After Anna

by Alex Lake

  ‘You’re awake,’ Edna said. ‘Good.’

  Julia shook her head. She tried to speak, but the gag meant that the only noise she could make was a stifled moan. She stared at Edna, opening her eyes wide in supplication.

  ‘Well,’ Edna said. ‘I have to say it’s a shame it had to come to this.’ She lifted a syringe to eye level. It was gripped between her forefingers, her thumb on the plunger. ‘It needn’t have happened. If only Anna hadn’t remembered the doll’s house.’ She shook her head slowly, regretfully. ‘I didn’t think she would, but even I make mistakes.’

  So it was her. Even though Julia had held no further doubts about who had taken Anna, it was still a shock to hear her say it.

  ‘So here we are,’ Edna said, then smiled. ‘The end of the road. It’s probably a mercy for you, in the long run. Your life was shaping up to be pretty miserable, after all.’

  Julia shook her head as hard as she could, trying to get a message to Edna. It doesn’t have to end like this. It doesn’t.

  Edna sighed.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I understand your regret. But you can’t change this, Julia. It’s too far gone now. How could I let you go? I have too much to lose. You’d tell the police.’

  Julia shook her head again. I won’t, I promise.

  ‘You say that now, but when you get out you’ll fill up with thoughts of revenge and bitterness and the next thing I know the constabulary will be here and I’ll be hauled off to the dock. I don’t blame you. I’d do the same thing. And knowing that, I can hardly let you walk away from here, can I? You see that, don’t you Julia? This has to happen. I didn’t intend it, but now it’s inevitable.’

  Julia shook her head. It was all she could do, her only hope. And it was patently not working.

  Edna’s face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘It was so nearly perfect, wasn’t it? Anna went missing for a while – but she was safe, here with me – then – pop – she was home again. Brian and I got custody, Anna’s welfare was assured, and you went off to do whatever you would have done.’

  Julia shook her head again. This time it was not assent: she meant no, Anna’s welfare was not assured. Anna’s welfare was ruined.

  ‘So I suppose I ought to tell you the plan,’ Edna said. ‘It’s a good one.’ She smiled. ‘I’m going to knock you out with this—’ she held up the syringe, ‘and then we’ll drive your car to a place I know, a place Jim used to take me, where the Mersey empties into Liverpool Bay. It’s a fast tide out there, and anything caught in it will go miles out into the Irish Sea. All they’ll ever find of you is your car, an empty whisky bottle with your saliva and fingerprints on it, and an empty jar of sleeping pills. And if your body does show up, it’ll be so damaged by the fish that will have been treating it as a welcome free meal; no one will ever know the difference. A suicide. Open and shut.’

  Edna smiled.

  ‘But your body won’t show up,’ she said. ‘It’s a tried and tested method. Jim and his girlfriend went that way and they were never found.’

  Julia’s eyes widened. She’d killed Jim? Any hope that remained ebbed away. Edna was a serial killer, and she’d murdered her husband. If she would do that, then there was no way she would baulk at doing the same to her.

  ‘You look surprised,’ Edna said. ‘I wonder that you never guessed. I always thought someone might. It was obvious, really, but then people don’t guess. Same as my mother. Of course, Mum was nearly gone anyway. That was a mercy killing. Euthanasia. Jim, though – he had years left in him – but I let him humiliate me like that. It was a good excuse to get rid of him, as well. He drove me mad, did you know that? He drove me absolutely fucking insane. No ambition. Happy to be a headmaster. He had so much ability; so much charisma and wisdom. He could have gone into politics; become an MP, a minister. Prime Minister, even, but all he wanted to do was run that school. It was his life. I wondered for a while whether he was a pederast, unnaturally attracted to children, that kind of thing, but I don’t think he was. I think he was happy to waste his life on them.’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t bear to see it.’

