On my way to the shop, I change my mind, and head over to the pumpkin patch instead. There’s the grand opening in a few days, and I know Seb will need a hand with the tents and decorations. I’ll be helping with pumpkin carving on the day. Donna will be working on the face paints stall. There’s even a spooky hall of mirrors coming to the farm with a few actors dressed up as ghosts to scare the children.
Seb’s struggling with a plastic gravestone when I arrive, trying to artfully drape a fake cobweb over it.
“Want a hand?”
He tosses me the decoration. “What am I doing with this?”
I separate the strands out to create a thin sheet of cobweb delicately arranged over the fake stone. Then I place plastic spiders all around it to complete the effect.
Seb’s eyebrows shoot up. “I hope that plastic doesn’t end up in the field.”
“They’re held on pretty well,” I say. “I don’t think they’ll blow away.”
He makes a harrumph sound and his shoulders sag.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately regretting it when I see his face turn red. Since living with Seb I’ve come to see the warning signs when he’s about to rant. I turn slightly away so that I can start on the next gravestone.
Seb fails to pick up on my body language and launches into his rant. “What’s wrong? I’m arranging what used to be grazing for a dairy herd with plastic spiders and a fake gravestone for Mr. P. Mortem. This is a joke. We’d may as well sell the place and be done with it.”
“What’s that, Sebastian?”
The sound of his mother’s voice prompts me to concentrate even harder on my task. Turned away, I hadn’t noticed her approach, otherwise I may have quietly sloped away before witnessing yet another argument.
“Oh, hello, Leah,” she says, in an almost dismissive way. “Didn’t see you there.”
I raise a hand, sheepishly, before going back to the plastic spiders. I know better than to get into the middle of a conflict between the Braithwaites.
“You’ve been complaining about this all day,” Donna says to Seb, arms folded, feet planted far apart, like two tree trunks that have been there an age. Her voice begins quite calm and rises with each sentence until she’s near shouting. “Never stops. I’m starting to think you don’t want to make any money. Or contribute to the village. What’s wrong with making a little money and giving the kids a fun day out? Want us to sell the farm instead? Is that it?”
“No, Mam.” Seb’s head lowers.
“Get on with it then.” She yanks a stray clump of cobweb from her jeans and rolls it up between her fingers. Though I’m trying not to stare, I can’t help but notice the red flush on her cheeks. The same flush that Seb gets when he rants about what irks him. “You’ll be the death of me, you sons. I’ll die of frustration, waiting for you to get on with your work without whinging.”
“He’s taking some time to adjust to the new normal, Donna,” I blurt. “You know there’ve been a lot of changes around here lately. It’s going to take some time for—”
Her light grey eyes finally fix on mine and I wish I hadn’t said a thing.
“This is a family matter, Leah. You have no idea what it’s like to try and keep this farm going, so until you do, I suggest you shut up.”
“Mam!” Seb said.
With my eyes down low, I move on to a patch of large pumpkins, arranging them by size.
“It’s okay,” I say, concentrating on my task. “She’s right. I shouldn’t have butted in like that.”
“Aye, well,” Seb continues. “Maybe you should. That’s right, Mam.”
“Choosing your girlfriend over your mother now?” She lifts and drops her arms in exasperation. “Why am I not surprised?”
And with that she storms off muttering to herself.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault.” Seb smiles thinly, and walks off to help Josh direct a trailer onto the field.
Chapter Six
Isabel
Thirty minutes in the cold air. The screws insist we get some vitamin D, even on such a grey, rainy day. I wander over to the wire fence and watch the magpies hop along the perimeter wall, twisting my fingers against the plastic-coated metal, feeling its thickness. The toe of my trainer gropes the bottom edge of it. And then I step away and turn to watch my fellow inmates instead walk around in pointless circles. There’s barely any space to do anything else. Others cluster around one of the only benches in the exercise area. I grow bored and lift my face to the sky, allowing the drizzle to hit my skin. For a moment I imagine that it fizzes and hisses like acid rain. Or that it’s thick and warm like blood.
