Keep You Safe

by Rona Halsall

  ‘I’m afraid the evidence says otherwise, Natalie. Look, you have to be realistic here. There’s a convincing trail of evidence that leads, very clearly, to you.’ Natalie looked up to see a sly smile on her solicitor’s face. ‘The money went into an account in the Cayman Islands with your name on it. Then it was moved on again and the police are still trying to track where it went. It’s a lot of money to give up, I understand that, but they’ll find it eventually, you know. However clever you think you’ve been.’

  Natalie’s hands gripped each other as she stared at the table. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the pain enough to tell her that this was real.

  ‘Natalie!’ The solicitor smacked the table. ‘Natalie, are you listening?’

  She raised her head, blinking.

  Her solicitor’s face softened. ‘Okay, I know this is a shock. Tell you what, let’s get a cup of coffee, have a bit of a breather. I’ll give you a few minutes, shall I? Then we’ll carry on.’ She walked over to the door, had a word with the guard and slipped out into the corridor. The door clanked shut behind her.

  Natalie gazed around the stuffy little room, with its horrible green walls, scuffed floor and stark fluorescent light. She was going to be convicted of a crime she couldn’t remember committing and there was nothing she could do about it. Harry. Her heart lurched. Poor little Harry, how confused and upset he must be without her. How long before she would get to see him again? An image of his crumpled, tear-stained face filled her mind, the sound of his cries rang in her ears and she lay her head on the table, unable to hold back the tide of her misery, letting it flow over her, engulf her and drown out the pain of her thoughts.

  Ten minutes later, her solicitor came back holding two polystyrene cups of coffee, the smell of cigarettes floating in with her, polluting the air.

  Natalie pulled her leaden body upright and wiped her face on her sleeve. She accepted the tissue that her solicitor passed over the table and blew her nose, then took a sip of coffee.

  ‘Right. Feeling better?’ Her solicitor gave a thin smile. ‘Okay. So, we’re on a damage limitation exercise here. Let me tell you how it works. As it is, you’re looking at a maximum, and I do stress this is a maximum, of six and a half years.’

  Natalie gasped, rocked back in her chair. Six and a half years? No, no, no!

  ‘If you plead guilty to a crime straight away, your possible sentence is reduced by a third. If you wait until the trial date is set, that goes down to a quarter and if it’s on the day of the trial then you only get a reduction of a tenth.’ Her solicitor straightened up the pages in her file, tapped them together and put them back on the table, giving Natalie a moment to absorb what she’d just said. ‘So, you can see that it’s much better to plead guilty at the earliest opportunity.’

  They stared at each other. All Natalie could hear was the scream in her head.

  ‘The other consideration, of course, is overwhelming evidence. Which there is in your case. And that makes the reduction only one fifth instead of a third. But that’s open to interpretation.’ The solicitor picked up a newspaper clipping, waved it at Natalie. ‘Here’s some guidance. A recent case. The sum stolen was two point three million. The woman was given just over three years. But—’ she held up a finger ‘—the money was recovered and she pleaded guilty as soon as she was arrested. Saves police time and resources, you see. So… in your case, unless the money is recovered, I would anticipate a sentence in the region of… well, let’s say five years max? Maybe less.’

  Natalie’s eyes widened. She’s telling me to plead guilty?

  ‘Of course, you will be eligible for parole, which means you’ll only serve half of that time. So… probably two and half years? Less if we can work on mitigating factors, which I think we probably can. I’ve got a brilliant psychologist we can use for an assessment. So, let’s say two years. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?’ She smiled at Natalie.

  Two years? Not so bad?

  Natalie’s hands gripped her chair, as if this would stop her from falling into the black hole that had appeared where her life used to be. Her body started to tremble. She was staying here, locked up in this prison. Separated from Harry. For years.

  Natalie stared at the wall in front of her, unable to focus on anything but her hopeless situation.

