by Tom Bale
‘Good.’ She dropped the bagel halves into the toaster and pushed the lever down.
Michael, waiting in vain for an explanation, rooted in the cupboard for jam to accompany his bagel. ‘How will it help, when Renshaw knows where we live?’
‘Renshaw’s easy to handle. I’m a lot more worried about Laird.’ A sigh. ‘And Alice, of course.’
‘On that subject,’ he said carefully, ‘and just to be clear, are we going to keep her here against her will? If it comes to it, I mean.’
‘If it comes to it,’ Nerys repeated. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t, eh?’
Forty-Three
Evie fed for a few minutes, while Alice found her attention drawn back to that fleeting moment in the early hours of Thursday morning when she had denied the existence of a parcel. Was it a purely instinctive reaction, borne of panic, or had there been some degree of calculation? A desire to take on responsibility for the secret, in order to keep Evie and Harry safe?
If so, she hadn’t had nearly enough time to gauge the risks properly. But perhaps her actions this week were driven by the need to forge a measure of independence, a way of demonstrating to herself that she was more than just ‘the little woman at home with baby’. Certainly her headstrong – if not downright reckless – decision to take the second package across the road to Renshaw could be seen in that light.
‘And now we’re all paying the price,’ she murmured to herself, unable to hold back the battery of questions that followed: Is Harry safe, is he okay, has he been duped by another member of the gang … ?
With Evie taking a break, Alice stood up and winded her, then opened the curtains to take a first look outside in daylight. The view made her gasp. The back garden stretched half the length of a football pitch, it seemed, the wide lawn sparkling with frost. To one side there was a chicken run next to a couple of sheds, a swing and a trampoline for Nerys’s grandchildren and a large vegetable patch at the bottom.
Hedges and a high fence enclosed the garden, but Alice could see a little of the countryside that lay beyond: fields and trees in the muted yellowy browns of autumn.
She opened the window, braving the cold for a taste of country air: damp grass, manure and wood smoke. What perfection to live somewhere like this with Harry and Evie and perhaps one or two more siblings; safe enough to let the kids go roaming over the fields …
At first the only sound was the whine of a light aircraft. Then a clattering nearby caught her attention, and Nerys emerged from the henhouse, incongruous in thick dressing gown and wellington boots. She was holding what looked like a plastic mixing bowl.
Alice moved back out of sight, shaking her head in wonder. Eggs freshly laid this morning: it was surely too good to be true.
She shut the window and carried Evie around the room, chatting brightly about the day ahead. ‘We’ll have a bath, and breakfast, and then Mr Renshaw will drive us to the station to get a train back to Brighton. Back to Daddy! Won’t that be nice?’
Unless something’s happened to Daddy.
No. Alice couldn’t let those fears take hold. She had to believe he was okay.
Because if he wasn’t, the fault lay with her,
She heard a car out front and might have gone to investigate, but Evie was suddenly agitated. Hungry again.
After a longer feed, Alice looked through the bag of clothes and found a vest, t-shirt and dungarees that should just about fit Evie. As for herself, the selection wouldn’t be winning any fashion awards – some plain but new M&S underwear, grey trackie bottoms, a white t-shirt and a black zip-up Adidas fleece – but they were infinitely preferable to wearing her own grubby clothes.
Next came a bath: lukewarm, for Evie’s sake, but still a pleasure. By the time they’d both dried and dressed Alice had begun to fear she was taking liberties with Nerys’s hospitality.
Eager as she was to leave, Alice was in no hurry to go downstairs. But it had to be done – if nothing else, she was starving.
The nerves were magnified when she saw a silver Range Rover parked on the drive. Descending the stairs, she followed the sound of voices, only for conversation to cease as she reached the kitchen door.
Nerys was standing by the sink, her broad smile directed first at Evie, then Alice. For the man seated at the large oak table, it was the other way round. He gave Alice a long, intense appraisal, his glance at Evie merely an afterthought.
