by M. A. Hunter
‘Is there any bread?’ she asked. ‘I could make you a sandwich?’
His bright eyes dipped momentarily. ‘Ah, no bread left, I’m afraid, but we should get some more supplies now that we’ve reached our destination.’
She desperately wanted to ask him exactly where they were and how long they would remain here, but she needed to keep him onside and lulled into a false sense of security. Too many questions now might make him suspicious.
She reached for the knife and tried to slice the cheddar without success. Chez seemed to take pity on her, and hacked off several slices and handed them over. Key to her success would be playing up to his thinking of her as a younger sister. Ironically, if he hadn’t helped Grey to drug her earlier, she might have still seen him as just as much a victim as her, but clearly Chez was working with them, and that meant he couldn’t be trusted.
‘I don’t think there’s any electricity,’ she said casually. ‘The fridge doesn’t seem to have any power.’
His eyes widened in panic, and he squeezed out from behind the table. ‘Oh shit, I forgot to start the generator when we pitched up.’
He hurried to the door, not noticing her slip the small cheese knife into the pocket of the dress he’d given her last night. She watched him unlock the door, leaving it swinging as he hurried down the steps and disappeared from view. She knew better than to run now, but quietly got down from the stool and walked to the door, quickly slipping out and down to the last step, but didn’t move any further. This was her way of showing him she could be trusted to go outside and not try to run.
Wherever they were now, she could hear seagulls cawing to one another; a tall wood blocked out the horizon immediately in front of her, but she couldn’t see what was behind the caravan. The grass between them and the trees stretched several hundred metres ahead, and apart from the other two caravans to their left, she couldn’t see anything else; no farm animals this time.
She could hear Chez huffing and puffing off to the left as he pulled on the generator’s starter cord, and finally the motor whirred to life and he reappeared from beside the caravan. She closed her eyes, and tilted her head back, breathing in the fresh air.
‘Oh no, you shouldn’t be outside,’ he said, trying to usher her back inside. ‘Grey would kill me if he found out.’
‘Please, Chez, just a few seconds of fresh air. The cabin is so stale and stuffy. I have such a headache.’
‘That’s probably the after-effects of what Grey gave you,’ he said glumly, before quickly changing the subject. ‘The others will be back soon, and then we’ll have supplies and can cook up a big feast.’
She remained where she was on the step. ‘Would you take me for a walk?’
Chez looked around uneasily as if he could feel unwanted eyes on them. ‘No, sorry, out of the question. I’m to keep an eye on you here.’
‘Oh, but please, Chez. My head is pounding and I’m sure that some fresh air is all I need. We wouldn’t have to go far. Maybe just to the trees and back. Please? I won’t be any trouble, I promise.’
Chez looked over his shoulders at the wood and she sensed he was starting to wane.
‘You can hold onto me if that would make you feel better. What’s the worst that can happen?’
He looked back at the woods again, behind his eyes calculating the distance and time required to go there and back.
‘Please, Chez. Maybe then you can tell me a bit more about the photoshoots Grey told me about. He told me my parents know where I am, and how lucky I am to have been chosen. I know I was acting immature before but I understand now, I think. Please, just a five-minute walk, and then we can be back.’
‘Ah, okay,’ he grumbled reluctantly, ‘but we come back as soon as I say. Yeah?’
She raised herself onto her toes and pecked his cheek. ‘One other question: can I have some trainers to put on?’
He ushered her back into the caravan and this time she obliged, sitting patiently on the stool as he moved to the back bedroom and rummaged inside a carrier bag, emerging a few seconds later with the trainers she’d been wearing when Grey had picked her up at the newsagent’s.
‘Put these on, but we’d better be quick.’
She took the trainers and slipped her feet in, tightened the Velcro straps, and leapt up excitedly. Chez gripped her hand tightly and led her back out of the door, closing it behind him and pocketing the key. Leaving the steps, they moved across the damp grass, Joanna nearly losing her footing at one point when it was more slippery than she’d anticipated. He certainly was keen to get to the trees and back in a hurry and she struggled to keep up with his large strides, having to take two quick steps to his one.
She hadn’t lied about the headache, although she’d exaggerated just how much her head was spinning. The fresh air was certainly helping to sharpen things in her mind, and she prayed he couldn’t feel just how fast her pulse was racing. He’d trusted her to come this far, and she felt pleased with how she’d managed to manipulate him into doing what she wanted.
The world around them darkened as they neared the edge of the wood, the tree branches blocking out the sky. She’d half-expected to see a trail or path through the wood, but as they neared, it appeared to stretch on for ever and she had no way of knowing what lay beyond it.
‘Right, time to head back,’ he said, yanking on her arm as he turned around on the spot.
But she pulled her arm back and managed to break free of his grasp. Reaching into the pocket of the dress, she coiled her fingers around the handle of the cheese knife, and quickly yanked it out and pointed it at him menacingly.
‘You’re going to show me a way out,’ she said, trying to keep the sheer terror from her voice. ‘Right now.’
‘W-w-what?’ he asked, but then his face screwed into a ball as realisation hit him. He glowered in frustration. ‘You lied to me.’
