by Nina Manning
39
Then
We drove in total silence. I stared out of the window for the entire journey, which took just over three hours. Just before we arrived at the new house, D said everything was going to be okay. All I needed to do was trust him and do what he asked of me. This was the best way, this was the ideal situation. Everyone would be happy. What he meant was that he would be happy. How could I ever be happy again?
There was a moment when he was in the shower the day after Baby Boy was taken that I heard him whistling. I felt a rage build inside me, I almost burst into the bathroom and pummelled his head into the glass door. In the three days since Fabrice and that woman had taken my baby, I had considered going to the police every second. But every time I went to leave the house, I would hear D’s words ringing in my ears. ‘If you try anything, I can’t control what will happen to Baby Boy.’ I knew I had no choice. If I was out of his sight for a second, he began to get very tetchy. I would hear him calling for me around the house, the tension growing thick in his tone. I would always appear at the top of the stairs or the doorway to the garden, just to reassure him that I hadn’t tried to disappear and that he didn’t have to give the signal to whoever to make sure I never saw my baby boy again.
We pulled up outside the house I would be spending my time in for the foreseeable. It was bigger than any house I had ever seen up close. D took us inside and I looked around at the space and the many rooms. He had placed my case down on the floor next to the stairs. I looked at it, sitting there by itself.
‘Where’s yours?’
‘In the car.’ He looked at me deadpan. ‘I won’t be staying here.’
I scrunched my mouth up and looked around at the vastness to the house again. ‘Right.’ I had been used to being on my own at the other house. This wouldn’t be much different, except you could fit three of our old houses into this one.
‘Where will you be then?’ I asked, but not really caring.
‘I can’t say. Not far.’ I thought for the first time he looked mildly sheepish, like even he knew that whatever crooked business he had managed to involve me and my baby in was possibly a step too far and maybe he felt a little out of his depth. But he continued.
‘You know what to do? You remember the plan?’
I nodded.
‘You stick to it for one year. Then we can look at… adapting things.’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘And Baby Boy?’
‘He is safe.’
‘When do I see him?’
‘You’ll see him.’
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I cast my mind back to all the films I had watched, the happy endings. It was all a fabrication. I had bought the dream and fallen for the wrong man.
40
Now
As soon as I reached the top of the stairs, I was hit by a wall of heat and a musty stench that could have been a mix of body odour, urine and unwashed carpets. The hallway was cloaked in darkness. The one window to my right was draped with a dark piece of mock-up fabric that wasn’t properly attached; the sort of thing students do when they have no sense of what went with what or that a curtain pole could be picked up for next to nothing. My body was tense, ready to turn and head back the way I came. But some unknown force still drove me on. I turned left at the top of the stairs, passed a closed door on the right and headed straight for the end of the hallway where I stood in front of a closed door directly in front of me. I was sure this room would have a window that from the outside would boast a wonderful array of purple blooms and also look out onto one of London’s finest rooftop cinemas. I realised I was now more terrified than I had been in many years. I was no longer trying to suppress a compulsion with a behaviour; I wanted to know; I needed to know. But I hadn’t felt real genuine fear like this since the day it happened. Since the day my world fell from beneath my feet.
It took me a moment to realise that my phone was ringing. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw the same number. I had nothing to lose any more. I had to face up to what I had been running from all this time.
I slid my finger along the screen and put the phone to my ear.
‘It’s me.’ My husband’s voice was urgent.
I blew out a long breath. ‘I know.’
‘I need you to listen to me.’
The urgency in his voice had just increased by another 100 per cent. It was a tone I had heard him use a thousand times.
‘I know where you are and you need to get o—’
The line went silent.
41
Now
I pulled my phone away from my ear and saw that it was completely dead. I had meant to charge it properly when I got to uni, but as I had taken an unexpected detour, I hadn’t noticed the battery life wasting away with every unanswered call. Now I had finally answered it, I had heard that tone that my husband would only use when he wanted people to take him seriously. When he knew that lives were in danger.
I jumped as I heard the sound of the front door slamming. I froze to the spot, barely able to breathe as loud footsteps made their way along the hallway downstairs. The tone of the footsteps changed into a higher echoey frequency, the sort of sound that a smart flat shoe would make on a pristine marble kitchen floor. It was too late for me to get down the stairs and get out, besides I had come this far. If there was anything on the other side that looked like the photo lucybest65 had posted on Instagram, then surely there would be somewhere for me to hide, or someone who could offer me some sanctuary, perhaps call the police. I decided I would take my chance with the unknown on the other side of the door. Whether it be Mrs Clean or lucybest65, there was only one way to find out.
