by Rona Halsall
He would surprise her, though, with moments of tenderness, a reminder of the charming, chivalrous man she’d married. And at these times, she’d felt like they were different people, living in a parallel universe.
Twice a day, she’d seen him at his best. First thing in the morning they would sit together over a coffee and share their plans for the day ahead, then last thing at night they would have a drink and go through everything that had happened.
Now, in her prison cell, walls scratched with graffiti, the sound of wailing, shouting women filling her ears, she remembered how she lived for those moments, for the glow that she’d felt as she basked in his love. Remembered how the hours between seemed to stretch out longer and longer, as though she was addicted to him, to his attention.
She sat up straight, a hand to her forehead, trying to catch hold of a thought that had raced through her mind.
Night and morning, she took a tonic, something that a friend of Tom’s had suggested, to give her a lift after she’d had the flu. Apparently, it was all the rage in London, a favourite of Gwyneth Paltrow’s, full of valerian and chamomile, ginger and ginseng, amongst other things. It tasted disgusting, so Tom would put it in her drink and it did seem to make her feel calmer, more able to cope and it definitely helped her to sleep.
But was that the only thing he put in my drink?
The idea developed like a photograph until it was clear in her mind. Tom’s been drugging me. No wonder she’d felt so good and then so wretched, as if she was waiting for her next fix. She fought to catch her breath, like the air had been punched out of her.
But why? Why would he do that to me?
She clenched her jaw. This was just the sort of thing he would do, a panicked effort to take control of a situation that was beyond his comprehension, trying to improve her moods, help her sleep, make her someone he could live with. Perhaps he’d tried putting Valium in her drink and decided it wasn’t working, and had got the medication from a friend but hadn’t realised how strong it was.
She covered her face with her hands. If only she’d done as she was told for once and followed doctors’ orders, none of this would have happened.
It’s my fault. All of it.
Fourteen
Now
Natalie waits on the bench for a few minutes, time enough for the man to disappear down the path, before she heads back to Mary’s. The jangling of her phone makes her jump. She’d change the ringtone if she knew how, but it’s a new phone and she hasn’t quite got the hang of it yet. The number on her screen has no name attached. Not surprising when the only numbers currently in there are the skipper of the fishing boat and her friend in Ireland.
Perhaps a wrong number. Should I even answer? It carries on ringing and she can’t help herself.
‘Hello?’ she says, her voice tentative.
‘Nat? That you?’ A woman’s voice buzzes through Natalie, like an electric shock, making her jump to her feet and start walking.
‘Sasha?’
She rang! The tension seeps out of Natalie’s shoulders. Maybe I’m not alone in this after all.
Her gaze flickers across the marina as she descends from Peel Hill, and catches on a handsome yacht moored directly below her, about sixty feet away. It bobs up and down with the swell of the tide, light sparkling off its white paintwork. As she gets closer, she notices the name, Smooth Talker, written on the bow. And then she notices something else. On the deck. Something that makes her stop.
The woman is facing the other way, but her hair is unmistakable, tumbling down her back in reddish-blonde waves. Natalie takes a few steps forward, has another look and her breath catches in her throat. It’s Sasha! Natalie frowns, puzzled. What’s she doing on a yacht? It looks expensive, bigger than any of the other yachts in the marina, with a mast than must be thirty feet high. Maybe they’re using it for filming?
‘Sorry I had to dash off last night,’ Sasha says, all breathy in Natalie’s ear. ‘Bit of an emergency, but it’s all sorted now.’
Natalie watches her fiddle with her hair as she talks, a familiar habit that pulls Natalie closer with each twirl of her finger, tugging at her like a fish on a line.
‘No worries,’ Natalie says as she starts walking again, excitement bubbling in her stomach, because it’s all feeling more possible now. A problem shared is a problem halved. Isn’t that what Dad used to say?