When I redirect my attention back to the others, I see Genna pacing up and down with her hands pressed deeply into her pockets. She’s only slightly distracting me from the clouds, the way the sun is peeking through at the edges. Somewhere nearby a seagull squawks; migrating south for the colder months. The adventurous, independent seagull. Enjoy your freedom, my friend. Do worthwhile things with it.
“Miss, you got a minute?” I hear Genna say loudly. I turn back to see her moving towards Jan.
The stocky woman approaches her, pencilled eyebrows lifted. “Yes, Genna, what’s wrong, love?” All of the screws have a soft spot for Genna. She’s the girl with potential, the kind who could have been someone if they’d been born into different circumstances. If the drugs hadn’t found her. If she’d received more love as a baby. If. If. If.
“It’s my toilet, Miss. It’s a mess,” Genna continues.
Jan places one hand on her hip. “You mean you’ve clogged it again. What have you shoved down there now?” Jan asks. “Magazines again?”
One of the other women comes over. Long face, eyes too close together. I think her name might be Topaz or something. “Miss, you got a minute.”
I turn away from them both and continue along the perimeter. From there I can see the chicken coop through the wire fence. In D unit, prisoners are generally Category B or below, meaning they get a bit more freedom. They have better jobs, more choices for canteen, and the guards aren’t as strict.
“What’s the matter now, Crystal?” Jan asks.
Ahh, Crystal, not Topaz. I knew it was some sort of precious stone. I keep walking slowly along the fence, not bothering to look in the direction of the women now crowded around Jan. Behind me, there’s the sound of boots scuffing against gravel. I hear the slosh of liquid. Another woman, Sharon, hurries over to me and passes me the cold, metal object, which I find is surprisingly heavy.
“The money is in my cell,” I tell her.
Sharon nods, and I notice the hesitation on her face. I lift the wire cutters in a menacing way and whatever hesitation ebbs away to fear. She huddles away from me, missing her opportunity to stop what I’m about to put into motion.
I hear Jan cry out as I drop to my knees and begin my task. Her cries aren’t for me, though, they’re directed towards the women around her who have now “potted” her for the fifth or sixth time. Poor Jan has had urine splashed in her face once again. The dirty protest of the prisoners provides the distraction I need to break through this fence.
I’m getting out.
Working the wire cutters makes my palms ache. They’re old and not as sharp as I would have liked, but I grit my teeth and cut upwards through the thick wires. There. That’s enough. My new skinny physique is perfect for fitting through a small hole. Shedding my hoody, I wriggle underneath the wire.
But even now that I’m through, there are more obstacles to overcome and I can’t stop even for a second. I’m already on my feet, sprinting as fast as I can, the cutters still in my hand.
East.
Follow the maze east. I use the sun as my guide while my feet speed across the tarmac. My rubber-soled trainers pound the surface almost as hard as my heart pounds against my breastbone. I want to laugh, to lift my head and scream up to the sky, but there’s another wire fence to cut. I drop to my knees, work the cutters, goi
ng faster this time now that my muscles have loosened up. I wriggle through and am running again.
Behind me I hear yelling, but I daren’t look back. Now that I’ve sprinted away, I can’t tell if the shout came from Jan or a different guard. If I’ve organised this as well as I think I’ve organised it, the other officers on duty are now restraining the culprits of the potting. But it’s the people watching the security cameras that I have to be wary of. Genna promised me that one of her friends was going to block as many cameras in this direction that she could. By either throwing clothes on them or smearing them with shit. But there’s no way she could do anything to the perimeter camera. All I can do is move as fast as possible.
My plan was always one that relies on other people. Genna and Sharon for the wire cutters. Crystal for the potting. Owen for the rest.
I hurry through the visitor’s carpark, still following the perimeter east. With any luck, the guards are so distracted, they haven’t noticed the perimeter cameras. I bite my lip, concentrating on that high, perimeter fence.