  ‘You’re in court tomorrow to enter your plea.’ Her solicitor started to tidy her papers away. ‘I suggest you think about our chat overnight and I’ll see you in the morning.’ She gave Natalie a curt nod before she got up and left the room. Natalie stared after her, mouth gaping.

  Tomorrow? No, it can’t be that quick.

  She had to work out a defence. But she could only do that if she had someone on the outside to help her, to agitate and make a nuisance of themselves. Get the people who mattered to listen. Fast.

  Knowing she wasn’t allowed to talk to Tom, and Sasha was abroad, the only other person she could ring was her mother. She’d been putting it off until she felt mentally robust enough, hoping things would be resolved, but she couldn’t delay it any longer. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Even if her solicitor wouldn’t listen, then her mother surely would. And her mother was an expert at getting her own way.

  ‘Mum, I’m in trouble,’ she said at lunchtime, when she finally got to the front of the queue for the phone, and the story flowed out in one long, breathless sentence.

  When Natalie finished speaking, the silence was thick and ominous. She swallowed, hugged her arms to her chest.

  ‘Oh, Natalie. I’ve had Tom on the phone. He’s already told me.’ Her mother let out a long sigh. ‘There’s no excuse for it, though. You can’t go blaming other people for everything all the time. You never were good at taking responsibility, were you?’ Natalie tensed. ‘And the story you’ve just told me is so far-fetched, honestly, no wonder nobody believes you.’ Her mother tutted.

  Natalie couldn’t speak, could feel the blood draining from her face. This was her last hope. Her last chance of getting someone to help her.

  ‘Tom has been wonderful to you, Natalie. Treated you like a princess. I mean, that house you live in is gorgeous. All those lovely clothes. That new BMW. And the job he gave you… It’s more than I ever hoped you might achieve. Honestly… what more did the man have to do?’

  A list of things flashed into Natalie’s mind, but it was not the point of the conversation. What she needed was for her mother to talk to people; the police, solicitors, human rights campaigners. Make them understand, get them to do something that would question the validity of the evidence and get her out of prison.

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Natalie’s jaw ached from being clamped shut. ‘I’ve just told you.’

  ‘There’s no smoke without fire.’ Her mother snapped. ‘Tom tells me there’s piles of evidence and frankly it sounds like your behaviour has been more than a bit suspect.’ Her voice took on a weary tone. ‘I’d trust that man with my life, Natalie, but you… well, you’ve always been difficult.’

  ‘What?’ Natalie’s heart skipped a beat. Did she just say that?

  ‘Oh, you know what I’m talking about. It’s not the first time you’ve been in trouble with the police.’

  ‘I was fourteen,’ Natalie said, astounded that the incident had been dredged up again.

  ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

  ‘It was a couple of lipsticks from Boots.’

  ‘It. Was. Still. Stealing.’ Her mother’s voice was laced with distaste.

  Natalie bristled. ‘Oh, come on. I wasn’t even charged with anything, just cautioned.’

  Silence.

  ‘It was just a dare.’ Natalie had never told her that before, hadn’t wanted to get Sasha into trouble as well.

  ‘I didn’t bring you up to be a thief. Honestly, when this gets out… I think we might have to move. I couldn’t face them up at the golf club. Not now.’ She could hear a strangled sob. ‘You’ve ruined everything, Natalie. Again.’

  Na
talie leant her forehead against the wall. Why had she imagined her mother’s reaction would be any different? She slammed the phone down, letting out a scream that a werewolf would have been proud of.

  ‘Gets you like that sometimes,’ the prison officer said, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon settle in.’

  Natalie gazed at her. She didn’t want to settle in. She wanted to go home to Harry.

  Twenty-One

  Now

  Those bloody parents! What a fuss they made. It was an accident, for God’s sake! I couldn’t have avoided that buggy even if I’d wanted to. They just pushed the thing straight out of the shop, right in front of me.

