Best Eaten Cold: The stunning new psychological thriller you won't be able to put down.

by Tony Salter

  I did my best to ignore it and found a simple routine which worked for a while. Timing it carefully and not allowing myself to cheat, I would first sit for five minutes looking at the image of my mother on the phone, willing my thoughts to reach her. The messages I tried to send were a confused mix of begging her to help me, apologising for letting her down and raw feelings of loss and missed opportunities.

  After sitting with her for five minutes, I would get up and walk – slowly – around the room, looking through the cupboards again and peering out at the empty bathroom before returning to the bed and starting again.

  It wasn't much, but it gave me something to help fight the fear and the desperate sense of foolishness which were telling me to give in to my emotions, to scream and to shout and to smash my head against the wall.

  I'd been locked in for less than two hours when I saw them.

  Completing my routine for the tenth time with a cursory look at the empty bathroom, I saw that it wasn't empty any more. Two men were inside, looking around. They weren't wearing uniform but, even blown up and distorted by my fishy eyes, they looked a lot like policemen.

  My heart leapt. They'd sent people to rescue me. Julie must have had second thoughts and told them. I shouted as loudly as I could and banged my fist against the door. Surely they could hear me?

  One of them walked towards me. He can't have been more than three or four feet away. I shouted and banged again, but all he did was to turn sideways, suck in his doughnut-filled belly and throw back his shoulders in a classic male self-deceiving mirror pose.

  'Help. In here.' I was screaming now, smashing both hands against the steel of the door.

  He turned and walked over to his friend who was poking through Julie's things with the absent-minded nonchalance of the professional voyeur.

  'Oi! Help. I'm in here.' I kicked at the door as hard as I could and felt a sharp stab of pain as something broke in my foot.

  Neither of them even flinched and I watched them saunter out of the room. It wasn't their first wild goose chase and they hadn't expected to find anything anyway.

  This couldn't be happening. I screamed and shouted, smashed my bruised and bleeding hands against the door again and again, but no-one came.

  That was it. I was going to die. No-one would get here in time. I sank to the floor in a heap, breathing hard, legs like jelly and tiredness wrapping me in its soft blanket.

  Was it really going to end like this? Was Julie going to kill me as well? I wasn't even as old as my mother had been.

  And that bitch was going to mosey off into the sunset again.

  I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been for hours. My phone was on the bed and it was too much effort to drag myself over and check the time.

  I was breathing fast now, panting like a dog on a hot summer's day. The carbon dioxide levels must be getting high. The pain in my foot and hands had been replaced by a ripping headache which was threatening to make me vomit and the room had begun to shimmer and dissolve in flashes of light. I was sure that none of these things were good signs.

  The flashes were accompanied by a dull rumbling sound which became louder as the seconds passed. I remember thinking that it might be important but I couldn't imagine what it was or where it came from. It was so hard to concentrate. My thoughts were dancing mayflies; no sooner had they dipped into my consciousness than they swooped up and away again.

  The rumbling was deep and soporific and I thought I could hear my mother's voice calling to me as I sank slowly into the blue blackness of the floor. At least I would be able to meet her at last.

  Roll Away the Stone

  May 28th 2015

  I had a dream last night. I dreamt I was Jesus rising from the dead.

  There was silent darkness.

  A bass rumbling filled the silence and cracks of light appeared, splintering the darkness shard by shard.

  A hand reached through the circle of light and helped me to stand and make my way out into the brightness of day.

  The hooded figure then bent and heaved the stone back into place before walking away and leaving me standing alone, blinking in the sunlight.

  I needed more air. I needed more air.

  There was something blocking my mouth and throat. I tried to reach up to pull it out, but couldn't move my hands. I shook my head from side to side trying to free it, but it wouldn't budge.

  I needed more air.

  'Mr Blackwell?'

  I could see a woman's face leaning over me. It wasn't my mother. Brown hair, brown eyes, blue paper hat – I was in a hospital. It appeared that I wasn't dead.