She shook her head. ‘No, but come on, Chez, this is our chance to go. You could come with me. If we can get to a town, or village, we can have someone ring for help, and then you can return to that little town you told me about and I can get back to my home too.’
She was waiting for the moment he would slap the blade from her hand and drag her back to the caravan, but he didn’t make any move towards her. ‘You don’t realise what you’re asking. It isn’t that easy, Kylie.’
‘It can be, Chez. The two of us together is all it will take. You know this place better than me; we can get away now before anyone realises we’ve gone. Please? I’m asking as your sister.’
His eyes shone in the dimming light of the day, but he still made no effort to take the knife from her. ‘Just go,’ he eventually whispered. ‘I can’t go with you, but if you really want to take your chances, then just go. I’ll give you ten minutes before I raise the alarm.’
She held the knife firm, unable to read whether it was him who was now trying to manipulate her.
‘Go through the woods and keep going straight until you come to a stream. Turn right and follow the stream until you get to a footbridge, which will take you past a golf course and into the town centre. You need to move quickly though.’
She hadn’t expected him to be so obliging, but the thought of heading into the dark woods alone was almost as terrifying as remaining with him. Threatening him with the knife was a line she couldn’t cross back from, and if she didn’t make her move now she’d never get another chance.
Stepping slowly backwards, she kept her eyes fixed on him, waiting for any sudden movement or lunge that would indicate he’d been stringing her along but he remained where he was, the tears now dripping from his eyes.
‘Come with me, Chez,’ she tried again, still delicately stepping backwards.
‘I told you I can’t. Go now, before I change my mind.’ With that he turned and started making his way back across the grass towards the caravans.
Taking a deep breath, Joanna slipped between the trees and prayed he’d told her the truth about the stream and footbridge.
Chapter Twenty
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
The taxi journey home from Mum’s has done little to ease the throbbing headache that developed as I was leaving Pam Ratchett’s office. To think, I’d gone to see Mum to gain some much-needed perspective and help me put my thoughts in order, and now I feel even more lost. Mum blames me for Anna’s leaving that day, and whilst I’ve always carried some guilt for the argument we had before she said she was going to Grandma’s house, I thought it was just me who blamed events on the argument. How many years has Mum been holding those thoughts in? Was it to protect me, and so that I wouldn’t experience the brunt of her anger as happened today?
It’s all very well Pam telling me not to pay too much attention to Mum’s outburst – given the absence of hay fever – but she didn’t hear how Mum phrased her statement: it was your fault she ran off that day.
There was real venom in her tone, as if years of bottling it up had turned it into pure hatred once uncorked. And if she secretly blamed me, did Dad too? I can’t ask him, and looking back on it now, I recognised we were spending less and less time together after Anna disappeared and before his sudden death at HMP Portland. I’d put that down to him ploughing his free time into work and his spare time into drinking away his sorrows; both roads were meant to serve as a distraction for him, but I’m not sure either ever did. Maybe it was less to distract him from the daughter he’d lost and more to distract him from the one who remained.
I wish Rachel were here. She’d probably tell me I need to pull myself together, and whilst I wouldn’t believe her words of warmth and sympathy, I’d appreciate her efforts. Right now, I have nobody to offer me a shoulder to cry on. I could phone Maddie, but I’ve never liked discussing family dynamics with her; it just doesn’t feel right. She’s been like a mother to me in the publishing world, and to mention my personal family would be like cheating on our relationship.
Part of me wants to phone Jack, not to pour out all my problems but so that we could talk about something to distract me for a few minutes, but he said he’s got the day off with Mila today and he probably needs that time as much as she does. I’m not prepared to disrupt that. Besides, Jack has enough on his plate without me adding my woes.
Closing the front door behind me, I’m glad to be home, even if the silence is overwhelming. I’ve always been so adamant that I’m happy with my ordered life; I haven’t wanted ties and commitment, allowing me to focus my time on searching for Anna and helping the families of missing children when the opportunity presents itself. If I want to stay up until the early hours writing and then sleep until midday I’m free to do so, and that’s where I’ve wanted to be. But right now, I would give anything for a warm, non-judgemental hug from a partner.
As if he can read my mind, my phone beeps with a message from PCSO Rick Underwood.
This is my number, so you have it. I’m really looking forward to seeing you later for that drink. Any preference where we should go? Would you like me to pick you up on the way? Rick x
I had forgotten about agreeing to meet him for a drink, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight. I’m about to type a response to that effect when my doorbell sounds, startling me as I’m still leaning against it.
‘Oh, are you off out?’ Freddie asks when I open the door and he spots I am still wearing my coat.
The rain seems to have eased off and I suddenly don’t want to be surrounded by all the silence of my flat. ‘Just for a walk,’ I tell him, closing the door behind me as I step out and join him. ‘Come with me?’
Freddie presses knuckles to his hips, allowing me to link my arm with his, and he leads me away from the doorstep. After the way we left things last night, after Jack’s aggressive outburst, I thought it would be days or weeks until I saw Freddie again. Resting my head on his shoulder, I don’t know how to tell him just how pleased I am to see him.
