‘Where’s your son?’ the man holding Harriet asked.
Thomas’s head was a thousand wasps. He couldn’t think a thought.
Ann stood up and said, ‘In his room. Upstairs.’
One of the men left the room.
Ann moved to follow but another man blocked the door.
‘Is there anyone else in the house?’ The first man again, the leader.
Ann shook her head.
‘Are you expecting anyone tonight or in the morning?
Ann said, ‘No,’ and stepped forward towards Harriet, but the man’s grip tightened and Harriet let out a whimper.
‘Sit down,’ he said. Ann walked backwards and sat on the edge of the chair, staring at the men with wild eyes.
‘It’s OK, Harriet, it’s just a game,’ she said, her voice sounding thin and stray. Thomas had lowered his paper but was still holding it, clinging until it nearly tore. His mouth hung open in a cartoon image of shock. The man returned with Daniel, and the leader, still with his hands on Harriet’s shoulders, turned to Thomas and said, ‘We will wait here until morning and then you will drive two of us to the bank. Two of us stay here with your wife and children. When they get a phone call that we’re done the two remaining men will leave. Then you will be left in peace and you can ring the police. A few hours and it’s over with.’
The wasps stopped for a second and Thomas spoke. ‘I’m not leaving my family,’ he said.
‘You have no choice,’ the man said. One hand left Harriet’s shoulder, moved to his pocket and pressed down on something. The outline was clear. ‘Everyone has one,’ he said.
Thomas thought he might be sick.
‘If we’re at the bank at seven will anyone else turn up?’ the man asked.
Thomas shook his head.
‘What about cleaners?’
‘They come at night.’
‘No other members of staff?’
‘Not until half eight.’
‘Other than the alarm you turn off when we enter, what other alarms are there?’
‘The counter is alarmed and the room where the safe is. They both have access codes.’
‘And you know both of those?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the combination for the safe?’
‘I’m the manager.’
‘You’ll be opening everything for us but I want you to write down all the codes anyway.’
He handed Thomas a pen and a slip of paper.
‘What about panic buttons?’
‘We don’t have panic buttons.’
The man stared at Thomas. ‘You don’t have panic buttons?’
‘Just the bigger branches.’
The man shook his head.
The children were allowed with their parents. Harriet rushed over and sat on Ann’s knee, Daniel on Thomas’s. Thomas noticed a sharp smell coming from Daniel and saw the damp patch spreading out from his crotch. ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered in Daniel’s ear, and held him tightly.
‘Will you take your balaclavas off?’ Ann asked. ‘They’re scaring the children.’
The leader shook his head. A minute later the man nearest the door, a short man, spoke. ‘We aren’t here to scare you. The masks just cover our faces, that’s all.’ The other men turned their heads to him and he fell silent.
At nine o’clock Ann addressed the leader and told him that the children would need to sleep. There was an anger in her voice, in her expression, Thomas wished she would lose. The leader told her that the children couldn’t leave the room but Ann pestered until he sent two men to gather duvets and pillows from the children’s rooms. When they returned Ann told them to go back for teddies and books. The two men looked to the leader, who nodded that they should do as they were told. This time Thomas asked for Daniel’s pyjamas. The thought of these men touching his children’s toys and clothes was a terrible one, but he wanted Daniel to be dry and comfortable. The short man swore as he left the room for a second time.
Thomas helped Daniel change behind the settee and Daniel whispered to Thomas that he needed the toilet again. When Thomas told the men, Harriet said to Ann that she needed to go too.
‘One kid leaves the room accompanied by one of us,’ the leader said, but Ann wouldn’t agree to that. After discussion, two men, and Ann, accompanied the children one at a time to the downstairs toilet. Daniel went first. The men wouldn’t allow the toilet door to be shut, so Ann stood in the doorway, blocking their view. They stayed close in case she tried to lock herself in the toilet with Daniel. When it was Harriet’s turn she sat on the toilet, and after a few moments said, ‘I can’t go, Mummy, I can’t go!’ She quickly became hysterical and Ann moved forward to hug her, but the men pulled her back and Ann allowed herself to be dragged away. She wanted to hit and scratch, but that would only upset Harriet more. When it became clear Ann wasn’t struggling the men released her and one of them rested his foot against the door so it couldn’t be pulled shut, and Ann was allowed forward to Harriet. She held Harriet on the toilet and comforted her. Harriet continued to cry as they returned to the room. The short man patted her head and said, ‘It’ll be OK, love, this will soon be over with.’ Ann slowed before she walked into the room and the man slowed instinctively with her. She leant down and whispered into his ear, ‘Don’t you fucking touch her.’
The men lined up against the wall, the children returned to their parents’ laps.
‘This isn’t really a game, is it Mummy?’ Harriet said.
‘No, love,’ Ann replied, resting her cheek on Harriet’s head, ‘it isn’t.’
The short man stared at the two of them.