  'Mr Blackwell. Nod gently if you can hear me,' said the voice.

  I nodded.

  'Good. Now I want you to stay calm and listen carefully. OK?'

  Another nod.

  'My name is Susan Miller. I'm your nurse. Everything's fine, but we needed to put a tube in your throat to help you breathe. Do you understand?'

  My mind was beginning to function again and I'd seen enough hospital dramas to know what intubation was. I nodded.

  'You tried to pull it out a couple of times while you were unconscious, so we had to restrain you. I'm going to take it out now. It will be a little uncomfortable, but only for a few seconds. Is that all right?'

  I nodded several times.

  'I'll count to three and, on the count of three, I want you to breathe out as hard as you can. One, two, three ...'

  It wasn't pleasant, but the sensation of being back in control of my breathing was fabulous. I lay there for a long time taking in long, deep breaths of clean air and didn't even notice her removing my wrist restraints.

  'Do you want to try speaking?' she said, eventually. 'Your throat will feel a little sore, but you should be able to talk.'

  'Where am I?' I croaked.

  'You're in the Chelsea and Westminster hospital,' she replied. 'You've been here since Tuesday morning. You came in with severe hypercapnia, which is carbon dioxide poisoning. You were unconscious so we elected to put you into a chemically-induced coma while we ran tests and allowed your body to recover. But don't worry, you're going to be fine.'

  'Thank you,' I said. 'I don't feel fine. Every part of me aches in some way. Could I have some water please.'

  'Of course,' she said, handing me a paper cup of water. 'Now, there are some people outside who've been waiting to see you for two days. I'll go and get them.'

  The water trickling down my throat was wonderful.

  First in was Dad, pushing ahead and reaching to take my face in his hands.

  'Thank God,' he said. 'You're OK. We were so worried.'

  'Yeah. I seem to be fine. It's good to see you old man.' My throat was hurting and I was the one with the nursing home voice.

  'You wouldn't have been fine if the police had arrived any later. What were you bloody thinking, you idiot?'

  'I clearly wasn't. Things didn't exactly go as planned. I'm sorry, Dad.'

  'You were lucky to have a friend in Uncle Daz. He was the hero of the day. Without him, you'd be dead.'

  Daz was lurking in the background, trying – and failing – to look small. He stepped forward and stood by the bed, hands clasped, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

  'Not sure about the hero bit,' he said, mumbling through his beard. 'It was all my fault in the first place. I shouldn't have let you do it. If we hadn't got you out in time ...'

  'But we did. Apparently you did, and thank you. Anyway, I made my own decisions. I'm not fourteen any more.'

  'But I was the one who understood Jax,' he said. 'I should've known better.'

  'Whatever,' I said. 'Don't beat yourself up about it. We were all trying to do what we thought was the right thing. You saved my life, for Christ's sake.'

  'So, tell us what happened,' asked my dad.

  I could feel the terror rising in my throat and it was only the sight of those familiar, kind faces that stopped me from screaming out loud. 'Can we leave that until later?' I sai
d. 'I don't want to talk about it yet ... Tell me how you found me.'

  'Of course,' said my dad. 'We can talk about it whenever you're ready.'

  'I'll keep it brief,' said Daz. 'You look like you're wiped out anyway.' He took a deep breath. 'When you didn't show up at the cafe, I knew something was wrong and guessed Jax would be making a move. I took a punt she'd be keeping her escape bag at Kings Cross like in the old days and went there to wait for her. I rang Liz on the way and she arranged for a couple of plods to go to the flat and look for you. Fat lot of good they were!'

  I shivered as I thought about the moment when the two policemen had walked nonchalantly out of the bathroom.

  'Anyway,' Daz continued. 'I was lucky and leopards don't change their spots. Jax still used the same place and I spotted her coming out of the Ladies – new face, new hair, new crappy clothes. It was lucky you showed me those recent photos of Julie.'

