Keep You Safe

by Rona Halsall

  The evening is grey, the air full of drizzle, a sea mist that tickles her face and muffles sound. She flattens herself against the side of the house, her senses fizzing as she sneaks forwards until she has a view of the cul-de-sac. There’s nobody about, all cars parked in their respective driveways. Nothing suspicious.

  She’s aware of the sound of her breath, heavy and laboured. All going to plan, she reassures herself.

  Tom’s address is short and easy to remember, the route there fairly simple from the centre of Peel. But she doesn’t know where she is, doesn’t know which direction she needs to go in. She dithers, sweating now. She’s got to move, get away before Jack gets back. Turn right.

  Every step makes her wince, but as her muscles warm up and the painkillers kick in, her aches dull to a manageable level. Her pace quickens as she turns corners, hoping to find a main road and somebody to ask for directions. A car door slams, a shout, the murmur of voices coming towards her. She crosses the road. A motorbike growls out of the gloom, swooshes past and disappears into the mist that envelops everything. Was that Jack? She hurries on.

  A few minutes later, she finds herself at a roundabout, next to a pub and a row of shops. There’s a convenience store that’s open, bright lights drawing her towards it like a moth to a flame.

  It’s a small, narrow shop, crammed full of everyday necessities. There’s a chiller by the door with sandwiches and drinks. And at the till, a young girl chats about the weather as she deals with an elderly lady. Natalie waits.

  ‘I’m over on holiday for a few days,’ Natalie says. ‘And I want to look up my friend. I’ve got her address, and she explained where it is, but… well, I’ve got myself a bit lost and, to be honest with you, I haven’t a clue where I am!’ Natalie pulls a face, like she’s stupid and the girl laughs. ‘Do you think you could you give me directions?’

  ‘No problem,’ the girl says. ‘We deliver papers all round here. So, what’s the address?’

  ‘Ballamona Cottage?’ Natalie scrunches her face. ‘I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Peel?’

  Natalie nods. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  The girl shakes her head, slowly. ‘Sorry. Doesn’t sound familiar, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I checked on the map and it’s off Poortown Road. But I don’t know where that is.’

  The girl’s face brightens and she laughs. ‘This main road out here is Poortown Road. Peel to the right. I know there’s a few cottages dotted about, all the way along. Probably one of those.’

  Natalie can picture the map in her head and she smiles. Down the main road for a mile or so and then turn right. Simple.

  ‘Brilliant. Thank you, so much.’ She leaves the shop, wanting to run, but unable to manage more than a brisk walk. Not far, not far. She urges herself on. Fifteen minutes, tops.

  There’s nothing to hear but the sound of her footsteps. Nothing to see but the mist. A few cars travel past and she flattens herself against a hedge every time she hears an engine, turning her back to the road. Just in case.

  Soon, her hair is plastered to her head, her clothes damp and she’s glad when she reaches the lane that leads to Tom’s house. There’s renewed purpose in her stride and a few minutes later, she comes to a wonky wrought-iron gate, hung with a wooden sign that tells her she’s found the right place. A curved drive leads to a shabby two-storey cottage that used to be white but is now flecked with green algae, paint peeling off the window frames. It’s set in a scrubby lawn, edged by a tall, unkempt privet hedge. Large trees tower over the entrance, like sentries, the thick foliage creating an oppressive gloom. Water drips off the leaves, punctuating the silence.

  Natalie shivers, her wet feet starting to go numb. She’d expected some sort of mansion, instead of this grotty little house and she wonders, for a moment, why he’s living here. The curtains are closed, but lights glow from the windows. Her heart stutters. This is it. He’s home.

  Her eyes scan the house and garden, looking to see if there’s another entrance, checking out places to hide. She sees something that draws her eye, making her take a second look. The back of a car. A silver estate. Parked in front of a garage.

  Natalie sucks in a breath. It’s the same one. Which can mean one of two things. Either Lech has beaten her to it. Or it’s Tom who’s been following her.