‘This is my boy, Michael,’ said Nerys, somewhat unnecessarily. The physical resemblance was clear enough, even though her son was tall and lean where Nerys was short and curvy. He had the same dark hair and olive skin, the same blue eyes and expressive mouth. He was wearing black jeans and a navy blue cashmere sweater; his attractively mussed-up hair giving him a slightly wild look, like a smouldering vampire from an American TV show.
Michael’s teeth, Alice noted from a semi-professional viewpoint, were white and straight and evenly spaced. His smile, even when it didn’t quite reach his eyes, had the kind of power that made female knees go weak. It struck Alice that at university – at any time before she met Harry, for that matter – she might have been bowled over by a man like this.
The kitchen, too, was the sort that Alice had always coveted, down to the handmade timber cabinets and the big oak dresser. It was almost surreal, the irony that she was staying somewhere so beautiful as a result of such harrowing events; forced now to rely on the kindness of strangers whose motives were impossible to fathom.
Invited to sit, Alice took a seat at right angles to Michael. She’d been prepared to hold Evie and eat one-handed, but Nerys fetched her grandson’s Fisher-Price playmat and set it on the floor beside Alice. It was in a safe corner of the kitchen, and the jungle animals dangling from the overhead gym looked like they would be a useful distraction, so Alice agreed to try Evie on it while she ate.
Nerys was in bustle mode, making a fresh pot of tea, tidying away the plates and mugs they’d already used and cajoling Alice into having a larger and larger breakfast – fried tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans – while teasing her son for requesting scrambled egg on toast when he’d already had a bagel.
‘I was up early.’ His voice was slightly more nasal than Alice had expected, with the type of neutral accent that generally denoted an expensive education. He gave her a heavy-lidded look. ‘My youngest is only three months, but he seems to be teething at the moment. Not good.’
Alice smiled. ‘Still got that to come, unfortunately.’
She already knew that parenthood made it ridiculously easy to engage in small talk, and so it was here. And if the conversation faltered there was always Nerys to chip in with an irreverent comment, sometimes prompting Michael to raise his eyebrows and offer Alice a conspiratorial grin.
But even as they chatted away, Alice continued to be flustered by his presence. There was an energy about him, a charisma that made it feel as though he’d been brilliantly superimposed onto the kitchen: one of LiveFire’s CGI creations that seemed hyper-real within this ordinary domestic setting. When Nerys went off to wake Renshaw, Alice was half inclined to jump up and follow her out of the room. Michael slouched in his seat and regarded Alice with a playful little smile, as if he knew exactly the reaction he was provoking.
He treated her to a few horror stories about childcare until Nerys returned, wrestling a wicker laundry basket through the doorway and chuckling about the fact that Renshaw had overslept. According to the small digital clock on the oven, it was nearly nine thirty.
Alice felt another stab of alarm. She couldn’t quite rid herself of this irrational urge to flee. But that was silly, wasn’t it?
Evie was staring in fascination at Michael, as if puzzled by his lack of interest in her. With the food almost ready, Alice set her down on the playmat, where she flailed happily, grabbing at a blue elephant and smiling whenever she made contact with it. Nerys clucked over her briefly, checked on the bacon and said, ‘Two minutes, if you like it crispy,’ then knelt at one of the units and started to loa
d the washing machine. The task didn’t register properly with Alice until she caught a flash of red material.
‘Nerys … is that my t-shirt?’
The door had already shut, Nerys groaning as she rose to her feet and turned the dial. Alice heard a thump and a gurgle as the pump engaged and began to draw water.
‘They’ll be done in no time.’ Nerys winked. ‘I know you’d much rather go home in your own clothes, freshly washed, than in my tatty things.’
Alice opened her mouth to protest but realised it seemed so churlish. How could she insist on leaving soon without coming across as ungrateful?
Nerys briskly rubbed her hands together. ‘Now, with your breakfast – toast or a bagel, my love?’