  They made such a fuss, even insisting on taking the child to hospital.

  Christ, she’d better be okay. Can you imagine the fuss if she isn’t?

  And who decided to call the police? Fucking do-gooders. In the space of five minutes, the street was packed, everyone gawking, muttering as if I was to blame. I pointed them towards the real culprit, though. Let them chase after her for now, I thought.

  I get back in my car, fiddle around in the glove compartment and pull out the little flask I keep for emergencies. Take a nip.

  Time to get that magnetic tracking device on the car. Then she can’t slip away again.

  Right. I take another gulp. Things to do. Better get going.

  Twenty-Two

  Now

  Legs and feet move up and down the pavement, all Natalie can see as she peers out from underneath the car. Nobody is running and gradually, her pulse steadies. The rough concrete digs into her knees. Her feet start to cramp and after ten minutes she creeps out of her hiding place, glances up and down the road. The back of the policeman gets smaller as he walks away from her, down the hill. There’s nobody else in sight. She lets out a long breath.

  See? Everything’s fine. She watches for a moment longer. Everything’s fine.

  She heads off up the road, still unsure whether she was actually being followed or not. It felt like it, but she may have been imagining things, scaring herself into thinking what was in her mind was actually real. She realises that she has no idea where she is now and stops to try and get her bearings. For a moment, she feels a flush of panic. Your phone, you idiot. There’s a map on your phone.

  In the three years that she’s been in prison, technology has come on a long way and she’s not used to all the apps at her disposal. It takes her a moment to get the thing working, then, with a sigh of relief, she realises Tom’s office is only a couple of streets away. She checks the time. Twelve minutes until he arrives, and he will arrive on the dot. She knows this, knows all his little obsessions, and she walks a bit faster.

  Oh, God! I’m going to see him.

  She’s tried not to think about it, because her memories of him have been scarred by resentment and she has no idea how she will react. She forces herself to take deep breaths. It’s not like she has to speak to him, or even get close. All she has to do is observe and find out what car he’s driving. The hairs prickle the back of her neck and she looks over her shoulder, stomach feeling decidedly queasy.

  A few minutes later, she’s standing outside the building where Tom works. This is the road where lots of solicitors have their offices, along with some banks, finance companies and other business service providers. The architecture is a mixture of sombre stone terraces and modern buildings with fancy glass entrances. Upmarket. Smart. Tom’s office building is on a corner, a shared space with a number of other businesses by the looks of the sign on the door, where there’s a buzzer for each one.

  Natalie sees her reflection in the glass doors and does a double take, her breath catching in her throat. She stands out like a sunflower on a gloomy day in this street full of dark suits and she fastens her jacket. But it’s still far from ideal, he’ll spot her a mile off. She turns and strides down the road, trying to behave like she belongs there while she looks for somewhere suitable to wait. She spots a seat tucked around a corner on the opposite side of the street, a smokers’ area by the looks of it and she hurries across the road. The entrance to Tom’s building is still visible but she’s partially hidden from view. Perfect.

  She perches on the seat. Tension grabs at her shoulders while she pretends to look for something in her bag, keeping one eye on Tom’s office. A woman clicks past on impossibly high heels. A man on the other side of the road, with his head down, looking at his phone. A couple, holding hands, chattering, excited. They don’t seem to notice her, but she is aware of all the windows. Of people in offices, eyes watching. A bead of sweat inches down her spine. How long can she stay here, exposed like this? She checks her watch again, glances around.

  Tom should be here by now, shouldn’t he?

  A man walking towards Tom’s office building catches her attention. Initially, she discounts him because, although he’s the right height, his shape’s all wrong; a paunch hangs over the belt of his trousers, his body is hunched, shoulders sloping forwards, like he’s carrying a heavy load. But as she watches him walk, notices the slight limp on his left leg, the way he twists his hip, she realises, that it’s him. It’s Tom.

