“No, Uncle.”
He lifts his chin. He speaks with a low, quivering voice, as though barely managing to contain his rage. “You know that is not the correct way to refer to me. Try again.”
“No, sir.”
“Better.” He turns and makes his way into the art-deco inspired Thai villa that has caused quite a stir in this small fishing village on the Mekong River. Uncle Lloyd is the rich white man who throws them a bone every now and then. Like father, he’s a self-made millionaire. Like father, Uncle is drawn to the people who won’t be noticed if they disappear. But unlike father, Uncle sells them. He’s a human trafficker, among other things. Officially he owns restaurants, ships fruit and vegetables, and even fish. Unofficially, he can find you whatever you want. A new cleaner or a sex slave. “There will be none of your nonsense here. I understand that your father raised you with a different set of principles, but in this house, you abide by mine. I will not have my operations damaged because you cannot curb your desires. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
I watch his folded hands bob up and down at the base of his back with every step. We follow him through the corridors to the bottom of the staircase.
“Perhaps you had best get ready for dinner. I’ll give the fish to Apinya.” He holds out his hand for the bag. “Dinner at 7, Owen.”
“Yes, sir,” Owen says, nodding, no, practically bowing to our uncle. I suppress an urge to roll my eyes.
“Now, Isabel.” He wraps an arm over my shoulder and I cringe away from him. Feeling the way my body squirms, makes him pull me even more tightly into him. He leads me towards the kitchen, our hips bumping together like two disjointed cogs. Finally, he releases me as we come to the kitchen. “Be a dear and pass me that knife.” He nods to the kitchen counter, where his prize possession, a Japanese sushi knife, is hung up on the wall.
I walk slowly over to the knife, my heart racing. What I could do with this knife. The flesh I could flay. The patterns I could draw, and the blood that would seep from the wounds. It would be a waste on a piece of dirt like Uncle Lloyd, but I could still do it and it would give me the release that biting into that peasant didn’t quite elicit.
But Uncle Lloyd is watching me carefully, my every movement, analysing me and assessing my thoughts. I wonder whether he’s ever killed anyone. I know lots of his trafficked people have died during transport, either suffocated to death in a container, or drowned falling out of a pathetic little boat in the middle of an ocean, but has he ever stabbed or strangled someone? Does he have blood on his hands? Real blood?
I pass him the knife and he smiles, baring teeth. He knows what I’m thinking and he knows that I’m weighing my options. I could kill him now, but if he dies, we’re alone in this country with no money and nowhere to live. That’s why he’s taunting me, because he knows he has his sweaty hand on my throat.
He plunges the knife into the fish and begins gutting it.
“Do you like it here, Isabel?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you kindly for your generosity.”
He shoots me the barest of glances, flicking his eyes up to mine. He knows there’s a hint of mocking in my voice. “I am being very generous, Isabel. But then you know I’ve always had a soft spot for you.” He rips out the guts and dumps them on the counter. “But that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want to do here. I’m sorry, but like I said, I have a business to run.”
“I understand.”
He waits.
“Sir.”
He smiles. “Good.” He chops off the head of the fish. “Your father never understood restraint, but his cleverness and luck helped him out. You were unfortunate that you ended up with his affliction at such a young age. He should have at least trained you to be careful if he was going to be careless enough to leave his evidence where you could find it. If you were my daughter, I would harness your energies for another purpose. You’re a very bright girl, Isabel. Resourceful, ruthless, violent. All of those qualities can be used in my line of business. It’s such a shame you’re not mine.” He glances at me as though waiting for a response.
“Thank you, sir,” I mutter.
Then he turns around so that we’re face to face, and holds the knife out between us, it now bloody from the fish guts. “But you should know, that I am not someone to be crossed.” He takes a step forward. The knife is inches from my throat. I consider whether I could be quick enough to snatch it from him, and recognise that I would not be quick enough. He is older, but he is military. “I can make you disappear, Isabel. No one will ever know you even existed.” Another step forward, I can smell his sour breath, but I refuse to back away. “I’d sell you. How would you like that? And you’d be chained up and fucked by some old man.” Another step forward, he rests the knife on my collar bone. His nose whistles when he breathes. “Hmm? How would you like that?”