Forty-Four
Michael spotted the flash of panic. Alice was caught, pinned like a butterfly to a board, but she clearly didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Physically, the woman wasn’t a disappointment at all. Great features, lovely hair, and a pretty good body considering the age of the baby. So Michael ramped up the charm, and wasn’t deterred by its lack of effect: quite the opposite, in fact.
Then Renshaw mooched in, looking like a tramp in the ancient dressing gown that Nerys had found for him. He nodded brusquely and sat down. Michael gave him a cool glance, and tried not to resent the fond greeting offered by Nerys.
She’s playing a role, remember. Keeping him sweet.
No one said much while they ate, but Michael could feel the anxiety radiating from both of their visitors. There wasn’t a lot of warmth in evidence between Alice and Renshaw, and yet to Michael it seemed that Alice should have been a lot angrier about her predicament. He said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t turn out to be as passive as Robyn. He wanted resistance, a spark of something.
Finally she dredged up the nerve to ask Renshaw what time he was driving her to the station. The old man glanced first at Nerys, who had insisted on taking the baby when she started squalling.
‘Uh, later this morning.’
‘And you’re sure there’s been no message from Harry?’
‘No.’
Alice went to speak again, but Michael jumped in: ‘Where are you going, anyway?’
‘Brighton.’
‘Oh, really?’ A pause while he pretended to think. ‘I have to be in Folkestone tomorrow. My company has a depot there. It would be no problem to give you a lift.’
Alice was shaking her head. ‘No, that’s very generous—’
‘You’re more than welcome to stay tonight,’ Nerys chipped in. ‘To be honest with you, that train can be a right mare.’
‘Even on a Saturday?’ Alice asked.
‘Oh, yes. Much better by car, especially with this little darling to look after.’ Nerys planted a kiss on the baby’s head. Michael was sure he saw Alice flinch.
He tipped his chair back, balancing on the rear legs. ‘Actually, I could go over tonight instead. Got a friend in Tonbridge who’d put me up.’
Alice looked distressed, the pressure of their generosity wearing her down.
‘No, I can’t put you to all that trouble.’ She looked from him to Renshaw, and then to Nerys. ‘Could we find out the train times, please?’
The silence that followed her request quickly became unbearable. Returning home by train was only what Renshaw had suggested, but Alice remembered the sarcastic retort from Nerys – All nice and simple – and felt convinced that they were going to refuse. And then it would be laid bare, the undeniable truth: she was a prisoner here.
It was Michael who broke the tension. ‘Sure.’ He popped out to the hall and returned, tapping the screen of an iPhone 6. ‘Gloucester to Brighton, here we are.’
‘Ah!’ Alice exclaimed. ‘Do you have the charger for that?’
‘Not on me, I’m afraid.’ He moved alongside her, leaning on the table with one elbow almost touching her arm. Alice could see the timetable, but the text was too small to read without shifting closer. He seemed to realise that, his hip gently bumping against her.
‘Your best bet is the 2.17 to Paddington, though you have to change at Swindon. Then the Tube to Victoria and you reach Brighton at half six.’
‘Four hours,’ Alice murmured. Was she being ridiculous, refusing the offer of a lift?
She peered at the phone to check for other options, but Michael had scrolled to bottom of the page.
‘It’s about sixty pounds.’
Nerys made a clicking sound, as if slightly cross. ‘Michael’s happy to give you a lift—’
‘She wants to go by train, Mum.’ Another bump of his hip, letting her know he wasn’t offended.
‘Thank you.’ Alice expected Renshaw to grumble about the cost, but the look he gave her was one of regret; perhaps even concern. Then Nerys moved into his line of sight and he looked away.
‘Any more toast for you?’ she asked. ‘Tea or coffee?’
Renshaw shook his head. Alice also declined, standing up to reach for Evie, who still wasn’t quite asleep.
‘I’ll take her for a nap, if that’s okay?’
‘Course it is, my love. You got the whole morning free now, haven’t you?’
Michael had faded from the conversation. His phone had been put away, and Alice didn’t want to push her luck by asking to borrow it. He was staring at his watch, which she noticed was a chunky Breitling; worth a fortune, probably.