An idea blooms in her mind. An idea that makes Natalie speed up, berating herself for not having thought of it before. If the producer of the film that Sasha is working on is a director of the charity that organised last night’s gig, and Tom sponsored the thing, surely the producer might know where Tom lives? And if they’re filming on the yacht, then the producer may be around somewhere and her search for Harry could be sorted in a matter of minutes. Her pulse quickens, along with her feet, and she hurries down the path.
‘So, Nats, where are you?’ Sasha says.
Natalie reaches the bottom of the hill, Sasha out of sight for a moment as Natalie negotiates the steps that will take her down onto the road.
‘Oh, I’m ah… just out for a run.’ She doesn’t want to be too specific about where she is just yet. Not until she’s sure about the situation with the yacht.
Sasha laughs. ‘You’re joking, right? You? Running?’
‘Strange but true.’ Natalie reaches the road and turns the corner, but then she stops, because Sasha’s not alone anymore. A man has joined her on the deck, his arm around her shoulders. Natalie ducks behind a stack of lobster pots, her excitement transformed into a different emotion altogether.
‘Yeah, right. So… you didn’t say last night, but I’m assuming you’re staying in Douglas?’
It’s not a bad assumption because that’s where most of the hotels are. Natalie ignores the question. ‘So, are you filming today?’
‘Oh, um… not until later,’ Sasha says. ‘I’m out and about in Douglas this morning.’ She flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘Doing a few errands.’ The man nuzzles her exposed neck, but Sasha squirms away from him, shaking her head, pointing to the phone. ‘I thought we could meet up for lunch. I’ll come and pick you up from your hotel if you like.’
Marco. This man must be Sasha’s boyfriend, the man she says she’s going to marry.
Natalie’s jaw clenches and she can’t speak, needs a moment to decide how to respond. Lunch? Where’s the urgency in that? But Sasha won’t realise, she reminds herself, has no idea that Harry’s life is in danger. I’ll have to tell her everything, she decides, if she wants her to be fully on board. But she doesn’t want to tell Sasha anything with Marco there. Another person in the mix isn’t what she needs right now. And Sasha’s just told her a blatant lie about where she is. Dammit! The moment she’s written Sasha into her plans, she’s gone and prioritised herself once again, even though she knows there’s an urgency to Natalie’s mission. Unreliable as ever.
‘Okay,’ Natalie says. No point arguing. That would be wasting time. She’ll just pretend to go along with it. ‘No need to pick me up though, just choose a place and I’ll meet you there.’
‘Oh, fantastic! I really, really want to see you!’ Sasha’s jumping up and down in a circle and as she turns towards her, Natalie can see a broad smile on her face. Then Sasha stops, her face suddenly serious. ‘And we need to have a proper talk, don’t we? Plans to make and all that. You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said last night and you’re right. Tom’s not fit to be a father. He never was any good at it, was he? Impatient, grumpy bastard. And after what he did to you, well… there’s no question in my mind, Nat. I’m with you all the way.’
Natalie’s unsure what to do now, mixed messages pulling her mind in circles. Should I ask her? In the end, she can’t help herself. ‘Look, Sash, I just had a thought. Do you think you could ask your producer if he knows where Tom lives? He’s a director of the charity that last night’s gig was all about, isn’t he? And I think Tom was a sponsor. So I thought perhaps he might know hi
m. Could you do that?’
Sasha stands still. ‘Wow, you’re right! I hadn’t thought of that.’ She’s silent for a moment and Natalie holds her breath, waiting. ‘Sorry, I’m just thinking… thing is, I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance to talk to him today.’ Sasha sighs and starts fiddling with her hair again. ‘He hates being interrupted when we’re filming and he’s such a scary man when he’s cross. But… look, don’t you worry, Nat, I’ll do my best. Catch him after this morning’s session.’
A maybe rather than a no, Natalie thinks. At least it’s another lead being followed up, something Natalie can’t do herself.
‘Let’s meet at the café in the sea terminal, shall we?’ Sasha says, pacing around the deck now. ‘If we make it one o’clock, then I should have spoken to Nige by then, have some info for you. That’s not too late, is it?’