  Her body reacts as if she’s been slammed against the wall, the breath forced out of her. A maelstrom of emotions swirls inside her, and a silent howl fills her head. Oh, how she’s longed for the day when she could make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’s put her through. But today is not that day. Her hands grip the bench to tether herself to the spot, body shaking with the effort of keeping still.

  She pretends to look the other way, but keeps him in her peripheral vision. Being strong is not about giving in to impulse, she tells herself. It’s about weighing up risks and being brave. Doing things you don’t want to do with conviction. Total commitment to achieving the goal. And getting Harry back is what she lives for. Keeping him from harm is something she’d die for. Her chest tightens, her breathing quick and shallow.

  Natalie squashes her fury at what life should have been back into the bunker in her mind. She has to think about the now, this minute, what she’s just seen, and use it to her advantage. Tom looks so low and downtrodden that she hardly recognised him. He’s not the demon she’s seen in her nightmares. Not even close. In the real world, he looks like a broken man and that changes everything. One-to-one I could take him out, she thinks, with a satisfied smile, knowing that her task might be a little easier than she’d thought.

  She watches as he presses the entry buzzer, notices a glint of gold on his left hand. His wedding ring? She can’t believe he still wears it, having dropped hers down a drain as soon as it was possible to dispose of it. But then a question blossoms in her mind.

  Has he remarried? It’s not an idea she’s ever considered, because, in her eyes, he’s so obviously flawed. The thought of another woman bringing up her son scratches through her, ripping at her heart. Does he call her Mummy? Her throat tightens, a surge of emotions threatening to undo her illusion of calm.

  How can she possibly love my son like I do?

  Natalie’s breath quickens.

  Maybe she doesn’t. Perhaps she’s mean to him.

  She sees images of her little boy, frightened and confused, cowering away from a ranting banshee of a woman who has no patience with a child who isn’t hers. Prison gossip was full of such horror stories, where complicated families were the norm. The images darken and her imagination escalates the abuse until she has to shake herself back to reality. She reminds herself that it’s just a theory. A distraction. Her eyes widen as a new thought burrows into her head. Elena. The nanny. She remembers how his eyes had followed Elena, his appreciation of her youthful good looks and curvaceous figure clear in his expression. And he was always remarking on how wonderful she was with Harry. Maybe he married her?

  She gives herself a mental shake.

  Get a grip. Focus. There are things to do.

  She breathes herself into a state of calm while she watches Tom disappear into th
e building, then she crosses the road and retraces his footsteps.

  There’s a private car park behind his building, the obvious place for him to be parked and she walks round all three floors, trying to work out which car is his. He always drove a Jaguar and she finds two. Black or maroon? She can’t decide which colour he’d prefer and peers through the windows but both are spotless inside and there are no clues as to ownership. She feels the bonnets, but neither is warm. A weight settles in her stomach. They can’t be his. She taps her forehead with the heel of her hand while she thinks, willing some ingenious idea to spring out of nowhere.

  The only way is to go round the whole car park, feeling the bonnets for the warm ones, then try and narrow it down. It sounds like an impossible task. She hears the slap of footsteps and hides behind a pillar. A car door slams. Somebody leaving? Or… The roar of an engine coming up the ramp drowns out her thoughts. She glances towards the ceiling. CCTV cameras. The idea that someone, somewhere is watching her, wondering what she’s up to, brings her skin out in goosebumps. They might think she’s about to steal a car and decide to take action. She has to go. Right now, she has to go.

  She darts down the stairs, out of the car park, and round a few corners until she feels far enough away to be safe from curious eyes. She leans against a wall, panting, feet throbbing in sandals that were not designed for running. Her head is pounding, her plan in tatters, because how can she follow Tom home when she doesn’t know what car he drives?

  Twenty-Three

  Then

  The evening after her meeting with the solicitor, Natalie was sitting on her bed, staring at the wall, when Katya put her head round the door.