  She moves behind the hedge, where she can’t be seen, shuffling from foot to foot to keep warm as she tries to work out what to do. If it’s Lech, she needs to go back and get Jack. Get the police involved, no question. Harry’s safety has to come first. But if it’s Tom’s then that’s a different matter.

  Her thoughts are disturbed by a rustle behind her. Then another. Footsteps? The hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Adrenaline surges through her body.

  She readies herself and turns.

  Fifty

  Now

  When he’s almost home, Jack’s phone buzzes against his chest. He waits until he gets to his driveway, and finds that he’s missed a call from his sister.

  ‘Hey, Fliss,’ he says, when she answers. ‘Got news?’

  ‘There you are! I’m dashing out, so this has got to be quick.’ She sounds out of breath, her words rushing over each other, as though she’s keen to find out what her little brother needs from her so she can get on with her evening.

  ‘So, it’s about your big case – the fraud one you’ve been working on. I… well, I need to ask… Is it someone called Tom Wilson that you’re investigating?’

  ‘He’s a person of interest.’ She goes all proper, official. ‘As is his wife. And that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Fliss. Give me a little more than that.’ Jack’s voice is pleading. ‘Don’t play the big sis thing. I understand confidentiality just as well as you do, you know. And I can tell you that there’s a child’s life at stake here.’

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your hair on.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘So. We think they’re involved in skimming off clients’ money. We’re talking millions here. And filing false tax returns. She’s a company director, even though she’s not involved in the day-to-day running of things. More of a schmoozer, recruiting new clients, that sort of thing. There’s some dodgy history over in England to do with him too, but we haven’t got to the bottom of that yet.’ Fliss is silent for a moment. ‘Don’t you dare repeat that. None of it. Not to anyone, okay. I’ll be in so much trouble if—’

  ‘Oh, Fliss,’ Jack says gently. ‘You know you can trust me. Anyway, who would I tell?’

  Fliss sighs. ‘That woman you’ve got staying with you, for one. You can’t tell her you got any info from me, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  Fliss tuts and he can imagine the pursed lips, a frown that makes a deep groove between her eyebrows. What does she expect if she treats me like I’m a flipping five-year-old, Jack thinks.

  ‘So, what now?’ he says.

  ‘Well, I had to report the information about Tom Wilson threatening to leave the island to my boss. And things have gone into overdrive. He’s asked me to go back into the office this evening. So, I’m thinking that things are going to happen pretty quickly.’

  Jack thinks for a moment. ‘But what if he was lying to Natalie? What if he’s already off the island? He could be hundreds of miles away by now.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not gone anywhere. His passport and his wife’s have both been flagged at the airport for a couple of weeks now and security at the ferry has been on alert as well, just in case. As I understand it, the police are organising a warrant for their arrests. That’s why I’ve got to go in, you know, to make sure all the evidence is in order.’

  ‘So, when do you think they’ll go and get them?’

  ‘Tonight, that’s for sure. The authorities can move pretty fast when they need to. Maybe in the next hour, or so. That’s what my boss reckoned, but he’s a bit over-excited at the moment, so…’

  ‘Wow, as soon as that?’ Jack is eager to get
off the phone now. ‘Fliss, you’re a star. Thanks.’

  He disconnects before she has a chance to say goodbye, his thoughts scrambled.

  Is it better for Natalie to have a conversation with Tom before or after he’s arrested? And if his wife is going to be arrested too, does that give Natalie custody of Harry? Maybe there isn’t a rush at all, now he knows that Lech isn’t even on the island. He sighs. What a mess! Best thing is to talk it through with Natalie, see what she wants to do. But they’ll need to make a decision fast.

  Fifty-One

  Now

  Natalie spins on her heel, thinking about the best means of attack, given her limitations. Her heart leaps like a trampolinist who’s lost their rhythm, but when she sees who’s behind her, she straightens up, hand to her chest and heaves a big sigh of relief.

  ‘Christ, you frightened me.’ She takes a few ragged breaths and leans back against the hedge, legs shaking. ‘Phew.’

  Sasha stands in front of her, dressed in a black tracksuit and trainers, hair tied up in a messy bun, no make-up on and she looks as jaded as Natalie feels.

