Check Mate

by Caron Allan

  It’s been the most perfect weekend. Though I am so excited to be driving home in a few mins to see our loved ones.

  Tuesday October 20th—9pm

  So much has happened since I wrote that last entry just a few days ago. But I must tell it as it happened…

  On Thursday night, Billy slept the whole way home in the car, her shoulder bag still in situ with the strap just beginning to trail down, and in her hot little hand, a signed photo of our idol, Donatella Versace.

  We arrived home just in time to give her a bath and put her to bed, tired and grumpy. Post-shopping-trip-blues, I think. She was not at all happy that a) she had to go back to nursery school Friday morning and b) she couldn’t take her shoulder bag with her. Instead I let her take it to bed. On reflection maybe it was a wee bit too expensive to get squashed under the hot little body of a four-year-old.

  But once the children were in bed, with me reading the stories—I had missed my boys so much—it was clear that Matt and Lill wanted to have a chat. I knew it wasn’t likely to be about the mother-daughter bags, so that was okay.

  And it was nothing to do with how much Donatella Versace wants our daughter to be her new star child-model.

  I hadn’t even noticed that Sid wasn’t around until now.

  “Where’s Sid?” I asked, sitting down at the kitchen table for the conference I knew was unavoidable.

  “What’s this about a gun?” Matt demanded, but at the same time, in response to my question, Lill said, “you may well ask.”

  I looked from one to the other, trying to figure out what was happening.

  To Matt, I said, “Sid gave me a gun a couple of weeks ago. He thought I needed it. He showed me what to do.”

  “Shoot it, you mean?”

  “Yes. Turns out I’m pretty good.” I said. My attempt at humour made Matt groan and bury his face in his hands.

  “What’s…?” I asked again.

  Lill said, “Well, Cressida. Now I want you to know we’re not blaming you in any way. It’s not your fault. I know my Sid.”

  I felt cold all over.

  “What’s not my fault? What’s happened?” I felt sick. My hands pressed to my mouth, goosebumps popping up all down my arms. I hardly wanted to hear the answer to that. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

  “It’s Sid. No, no, he’s all right. I should think. It’s just that with you not taking that gun to London with you, he thought he should keep an eye on that Monica woman. Just in case. He’s been there since you left on Wednesday.”

  I couldn’t believe what they were telling me—or rather, I struggled to take it in. There I had been, having all this wonderful fun, frivolous time with Billy, once again, once again putting my loved ones in danger by just waltzing off and doing my own thing. Doing whatever I wanted. I was just going to throw aside all that had happened to run off to Town for some bloody shopping and fashion show for kids’ clothes.

  And all the while…

  I couldn’t bear to think about it. I grabbed my car keys from the hall dresser and ran round to the garage for my car, intent only on reaching Sid as fast as I could. I was dimly aware of Matt and Lill calling out to me, and Lill of course couldn’t get up quickly in any case.

  So I was driving away by the time they reached the back of the house. Matt must have stopped to help his mother.

  I had to get to Sid. That was all I could think of. It was dark—it had been overcast all day, and night had arrived earlier than usual, but that didn’t matter to me, nothing mattered. All I could think was that I had to get to him, make sure he was all right. If anything had happened…

  I drove with one hand on the wheel, gnawing the knuckles of the other and groaning to myself, oh God, oh God. In my haste I had left my phone, my bloody pink £200 shoulder bag, everything, behind me in the hall on the dresser. I knew Matt was probably close behind me in his car but I couldn’t see him in my mirror. It felt oddly reassuring to know he was there somewhere behind me in the miles of darkly twisting Gloucestershire lanes.

  I told myself I was being melodramatic, that it did no good to keep replaying imaginary scenes with Sid in my head as I drove, and I was angry with myself for this emotion and for not being able to think calmly and rationally.

  Rain began to pelt the windscreen and I slowed the car as visibility decreased, slipping away from me like water through my fingers.