But when I hear a voice, I realise that my luck is about to run out.
“Oi!”
There are boots thumping along behind me. This time I have to look back because I need to know how far away the chaser is. I can tell by the sound of the boots that it’s one guard, otherwise those thudding footsteps would be louder. I whip my head around to see how close my pursuer is to catching up with me. About 30-40 yards away at a guess. I still like my odds of pulling it off, but I have to concentrate. That brief moment can’t slow me down.
I assess everything I gleaned from that quick glance all while sprinting towards the perimeter. The guard is male. Young. About thirty. He was talking into his walkie-talkie. Asking for backup, no doubt.
My eyes scan the perimeter, now just a few feet away. My heart leaps up into my throat as I see the rope dangling down against the bricks. Follow the maze, east, Owen had said, and I had. Now here he is waiting for me. I’m so close to freedom, but I can’t get complacent now.
I shove the wire cutters into the pocket of my joggers and throw myself at the rope, landing with my trainers against the bricks, and my hands on the rope. It holds my weight with ease, but the bricks are slippery from rain.
“Stop!”
But I don’t stop. Concentrating hard to not slip, I pull myself up, walking my feet along the wall. My new slimmer size helps me, but I wasn’t kidding when I told Jan about the new workout. What no one has noticed, are the numerous hours I’ve spent dangling from the frame of my door to strengthen my arms.
Once I make it to the top of the wall, I cast another glance towards my follower, who I don’t believe has the physique to pull himself up by the wall. He’s still around ten yards away, his arms pumping at his sides. But I’m already cutting the barbed wire out of my way. I turn quickly to give my pursuer a salute and then look out to the free world. As soon as my brother comes into view, I drop.
“Fucking hell, Is, I didn’t know you were going to do that,” he complains after roughly catching me. “Get in the car.”
I grin at him and hurry to the passenger side. He gets in the driver’s seat and releases the handbrake, the car already running.
“I had to drop. They’re chasing me. They’ll have notified local police already.”
“Shit,” Owen says.
“You must have known they would. What have you arranged?”
“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
“Drive faster.”
He sighs. “Be quiet and let me concentrate. Unless you want to drive.”
I think about my terrible time in Leah’s car, barely able to reverse out of the parking space, and laugh. A rush of exhilaration runs through me and for a second or two I can’t believe I ever thought about ending my life. I’d been on the run then, alone, unable to function. But this time I have a plan, and I have my brother, and it feels like nothing can go wrong. I rip the prayer beads from my neck and toss them out of the window.
“Well done. They know which direction we came now.”
“They’ll know anyway, idiot.”
Owen drives us through narrow country roads, empty apart from a few other cars going in the opposite direction. He’s avoiding the town, which seems smart. I probably shouldn’t be calling him an idiot, but he is my brother after all, and that’s what big sisters do.
He rolls his eyes at me. Immune to the insults.
The only thing that would make this moment even better would be to have Leah here with us, along with a knife. I let out a long, euphoric breath. Life has options again. Life is more than the walls of that prison.
“There are clothes in the back,” he says.
As he drives, I climb into the backseat and change sloppily into the grey trousers and smart blouse he brought for me, bumping around on the seat while Owen takes tight corners at speed. Then I tie my hair back and finish the outfit with a pair of black heeled pumps.
“Am I going for a job interview?”
“You’re insufferable, sis. Won’t you please be quiet?”
In the distance I hear the faint sound of sirens and another jolt of excitement runs through me. “Perhaps we can get pulled over and bash in the police officer’s skull with the wire cutters,” I suggest, holding them up to the mirror.
But Owen tuts. “Get a grip, Isabel. There are new passports in the back along with a ton of money from Mummy. Wouldn’t it be better to go somewhere sunny? Somewhere with decent food?”
The way he says that makes me think there’s a part he’s holding back from me. We hadn’t been able to communicate openly about the breakout, which means I don’t know where he’s intending to take us. “Where are we going?”