*
It was midnight but Raymond couldn’t sleep. He decided to walk a few miles quickly, sometimes that was enough to encourage his body to accept tiredness. He entered the forest and headed north. He planned to walk a loop and be back at the caravan within an hour or so. Half an hour into the walk he spotted the white bonnet of a car on his right, parked underneath a tree, just off the side of a small track. He looked again and saw a smaller red car parked tightly behind it. He stopped to think and came to the only conclusion he could. A couple at it. The two girls from number 13 leapt into his mind, the grunting one, the shrieking one. ‘We can hear you, you know . . . Grunt, grunt, grunt.’ Raymond turned and walked quickly away. He was heading south now and came to the road which ran past Thomas’s house. He decided to walk along the road, he could always step into the trees if he heard a car, and it was the quickest way back home. As he approached the house he could see a light from the kitchen. He’d never seen a light after midnight at the house and wondered if one of the children was sick. Or maybe someone can’t sleep, like me, he thought. Maybe they’re having a cup of tea, reading a book at the kitchen table, waiting for sleep to arrive. Insomnia wouldn’t be too bad, if you were lucky to live in a house like that, Thomas believed. Knowing he wasn’t the only person awake, even way out in the middle of Abbeystead, made him smile. He passed the house with a warm feeling for the family in his chest. He gave them a small wave as he went.
*
Thomas and Ann put Harriet and Daniel together on the couch and stayed with them until they did, eventually, unbelievably, fall asleep. Then they retreated to their chairs. ‘You should try and sleep too,’ the leader said to Thomas. ‘We’ll need you to be alert in the morning.’ Thomas nearly laughed at the thought that he could sleep, but he caught himself. He didn’t want to do anything that could be seen as provocative. These men had come into his house, they were holding his family hostage, and it was a kind of hell, he was sure of that, but there had been no violence up until now. What had happened so far could be recovered from, he believed. But if anyone was hurt, if Ann or the children were hurt, everything would change completely again. The men would consider him the main threat, so if he could show them he posed no threat at all, they wouldn’t be on edge, they would be less likely to cause any damage. He glanced around the room and wondered if the house was ruined forev
er. As for sleep, the idea was ridiculous. My family is being held hostage in my own home, he thought. I was reading the newspaper on a Sunday night, and now there are men with guns in our house. He wanted to say that it didn’t make sense, wonder how on earth it could happen, but it did make a horrible sense to him. All his adult life he’d lived with a sense of foreboding, the feeling that shadows were encroaching. When people were interviewed on television after a disaster or a brutal illness and said, with wide, astonished eyes, ‘You just don’t think it will ever happen to you,’ Thomas had never understood. He always thought it might happen to him. It hadn’t been a car crash for him, breast cancer for Ann, anything unspeakable happening to the children – instead it was four masked men on a Sunday night, standing against the wall of their lounge. And already he was realising the terror of it could not be contained in one dreadful night. He looked over at Daniel and Harriet and hoped they would sleep until it was all done with. If they could sleep through the night and he could get to the bank in the morning and get the men their money, it might not be something that would give them nightmares for years to come. Could it eventually be something they barely remembered? A hazy recollection he and Ann could diminish over the years, polish away with trips and treats and happy memories? Or would it be a dark seed in their heads, a seed that would grow until it filled their thoughts and affected everything they did?
What a terrible thing, not being able to protect your children.
Thomas jerked forward in his chair, causing the men to brace.
‘What?’ the leader said sharply, his hand moving to his pocket.
‘Why don’t we go now?’ Thomas said, his voice ringing with hope. ‘We could be there in half an hour. You could have the money and go. All of you.’
‘No. We will leave in the morning. An hour before you normally leave.’
‘Why?’ asked Thomas, sounding as bewildered as a three-year-old who’s been told to stop swinging mid-swing.
‘We can’t walk into a bank in the middle of the night,’ the leader said.
Thomas spoke in a whine, his voice pleading. ‘Nobody will be in Maltham after midnight. The pubs close at half ten, it’s deserted by eleven. Empty.’
The leader didn’t respond and Thomas shook his head, distraught that this would have to go on for hours yet.
The room had been silent for minutes when the short man spoke. He turned to the leader and said, ‘You could go now. Then it’s done.’
The leader walked over to the door and opened it. He gestured sharply for the man to leave the room and followed him out, closing the door behind him. A short burst of words could be heard, followed by a cry of pain. Seconds later the door opened and the short man shuffled back into the room, gasping for breath, gripping his stomach, the leader walking slowly behind him. The man walked over to the wall and bent himself double, rubbing his stomach. Eventually he looked up. Thomas saw the man look directly at Ann. Ann was straight-backed in her chair and returned the look with cold clarity until the man dropped his head and gripped his stomach again. Thomas was shaking. Violence was in the house.
At five o’clock Thomas did fall asleep for twenty exhausting minutes. As soon as his eyes opened he turned to check on Ann and the children. Everyone was where they had been. Everyone was asleep. The men were still over by the wall. As dawn broke and light spread into the room Thomas realised that daylight didn’t make anything better. The only comfort he could take was that it was no longer eight, or ten o’clock the previous night. It was no longer the pitch-black desperate hour of one in the morning. Soon he would be able to get the men their money and, if they were telling the truth, get rid of them.