I glance at the fish, gutless. “How would you like that to happen to me? Sir?”
“Go to your room, Isabel,” he says, stepping away from me, his back stiff and the knife vibrating in his hands. “And think about what I said. Because it’s all true. I can do that to you.”
And I can do that to you, I think, still looking at the fish.
***
Supper is uneventful. We drink white wine with fried fish and spiced vegetables. Owen drinks too much and begins to slur his words. He taps the dining table relentlessly with his fingers until Uncle threatens to chop them off. I can tell that he needs a fix. I don’t know what drugs he takes, maybe the same ones as Genna with a G, maybe not. Thailand would be an easy place to find drugs, but Uncle Lloyd won’t have it. Owen will cave soon. Selfless is not a term I would use for Owen. Yes, he sometimes takes his turn, in the family. He distracted the police so I could get to Leah. He got me out of prison. But then I spent years and years in Crowmont being a well-behaved girl without any of the family to help me. Owen could never do that. The short prison term he served for perverting the course of justice was enough for him. This is nothing more than another prison and soon he will cave into his desires. Perhaps we all will.
Owen and I go to our bedrooms early, and across the hall I hear the sounds of his house music thumping. He’s desperate to go partying, I know that much. Owen likes people, drugs, cruelty and stupid music. And that’s all he likes.
Uncle Lloyd’s bedroom is on the other side of the villa which means that Owen can get away with his thumping music. It also means that he can’t hear whatever it is I’m up to. Which is fine for me. However, I’m aware that Apinya, Lloyd’s faithful servant – or possibly slave – watches my every move.
Once Owen’s music has died down and the house is silent, I change my clothes, dressing in black leggings and a black, long-sleeved top. I hide my red hair with a hat. Then I go over to the window to look out at the streets below. My room is above a veranda with a porch roof. If I can climb onto the roof and down the support beams, I can get out. I haven’t quite lost the strength I gained in the prison, and the thought of disobeying my uncle sends a hit of pleasant adrenaline into my bloodstream.
Quietly, I open the window and scramble down onto the porch roof. Then I listen, waiting to see if I can hear Apinya moving around on the ground floor. It’s silent. I drop from one of the beams, landing like a cat. Then I wait again. There are some security lights fitted around the outside of villa, but they tend to be set off by stray cats and dogs. As long as no one goes to the window, I’ll be fine.
I take my time sneaking slowly around the outside of the villa, and my patience is rewarded. None of the lights go off. I’m free.
Even at night the air is warm and I long to rip away the hat, but I know I’ll need it. I want to blend into the shadows. My uncle knows everyone in the village. His reach is vast, and his influence is heavy. If one of them sees me sneaking around the alleys, they’ll tell him. They’re too afraid not to tell him.
I know where I’m going. Back to the narrow street where we saw the beggar. I know that he
lives there in a cardboard box with his ragged clothes and small black eyes. I think about the hatred in those eyes. The slap across my face. The stinging of my skin. I think about the pleasure it all gave me. The tiny release.
I think about who I am and who my family is. There was never any stopping who I became, it was programmed into me. A family of psychopaths raises more psychopaths. What else was I ever going to be? I think about Uncle Lloyd and those wandering hands of his. I think about the first cuts I made on Maisie Earnshaw and the way it released all of the tension that had been building up inside me. How it made me feel like someone new, someone in control.
And then I think about Leah. The way I talked to her in my thoughts. The slight respite that brought me when I was in hiding. Alone. I’d felt doomed. I’d felt like I had one last job to do before I died, and that was killing Leah.