  Almost two hours later, as I finally approached the cul-de-sac where Monica lived, I remembered I’d left the gun hidden under the car seat to keep it away from Billy, and to avoid scaring the chambermaid at our hotel. It was a relief to know it was there. Just in case.

  The road was quiet, still, dark. A few lights shone here and there from the widely-spaced houses. Nothing particularly struck me as seeming out of place, there was no fraught activity or people wandering around, no shouting or…anything.

  I slowed the car and with a couple of manoeuvres managed to squeeze it into a little space near to Monica’s house. But not too near. An unkempt hedge and a Range Rover obscured my view of her front door.

  I turned off the engine. I rummaged under the seat and fished out the gun, checked—even though I already knew—it was loaded and the safety was on. I placed it on the passenger seat, then got out of the car.

  I wasn’t prepared for the deluge. Bloody British summer, I thought, and I scanned the backseat for a jacket of any kind, an umbrella, anything but found nothing apart from a doll’s shoe.

  I looked about me. Where was Sid? All the cars looked the same in the half-light and the torrents of icy water pounding down. I didn’t know which way to go. Tentatively I began to edge along the road, away from both Monica’s house and my car, scanning each and every vehicle, bush and driveway to see if Sid was there.

  I reached the corner of the street. There were cars parked beyond, dotted here and there as far the eye could see. But I couldn’t tell if anyone was sitting in any of them, didn’t recognise any of the vehicles. I stood there, still baffled as to what was the best thing to do, the rain slathering my clothes to my skin, my hair dripped water into my face and my feet, in my natty little sling-backs which would never be the same, squelched with every step I took and kept sliding off my feet.

  Cressida, you moron, I told myself, realisation hitting me at last, Matt has obviously phoned Sid and now Sid’s already on his way home. I probably drove right past him on the way here. With a snort of disgust at myself I turned to go back towards the car. Of course! I kept looking around but still couldn’t see him. I felt ridiculous, furious with myself.

  And then there she was. Standing on the pavement halfway between my car and her house. Gun in one hand, baseball bat in the other. Now I saw that the driver’s door of my car stood open.

  And in front of her, a sheepish but angry Sid, hands held level with his shoulders, squinting at me from under a dripping cap.

  “Nice weather for it,” she said.

  I jolted in surprise and bit the inside of my mouth. I tasted the raw-meat metallic tang of my blood and felt a wave of nausea wash through me.

  “Sid!” I wailed, but it came out as barely a croak.

  As I took a step forward, she waved the gun.

  “Don’t,” she said. I halted. The rain was coming down, if anything even harder than before and I was trying—and failing—to think of a way out of this situation. In books, in movies, the protagonist always feels that they are in a waking nightmare, they wish they could wake up and find everything is okay. We’re told things slow down until the seconds deafeningly strike your heartbeat, but it wasn’t like that for me. She had my gun, she had my father-in-law, how could this possibly end in anything other than a nightmare? My calling out of his name still echoed around in my head.

  Surely Matt would be here soon? If I could just keep her talking a little longer…

  “Let him go, Monica, your quarrel is not with him but with me.”

  She laughed. “Oh very High Noon! But sorry, did you want us to have a duel, s
ee who’s quickest on the draw? I’m afraid I have your gun.”

  I should have kept quiet. She gave a snort of derision. “God, Cressida, is that the best you can come up with? An awful cliché, after all this time?”

  “Please,” I said, and I meant it. I took a couple of steps forward without thinking and Sid motioned for me to stop.

  “Cress…” he said, and she laid the barrel of the gun warningly on his shoulder.

  “Don’t! I told you,” she said. Her face was a white oval in the darkness, her eyes a barely discernible gleam. “Keep your distance,” she added.

  I saw that she was craning to get a good look at the car. I intuited that she was wondering if I’d left the keys in the ignition. I took a step to the side, blocking her view, at the same time hoping not to totally enrage her.

  The tip of the gun was jammed into Sid’s neck. He yelped and I almost peed myself.

