Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Forgotten something?” she asked.

  “Thought I’d give you a lift.”

  “Thanks.” She forced herself to smile.

  “Let’s have your bag.”

  Mollie handed it over.

  “Christ, what have you got in here?” He glanced inside.

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew he was looking for signs that she was leaving. Her heart thumped when she thought she might have walked out with a suitcase. What would he have done? Used the handcuffs again?

  She climbed into the car and fastened the seatbelt. He reached over and squeezed her thigh.

  “Fancy the cinema tonight?” he asked.

  “Is there anything good on?”

  “I’ll have a look. Thought we could go shopping on Saturday and buy you a new bikini for the holiday. I could do with some sunglasses.”

  “Okay.”

  Mollie tried to talk to him normally, but she wasn’t good at lying.

  When he pulled into the staff car park at Longdean Primary School, she reached into the footwell for her bag and purse as he came round to open her door.

  As she stepped away from the car, he pulled her back. “Don’t I get a kiss?”

  She leaned forward and briefly pressed her lips to his. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Marry me,” he said, and his grip tightened on her wrist.

  Her eyes widened.

  Eve, another teacher, exited the car next to them. “Hi, Mollie.”

  Mollie wanted to speak, but the words log jammed in her throat.

  “Just asked Mollie to marry me.” Lewin put his arm around her waist and squeezed hard enough to hurt.

  Eve beamed. “Hey, congratulations.”

  Mollie tugged out of Lewin’s hold, knowing he wasn’t likely to make a scene in front of Eve, and walked toward the entrance. When they reached it, she looked back to see Lewin staring at her, the happy expression on his face exchanged for a much darker one. He raised his hand and waved. Mollie forced herself to do the same.

  The moment they were inside with the door closed, she caught Eve’s arm. “We’re not getting married. He just asked me in the car and didn’t wait for my answer. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Don’t you want to marry him? He’s such a hunk.”

  “I don’t want to be asked like that. In the school car park? It needs to be over a romantic dinner or something. I’m going to drop a few hints to make sure he does it right.”

  Eve spread gossip like she did butter, smothering it over her toast and baked potato in the school canteen. Mollie knew the chances of her keeping quiet were small.

  “Are you okay?” Eve asked. “You don’t even look pleased it’s the last day of term. What happened to your face?”

  “I fell, but I’m fine. Just worried about Jeremy and the final assembly. You know what havoc he can wreak. He’ll probably decide he ought to be playing the piano and not me.”

  Eve laughed and turned for the staffroom while Mollie continued to her classroom. She felt she ought to tell someone what she planned to do and why, but it was too humiliating. It infuriated her that she was ashamed Lewin had hit her. She imagined what everyone would think and the way they’d look at her, and she felt sick.

  Everything hurt, but now she had to put a smile on her face for the kids and pretend the world was a good place.

  * * * *

  Mollie walked into town at lunchtime. She suspected that Lewin had ways of finding out she’d emptied and closed her account but she had to risk it. The bank might be shut by the time she’d finished today and maybe Lewin had a way of freezing her funds. The sooner she did this, the better. She had to speak to the manager before they’d give her the cash but she walked out with a much lighter heart, and several thousand pounds buried deep at the bottom of her purse.

  At the start of the afternoon session, she gave all her children the little gifts she’d been storing in the cupboard. Puzzle books and crayons. Jeremy gave her a mug saying ‘Don’t Forget Me’.

  “I picked it out myself, Ms. James,” the little blond boy said. “It was that or one that said ‘To the Best Teacher in the World’.”

  Mollie laughed. “You made the right choice. Would you like to do something important for me, Jeremy?”

  He nodded.

  Mollie unfolded the map of the United Kingdom she’d just taken off the wall and spread it out on her desk. She handed him a pin.

  “Stick this anywhere you like.”

  She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the orange pin was in the middle of the North Sea. Oops.

  “One more try, but put it on the land.”

  She turned away and when she looked back, the pin was in a place called Otley in West Yorkshire.

  “Lovely, thank you, Jeremy.”

  “Why did you want me to do that?”

  “I wanted to choose a place for my class to study next term.” She took the pin out, refolded the map and returned it to the cupboard.

  While the kids were outside for their last play session, she wrote her resignation letter and slipped it into her bag. She almost choked up during the final assembly. Her kids behaved perfectly, even Jeremy. They played the drums, cymbals, triangles and maracas, all the easy instruments, while Mollie played the piano. She mouthed the words, fearing she’d break down if she actually sang.

  As we journey on the rocky road,

  On our backs a very heavy load,

  When we stumble, lose our way,

  Help us carry on another day.

  From the old we journey to the new—

  Keep us safe in all we do.

  Give us courage when we’re feeling low.

  Guide us safely on the way to go.

  Keep us loving, kind and good.

  Help us grow up in the way we should.

  From the old we journey to the new—

  Keep us safe in all we do.

  When the children had gone, the classroom walls were clear, chairs were on desks and Mollie’s personal items had either been thrown away or put into her bag, she made her way to the head’s office with her letter. The door was slightly ajar and she was about to knock when she heard Lewin’s voice. He and the head were laughing together. Mollie felt as though she’d stepped into a bath of cold water. She silently backed away and returned to her classroom. Leaving the letter on her desk, she slipped out through an emergency exit at the rear of the school.

