime. Nothing since.”
“Well, since we’re here, it makes sense to double-check with a Breathalyzer.” He looked at his colleague. It was the other officer’s cue to retrieve it from the patrol car.
“What’s in the van, sir?”
“Nothing. It’s empty.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Bernard’s brain was thinking through the various outcomes at record speed, not sure which way to go.
“Sir?”
“Go ahead. It’s empty.” Bernard was starting to get warm under his collar, hoping there wasn’t anything lying around in the back, something they’d missed.Something that could screw this up even more.
From their seats, Rob and Bernard watched as the officer approached the rear of the van and opened the double doors. In the low light available, there didn’t look to be anything amiss. It was, as Bernard had said, empty. Rob slowly let his breath out and relaxed a little as the officer closed one door and started to close the other.
But something had caught his eye.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Billy and Chloe lay beneath their blankets, their breath visible on the air in the small garage, morning light filtering in through a triangle of bare glass where the old curtains didn’t quite meet each other. It was another grey-sky day, but at least it wasn’t raining. Chloe watched Billy as he lay sleeping, his mouth open a little, deep in a warm dream. He looked so peaceful. There wasn’t a sound outside their garage; the streets were quiet on Christmas morning. As if he sensed someone looking at him, Billy opened his eyes and stared straight up into Chloe’s.
“Morning. Merry Christmas,” she said, smiling down at him, and watched him further as he returned a smile and wished her the same.
“What time is it?”
“A little after seven o’clock. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t really. I was coming to anyway,” he said, struggling to sit up and wrap a blanket around his shoulders as he did so. With no heating, it was cold in their setup, but at least they had privacy and safety. Chloe sat up with him and he pulled the blanket around her too.
“And what would you like to do today, Chloe Matthews?” he asked, smiling, knowing whatever she said would be make-believe.
“I think I’ll take a hot shower, then I fancy smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with a pot of hot coffee. What about you?”
Playing the game, he carried on with, “I fancy bacon and eggs for a change today, on a couple of soft white rolls, if I may. I’m sick of salmon.”
Chloe smiled at his sense
of humour. “Well, I can’t help you with everything you desire this morning. sir, but I can provide you with the next best thing.”
“Oh? What’s that?” He watched as she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a familiar printed brown paper bag. She handed it to him.
“Merry Christmas! Open it.”
Billy peered inside, and his face broke into a smile again. Inside was a cold Bacon and Egg McMuffin. She’d bought it with the money from the stranger who wanted her to call home – she’d put it to better use.
“Chloe – thanks! How thoughtful. Let’s share it, though.”
She shook her head. No. It’s yours. I’ve got my usual. Plus, the fact we have a nice hot dinner to look forward to later. I don’t want to spoil my appetite, now, do I? You eat it. It’s your present.” She watched him unwrap the greaseproof paper and, even though she could have ripped it from his hands, enjoyed watching him devour it hungrily, grease shining on his lips. When it came to the last mouthful, he offered it to her.
“Please, take it,” he insisted, and she opened her mouth to receive it without him having to ask twice. It tasted like heaven, even cold.
“Now it’s my turn,” Billy announced, slipping his hand into his own rucksack and pulling out a small bag. When he’d been in the charity shop, he’d seen it and knew Chloe would have liked it. He handed her the small white paper bag.
“What’s this?” she enquired, surprised.
“Open it and see, silly.”
With delight and surprise, Chloe tore into the bag like she was six years old again. Inside the bag was a square of printed silk, baby pink with pretty, tiny flowers on it.
“Oh, Billy. It’s beautiful! Thanks.”
“It’s real silk. I thought you might like to wear it to lunch, have something pretty for a change. I know girls like pretty things.” He was smiling broadly, hoping she really did like it and his words didn’t sound condescending.
“I love it, Billy. I’ll treasure it – thank you!” she said, and leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, taking him a little by surprise. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to say, and the pause between them was awkward, neither knowing what to say or do next. Billy broke the silence.
“That was nice,” he said quietly, almost inaudibly, then reached out to pull her back inside his blanket, planting a kiss on her cheek in return. “I like you, Chloe Matthews.”
“And I like you too, Billy Peters,” she said, smiling warmly as she snuggled in close. The smell of the McMuffin still lingered on the air of their small space.
“I’m looking forward to a hot bath and dinner, aren’t you?”
“Definitely,’ he agreed, pulling her closer.
And there they stayed for a few more minutes, enjoying the warmth of their friendship and the warmth of the blanket they shared between them.
A couple of hours later, they were making their way to Roy’s place. Chloe’s gift for him was tucked in her pocket, along with her new scarf to wear during dinner. As they walked arm in arm like the two close friends they had become, Chloe reflected, and not for the first time, on how her life had been catapulted into something so far away from what she had known only a few months ago – how she’d discovered she was pregnant, and that her parents had effectively been renting her out for money while she’d slept. What kind of unhinged parent did that to their child? No, she was better off without either of them, living like she was with Billy.
Chloe wondered if, someday, Mary would ever think about her own mother.
Chapter Forty-Nine
She awoke to a strange shuffling nearby. Weak sunshine was forcing its way into her swollen eyes, making her wince with pain as she let the morning into them. As she realised she wasn’t waking in the dimly lit room where she’d been held, the memories of the previous day rushed through her head like an old mail train, pockets of information making her relive the experience all over again.
