The Millionaire's Wife

by Shalini Boland

  ‘You know? How do you know? Is she with you? You should have told us. Oh thank God!’ I hear him tell my mother the news that I know where Olivia is. ‘We went to check on her before going to sleep, and her bed – it was empty! We didn’t call you straightaway because we didn’t want to worry you. But when we couldn’t find her . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, wishing I could take my own advice.

  ‘So? Where is she?’

  ‘Fin’s got her.’

  There’s a pause, and then: ‘Oh no. Not him. Is she safe?’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m on my way to fetch her.’

  ‘You know where she is? I’ll call the police.’

  ‘No!’ I cry, attracting the attention of an airport cleaner who’s emptying a nearby bin. I lower my voice. ‘No, you mustn’t do that. Don’t worry, I’m going to get her.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘You have to trust me, Pappa.’

  ‘That boy! Your mother was right about him all along.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply.

  ‘Where are you, Anna?’

  ‘Heathrow Airport.’

  ‘You’re not even in Sweden?’

  ‘It’s okay. Livi will be asleep now. Fin won’t hurt her.’ I say this to reassure my parents, wishing I could believe it.

  ‘What time’s your flight?’

  ‘6.40 am. I’ll go straight to get her once we’ve landed. You should both get some sleep now. I’ll call you once I’ve got Livi back.’

  ‘Where’s he taken her?’

  ‘A cabin near Växbo.’

  ‘That’s not too far. Why don’t I drive up there? I can be there before you. I’ll have stern words with that boy. He must have broken into the flat. I don’t know how.’

  ‘No, please, Pappa. It’ll be better if I go. He’ll listen to me.’

  But I’m not at all convinced that he will.

  ~

  The business-class section of the plane is almost full, but I have a spacious, grey window seat, a private cocoon where I can lean back on the padded chair and stretch my legs. It’s still dark out on the runway, but soon the sun will rise and today will begin. A day to end things . . . one way or another.

  It’s a short flight – only two and a half hours – so I should really try to get some sleep. I’ll need every ounce of energy once I get there. I’ll need a sharp brain, quick reactions. But I’m too wired, my mind buzzing with thoughts, images, pain, regret, simmering terror . . .

  Instead of closing my eyes, I reach forward for my handbag and pull out Sian’s phone. I open up the video, watching it with the sound down. At least Olivia seems content, playing with her doll, unaware of the situation she’s in. But Fin isn’t used to dealing with young children. She’s only two and a half. She needs a bedtime story and a lullaby to get her to sleep. What if she gets upset, starts crying? Will Fin know how to soothe her? Will he become frustrated? Shout at her? Scare her? Hurt her? She needs her grandparents. No. She needs me.

  Even though I told him to stay behind, I suddenly wish Will was here, telling me everything is going to be okay, giving me courage, his comforting presence by my side, my hand in his. A sob escapes my lips and I turn it into a cough in case anyone notices my distress. I don’t need any sympathy from strangers – that would tip me over the edge. Instead, I focus on my outrage at Sian’s betrayal. On Bo’s murder. On all the shit I’ve been dragged into by my ex and my so-called best friend. On the growing heat in my stomach, spreading to my limbs and causing a fire behind my eyes. I focus on my rapidly forming plan.

  ~

  Hours later, I’m driving north in an olive-green hired Jeep to the forest lakes of Hälsingland, the early afternoon sun hanging low in a pale, blue sky. The empty roads are thick with brown slush, but pristine snow coats the grass verges and frosts the towering fir trees which line my route. The radio weather report forecasts more snowfall tonight and temperatures of up to minus 20 degrees Celsius. I shiver at the thought, thankful Fin didn’t take Livi further north where the cold is even more severe.

  Before leaving Stockholm this morning, I texted Will to let him know I’d arrived safely. Then I made a quick detour to my brother Theo’s flat, just catching him before he left for his lunchtime shift at the restaurant. My normally quiet eldest brother was full of smiles and questions for me, but soon went silent when I told him I was there to borrow one of his hunting rifles. I don’t have one of my own, and I couldn’t very well ask my parents to borrow theirs as it would set off alarm bells.