  Once she was on the street, she ran as fast as her aches would let her to the main road, expecting to hear the sound of Lewin’s car behind her, but she didn’t. She ought not to have left that letter. If Lewin looked for her in her room, he’d find it. She could have just posted it. Shit. A bus pulled up just ahead and she hopped on board and climbed upstairs. Didn’t matter where it was going.

  Running had sapped her strength. She hurt so much from the beating it had been hard to move quickly, but adrenaline had forced her on. She couldn’t let Lewin catch her. For once her luck was in because the bus was heading to London Bridge. Mollie took out her phone. She’d kept it switched off because she worried about being traced, but she wondered if she should at least tell one person what she was doing. Though once he realized she’d gone, Lewin would speak to everyone she knew and she didn’t want to bring trouble down on anyone else, especially not Jock. She took the SIM card out of the phone and, when she climbed off the bus at London Bridge, she dropped it in a waste bin.

  Her heart was still pounding fast on the train to West Ham, still thudding against her ribs an hour later when she reached Chafford Hundred Station, even though common sense told her she was safe, that no one could possibly know where she was. There might be CCTV cameras everywhere, but how would Lewin know where to look? He’d never guess she’d be heading to Lakeside shopping center.

  It was only a short walk from the station. Mollie had never felt less like shopping in her life, but had no choice. The first thing she did was find a hair salon. As she watched her ash blonde hair fall onto the
floor, she felt better. By the time the guy had finished giving her a pixie cut, she hardly recognized herself.

  Time to get her life back.

  Spending money didn’t come easy, not when all she had in the world was in the bottom of her purse. She looked for bargains and shopped mainly at Primark. She had no job to go back to in September and little chance of a reference even if she took the risk of staying in teaching. She was supposed to give more notice and the head would be furious. Continuing as a teacher would make it easier for Lewin to find her so maybe she was better having a break for a term or so. Maybe she ought to go abroad.

  Part of her thought she was overreacting, that Lewin’s pride wouldn’t let him search for her and he’d let her go. The other part of her believed the opposite, that his pride would force him to keep looking. It was better not to take the risk. She’d disappeared once before. She could do it again.

  She bought an inexpensive wheeled bag to carry her purchases—a couple of dresses, shorts, T-shirts, a sloppy sweater, jacket, sandals, trainers, running gear, jeans, pants, skirt, plain white cotton underwear and one indulgent pretty set, socks and a new SIM card for her phone. As she’d picked out clothes, she felt more like her old self and her mood improved. She even bought a bikini, though it would be a while before she’d feel comfortable wearing one. Basic toiletries and hair dye came from a cheap shop, a reduced pack of sandwiches, a sausage roll and a bottle of water from a baker about to close. Outside the shopping center, she asked a taxi driver to take her to a cheap motel in Upminster. From there she’d find a way to get to Otley.

  Mollie could have afforded to stay somewhere more expensive than the place the cab driver took her to, but she needed to save her money. She’d spent more than she should have on clothes for a summer that would soon end, and she’d need to buy warmer gear for the autumn and winter. Deep down, she suspected she’d never risk returning for the things she’d left behind.

  After combining the hair dye chemicals in the motel bathroom, she slathered the mix on her head using the plastic gloves provided and sat on the bed in her bra and pants to watch TV. But her gaze kept dropping to the bruises that were turning more vivid shades of red. Her left wrist was still swollen. Her ribs ached. Her heart hurt. As she shook, tears began to drip down her cheeks and she angrily brushed them away. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t going to start feeling sorry for herself now. Worse things had happened to her.

  She washed off the gunk, dried her hair, and stared into the mirror at the red-brown color. The short style made her eyes look bigger. The color suited her. She looked different and the thought cheered her. She ate in bed while she watched a romantic comedy Lewin would never have tolerated. He was dangerous. She should have seen it before. She had seen it and not wanted to believe it. She’d done the right thing in leaving, just got the timing wrong.

  Chapter Six

  Every time Flint woke, he hoped for a miracle. He pulled the covers over his head and quietly said his name. “Kint.” Fuck. He couldn’t help trying to speak, but when he blurted a load of rubbish he wondered why he’d bothered. This wasn’t going to be a quick fix. He heard nurses moving around, chatting to each other, laughing, and he was filled with rage. Why me? What the fuck have I done to deserve this?

  He didn’t know much about why strokes happened, but he did know that the reason he couldn’t communicate was because cells in his brain had been damaged. Was it permanent? Temporary? How long would it take for him to get better? What if he never got better? He panicked at the thought of being trapped in his own private world, unable to communicate with anyone except himself. He was going to get very bored, very fast. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  There was a regular diet of visits from Dr. Goldilocks, and a succession of pretty nurses who took his temperature, blood samples and blood pressure. They talked to him and smiled, but he refused to talk back. He definitely wasn’t going to smile. What was the fucking point? When a guy showed him photos of food, Flint assumed he was expected to pick out what he wanted to eat but he closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. He didn’t understand why he was being so fucking awkward, particularly when he ended up with chicken and roast potatoes when he’d have preferred the pasta. Serves me right.