  She was, Julia saw, even more insane than she had thought. She killed her husband for not becoming Prime Minister? If that was normal then there wouldn’t be too many men left in Britain. There’d be John Major, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, and David Cameron. Jesus. Not much of a selection. She’d almost prefer to stay with Brian.

  ‘I mean, he just needed to show a bit more damned backbone, a bit more spine. See the opportunity and grab it. A bit like I’m doing now. Unfortunately, he passed his lethargy onto Brian. It won’t happen to Anna, though. She’s going to go far, that girl.’

  The problem with Edna was that she was utterly convinced of the rightness of her cause, a conviction that put her above the law. That was the root of her madness: she did not think she was a normal person, did not believe the normal rules applied to her. It made her look down on everybody else, made her believe they were worthless, disposable.

  As far as Edna was concerned it was ok to euthanize her mother because Edna thought it was ok. Never mind that, if everybody flouted the rules, there would be chaos – Edna would happily admit it. But she’d also claim the problem was that not everyone could be trusted to make good decisions, but she could, and so she would.

  As for Julia? No problem. Anna had to be with Edna; Julia was an obstacle; Julia had to be removed. Simple.

  And there was nothing Julia could do to stop it. Edna was going to slip the needle under her skin and then darkness would come, and it would all be over.

  Not for Anna, though. For her the nightmare would just be getting started.

  ‘Right,’ Edna said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ She smiled a lopsided, crazy smile. ‘Although aren’t you going to ask how I did it? Why I did it? You can’t, of course, because of the gag, but I know you’re dying to find out.’ The smile widened. ‘Get that little pun? Dying to find out? You will be soon, Julia.’

  Edna looked reflectively at the ceiling, then back at her daughter-in-law. ‘I have to say it was a brilliant plan,’ she said. ‘I thought of it on the spur of the moment. It came to me, just like that. I’d been wondering what to do about the divorce since Brian told me what you planned; wondering how to stop you taking my granddaughter from me. I couldn’t let that happen, Julia. Anna has great potential. I couldn’t let you ruin it by allowing her to go to some dismal comprehensive school where second-rate teachers would turn her into a hairdresser or beautician, or, at best, a small-town lawyer like her mother. She can be like me, Julia. She can be great. But you would not allow that, and I could not stand by while you turned her into a mediocrity. You must see that, even if it is hard to take.’

  Julia shook her head violently. She did not see, not at all. Edna just sighed.

  ‘This is exactly the problem,’ she said. ‘You just don’t get it. Anyway, I knew I had to do something, but I had no idea what. And then you called.’ She put on a high-pitched, whining voice. ‘Edna, I’m so busy at work, I can’t pick up my daughter. Can you do it? Can you help me?’ Edna shook her head. ‘And in that moment I had it. The solution. I’d take Anna, then watch, as you took the blame for being a negligent mother; a blame that I would make sure fell squarely on you. You didn’t realize I knew about Twitter, did you? Most of the early tweets about you were from accounts I set up so that I could get the ball rolling. Once it started it had a life of its own, but I gave it the initial push.’

  Edna was glowing with pride, and Julia could see she had no idea that what she had done was in any way wrong or crazy or weird. All she could see was how smart she’d been.

  ‘You’re probably wondering how I took Anna,’ Edna went on. ‘How I took her from under the noses of all those people? It was quite easy, actually. I arrived a few minutes early and sat on a bench – you may have seen it? – about sixty yards up the road from the school. When Anna came out, I stood up and caught her eye and beckoned to her, and she just trotted over to me. The b
est part of the plan was that, if someone had seen me, I could simply say I had come to pick up Anna; after all, you had called earlier in the day asking for help. They all knew me, so there was no risk. It’s not like I would be caught with someone else’s kid. I would be with my own granddaughter, and what could be wrong with that? All I needed was a bit of luck to ensure Anna was not seen, and then she was mine. Beautiful, no?’