‘You know you have no chance of scoring with me tonight, right?’ he jokes, and my laugh comes out as part cry, part chuckle, and I press my head more firmly into the sleeveless denim jacket he’s rarely without.
We walk along the front, bypassing the town centre. At this time of year, there are no donkey rides on offer, no fairground attractions, and a distinct lack of beach-dwellers. Over the winter months, dogs are allowed to be walked on the beach, and right now a large German Shepherd tears past us towards the water’s edge, sending a flurry of sand into our faces. Neither of us breaks stride and we brush the sand from our faces and continue as if nothing has happened. I wish it was as easy to do the same with life’s challenges.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Freddie eventually says, breaking the comfortable silence. ‘Penny for them?’
‘Jack thinks he might have found Anna’s remains,’ I say gravely. It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to say the words out loud, and I’m not surprised by how much they sting.
Freddie immediately stops and pulls me into a hug. ‘Oh gosh, Emma, I’m so sorry.’
It feels good to just be held. ‘We should know for certain in the next few days. I gave him a few hairs from one of her brushes so a DNA comparison can be run.’
‘Wow! How many years has it been since… since she disappeared?’
I rest my temple on his chest. ‘Twenty-one years of not knowing where she is, nor what happened. At least the first question will now be answered, and I can lay her to rest.’
I’m not just being pragmatic either. For the first time, I see that DNA confirmation will mean I can stop looking for Anna, and there’s some heart-breaking relief in that. It’s possible I will never know who took her, nor why she was chosen, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Freddie asks.
I look up into his eyes and release a sigh that’s been building for I don’t know how long. ‘Thank you. We need to wait first, but yes, I may need an occasional shoulder to cry on from time to time. Are you qualified to be my wingman?’
He suddenly straightens his body, as if standing to attention, and salutes me, adopting a fake posh voice. ‘Wing Commander Freddie Mitchell reporting for duty, ma’am. I won’t let you down.’
He always has this ability to make me smile even in the face of adversity. I’m so blessed to have him in my life; in many ways, he’s the big brother I never had.
‘And how are you after last night?’ I try, fixing him with an open stare.
He breaks eye contact and stares out at the sea behind me, sighing heavily. ‘Your friend Jack was right about me, what he said last night – about me holding back… he was right. I didn’t think about that period in my life for a long time, but seeing that place has brought so much back. I keep having flashes of memories – fragments really – in dreams and when my mind is elsewhere. It started when I was inside, and I thought it would stop once I got home and was amongst familiar surroundings, but last night was the worst one yet. I was back at that place, cameras pointing at me, being forced to remove my clothes, and then… It isn’t right. There’s a reason sex at that age is illegal; the adolescent brain isn’t able to process the emotion and confusion of all of that… I wasn’t ready and I didn’t know what to do, or how to escape.’
His eyes are watering but he continues to stare out at the horizon, the wind whipping sand around us.
‘I knew what they were doing was wrong… I knew I wasn’t the only one suffering… But… It sounds so lame, but I was too scared to speak out. At night at St Francis, I would imagine myself killing Arthur Turgood and the others, but as soon as one of them approached I’d become a terrified schoolchild, weak and pathetic.
‘When I was inside I read a book on the tools abusers use to psychologically manipulate their victims, and for the first time I could understand why Turgood and the others acted as they did. For them, the thrill is exerting power over the helpless; probably more so than any sexual gratification they received. But they were just the tip of the icebe
rg, right? There are plenty more predators still out there and so many children suffering as I did, and I’ve had enough.
‘There was a police press conference on the television news just after lunch. Did you hear about the nine-year-old girl who’s gone missing from the area, Jo-Jo?’
I nod. ‘I met her parents this morning.’
‘I watched and listened to the whole thing, but my eyes never left the picture of Jo-Jo hanging behind their heads. I’ve known children like that; I was a child like that. I wasn’t abducted, but I was left at the hands of merciless monsters who were allowed to get away with what they wanted for too long. Enough is enough, Emma. I can’t sit idly by and allow this kind of thing to continue. I need to do something. I need to stop these bastards.’
I’ve never known Freddie be so open about his feelings without copious coaxing efforts on my part. I know it can’t have been easy for him to come to my flat and to pour his heart and soul out like this, but I’m grateful he felt able to trust me.
‘We don’t know that Jo-Jo has been taken by the same sort of people that took Anna,’ I counter.
‘They’re all those sorts of people. They may have different names and faces but they represent the darkest element of society, and someone needs to stop them whatever the cost. That’s why I burned down that cursed film studio. It might have been closed now, but I knew some of the things that happened there. When you and Jack told me remains had been found at the site, I wasn’t at all surprised. In fact, I’d put money on there being more undiscovered victims there too.’
I don’t know how to respond, so I leave the statement hanging.
‘Jo-Jo’s parents asked me to help bring their daughter home,’ I tell him. ‘The lead detective isn’t my biggest fan and doesn’t want me anywhere near her investigation, but I don’t want Jo-Jo to follow in my sister’s footsteps and become just another statistic either.’