And then my hand drifts up to the scar on my neck. I think about the way I woke up in hospital, my life saved by people who would rather watch me die. Leah in the cave, her face fixed in determination as she drove the knife into me. The moment of realisation when it dawned on me that Tom had murdered Alison Finlay for fun. Perhaps it was that moment that severed some part of the connection I had with Leah and made me dig into self-preservation rather than fulfilling that death wish hanging over me. Leah and Tom had a violent father like I did, and they both ended up just as fucked up as I am. I’d found it comforting.
Around the next corner I see him lying on the ground, a dirty bandage around his arm. I remove the small oyster knife from around my waistband. I took it from the supply cupboard while Apinya had her back turned. Easily hidden away in a pocket or tucked into a belt loop.
I walk softly, my shoes whispering against the compacted dirt. The man finally looks up when I stand over him, and recognition flashes in his eyes. Then comes the hatred. He’s not afraid, he looks like he’s been waiting for me. He lunges at me, and I lift my hand with the oyster knife.
As I stab him to death, I don’t tell him that I’m thinking of someone else.
Chapter Thirteen
Leah
Donna passes me the ceramic casserole dish filled to the brim with roast potatoes, so heavy that I have to place it back on the table to serve myself. I take one and she glances at my plate with a frown. I add a second. The portion I’ve given myself is a small one, whereas everyone else has piled their plates high. But that’s the farmer’s life, all the physical labour replenished by a satisfying meal. Donna doesn’t seem to trust someone without an appetite, but usually I’m too nervous to eat a lot when I visit. Tonight, my stomach churns even more than usual. I’m tired, I want my bed, and I want to take something for the stomach-ache.
“Seb tells me that your brother and his boyfriend are still up at the cottage.” Donna spoons on some extra cauliflower cheese.
I pass the dish to Josh on the other side of the table. My eyes linger on the empty places. Most of the brothers have left, only Seb and Josh remain. That must be hard for his mother. “That’s right. They’re looking for a place right now. But Tom needs to stay in the village because his clients are here, and unfortunately there aren’t many places in his price range.”
“Ah well,” she says, stabbing a carrot, “it’s a bare ten-minute drive to Beckforth.”
“They love the village though,” I reply, smiling as wide as I can muster, but bubbling inside and wishing she would at least try to hide her disdain for my family.
“Still, it must be very cramped.”
I sigh loudly. “We make do.”
Josh saves the conversation by changing the subject. “We’ve found a new supplier for the wedding chairs. They do the tulle covers that the bride wanted.”
Donna nods her head. “You should see the barn covered in the fairy lights. It works. We have a chance to make a living doing this.”
Seb twitches next to me and I place a calming hand on his arm.
“It’s a shame they can’t stay on the farm overnight,” Donna says. “There’s an opportunity to make real money.”
The table quiets and I eat a few bites, ignoring the swirling going on inside my body. Perhaps it’s time to admit to myself that I’m ill. Even when I met Cassie the other day I didn’t feel right.
“Joe Hewitt has ten calves for a decent price,” Seb says. “Dairy.”
Josh leans back in his chair and sighs. “We’re not touching dairy anymore. You know that. There’s no money in it.”
His mother nods while chewing on her beef.
“Dad always wanted us to get into dairy,” Seb insists. “You know that.”
Josh snorts. “Mum, tell him he’s talking stupid.”
“Listen to your brother, Sebastian,” she says.
“I think Seb wanted a discussion at least,” I add, annoyed by the way they’re ganging up on him. “He’s part of the farm and wants to talk about—” Seb places a hand on my knee and I know it’s a signal for me to stop talking.
“Look, all I think is that Dad would be pissed off about the direction the farm is heading. All these events and—”
“Seriously? This again?” Josh says. He drops his fork onto his plate. “Why don’t you fuck off and marry your psycho-magnet girlfriend? Go somewhere and live happily ever after. Far away from here, preferably.”
“What did you say?” Seb pushes his chair back and stands, leaning low over the table. Arms rippling with tension. I try to take his hand, but he yanks it away from me.