I put my hand on the door handle and pressed down. The door clicked and I began to push it open. I could see the beginnings of a dark room, the smell that had hit me at the top of the stairs was originating in here. I put my hand over my mouth and nose to try to stop some of it penetrating my nostrils. I couldn’t hear anyone coming up the stairs behind me, so I edged into the room and closed the door behind me. My hands were itching to reopen and close the door several times, but the need to assess the room I found myself in was greater. Immediately in front of me, I could see there was a large window with heavy black curtains drawn. A small slither of light was casting itself across the room in a thin strip. I grabbed the heavy black pieces of material and began to pull them apart. The late-afternoon light began to stream through. Since I had been in the house, the clouds that had brought with them a chill to the air had now passed and the sun was creeping through and bringing with it a cascade of colours as a prelude to the evening sky. I watched this technicolour erupt across the skyline for a moment and then I allowed my gaze to fall on the thing I had been looking for, the sight I had been hoping to see. There was the rooftop cinema, an image of beauty, and looking exactly how it had looked in the photograph that was posted by lucybest65 in her Instagram feed. She had been sitting right here, right behind where I was standing.
‘Urgh,’ came a groan from behind me, and I swung around to see a figure beneath a pile of blankets on a sofa, beginning to stir.
I moved cautiously back towards the sofa, where a head was barely peeking above. I saw a flash of dirty blonde hair, and as I approached nearer I could see a pile of vomit next to the sofa and to my right I spotted a cat litter tray that looked as though it hadn’t been emptied for some time; this was what I could smell when I was coming up the stairs.
I held one hand across my rib cage where the pain from the fall was snaking its way back in.
I tried to speak, but I couldn’t think what I should say. The words wouldn’t form properly in my mouth.
So instead, I reached out my hand. As my hand rested upon what I presumed was an arm. I was suddenly catapulted backwards as the sleeping figure launched off the sofa and came straight at me. I stumbled backwards and my head hit the leg of a chair.
A deep, male voice penetrated through the walls and ceiling, making the entire room shudder
.
‘What the hell is going on? Don’t make me come up there.’
I looked up and saw it was a girl. She stood frozen to the spot, a look of pure horror on her face as she took me in and we both heard the voice from downstairs.
Her face was pale. She looked young, maybe late teens, early twenties. She was wearing a tatty grey woollen jumper and jeans that looked as though they would fit a small child. She looked severely malnourished. She turned towards the door as though she expected it to open any moment, and then she looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. She opened her mouth, took a deep breath and mouthed the word, ‘Go.’
I tried to scramble to my feet but I could already hear the deep thud of footsteps coming up the first steps of the staircase. I looked around to my left where I had just been pushed backwards and saw a long burnt-orange-cloth covering a small square table that was stacked high with junk: paper and pamphlets, toilet rolls and empty cartons of food. The tablecloth came almost to the floor, so I leapt towards it and squeezed myself into a gap between two boxes that had been stored under there.
‘No, no, no.’ I could hear the girl muttering, and my stomach took a nosedive as panic mounted in her voice. Who was this waif-like woman-child? Why was she hiding in the attic? And who was she so terrified of, who was now making their way up the stairs?
42
Then
Later, when I was alone in the vast empty house, my mind was awash with emotions. I walked around the stark rooms, thinking it was a shame no one would ever fill them, and that it would only be me here, day and night. I imagined how a house this size should be full to the rafters with kids, running down the stairs and into the kitchen, demanding snacks and drinks. I ran my hands along the pristine surfaces that hadn’t ever had a crumb spilt on them. It was all such a waste.
I had to sit down several times a day when the pain at having lost Baby Boy got me in the stomach. It was as strong as a punch from D, only with this pain, I would sit and cradle my abdomen, trying to recall my son’s face, his smile, the smell of his skin. I wanted to live in these moments for as long as possible, clinging to the memories. But as much as I tried to hold on to them, they faded more and more each time. I would fall into fitful sleeps, waking regularly through the night, unable to breathe, grasping for my baby who wasn’t there and whose face I could no longer remember.
I had never felt so alone. Each night as I drifted off, I would wake abruptly to the sound of crying. Baby Boy needed me. I would sit up in bed, my hands would fly across the sheets, waiting to connect with a small limb or a head. But next to me, it was always empty.
The days turned into weeks. The pain in my gut subsided and I became numb, waking only to wash and eat a little. I just lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
D popped by from time to time, always alone. He would stand at the end of the bed, shouting at me to get up and get on with it. I would turn my back on him.
Then one day I heard the front door open and initially I thought I was imagining the high-pitched wail that found its way through the walls and ceilings and straight into my chest. I gasped for breath as I sat up straight.
It was Baby Boy. He was here, D had finally brought him to me. Suddenly, there was a power within me as the energy resurfaced. I raced to the top of the stairs, my legs trembling with anticipation as I tried to slow my breathing to listen. I could hear D speaking to him in that tone adults only use with babies and toddlers. Then my ears pricked up at a second voice. Another male. My stomach lurched. Who had Baby Boy been with and who had D brought here? I descended the stairs two at a time until I reached the hallway where I could see Baby Boy pulling himself to standing using the brass umbrella holder next to the door and taking a few tentative steps.