  ‘Of course, I didn’t know that you would attack Brian, or take the sleeping pills, but even without those incidents –which were perfect, by the way, the exact things I needed – I would have found a way to get what I wanted.’ She shook her head. ‘It was all done, Julia, but then, at the last minute, you had to ruin it. Anyway, that’s enough chit-chat. It’s time to close this chapter once and for all.’

  She put her thumb and index finger on Julia’s neck and smoothed out her skin. She was wearing surgical gloves, Julia realized, careful to the last. Then Edna leaned forward and looked carefully at the target area, the syringe raised to the level of her cheek. Her face was dispassionate, professional, medical.

  Julia tried to move away, tried to lift herself into the foot and a half of space above her head, the only place she could go, but Edna pushed her down onto the hard floor of the priest’s hole.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said, the habits of her bedside manner incongruously surfacing. ‘Relax.’

  And then there was a knock on the door.

  Edna paused.

  The knock came again, louder, the metal door knocker banging on the plate.

  Edna flushed with anger. She lowered the syringe. Julia heard the snap of plastic as she pulled off the surgical gloves.

  ‘Damn,’ she said, then slammed the door shut. ‘Back soon.’

  iv.

  There are not many moments in life when there is absolute clarity. Go left, go right? Leave your husband, try to make it work? Sleep / don’t sleep with a married man? Not clear at all. Even things that might be obvious – especially in hindsight – like don’t be late to pick up your daughter are not totally clear cut. Events intercede, meetings run over, phones die. The thing is that you never really know what the consequences of your actions or inactions will be. Unless you act on gut instinct – which many of us do, much of the time – you have to weigh things in the balance, try and think your way through the maze of possible outcomes.

  Not now.

  Now, Julia knew exactly what she had to do.

  She had to get out of here or she was going to die.

  This was her chance, the only one she would get, and if she didn’t take it, Edna would come back with her needle and Julia would end up at the bottom of the Irish Sea.

  She heard a loud, low creak, which she recognized as the front door opening. The top hinge needed oil. It had been like that for a while. Julia thought Edna hadn’t fixed it because she liked the impression it gave; it sounded like the door in a Transylvanian Castle, opened by a humpbacked butler called Igor.

  Then Edna’s voice: Hello. To what do I owe this pleasure? Is everything ok?

  Another voice, indistinct, but familiar. A woman’s voice.

  Julia had to do something, which meant she had to get her hands free. She arched her back, then pushed one hand under her buttocks. She sat down to trap it, then tried to pull her other hand free.

  The rope bit into the flesh of her hand. She pulled harder. The pain worsened and she felt a warm liquid run over her knuckles. Blood. She relaxed, then yanked as hard as she could. The pain was immense; it felt like someone was sawing a knife into her hand, yet her hand had barely moved. The rope was still tied tight around her wrists.

  She paused, and listened. The voice came again. Julia recognized it, recognized the Liverpool accent.

  It was Gill. Somehow, Gill was here. Julia tried to call out, but the bit in her mouth choked her.

  Edna: She’s not here. She came yesterday, but I haven’t heard from her since.

  Then a man’s voice. Deep, steady: Mike Sherry. They had come looking for her. Of course; she’d invited Julia to meet her on Sunday night – last night – for Thai food and a glass of wine. Gill had three-month-old twins, Wilfie and Teddie, and leaving her sons was a bit of an operation, so Julia had declined. She didn’t want to be a burden, and she knew Gill was only doing it because she knew Julia would not want to be alone. But Gill insisted, and Julia, if she was honest, was glad to let her. She was grateful that her friend was looking out for her. She knew she would need it.

  And now they were here, looking for her. Gill would have known Julia would not miss their meal unless something was wrong; she would have called, and got no answer. On Monday morning she would have tried the office, and found that Julia was not there either, maybe spoken to Mike, who would have told her Julia went to Edna’s on Sunday. And then she would have become really worried, fearful that Julia had maybe done something stupid, alone and depressed after dropping off her daughter. She would have decided to look for her friend, and the first place you always looked was in the last place you knew something or someone had been.

  Which was Edna’s house.