  I told Theo it was purely for protection as I was going into the forest on my own. I made out that I was nervous about the wildlife – the brown bears and wolves. But even I know that they are shy creatures, and the chances of spotting either are remote. Eventually, Theo gave in to my request, unlocking his gun safe and handing me his semi-automatic Ruger Mini-14 and a box of ammo, reminding me that it’s illegal to travel with a loaded firearm. He told me this was a one-time thing. That we could both get in serious trouble if anything happened. That if I was going to make a habit of trekking alone, I would need to apply for my own gun licence. I placated him with gratitude and promises to catch up soon.

  Two hours into my road journey and I spot a sign up ahead for an outdoors shop and café. I decide to pull over for a bathroom break and some lunch. I’d rather not waste any time, but I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast on the plane - that croissant, fruit and coffee seem like days ago – and, as I haven’t slept, I’ll need food to keep me going, even though I’m not at all hungry. Indicating right, I pull off the main road and into a snow-covered car park, finding a cleared parking space near the café entrance.

  As I open the Jeep door, chill air sweeps into the vehicle making me instantly more awake and alert. I step outside, zipping my parka up to my chin and pulling up my hood. But the cold seeps in, freezing my legs and working its way into the marrow of my bones. I pick my way through mounds of dirty snow onto the gritted path that leads to the café, my trainers already wet through. If I had been thinking straight, I’d have worn hiking boots.

  The café is warm, thank goodness, rustic, with pine beams, sage-coloured walls, and a wood burner roaring in the corner. I take a seat by the window, and a middle-aged woman comes over to take my order. I scan the specials board and go for the moose stew. Pure comfort food. Something my mum used to make when we were growing up. Maybe I’ll be able to force down a few mouthfuls.

  After ordering, I head to the bathroom to freshen up. In the mirror, my face is pale, my eyes red-rimmed. I run a hand through my lank hair, gathering it up and tying it into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck. Then I splash icy water on my face, berating myself for not taking advantage of the two-and-a-half hour flight to get some sleep.

  As I return to my table, the waitress approaches with my bowl of stew and a hunk of rye bread. Despite my earlier loss of appetite, I manage to polish off the lot in record-quick time, using my bread to mop up the rich juices. I thank the woman, pay and walk through a swing door into the adjoining camping shop.

  Here, I stock up on everything I might need – a fleece, snow jacket, snow boots, base layers, thermal socks, gloves and hat, a lightweight rucksack, torch, hunting knife, various foodstuffs and other essentials I may need. I also buy Livi a set of outdoor clothing, as I doubt Fin thought to bring her any warm clothes. She’s probably still dressed in her pyjamas. The thought of his selfishness makes me grit my teeth and want to scream. But I manage to keep it together and hand my credit card to the young guy at the counter. He’s trying to flirt with me, my monosyllabic answers not putting him off in the slightest.

  ‘Can I use your changing room?’ I ask, interrupting his one-sided conversation about how I should come and watch him play in some local ice-hockey match. ‘As you can see, I’m not really dressed for the weather.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says, with a smile. ‘Be my guest. You’ll have to wrap up warm if you make it to our match tomorrow. It’s cold standing on the sidelines, but
maybe I could take you for a drink after? Warm you up?’

  ‘I’m married, but thank you for asking.’

  ‘Ah, okay.’ His shoulders slump. ‘Well, maybe I’ll see you there anyway.’

  Escaping behind the slatted door of the changing room, I strip off my impractical clothes and layer up with my new ones, finally pulling on a pair of felt-lined snow boots, feeling instantly more secure and prepared. While I’m in the changing room, I take the opportunity to pack the rucksack with my newly purchased provisions. I leave my old clothes and shoes behind in a neat pile, bid farewell to the now mournful-looking sales guy, and head out into the cold, ready to complete the final part of my journey.

  As I climb into the Jeep, my phone starts ringing. It’s Will.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘I’ve been calling you, Anna, why didn’t you pick up? I was worried.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t hear your calls. The signal’s patchy out here.’