“I told you, I have a plan.” He smirks into the mirror. “Trust me.”
Owen knows better than to believe that I would ever trust anyone. “We’re leaving England?” I suppose I have no right to be disappointed about this because it makes sense. But then it dawns on me what his plan actually is. “Oh no. Are we going to stay with Uncle Lloyd?”
“Don’t pout, sister. But, yes.”
Owen makes a sharp right, pulls over and opens the door. “Time to get out now.”
For a moment I don’t understand why he tosses the keys into the hedgerow, but then I see the Toyota parked on the edge of a long driveway, barely visible from the country road. He pulls another set of keys from his pocket, and the car bleeps as he presses a button on the key fob. I snatch open the passenger door.
“Did you pick up the passports and the money?” Owen asks.
I lift the bag.
“Good,” he says.
And then he pulls the car out of the drive. This time he drives carefully and within the speed limit.
“The perimeter cameras will have picked us up, so you switched cars.” I reach over and pat his head. “Clever Owen.”
“It’s what Dad would have done,” he says.
“How did you get it here?” I ask.
“I paid a student fifty quid to drive it here.”
“And he didn’t ask any questions?”
“Not really. You know it doesn’t matter, Isabel. I’m not trying to hide my part in this, I’m escaping with you. Look, I know how much you want to kill that nurse and her brother to avenge father’s death, but the best thing we can do now is leave the country.”
“I know,” I reply. “But Uncle Lloyd. You do know he’s a terrible person.”
Owen laughs. “Aren’t all of the Fieldings terrible?” He takes a right turn onto a main road and I see the sign for the motorway. “We have our own Wikipedia page for every Fielding family murder. We’re the Von Trapps of stabbing.”
I smile at his joke, but deep down I wonder whether he understands what he’s done.
Chapter Seven
Leah
I wake before Seb, sneak down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. The sunrise comes gently, nudging through the windowpanes almost apologetically. I take my coffee and
watch the dark sky fade into sunlight. It’s a peaceful moment, beautifully bathed in October colours. I snap a photo and send it to Jess, but she doesn’t reply again. Perhaps filming has started and she’s too busy, but I’m still worried. We were supposed to meet yesterday, but she didn’t turn up.
Behind me, the stairs creak and I know Seb is up. His feet slap against the kitchen tiles. Soon his arms are around me and he nestles his face into my neck.
“Good morning,” he murmurs.
I rub his arm with my hand, warming his cool skin. “Good morning.”
“It’s nice to wake up to you still in the house,” he says.
Then it dawns on me that the slight hurry of his feet on the tiles was due to panic. To waking up and finding me not in bed again.
“Sorry, I should have stayed in bed so as not to worry you.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says.
“What shall we have for breakfast?”
“Hmm, whatever’s quick. I need to be at the farm.” He unfolds himself from around my body and moves over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.
“I’ll come with you. I want to help on the big day,” I say, turning my back on that glorious view. The farm opens the pumpkin patch today, and there’s a lot to do, people to organise, fairground rides to set up, face painting and pumpkin carving stalls to arrange. It’s also my big opportunity to prove to Donna that I can be part of the family one day, that I will work hard. That I’m more than someone who attracts trouble wherever I go.
“Come in an hour or two, there’s no rush,” he says, and takes a sip of coffee. “I’m going to jump in the shower and get ready.” He takes his coffee with him as he leaves the kitchen.
I’m about to put bread in the toaster, when movement outside the cottage catches my eye. Tyres crunch over gravel, and when I lean over the counter to get a better view, I notice that the car pulling up at the end of the drive is a taxi. Who would be coming to the cottage so early in the morning? My fingers instinctively grip the surface, and I push myself so far forwards, that the edge of the counter digs into my hipbone. A car door opens. Someone tall and broad steps out. Behind them, another tall, but slightly skinnier person emerges. And then the two of them move around to the boot of the car.
Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3) Page 5