Natalie chews her lip, still frustrated by how long she’s going to have to wait, but decides that it’s better than nothing. A contingency. ‘Yeah, one’s fine.’
‘Brilliant! I’ll see you then, sweetie.’
Natalie watches Sasha being led down the steps into the cabin and can guess what sort of errands she’s going to be doing for the rest of the morning.
Sweetie.
Their term of endearment, pinched from Absolutely Fabulous, a favourite TV programme when they’d been teenagers.
Sweetie.
The word connects with something in Natalie’s brain, triggers forgotten moments, exploding images into her mind, so clear she can see every detail. Getting glammed up to go out, helping each other with hair and make-up, swapping clothes, walking to the bus stop arm in arm. Dancing. Laughing. Singing all the way home. Sleepovers, illicit hangovers.
Sweetie. How powerful a word can be.
Is Sasha trying to tell her that she’s still that friend and she wants things to get back to how they were?
More images flicker to life. Images of a time when their lives had been stretched apart, not seeing each other for a few years while Sasha was working in America. Then Sasha had turned up unannounced, just when Natalie had needed her most, showing a side to her personality that Natalie had never known was there.
‘Natalie. Natalie.’ Tom’s voice had been urgent, his hands shaking her shoulders to wake her from a fitful sleep. Her eyelashes had fluttered, stuck to each other and it took a moment for her eyes to focus, her mind still woolly, body slick with sweat as it tried to fight off the flu.
‘What?’ she mumbled and studied his face, realising straight away that something was wrong.
‘There’s a woman at the door. Says she’s your friend.’ His stare was accusing.
‘What woman?’ Natalie’s mind ran through a short list of friends, but she knew that none of them would turn up without ringing first, given the remote location of their house, right on the edge of the Wirral.
‘Said her name was Sasha.’
‘Sasha?’ Natalie sat up, her head spinning, body weak from lack of food.
‘Hey,’ Tom said, sitting next to her on the bed, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘No need for you to get up. I just wanted to know if you knew her. I wasn’t sure…’
Natalie looked at him and wondered if he ever listened to a word she said. She was too uncomfortable to be patient, a nagging headache squeezing her brain so hard there was little room for thought.
‘Oh, Tom, you must remember me talking about her? I’ve shown you pictures, for Christ’s sake.’
Tom frowned.
Natalie bunched the duvet in her hands.
‘My childhood best friend? Supposed to be Maid of Honour at our wedding? Surely you remember? She had food poisoning and couldn’t make it.’ Natalie rubbed her temples, already tired of the conversation, and fumbled on the top of her bedside table for the painkillers. Tom took the packet from her, pressed two capsules into her hand and passed her the glass of water. She swallowed them down and looked at him, eyebrows raised.
‘So? Where is she?’
Tom stared at her. Natalie’s hands went to her face, eyes wide.
‘No. You haven’t left her outside, have you? Tell me you haven’t.’
Tom’s face reddened but his voice was firm. Defensive. ‘I didn’t know who she was. Could be a con woman for all I know. Neighbourhood Watch have been on the phone about burglaries all around the area in the last few weeks.’
Natalie sighed, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, a small part of her finding the energy to wonder why Sasha had turned up. But it didn’t really matter. Any distraction was welcome… anything that could lift the despondency that crushed her a little more every day.
A loud wail burst from the next room, followed by another and another, the fractious screams magnified and distorted, hammering inside Natalie’s head until she felt her skull would burst. Tom sat on the bed, looking at her, and she knew that expression, knew what he was thinking. She glared at him. Why couldn’t he do it? Would it kill him to change a nappy or sort out a feed?
Suddenly, the crying abated, reduced to stuttering hiccups, accompanied by a woman’s voice cooing and shushing. Tom and Natalie stared at each other, frozen. A moment later Sasha appeared in the doorway, cradling Harry in her arms, a bright smile on her face, looking every inch the movie star she had always yearned to be.