  But at least she’s dressed for action, ready to help.

  ‘Thank God you’re here.’ Natalie says. ‘I was panicking a bit, wondering how I was going to get Harry on my own. I mean, look at the state of me.’

  Sasha’s eyes travel up and down Natalie’s body and her hand goes to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘Bloody hell, Nat, what the hell happened?’

  Natalie takes a big breath. ‘It’s a bit of a long story. But there’s no time to go through it all now. Someone’s been following me and I think it might have been Tom.’

  Sasha frowns. ‘Tom? Why would he be following you?’

  Natalie puts a hand to her forehead, trying to think against the thudding pain. ‘There’s no time to explain, you’ll just have to take my word for it. But the thing is, I think Harry’s in danger. We’ve got to be quick.’

  Sasha’s frown deepens. ‘I’m sorry, sweetie. But you’re not making any sense. Someone following you? Don’t you think that’s a little, well melodramatic?’ Her face is full of concern. ‘I really don’t know what’s going on here, Natalie, and I’m not exactly sure what you’re planning, but you don’t look as though you’re fit for anything.’ She gives a reassuring smile. ‘And anyway, Harry’s fine. I’ve been watching the house for a while now and I saw him.’

  Natalie absorbs Sasha’s words. Harry’s fine. So the silver car must be Tom’s. And Lech is nowhere in sight. Maybe she is being melodramatic. Maybe Lech doesn’t know she’s here after all. She lets out a long breath, her muscles sagging with relief.

  She gives Sasha a feeble smile. ‘Sorry, you’re right. Just a bit worked up. It’s been a hell of a day. But boy am I glad to see you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, the producer’s PA came up trumps for once and found the address. And when I couldn’t get hold of you on the phone, I thought I’d come here. Suss out the lay of the land for you.’ She steps forwards, and folds Natalie into a hug. ‘The main thing is you’re here now and so am I. So… we can get this whole thing sorted, can’t we?’ She squeezes Natalie, sending shards of ice-cold pain shooting down her arm.

  Natalie groans, gasping as she tries to breathe through the pain and Sasha lets go, steps back, a horrified look in her eyes.

  ‘I am so, so sorry, Nat. I thought it was your hand that was injured. I didn’t realise you’d knackered your shoulder as well.’ She shakes her head and grimaces. ‘You poor thing. Christ you’re a right old mess, aren’t you? Lucky I’m here to help.’

  She catches hold of Natalie’s good hand. ‘Anyway, the thing is, I’ve spoken to Tom.’ Natalie’s breath catches in her throat. Sasha nods. Her eyes gleam, a satisfied smile lighting up her face. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I could be like an intermediary, you know? Anyway, the upshot is, Tom wants a word with you.’ She starts walking towards the driveway, beckons with her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go and talk this through.’

  Natalie doesn’t move. Her eyes narrow. ‘It’s not a trick, is it? He’s not playing games? Got the police on standby or something? It’s just… he wasn’t too accommodating when I saw him earlier.’

  Sasha closes her eyes for a moment then turns and walks back to Natalie, her voice soft when she speaks. ‘Look, sweetie, it’s probably not my place to say this, but somebody has to. I’m really not sure you’ve been thinking straight. Surely talking things through has got to be the best way forward, rather than trying to kidnap your son?’ She gives a slow shake of the head. ‘It’s only going to lead to more trouble, isn’t it? And think about Harry, he’d be so scared.’

  Natalie’s eyes flick to the ground, as her earlier doubts about her plans resurface, and Sasha carries on speaking.

  ‘Maybe he’s been gambling again or something? Got himself into financial trouble, like last time?’

  Natalie looks at the house and suddenly, it all makes sense. That’s why his wife is leaving him. That’s why he lives in a shithole.

  ‘But he’s going to Kuwait,’ Natalie says. ‘To work for his dad. Any trouble here can’t reach him there.’