  “Who’s with you? Matt?” she snarled.

  I couldn’t afford to make her mad. I stepped away from the car, backed a few steps away, my hands in the air.

  “No. No one, I came on my own. I don’t want to play games with you, Monica, I just want…”

  “Shut up, I’m the one who…”

  At that moment there was a massive clap of thunder right overhead. I leapt half out of my skin, Sid also jumped and Monica lost her balance and dropped the gun. As Sid automatically reached for it, I heard a hollow popping sound and he was on his face on the ground. She’d hit him with the bat.

  I shrieked and ran towards him, but she recovered her poise, snatched up the gun and held it firmly, turning it on me, and I halted in my tracks, frozen in place. I risked a glance at Sid. He wasn’t moving. There was no sign he was even breathing. My mind was too numb to think.

  “Get in the car,” she shouted. I remember staring at her as if I didn’t understand. I remember wondering why no one in all those houses could hear what was happening and I remember wondering what was taking Matt so long. She yelled my name and with the gun she indicated a little Clio parked a few feet away. Her car.

  I had hoped to get her into mine, but that hope too was dashed.

  “It’s open, get in,” she said. “You’re driving.”

  “Monica, please…” I began and pointed back to Sid. There were thin lines of blood now oozing from his head and running onto the pavement, glistening in the light of the street-lamp.

  “You can’t help him now, get in. The keys are in the ignition. I’d been about to go on a little trip with your minder.”

  For a second I thought I had a chance—that I could leap in, start the car and roar off down the street to safety. But as I turned I wrenched my ankle as my soaked shoe slipped on my foot, and she was already in the car, the gun still trained on my head, when I righted myself, faffed with the door and fumbled for the ignition key that was on the seat.

  So I meekly belted up and turned on the engine. The street was still in near-darkness. No other cars were occupied, no new car turned into the street. Matt still did not come for me. Sid was still unmoving on the pavement in the rain. I gulped back an urge to scream.

  “Drive,” she said. “Turn left then right. I’ll tell you where to go. Don’t try anything stupid.”

  She was sitting in the back seat. Always graceful, she had easily slid into the seat and buckled herself in using just one hand. My mind refused to function other than to follow her instructions.

  And so I drove.

  It surprised me I was able to do what she told me. I drove. To begin with the silence in the car was tense, urgent, and I felt a tremor every time the jolting of the car made the cold muzzle of the gun press a little deeper into my neck. I turned to the left, and then to the right.

  “Second right,” she said next. I realised now she had all this figured out. She knew where we were going, her mind was already made up. I felt chilled to the core, my heart a heavy stone in my chest. I couldn’t forget the sight of him lying there, his familiar physical bulk as nothing—he seemed so fragile.

  “Next right, just here,” she said. I obeyed, of course. The car purred along smoothly, the wet road empty of traffic, which was somehow a relief to me. Here and there a light shone in a window and reminded me that there were other people out there, other lives, beyond this capsule of the two of us in her car.

  And then there was Sid, still lying there where we had left him.

  “Keep going until you reach the roundabout.”

  I nodded a tiny nod.

  He would still be lying there, his face against the cold wet stone of the pavement.

  “Then go left.”

  “Okay,” I said, but my voice came out as a whisper and I didn’t know if she heard me.

  The tension seemed to be growing. I didn’t think it came from me. I was in a kind of limbo, clueless how to react, just concentrating on obeying. But why would she be tense? After all I was doing everything she wanted, this was all going her way.

  The pavement. The blood.

  I couldn’t seem to budge my thoughts past what had happened back there. Could not get any other image in my mind. No other sound than that odd popping noise, that cold hollow sound of Sid’s head being hit with the baseball bat, a soft sigh leaving his body as he sank to the ground. My brain was clear and still as I followed her directions and carried out all the usual offices of driving a vehicle, but my memory and my imagination were stuck. No ideas presented themselves, no solutions came to mind. I could drive but I couldn’t reason.