  ‘I left messages. How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m almost there. Only about an hour away. How are things?’ By “things” I mean Sian, but I can’t bear to utter her name.

  ‘She woke up last night. Started going crazy at me so I had to gag her. I’ve tried offering her food and water, but she won’t touch anything. Dad wants us to call the police and, quite frankly, I agree with him. I’m still not happy about you facing that lunatic alone.’

  ‘Please just give me a few more hours, Will. Let me get Olivia back, make sure she’s safe, then I’ll call you and you can ring the authorities, okay?’

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Will? Will? Hello?’

  I look at my mobile to see that there are no bars – I’ve lost signal. So I quickly tap in a text asking him to hold off calling the police. I’ll hit send once I get a signal again, but right now I have to go and fetch my daughter.

  I reach the outskirts of Växbo at just after 4 pm, the sky bleaching white in preparation for the next snowfall. I pull into a layby and see that I have a signal once more so I send my text to Will. Then I punch Fin’s address into Google Maps. The cabin is northwest of here, off the main road, down what looks like a single-lane track, and then deeper still into the forest. If there’s any kind of road leading from the track up to the dwelling, it isn’t shown on the mapping system.

  I take Sian’s phone out of my bag, unplug it from my portable charger, and text Fin to say I’ll be there in around an hour – or rather that Sian will be there in around an hour. Then I wait until he replies:

  Thank God. This kid is doing my head in. She won’t go to fucking sleep and she won’t speak any English.

  I flinch at his words. How can he write so cruelly about his own daughter? I want to tell him to have some patience. To treat her gently. But, from Sian’s previous texts, I know she would be as heartless as him. So, instead, I write:

  Don’t know what you think I can do about it. I’m not exactly Super Nanny xx

  Bring tranquilizer gun with you, lol.

  We better keep her safe, Fin. We need her in good shape or we won’t get our £££

  Yeah, I know. Just a joke. Hurry up and get here. Want to screw your brains out.

  On my way xx

  That short exchange with Fin has reignited my fury, has reaffirmed I’m doing the right thing. I restart the Jeep and follow the directions that will take me to my daughter.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  There’s not much traffic on the road. The area is sparsely populated at this time of year, a wilderness of ancient boreal forests, rivers, mountains, meadows and over a thousand inland lakes. A place where city dwellers come for the summer months to relax in their wooden cabins and get back to nature. But in winter . . . it’s desolate and wild, its lakes frozen over, the snowy terrain hard to navigate. The perfect place to hide a kidnapped child.

  I wonder if I’m crazy coming out here alone. If maybe Will was right and I should have got the police involved. But I know Fin – he’d talk his way out of it, twist it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made out that he was doing it to spend time with his daughter, rather than for the money. And the thought of him and Sian being granted any kind of access to Olivia makes my skin crawl.

  Google Maps is telling me to turn right off the main road onto a single-track lane. Snow-covered farmland stretches out on both sides and I see a couple of large timber farm buildings up ahead nestled into the treeline, their windows dark. Other vehicles have been along here recently – their muddy tyre marks ground into the snow. My Jeep handles the terrain well, but I go slowly nonetheless. I can’t afford to have an accident out here.

  Dead ahead lies deep forest. It seems as though my departure from the main road has signalled to the sun that it’s time to leave. As the light dims, I flick my headlamps onto full beam. Once I pass the farm buildings, the tyre tracks disappear along with Google Maps and WiFi. I’m entering a more desolate landscape.

  I drive on, the Jeep crawling along the narrow lane for a couple of miles until I reach the final turn-off – a narrow track which will lead to Fin and to my daughter. But first I’ll need to scope out the immediate area. I bring the Jeep to a stop, turn off the engine and kill the lights. Dusk hovers beneath a pale, snow-filled sky. I wonder when the first flakes will begin to fall.

  Flipping on the interior light makes me feel even more vulnerable than before, although common sense tells me that no one is watching. With my pulse racing, I pull on my new snow jacket, hat and gloves. I’m sweating in the heated interior, but I know I’ll need all these layers if I’m to avoid freezing to death out there. I open my door and gasp at the twilight temperature outside. It hits me like an airbag going off in my face. Even with my new gear, the cold is brutal. No time to dwell on that. I slide out of the vehicle, my new boots landing on virgin snow. Not too deep, thank goodness.