  ‘Look, maybe I shouldn’t have, but I confronted him about it, said Harry would be better living with you than a gambler.’ Natalie’s eyes widen. ‘And he admitted that he needs to escape, quickly, before the authorities catch up with him.’ Sasha squeezes Natalie’s hand. ‘I honestly think this is the best way forward, sweetie. He seems open to negotiation and when I suggested letting the lawyers talk about access, you know, sorting it all out properly, well, he agreed.’

  Sasha looks pleased with herself now, and Natalie can’t quite believe what she’s managed to achieve. If she’s being honest with herself, her idea to take Harry and escape is a non-starter now, given the extent of her injuries, so maybe Sasha is right. Maybe talking is the best way forward.

  Harry is safe. That’s the important thing.

  Sasha seems so sure, she’s got to believe it’s the truth. So now she just has to worry about herself, because safe is the last thing she feels. Tom’s in there. He wants to see me. The thought of another face-to-face conversation with him makes her stomach quiver and she starts to work out what she wants to say.

  There’s a chance this might just work out okay, isn’t there? A small glimmer of hope burns in her heart.

  ‘Come on,’ Sasha says, taking her hand. ‘I’ll be there as well, so you don’t need to worry. It’s two against one.’

  Natalie stops. ‘But what about his wife? Isn’t she here?’

  Sasha shakes her head. ‘Oh no. Apparently she left a couple of weeks ago. There’s only Tom to worry about.’ She squeezes Natalie’s hand. ‘Don’t you worry sweetie, we’ve got this. And if you feel uncomfortable at any time, then we’ll revert to plan A, okay?’

  Natalie nods and follows Sasha down the drive, past the garage and round to the back of the house where a kitchen extension runs across the width of the building. A patio door stands open, and Natalie follows Sasha inside, into a long, dingy room that smells musty and damp. Natalie scrunches her nose. There’s another smell as well, pungent, like a bin that needs to be emptied.

  Old units line the walls, the veneer chipped and peeling in places. The worktop is faded and worn. A square wooden table is pushed against the far wall, a washing basket on top of it, piled high with crumpled laundry. In the corner stands a huge, American-style fridge freezer, its doors covered with a child’s pictures, secured with colourful magnets.

  Harry’s pictures.

  Natalie is so focused on the pictures that she doesn’t look where she’s going and stumbles over something on the floor. She staggers a few steps, slams into the table and cries out, shaken by the jolt, shocked by the pain that whips through her.

  ‘Ooh, careful,’ Sasha says, making a grab for something on the worktop.

  Natalie looks to see what she tripped over and struggles to breathe.

  Tom lies on the floor, on his side. His outstretched hand is only a couple
of feet away. That’s what she stumbled over. His eyes are wide and staring, glazed over now and devoid of life. Blood is pooled under his head, still wet around his nose and mouth.

  She understands what the smell is now. He’s soiled himself. Her stomach heaves and she vomits on the floor, waves of nausea emptying her stomach until there’s nothing left but bile.

  She looks up to see Sasha holding a carving knife, pointed in Natalie’s direction.

  Fifty-Two

  Now

  ‘Wakey, wakey,’ Jack calls as he pushes open the lounge door. He’s halfway into the room when he realises that she’s not there, the blanket crumpled on the floor. He spins round. ‘Natalie!’ he calls, thinking she must be in the bathroom. He listens. No reply. Oh God, I hope she hasn’t collapsed or anything. He walks down the hall, calling her name, but the house is quiet and when he finds the bathroom empty he realises that she’s gone.

  He runs a hand through his hair.

  How can she have gone when she can hardly walk?

  A thought shimmers in front of his eyes, like a movie, playing out the worst-case scenario. Maybe she’s been taken? Whoever was following her in the car. That makes the most sense, doesn’t it? He scratches the back of his head. Or does it sound like a load of made-up nonsense? Not something he can go to Sergeant Tosser with, that’s for sure. He looks at his watch and sees that he’s only been out for twenty minutes so she can’t be far away.

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials, cursing when he hears his call go to voicemail. ‘Fliss, call me back. Please. I’m looking for the address of Tom Wilson, Excalibur Wealth Management. The guy you’re investigating. It’s really urgent so if you could ring me back, soon as poss. Cheers.’