I let out a gasp.
‘He can walk!’ I said as I hurried towards him and scooped him into my arms and covered his face with kisses. He responded with smiles and a podgy fist on my face. It had been only weeks, but it felt like years.
D glanced backwards. ‘Oh yeah, he does that now.’ I had barely glanced at the other figure in the hallway, but now D was ushering him into the kitchen, where they closed the door. It was just Baby Boy and I left in the hallway. I was so giddy with euphoria that I hadn’t realised we had been sat, playing and cuddling for a good few minutes before D came storming out of the kitchen, locked the front door and put the key in his pocket. He glared at me as if I had already done something to deserve his fury.
He pointed his finger at me.
‘One hour,’ he said before he headed back into the kitchen and slammed the door. I felt the force of his silent threat and decided I would make the most of my time with my son. If I behaved now, then he would bring him more often. If I showed him I could comply, then I could prove to him that I was capable of fulfilling my role in this house and taking care of my baby. I was sure of it.
I immediately stood up with Baby Boy in my arms, took him to the next floor and slowly walked with him on my hip from bedroom to bedroom, talking to him the whole time. I wanted to fill his head with my voice and words so he would hear them in his dreams and echo through his head when he woke.
An hour came and went, and there was no sign of D or his accomplice. I longed for the dried milk to return to my breasts so I could nurse him once more, just the two of us in our own bubble. We had found our way to the top floor when I remembered seeing a simple tote bag at the door; it must have replaced the nappy bag I had bought when Baby Boy was born. I kept him on my hip and went back downstairs to the front door to retrieve the bag. I could hear the raucous laughter of D and his colleague coming from the kitchen. Baby Boy had grabbed my hair and was sucking it, so I knew he was hungry. I rooted in the bag for food or milk. I found a few cartons of formula and an empty bottle, which was a sad replacement for the breast milk that had enhanced our bond. How could I maintain any bond when I didn’t know when I would see him again after today? My heart ached for him and the confusion this must be causing him.
I rummaged through the bag and didn’t find any snacks. I knew by this point he should be experimenting with food and I thought about what I had to eat upstairs in my bedroom: packets of raisins and some crackers, finger food I was sure he would love.
Back upstairs on the top floor, we became so immersed in our own world of games, kisses and laughter, that I hadn’t noticed D enter the room. He had crept in so quietly that I wondered if he had been observing our primate behaviour. Perhaps it evoked some emotion within him. But whatever he had been thinking, it made little difference as I heard the words.
‘Time to go.’
I looked at the clock on the wall. Four hours had passed in a flash.
I felt my gut tighten. I began to speak but my words came out panicky and stuttered.
‘Maybe he could stay here. I know I haven’t been feeling myself recently, but I have a hold on things now. I wouldn’t let him out of my sight… I could easily do my job, in fact… I think I’d do it better—’
‘Pass the bag.’ D didn’t look at me as he held his hand out. I stood up from the floor where Baby Boy and I had been lounging together, oblivious to the time slipping away from us.
I stepped forward with my palms pressed together. I was going to beg.
‘Please, D, I need my baby, I need—’
The last part of the sentence was lost as D’s hand swiped my face with enough force to knock me backwards. My thigh hit the small table, which wasn’t strong enough to take my weight, even though there was barely anything of me. As the table shifted backwards, so did I until I had hit the floor. From where I lay on my side, I could see Baby Boy was crawling towards me. I reached out for him at the same time D stepped over me and scooped him up. He walked towards the door, then turned around.
‘You have a job to do. Get on with it.’
I looked at the empty doorway and listened to the squeals of my son getting quieter as they descended the stairs. I heard the front door slam. I lay my head onto the cold, hard floor
and stared at the spot where Baby Boy had been moments ago. A flash of red caught my eye. Just under the sofa where I had been sat with my back against it, bouncing Baby Boy on my knee, was one of his red leather slip-on booties. I crawled over to the sofa, picked it up and held it against my cheek. I closed my eyes. An echo of his voice still lingered.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, but eventually something cracked within me. I couldn’t keep fighting any more. I was broken. I had only one choice, if I wanted to see my baby, for however long D would allow, then I had to comply.
I walked from my quarters on the third floor down to the kitchen.
There on the side in the kitchen was the smartphone I had been allocated. D was monitoring me from another phone, so I couldn’t use it to text or message anyone, as he would be able to see. He had clearly demonstrated how this worked when we arrived.
I no longer felt sadness or anger, just numb from a fight I knew I had lost.
I no longer had any choice. So I set up the smartphone on its tripod, set the phone to timer, snapped on a pair of pink Marigolds, picked up a mop and bucket and started cleaning.