‘I’ll be off soon, Mum. Playing taxi for the kids.’ He shot Alice a laser beam smile. ‘That’ll be you in a few years.’
‘Oh God, I know. It was nice to meet you. And thank you for the loan of the baby clothes.’
‘Not a loan – keep them. We have plenty.’
They shook hands. She was a little surprised, almost taken aback, when he made no attempt to kiss her. From Renshaw there was another meaningful glance, but once again it made no sense.
Hurrying into the hall, she was startled by a thud against the front door. Several envelopes clattered on to the floor and the shock nearly caused her to cry out – a vivid reminder of what had got her into all this trouble.
But there was an opportunity here. Slow to spot it, she’d begun to turn for the stairs and stopped, first making sure Evie was safe in her grasp, then knelt awkwardly and flipped one of the envelopes so she could read the address.
A noise behind her. Alice jerked upright and found Renshaw motioning at her to wait.
He said quietly, ‘Once the baby has slept, we should take a walk.’
‘A walk?’ For a moment the proposal seemed as unlikely as a trip to Mars.
‘Nerys tells me it is beautiful here. And you have time to pass before your train.’
Alice couldn’t argue with that. And the thought of escaping the house was certainly appealing, even if it meant putting up with Renshaw. She also had the impression that he wanted to talk to her in private.
She nodded. ‘Give me half an hour.’
Forty-Five
After arriving at Victoria, Harry took the underground to King’s Cross, where he boarded the 8.44 train to Ely. An hour’s journey across the flat green and brown agricultural landscapes of East Anglia: England’s own little slice of Iowa.
The day grew milder but not much lighter. All traces of last night’s frost had vanished, and the sky wore a caul of grey cloud. A day as dull and flat as his own spirit.
He rang Renshaw’s phone several times, with no success. Same with Ruth’s. Then he noticed his battery level was fast reducing. Having no way to recharge it, he was forced to give up. He shut his eyes and tried to relax into the rhythm of the train’s motion, telling himself that this whole experience was a wrong turning. Soon he would back up, rejoin Alice and Evie and resume life as normal.
At Ely, waiting for the connection to Thetford, he found a quiet spot on the platform and made the call to Keri. The phone rang for a long time, and when she answered she sounded distinctly cool.
‘I suggested you phone at eleven.’
‘Sorry, I just—’
‘I prefer my clients to follow instructions. That’s better for us both.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Uh, I rang because I’m going to be in Thetford sooner than I thought. I wondered if we could meet an hour earlier?’
She sucked in a breath, prompting him to add: ‘Look, I can pay extra if—’
‘The rate’s the rate. I’m not a rip-off merchant.’
‘No. Sorry.’ He snorted. ‘I’m making a total hash of this.’
‘You sound nervous. Is it your first time?’
‘God, no! I’m thirty-two. I have—’ He stopped, unwilling to mention Alice.
Keri was laughing softly. ‘I mean, your first time with an escort. I didn’t expect you to be a virgin – although I can cater for that, if you are.’
‘Oh. Right. No, I’m not. But yes, it is my first time.’
Another pause, but he sensed he’d won her over.
‘I’m in a block called Milton Place, just off Painter Street. It’s not far from the centre.’ She gave him directions. ‘I’ll text you a few minutes before eleven with the apartment number.’
‘Okay. Are you always this careful with your address? Only it seems a bit … long-winded.’
‘Maybe it does. But you’re not me. This is the way I work, and it’s not negotiable. See you at eleven.’
He was in Thetford by ten forty. His paranoia had receded just enough that he could walk through the station and not feel that everyone was looking at him, but it had changed how he viewed the world. All he saw now were traps, threats, danger.
There was a biting wind from the North Sea, cutting through his jacket with ease. He set off along a quiet residential street, and nearly missed the turning he needed to reach Painter Street.
By ten to eleven he was waiting by a short terrace of stone-built cottages. Across the road, Milton Place was a more recent development of several three-storey buildings, almost but not quite brutalist in design, painted an unappealing cream and brown.