  'So, what did you do?'

  'I followed her and dragged her into an underground car park. She said she didn't know where you were, but I knew she was lying. I swear I nearly bashed her brains out there and then.'

  I almost laughed out loud. My ordeal hadn't been wasted. Julie hadn't got away.

  'That's amazing,' I said. 'Do the police have her under arrest.'

  'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I let her go.'

  'You did what,' I squeaked. 'Why?'

  'She gave me a choice,' Daz shrugged. 'Your life or her freedom.' Were those tears in his eyes? 'I chose you.'

  I smiled as I imagined how much it must have cost him to let her walk away.

  'Thanks Daz. Good choice.' I said, reaching out my bandaged hand to squeeze his arm.

  The three of us were silent for a while as we took stock. Daz was the first one to speak.

  'I went with your dad to meet up with DS Liz,' he said. 'She said they might get something on the tracker at some point, depending on where Jax turns up and whether she's still got it, but it's extremely unlikely unless there's an active arrest warrant in force. The DNA may or may not be useful but, without the phone, she doubts that they'll get an international arrest warrant anyway, let alone a conviction.'

  'So she wins again?' I said.

  'Looks like it,' Daz said. 'It seems like she always will.'

  I looked at the two of them standing there and thought about everything Julie had done to our family. It wasn't right that she should get away with it. As I shovelled coal into the furnace of righteous indignation, my fuddled brain exploded into life.

  'Wait a minute,' I said. 'Could one of you call the nurse?'

  Dad went out and came back a few seconds later with Nurse Miller.

  'Do you need something?' she asked me.

  'Yes. Have you got the leather jacket I was wearing when you brought me in?'

  'Of course. It's right here.' She opened the cupboard door, took out my jacket and handed it to me. 'Here you are.'

  I reached into the pocket and there it was. Right where I'd put it.

  'Sorry,' I said, pulling out the phone. 'My brain wasn't working. I'd already swapped the phones by the time Julie came back. She's got the dummy.'

  The sight of the phone stripped ten years off both Daz and my dad.

  'You beauty,' said Daz in his best Aussie accent. 'That changes things completely. Let me get this to the police straight away. I'll see you guys later.'

  He took the phone and left, shooing the nurse ahead of him.

  Which left me and my dad. His eyes were sad as he looked down on me and the enormity of recent events loomed over us like a pregnant storm cloud.

  'Why didn't you come to me?' he asked, finally breaking the silence.

  I'd been dreading that question. I had my reasons, but hadn't wanted to spell them out.

  'You know why,' I replied. 'First of all, I thought Daz would know more about Jax than you and then, when I found the phone, I was sure there was more to Mum's death than everyone thought.'

  '... That doesn't really explain why you didn't speak to me.'

  'Yes it does,' I said. 'You told me why you'd never read the diaries and I knew this would tear open that wound. I wanted to be sure of my facts first.'

  'But I'm your dad. I'm supposed to be here to look after you,' he said. 'You shouldn't have to worry about me ... Not for a few years yet I'm hoping.'

  'Well, you're no spring chicken,' I said, managing half a smile. 'It won't be long.'

  The brief moment of levity didn't last and Dad's lips were pressed tightly together as he pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. 'Do you seriously believe Jax was involved in what was happening to your mum?'

  'I'm certain of it,' I said. 'I don't know how exactly, but I can't see any other reason why she installed the software on Mum's phone. God knows how she got hold of the phone in the first place.'

  'But she didn't admit anything to you?'

  'What, before she locked me in a box and switched off the air? No. I asked her, but she ignored me. She did admit that keeping the phone was a mistake though.'

  'I guess we'll know more when they've finished analysing it?'

  'I hope so.' I said.

  My dad stood up. 'Look, I need to go home for a bit. I've not had a shower for two days and I could use a change of clothes. I'll be back soon.'