  There had been red ribbons of blood coming from beneath his head, mingling with the rain water and running away in trails to the gutter.

  He couldn’t be…

  “He needs help,” I whispered, “It’s not too late, we might still be able to…”

  She wrenched on my hair, jerking my head back and through gritted teeth hissed in my face, “J-just drive.”

  And then my courage returned. That little stumble in her speech told me she wasn’t as at ease, as in control, as I’d feared. Would I be risking too much to hope that deep inside she didn’t really want to kill me? After all, once upon a time, before all this bloody nightmare, we had been good friends. Best friends.

  She said nothing more. At the next junction she indicated with the gun the way she wanted me to go.

  The houses were thinning, the roads wound back and forth, became narrower and trees began to press in on both sides. We were leaving civilisation behind.

  “Keep to the left, there’s a sharp turn coming up,” she said and this time her voice was firmer, sending chills down my spine as she leaned so close behind me.

  But it didn’t matter. I had noted the chink in her armour and I no longer felt she was the only one with an advantage.

  After what seemed like hours we found ourselves pulling onto a slip-road and heading past a sign bearing the word ‘Quarry’. I thought then that my advantage was over. I had somehow missed my narrow moment. We had arrived, and I still had no plan. But she made me keep driving, telling me to pull off the road just where it began to widen and the white centre lines appeared in the road again.

  “Stop the car here. Get out. Don’t try anything rash.”

  I didn’t have anything to lose so I most definitely was going to try something at the first possible opportunity.

  “Give me the keys, slowly!”

  I turned off the engine and held up the keys for her to snatch out of my hand and for a moment or two we sat there in the deafening silence until Monica seemed suddenly to collect herself, and with purpose she felt for the catch and opened the door. Keeping the gun trained on me she slid out the passenger side, then told me to get out.

  I could have done it then. I could have just run.

  But I was too slow and stupid. I hesitated, and it was already too late. I found myself meekly doing as she instructed me, getting slowly out of the car, carefully pushing the door shut, walking round in front of the car to her side of the vehicle, and I remembered thinking how wonderful it would
be if Matt had done something amazing and James-Bond-like and rigged a GPS transmitter in my watch or the heel of my shoe or something. If only. If only he had numerous spy satellites and men in cars at his disposal. Because otherwise how could he rescue me from this, how could we have our happy-ever-after now?

  Sadly, as a mere mortal, my life does not involve such things, and I knew that my lifeless body would be found by a jogger or dog walker weeks after the TV appeal was aired.

  “Head up that way,” she said and snapped me out of my rambling thoughts.

  “Monica,” I pleaded. She said nothing but just hitched the gun in the direction she wanted me to go.

  She was going to shoot me in the head, I thought, and leave me in the middle of nowhere in the rain. An idiotic, pointless tear rolled down my cheek. Poor Billy. Who would read Vogue magazine to her now? I thought of all the people I wouldn’t see again and felt a deep pain. And Sid, lying on his face on the pavement, how long would it be before anyone found him and the news was carried back to Lill?

  “Monica,” I said again, “please…”

  “Shut up. Keep walking. Don’t say a word.”

  I looked at the ground, frantically hoping to trip over a root to give myself the slimmest chance. But the path was almost smooth. The shrubs and trees that lined the path had been cut back by some considerate worker—there was no chance of me slapping her in the face with a stray over-hanging branch. What was I going to do?

  Up ahead, oddly, I could hear traffic. And the sky seemed a little brighter. Then I saw that the path ran over a bridge across a motorway or dual-carriageway—some multi-lane busy road, the headlights of the cars below lighting up the sky in a ceaseless procession, although the bridge itself was lost in darkness. Only the tall parapets on either side stood out against the sky. If I had looked up and seen a gallows, I could not have been more terrified. I half-turned, but she shoved me. Fortune smiled on me as I tripped and fell headlong, and she followed me down under her own momentum.