  Edna: Oh. That’s a worry. Did you try her house?

  Gill’s reply, muffled.

  Would you like to come in? Have a drink? Talk through where she might be?

  Edna sounded perfectly composed. She was even managing to sound concerned. It was amazing. She had her daughter-in-law trussed up in a priest’s hole in her living room, and was planning to sedate her then dump her body in the mouth of the Mersey River, a place from which she’d have to get home without a car, although she’d have a plan for that. A bus to a place with a station. Change of clothes into something smart. Train, then taxi home.

  She had all that going on, yet she could chat calmly, as though it was just another day. Wasn’t that what characterized a psychopath, that kind of chilling, emotionless distance from the world around them?

  So Edna was a psychopath. Or a sociopath. Or a something or other. Whatever – it just made it all the more imperative she get out of here. She yanked her hand again. No change from last time: agony, and no progress. She could feel that the rope had dug into her hand, tearing the flesh apart, but it could not get over the bones at the widest part. It was stuck. Those tiny, thin bones in her hand were going to be the difference between life and death.

  Edna: Well, if anything comes up, I’ll call you.

  A pause.

  Let me write it down. I’ll put it by the phone.

  Gill talking, staccato. A string of numbers. Her phone number, for Edna to call if she saw Julia. Fat chance of that phone call ever happening.

  Then the Transylvanian creak of the door hinge as the front door swung shut. Igor was coming back, syringe at the ready.

  Julia pulled her hand back, twisting it from side to side, trying to saw through it with the rope. The blood was all over her hand now, but none of it made any difference. Her hand was stuck, and she was as good as dead. The rope was never going over the damned bone. Who’d have thought that those bones where your wrist thickens out into your hand would be the difference between life and death? She didn’t even know what they were called and they were going to kill her.

  Unless.

  There was one thing she could try, but it was almost unthinkable. She wasn’t sure she could do it.

  And perhaps she wouldn’t have been able to do it, if it was only to save herself.

  But she had to save Anna as well, and that made everything possible.

  v.

  Julia arched her back again. She rotated her torso so that the hand she was trying to free was under the hard bone of her hip.

  Then she lifted her hip off the ground and slammed herself down onto the hand as hard as she could.

  She had once watched a documentary with Brian about a commercial fisherman out alone on his boat who’d got his hand stuck in the winch that hauled in the long lines. It was a slow moving winch, and it gradually sucked in his hand. The man took his knife from his belt and sawed
off his own hand. It was that, or die. Afterwards, he said he got the idea from the glue traps used to catch mice. The mice become stuck to the glue and slowly dehydrate. Sometimes, they are so desperate to escape that they gnaw off their own foot and limp away, easy prey for the cruel world they inhabit. Obviously, mice have no concept of death; they operate on pure instinct, and it was like that, he said. He felt like the mice. If you’d asked him beforehand whether he would cut off his own hand to save his life, he would have answered with reference to weighing up the value of his hand versus his life, but in the moment he had not thought that. He had just done it, like an animal would. Like mice do.

  He hadn’t thought it would be possible to do if you thought about it too much.

  And Julia agreed.

  She was no longer acting rationally, or, at least, not only rationally. Yes, the rational part of her was there, observing, but it was not in the driver’s seat. That was occupied by instinct. By the animal part of her, and it lifted her up again, then slammed her down again.

  Her hand was perpendicular to her hip, so the force was concentrated on the bone she wanted to break, and break it did, with a loud crack like a twig being snapped underfoot. She slammed herself on it again, and then again. Each time she felt the bones crumble further.

  Finally, she positioned her hand under her hip and squeezed it against the floor. She felt the shape of it change, felt it deform, flatten into something new, and not like a hand.

  She put the thought from her mind and pulled.

  Her hand and the rope were slick with blood. She felt the bones give and move under the compression of the rope. She gasped in pain then she pulled some more and then some more and then her hand was free and limp and dangling and hurting so goddam much.