  'No problem. I'm pretty knackered to be honest.'

  'It's wonderful to see you back in the world of the living. I couldn't stand watching you lying there with all those tubes and thinking about what might have happened.'

  'Trust me. It's good to be back.' I looked up at him. 'Dad ...?'

  'Don't worry boy. I know you think I'm going to beat myself up about my failure to trust your mother. Well, I'm not going to. Maybe I will at some point but, for now, I'm going to wait until we know more. OK?'

  'OK. Good. See you in a bit.'

  Redemption

  June 1st 2015

  The days seem to be blurring together now. Accelerating towards something unknown. Every moment is touched with inevitability and my life is no longer my own.

  But I haven't forgotten my promise to Sam.

  Whatever happens to me, I'll watch over him. I made him a promise on the day he was born and I'll keep it.

  I was out of hospital two days later and went to stay with Dad and Granny. Where else could I go? I had nowhere to live and no job. I was going to have to start my life over at some point but, right then, I didn't have the energy to think about it.

  The headaches were slowly getting better, although my recovery was taking too long and I was worried about the amount of painkillers I was taking. When I wasn't doubled up in pain, I felt like I was walking on a trampoline.

  The nightmares weren't getting better at all. Every night, often two or three times, I would wake up to soaking sheets, forehead clammy and cold, pulse racing and breath coming in short, panicky bursts.

  It was the same dream every time. I was back in the safe room, peering out of the spyhole, knowing I was out of air but transfixed by the sight of the two men who'd come to save me. A surge of relief would lift me up like a surfer's wave, high and strong until I suddenly realised they couldn't hear me and didn't know I was there.

  The wave of elation would disappear from under me but, for an instant, I knew how to fly. It was a dream within a dream and reality quickly dropped me hard onto the scouring sand to be pounded down by the heavy, roiling waters, spinning over and over until I would snap awake, screaming out loud, dripping wet and with my eyes stretched wide and staring into nothing.

  I was up early and went down to the kitchen. No-one else was awake, but it didn't matter; the room was a sanctuary filled with a lifetime of happy memories. I put the kettle on and sat down to read yesterday's paper, my heart still pounding in my chest and the metallic taste of fear lingering on in my spearmint mouth.

  It was only a few minutes before Granny appeared, standing beside my chair. She didn't make noise any more – she simply appeared.

  'D'you want a cup of tea, Grann
y.'

  'Yes, that would be lovely. An Earl Grey please.'

  We sat sipping our teas in the morning quiet, the silence occasionally punctuated by squabbling jackdaws.

  'Difficult night?' said Granny eventually.

  I nodded in reply.

  'We were all so worried,' she continued. 'When you were missing, and then afterwards in the hospital. It was as though it was all happening over again. I thought we were going to lose you.'

  'Well, to be fair, Gran, I thought you were too. They only just got to me in time.'

  'It doesn't bear thinking about,' she said, gazing out through the French windows and into the garden. When she turned back to face me, the look on her face had changed – she looked sad, but serious and determined as well.

  'What is it?' I said. 'What's wrong?'

  'We've never talked properly about your mother, have we?'

  'No, I suppose not.' I said, thinking about all of the terrible things which my mum had said about my grandmother in her diaries. 'Dad and I talked about her a lot, though.'

  'I would like to now if you don't mind. Bear with me if I ramble on.'

  'Of course.'

  'It was a long time ago and it's not easy,' she said, pursing her lips and sitting straight up in her chair. 'Fabiola was a wonderful girl. Beautiful, clever and totally charming when she wanted to be. She loved your father very much. And you, of course.

  'She and I never really hit it off, unfortunately. I tried hard, and I think she tried too, but there was something about me that always threw her on the defensive. Part of it was related to class – she thought I was an awful snob, and I probably was – but that wasn't everything. I think she felt a need to compete with me for Rupert's affections. It probably would have been much easier if we'd lived further away.'