  One of the people who came to see him was a speech therapist, though it did take a lot of miming and drawing on a sketch pad before Flint got what she meant. He didn’t cooperate. He didn’t want therapy, he wanted a miracle. The therapist gave him a notebook and a pencil and Flint deliberately snapped the pencil. The woman sighed and took another from her bag. Flint snapped that too and waited to see what she’d do. She put ten pencils on the bed and he slumped against his pillow. He knew his anger and frustration had sent him sliding into a deep black hole and he didn’t care. He just wanted things back the way they were.

  Left on his own, he paced his room, exercising his weaker side, doing stretches and lunges, though not many before he was exhausted. He had nothing else to do. He couldn’t read or watch TV. He wanted and yet didn’t want to see anyone. He’d been made to understand he had a long road to recovery ahead, one that might never make him what he used to be. Desperate to understand everything, that was one thing he didn’t want to understand. More than once he threw the notepad across the room and snapped another pencil.

  He wished he was dead. He had a horrible feeling he was going to keep wishing that until it happened.

  * * * *

  Flint was curled up in bed the next morning when Ryker arrived.

  “Plow hou gour weg?” Ryker asked.

  Flint pressed his lips together and shrugged. No point trying to say anything. But when Ryker unzipped the bag he’d brought and took out pants and shirt, Flint sat up. He pointed at himself and Ryker nodded. Oh God, I can go home? He flung back the covers and pulled on his clothes. It took him three goes to get the buttons done up properly on the shirt but finally he managed it.

  Dr. Goldilocks came in, shook his hand, talked to Ryker and smiled at Flint. Flint liked her, but he never wanted to see her again. He still didn’t quite believe he’d been sprung until he was smuggled out of a rear entrance into the back of a vehicle with tinted rear windows driven by Max, Ryker’s chauffeur. As Flint watched London recede into the distance, he sighed with relief, though he did wonder where Ryker was taking him. Not to his home or Ryker’s.

  Flint assumed recovery was now up to him and his body. Nothing more the medics could do. Which worried him. He’d been discharged with a supply of tablets and drawings of exercises he needed to do. How were they going to bring his voice back?

  Ryker opened up his iPad and showed Flint a photo of a large stone house.

  “Tis air whool ive.” Ryker pointed to Flint and pointed to the house.

  Flint guessed he was staying there.

  The next screenshot was a photograph of a tall, attractive woman in her thirties standing in a kitchen. Right, my cook? Flint nodded. The next was of a big bruiser of a guy with a crew cut. My minder? Then an oriental-looking man in a garden. Okay, the gardener. If he’d been able to speak, he’d have made a joke, asking for the picture of the hooker. The next photo was of a gray-haired geezer with a goatee. Alongside him was a moving image of a mouth opening and closing. Ryker pointed to Flint’s mouth and throat. Speech therapist. By a series of mimes and switches between photos Flint understood that the cook and minder would be living in the cottage next to the house. The gardener came twice a week. The speech therapist would visit every morning.

  For how long? But Flint had no way of asking and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  Chapter Seven

  Mollie traveled to Leeds by train, her heart aching. She felt as if she were leaving an earlier version of Lewin, the one who rubbed her back when she’d been on her feet all day, or tickled her until she fell out of bed. But when her hand crept to her face and she touched the place that was sore, old Lewin faded to a distant memory.

  She found a café with Wi-Fi in the station and settled down wit
h a cheese sandwich and a drink. She had no idea how large Otley would be and it seemed unwise to turn up expecting to find a cheap hotel. If she couldn’t sort out any accommodation today, she’d stay in Leeds.

  As she began searching for places to rent, she realized she’d be expected to sign a six month contract and didn’t want to do that. Whatever job she ended up doing could be anywhere in the country, or even out of the country. She changed her search criteria and checked out holiday lets, the advantage being that they’d be fully furnished and kitted out so she wouldn’t have to buy much apart from food, the disadvantage being the cost. But she only needed somewhere small and most places were geared up for at least two adults and two kids. Once she had a feel for the price, she called letting agents in Otley, only to be greeted with amusement at the idea of her finding anywhere right at the start of the summer holidays.

  “Booked up since last year,” one woman said.

  “Nothing available until late September,” said another.

  So it went on, until finally, she struck lucky.

  “We have a small cottage that’s just become available,” said a guy. “I’ve not even had time to put it online yet. It’s actually someone’s permanent home but they’ve gone abroad for two months. They’re keen to rent it out to cover their mortgage.”

  “Two months would be brilliant.” Perfect. Though she gulped at the price.

  “You can move straight in, provided you meet our criteria.”

  Mollie didn’t want to ask what they were. The instant availability made it too attractive to turn down even if it was more than she’d wanted to pay.

  “It sounds great,” she said. “I’ll take it.”

  She heard the guy suck in a breath at the other end of the phone. “You haven’t even seen it. Would you like me to email photos?”

  “No need. I’m in Leeds. I’ll come straight to your office. I’d like to move in today.”