  I check again, but there’s still no WiFi here and only a weak phone signal. I’m on my own. I stand for a moment, my shallow breaths the only sound. It’s the kind of silence that is impossible to find in towns and cities. But I can’t hang around listening to my breathing all night, I have to get a move on.

  I head to the rear of the Jeep and open up the boot. First I take the torch out of my rucksack, then I swing the pack onto my back and adjust the straps until it sits comfortably. Next I take my brother’s hunting rifle out of its bag, check the safety’s on and insert the loaded five-round magazine, locking it into place. I put the spare magazine and box of ammo in my left coat pocket, zip it up, sling the rifle across my chest, and set off down the track, keeping close to the trees.

  We all hunted as teens, living off the land during summer family vacations in our cabin, but I haven’t handled a gun in over a decade. I still feel confident with it, but that doesn’t mean to say I like the idea of having such a deadly weapon anywhere near my daughter.

  I walk fast along the snow-covered path, the light from the sky not yet completely gone so I’ll save my torch batteries for now. Occasionally, I slow my pace to look around, but there’s nothing except narrow track ahead and behind, and snowy forest either side. Fin has selected this place for its isolation. That suits me fine. With what I’ve got in mind, the further away from civilisation the better.

  After around fifteen minutes of brisk walking, the light has almost gone and I think about turning on my torch. But then I spy a faint glow up ahead. With a thumping heart, I slow my pace, the crunch of my footsteps amplified. I suddenly become hyper-aware of everything, my ears cocked for any sounds, eyes scanning for movement, the scent of snow and woodsmoke in my nostrils. As I draw closer, I see the glow is emanating from the hanging porch light of a forest cabin where I presume Livi is being held. A BMW 4x4 is parked off to the side beneath a rustic carport, its windscreen iced over.

  The wooden cottage is small, traditional, painted red with white-framed windows and a snow-covered roof, dark smoke billowing out of the chimney. It sits at the back of a clearing, surrounded by dense forest like something out of a fairy ta
le. It takes all of my willpower not to race over to the building, fling open the door and snatch up my baby. Instead, I come to a standstill at the end of the track, and stare through the cold darkness, making a mental note of everything.

  The curtains are shut but a dim light burns through the windows. I spot a slight movement and catch my breath as one of the curtains is twitched aside and I see someone peering out into the darkness – Fin.

  I shrink back against the treeline, paranoid he’s spotted me. Rationally, I know that’s not likely, but the knowledge doesn’t do anything to quell my racing heart.

  I think about knocking on the door right now. Getting the confrontation over with. But it’s too far and too cold to take Livi back to the Jeep on foot. I briefly consider the possibility of taking Fin’s BMW, but I instantly dismiss the idea – I’d have to de-ice the windows, I don’t know how full the tank is, or where the keys are. So – recce over – I stick with my original plan, turn around and make my way back along the track to the lane. I’ll drive up to the cabin in my Jeep.

  As I jog through the snow, the last of the daylight leaches from the sky leaving an eerie whiteness backlit by a hidden moon. I click on the torch and think about what lies ahead.

  Back at the jeep, I stuff the torch in my right pocket and zip it closed. Then I sling my rucksack into the passenger footwell and lay the Ruger on the seat. Despite the fact my body is cold, a light sweat breaks out on my forehead. I’ll be glad when I’m finally facing him. When I force him into giving me back my daughter.

  I climb into the Jeep, start up the engine, flick on the headlights and begin the short journey back down the track.

  I’m here.

  Within seconds of my arrival, Fin steps out of the front door of the cabin, wearing jeans, hiking boots and a grey jumper. Judging by the happy expression on his face, he thinks I’m Sian, come to hide out with him. He holds the back of his hand to his eyes to block out the beam of my headlights, but I keep them pointed at him until I’ve shouldered my rucksack, grasped my rifle and chambered a round. I take a breath and finally turn off the lights and the engine.