But she wasn’t in the room, not now. She was outside and the sun was in her sore eyes as she forced them open to orientate herself. How long she’d lain there she’d no idea. She figured she’d passed out from exhaustion in the hammering rain the previous night. She was conscious of movement behind her head somewhere, but as she tried to turn and look, a stab of pain in her neck made her gag. Bitterly cold, her body seemingly frozen to the spot, she forced herself to awaken properly and look what was making the strange noise, hoping she wasn’t in trouble again.
Tentatively, she pushed herself up to a wobbly kneeling position and turned towards the noisemaker. A small congregation of half a dozen or so cows stared at her nervously, ears twitching and glistening mouths chewing thin air as they watched her with trepidation. Relief washed over her at the realization she was in no danger. After all she’d been through, Leanne found the little energy she needed to smile for the first time in a week and relax for a moment. The cows were more frightened of her than she was of them.
“Hi,” she said feeling she should say something. “Where am I?” she asked, though she expected no reply. Covering her eyes with the side of her hand to make a shield against the sunshine, she looked around. There was grass as far as she could see, but she could hear the sound of distant traffic, although it was much quieter than the previous night. She gave herself a quick once-over. Blood was still visible in patches on her shirt and hands; her bare legs were filthy with half-dried mud; and her feet were red and sore from stumbling about in the dark with no protection for her tender skin. Raising her hands to check her head, she could feel that her blonde hair was matted. The ends she could see were tinged with more red – his blood. Feeling conscious of her nakedness out in the open, she dropped her hands to cover herself, more out of instinct than necessity. She knew she needed to keep moving, find a way to safety, let her mum and dad know she was alive, then wait for a ride home.
Home.
It could now be a reality, something while locked away in that room at the house she thought she’d never see again.
A male voice from behind startled her, and she instinctively hit the ground again as if to hide in the grass which was, of course, no use, but she lay there any way curled up, listening, as he repeated his call.
“Hello there. Are you alright, miss?”
She wracked her brain to see if she recognized his voice, not wanting to sit up and look who it might be. Was he from the house? He called again. No, she didn’t recognize him.
“Hello, miss. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. But are you okay?” Scrambling on to her hands and knees but still staying low, she raised her head and looked at the man with terrified eyes. He was about twenty feet away. Every inch of her body trembled uncontrollably as she watched him get a little closer, taking his work coat off as he progressed in her direction. He tossed the coat her way, missing by a couple of feet.
“Please, take my coat. I’ll turn around for you. Put it on. It’s good and warm,” he said. Leanne watched as he turned away, grateful for his consideration and the bit of privacy, grateful for the bit of warmth. She realized the man was likely the owner of the field she was in, the cows his; he wasn’t the enemy. The man turned back around and started towards her, and Leanne’s tears began to fall all over again. She began wailing like a banshee. The man rushed to her side and scooped her up in both arms and she let him, her whole body going limp with exhaustion. Slowly he picked his way through the field and back towards a vehicle that she hadn’t even noticed was there. Just being in the stranger’s arms felt a blessed relief to her soul, and she cried like a baby into his shoulder, spilling words out that didn’t make any sense to either of them. Manoeuvring her slightly to free his hand, he opened the passenger side door and gently placed her inside on the seat. He closed the door and then hurried around to the driver’s side and started the engine. The vehicle began to move forward and she found herself rocking slightly from side to side, too drained to support herself.
“You’re safe now, miss. Whatever has happened, you’re safe.” He smiled
warmly; his cheeks were rosy red from too many years working out in all weather. On any other day, he’d have looked a lot like a garden gnome. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Leanne. Leanne Meadows. I need to tell my mum I’m alright. I’ve been gone a while; days, I think.”
“Where is home, miss?”
“Near Croydon. Where am I?”
“A little way from there, in Kent. Swanley is the nearest town. How about I take you to my home, make you something hot to drink and call the police and your mum? Is that okay?” he asked politely.
“I can’t think of anything I’d like better,” she said, mustering a small smile.
“I’ll turn the heater up for you. You must be frozen – maybe a touch of hyperthermia even. I expect the police may want you to go to the hospital and get checked out and whatnot. But first, hot drink and the phone calls, eh?” He smiled cheerily again, and Leanne was grateful for his warm spirit. “It’s all happening round here at the moment.”
“What else has happened?” she enquired wearily.
“Big fire last night. I guess you didn’t hear the fire engines? A big old house over there,” he said, pointing. “Up in flames.”
Leanne instantly knew it had to be the same place. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck. Gone up in flames, eh? Along with the man she’d stabbed. She wondered about the others she knew were kept there.
“I must have passed out. Was anyone hurt?”
“Not heard, miss. I dare say it’ll be on the news. By the way, Merry Christmas. Best present ever for your parents, you coming home, I’d say.”
“Sorry? What day is it?” Her sense of time had disappeared with no way of seeing the outside world.
“It’s Christmas Day, miss. It’s Christmas Day.”
Chapter Fifty
A Christmas Day tradition in the Rutherford household was crumpets for breakfast, with lashings of melted butter. And it had to be butter, not margarine, not on Christmas Day. And when they’d finished a pack between them, they’d make coffee with warm milk and Janine would add a slug of rum for good measure. Crumpets and rum in his coffee were always the best way to start the day’s festivities. Sitting in his chair as content as a cat by an open fire, he smiled at Janine as she collected the cups and plates away from the table. She caught him looking.