“Boys,” Donna says, her voice a muted warning.
“I’m right though, aren’t I? Has anything damaged the farm more than her?” he says, pointing at me. “She brought that psychopath here. She ruined everything and wrecked our reputation. And her bratty brother doesn’t even pay rent.”
“What reputation?” I snap. “If anything, you get more attention now. People actually want to get married here because it’s famous.”
“Yeah, fucking weirdos.”
“Weirdos with money,” I shout. I push my plate away and shake my head. “I think we should go. Looks like we’re not welcome here.”
“Yes, go. Please. Get out of our cottage and take your freak family with you.”
Seb dashes around the table before I can stop him. Josh’s jaw tightens as Seb’s hands grasp his shirt collar and rams him up against the wall. The sudden aggression makes my head spin. I’m back with Isabel, a knife in my hand. I reach down and pick up the knife for carving beef. All I see is the threat against the man I love, as Josh pushes back against Seb. Donna’s chair scraps against the wooden floorboards as she stands. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. You’re not a killer, Leah.
“Stop this right now.” Donna squeezes herself in between her two youngest sons. “That’s enough.”
Seb backs away and the tussling ends. I unclench my hand and the knife drops to the table, the clattering breaking the tense silence. Every face turns to me.
Gently, Seb takes my hand and wraps on arm around my shoulder. My legs feel like jelly as he leads me out of the house. Cold, crisp air hits us as we leave.
***
The first thing I do when I wake is throw up. Then I eat four slices of toast and make a doctor’s appointment. Seb kisses my sweaty brow on his way out of the cottage.
“You’re still going to the farm?” I ask, concerned about the previous night.
“What else am I going to do?” he says while pulling on his boots. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay now. It comes and goes.”
“You’re seeing the doctor?”
I nod my head.
“Call me, won’t you? I want to know you’re okay.” He strokes my hair, softly pinches my cheek.
Suddenly the kitchen is full of men. But they file away one by one. Tom hurries through and leaves with a brief wave of his hand. Seb follows, after kissing me goodbye a second time. Only Dominic hangs in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Cup of tea?” I suggest. Since the sickness bug I haven’t bothered going t
o work in the farm shop. Instead Donna has been manning the shop most days. She doesn’t seem to care if I work there or not and I don’t feel inclined to help right now.
“Yeah. But a quick one. I’ve got a job interview in an hour.”
“Oh, fantastic! Whereabouts?”
“Actually, it’s at Crowmont Hospital. Is that weird?”
Hearing that name almost makes me drop the mug, but I manage to compose myself. “No, not at all. It’s actually a very nice place to work. What position are you going for?”
“It’s a reception job. Part time, but it’s better than waiting tables.”
“Yeah, definitely. Oh, I’m so pleased, Dom. I hope you get it.”
“Thanks.”
I note the slight dullness to his eyes, and the way one finger taps against the wood.
“Is everything all right?” I ask. He steps into the room and his shoulders begin to slump as though he’s about to cry. I pull up a chair. “Here. Sit down for a moment.”
While Dom sniffs and rubs his eyes, I put the kettle on and drop tea bags into two mugs.
“Sorry about this,” he says. “God, I’m such a loser, crying in front of you like this.”
“Hey, no you’re not.” The kettle boils and I pour the hot water over the tea bags. “You’re looking at the queen of loserdom here. And my therapist does not allow me to say that about myself, even though I objectively have the worst luck in the world.” As I take the tea across to the table, I worry that the joke didn’t land. But Dom offers me a weak smile, probably out of pity.
“Thanks,” he says. “You’re a great sister, you know.”
I drop my gaze. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Good mother then.” He places one hand on mine and nods. “Tom told me. I hope that’s okay.”
I keep staring down at his hand, realising that there’s something not quite right. Then I notice Dominic has a bruise all around his wrist.
“What happened?” I ask.
Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3) Page 9