‘Hope you don’t mind me letting myself in.’ Sasha looked at Tom, a challenge in her eyes. She swayed from one foot to the other, rubbing Harry’s back as he sucked on his dummy, snuggling his head into her shoulder. She beamed at Tom and Natalie. ‘Just look at this gorgeous little man. So cute!’ She bent her head and leant her cheek against his hair. ‘And this house! Wow! I mean, wow! It’s fantastic.’
Tom stalked out of the room, Natalie burst into tears and Sasha rubbed Natalie’s shoulder, looking thoroughly confused about the swirl of emotions she had unleashed.
After that, Sasha had realised Natalie needed support and had stayed close; she’d got a job in a theatre group in nearby Liverpool and was always ready to look after Harry if Natalie had needed a bit of time out or had appointments to keep, ready to listen and sympathise with her rants about Tom. Their friendship had become stronger than ever.
Natalie walks back towards Mary’s house, remembering that feeling of closeness and how good it had felt.
Was it such a bad lie? Sasha was probably just covering her tracks, trying to hide the fact she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, sneaking a bit of time out with her lover. Does it really mean I can’t trust her? Natalie’s glad now that she’s left her options open. A new surge of hope flushes through her and she opens the door, runs upstairs, keen to get on with her plans for the day.
Fifteen
Then
On her third day in prison, Natalie had an unexpected visitor.
‘Hi there.’
The voice startled Natalie out of her stupor and she turned to see a young woman leaning against the door frame of her prison cell. She was wearing black jeans and a funky patterned shirt. Her long, wavy hair was dark, almost black, her brown eyes set close together in a pale face with high cheekbones and a thin, straight nose.
Natalie turned her head back to where it had been, eyes staring at the wall, no energy to move from her prone position on the bed and in no mood for a conversation. It was the first day her cell door had been left open for association and several of the other inmates had looked in on her, but nobody had spoken and she’d ignored them all, making sure her back was always turned towards the door. A clear signal, she’d thought, that she wanted to be alone. What the hell could she talk to them about anyway? Theirs was a world she knew nothing about, no common experiences to spin into the threads of a conversation.
‘Not talking?’ Natalie heard the woman’s clothes rustle as she moved and willed her to go away. She closed her eyes tight, her body tense with the effort of mentally removing the stranger from the doorway. It had always worked before, but she could sense that the woman was still there.
�
�I’m Katya, by the way,’ the woman said as she walked into the room and sat on the bed.
Natalie wriggled her arms up across her chest, rounding her back against the intruder like a protective shell. Can’t the woman take a hint?
‘Aw, feeling rough?’ Her voice was soft with sympathy. ‘What are you on?’
‘Nothing,’ Natalie muttered.
Katya laughed, a staccato burst of sound, devoid of any joy, that ended as fast as it had begun. ‘Sure, you’re on something. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. We’re all on something, aren’t we?’ Her English was fluent, but there was an accent in the background; clipped words, guttural pronunciation.
‘Go away,’ Natalie said, teeth clenched.
‘It’s good to talk.’ She patted Natalie’s leg. ‘Didn’t they tell you that?’
‘I don’t need to talk.’
‘Sure you do. We all need to talk.’
Natalie felt the bed move as Katya hitched herself across the mattress until her back was against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her, thighs touching Natalie’s feet. Natalie opened her eyes, startled when she saw Katya staring at her. She was different from the others. Wore nice clothes for a start, rather than faded hand-me-downs. Her hair was shiny and well cut, her complexion flawless, eyes bright and curious. She was beautiful, and acted with a poise and confidence that was out of place. They looked at each other for a while, both of them silent.
Maybe she’s a member of staff. A psychologist? She was certainly acting as if she had a right to be there, in Natalie’s cell.
Natalie sat up and shuffled to the opposite end of the bed. She sat on her pillow, knees hugged to her chest as she frowned at Katya, head throbbing with the beat of her pulse. She didn’t need some sort of psychologist trying to twist her words, telling her that she was in denial, making her doubt herself any more than she already did.