At six the leader ordered Thomas to get up. He and another man accompanied Thomas upstairs and watched him change. Thomas pulled on trousers, a shirt, jacket and shoes and turned to the men.
‘A tie,’ the leader said.
‘What?’
‘You normally wear a tie?’
Thomas nodded that he did.
‘Well put one on.’
As Thomas groped in the dark of his wardrobe he felt a dot, a particle, of respect for the man.
At six thirty they went. The children woke at the movement and noise in the room and immediately began to cry. Thomas walked over to kiss them goodbye, but he was pulled away and pushed towards the door. It was the first time he’d been touched by the men. They were tense now, and tired. There was a strain in their movements.
The leader spoke to the two men staying behind.
‘Sit with them,’ he said to the men. ‘Keep them in this room, they can’t leave this room. That is your job.’
To Ann and the children he said, ‘And all you have to do is wait, and then your dad will come home.’
He walked Thomas away. As Thomas left through the front door he could hear his children crying behind him, Ann doing her best to comfort them. But they weren’t crying tears of frustration, unfairness, or a scraped knee. They were terrified tears and it hurt him to hear them. Then he was driving to work, a man with a gun lying on the back seat of his car. Another car appeared behind him as he left the forest. Thomas looked in his mirror but the car stayed too far back and he couldn’t see who was driving or make out anything about the car other than it was white.
‘Eyes forward,’ said a voice coming from the prone body in the back of the car.
*
Harriet and Daniel buried themselves into their mother, sobbing. Ann held them as tightly as she could. The two men stood against the wall, as if they would never leave. It was the short man and a man who hadn’t said a word all night who remained. When the children had calmed a little the silent man spoke, his voice sounding like it had been buried in sand.
‘Your phone should ring in about an hour. I will answer it and then we will leave. You need to wait half an hour before phoning the police.’
‘You’re asking me to wait?’ Ann said.
‘If we meet any police on these roads we will know you rang them early. If you wait half an hour there will be no recriminations for anyone. It’s safer and better for us all.’
‘What will happen to my husband?’
‘He’ll be left at the bank. Safe. Everyone will be fine.’
‘Do you think the children will be fine?’
The man remained silent.
‘People like you,’ Ann said. ‘You’re worse than dogs.’
*
The phone rang. The man left to answer. He was gone only seconds before reappearing at the door. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and turned away. The short man walked forward, pulled his fist back and punched Ann as hard as he could, striking her in the left eye. The children screamed and grabbed at Ann. Ann pushed them away quickly and roughly, leaving them as staggered as they were distressed, but she needed all her strength to hold her head together because it was breaking apart. Splintered cheekbones were falling from her face, falling through her fingers. Her skull was collapsing. When she could, with her hands still covering her face, she looked up. The men were gone. Ann slowly removed her hands, expecting a mess to drop to the floor in front of her, but somehow shattered bones didn’t fall. She walked to the front door, locked it and checked the back door was locked too. Then she stood at the kitchen sink, rallying herself, knowing she needed to touch her face, to wipe the blood away at least. Finally she wet a cloth and dabbed as delicately as she could around her eye. Already the skin surrounding the eye socket was ballooning out; threatening to burst open like a climactic firework. She held onto the sink. The floor underneath her rolled and swirled like a drunk man dancing.
Thirty minutes passed and then, with the children still crying and holding onto her, Ann picked up the phone and dialled. She explained as best she could what had happened, but the voice asked too many questions. Ann interrupted part way through the third question, repeated the address and hung up. She remained stood by the phone, the children standing behind her. Ann was an atheist and wouldn’t pray for Thomas, how cowardly that woul
d be, but she dropped to her knees, lowered her head and closed her eyes. It was the only thing she could think to do. She didn’t appeal to a higher being, she didn’t ask for Thomas to be returned to her unharmed, she simply thought of him. Daniel and Harriet looked at their kneeling mum and then, Daniel first, lowered themselves to the floor, closed their hands and closed their eyes. The children did pray. The three of them, in the hallway, kneeling in a row.
Two
On Tuesday night Raymond waited for Thomas, but when Thomas didn’t appear he set off for the walk by himself. When Thomas didn’t turn up for the Thursday night drink Raymond wondered if the family had gone away on holiday and Thomas had forgotten to tell him, but that didn’t seem like Thomas. Raymond then worried whether he’d said or done something to upset Thomas and he racked his brains but couldn’t come up with anything. It wasn’t until Friday night, over tea, when he learnt what had happened.
‘You don’t know?’ Sheila said, her eyes sparkling, excitement moving through her. ‘They were held hostage. Your mate, the whole family. And then they drove him off in the morning and robbed his bank.’
‘How much did they get?’ asked Chapman.
‘I don’t know. Thousands. Thousands. They tied them up – even the little ones – tied them up together. Had them there all weekend. Imagine it.’
‘He’d have been better if he’d stayed in town. Somebody would have noticed something going on then,’ said Chapman, shovelling a chunk of sausage into his mouth.
Into the Trees Page 8
