Tell Me Your Secret

by Dorothy Koomson

  And she would have said: ‘The cruelty’s the point,’ before she hit me across the head with a heavy object.

  Pieta

  Friday, 12 July

  The quiet here is both unnerving and hypnotic. The outside air is thick with pockets of heat; the sounds of this area are a penetrating hum of little insects and water lapping against the boat.

  I’m sitting in Ned’s living area, drinking the beer that he’d put back into the fridge earlier. Ned went into the shower after me and has been in there a while. I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I keep thinking about Callie. How I’ve abandoned her to her fate, while I sit here, in hiding.

  What am I going to do? That is the question that keeps circling my brain like vultures over a rotting carcass, constantly swooping down to grab the entire piece of the solution but only coming away with a bit – the answer to the question seems to present itself but then a roadblock of some kind gets in the way. Everything I think of seems to have a downside that will, in the long-term, negate any short-term gains.

  What am I going to do?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ned says as he enters his living area. His hair is still damp, and his bare torso is glowing slightly from the heat of his shower. ‘I’m sorry for ruining it earlier. For making you remember.’

  I reach out my arm, beckon him to come towards me, to join me on his sofa. When he sits at the very edge, as far away from me as he can, I beckon to him again. ‘Come here, silly,’ I say. ‘Come where I can cuddle you.’

  We manage to squeeze ourselves together onto the terracotta-coloured seat, our bodies finding a way to tessellate like they were designed to fit like this.

  ‘You know what your boat could do with?’ I say to him as we look into each other’s eyes. It’s a revelation being able to look someone in the eye again because I’ve told them almost everything.

  ‘No, what could my boat do with?’

  ‘A bit of pottery.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m serious. Pottery. It’ll transform this space. You won’t know the place once you’ve got a few plates and bowls and jugs and vases.’

  ‘I’ll, erm, think about it?’

  ‘Oh, you unbeliever. How you’ll regret your scorn once you see how they invigorate and enliven my place.’

  I see another question pass across his face: Will I really get to see your place? I can’t answer that question because I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see my place again.

  Carefully, I put my hand on his face and focus on him while I speak. ‘It wasn’t you, you didn’t ruin anything.’

  ‘I should have thought—’

  ‘We’re doing the best we can, here. I don’t know what to do next. I’m too scared to call Detective Foster in case they haven’t found Callie. Or they have and she’s dead. I can’t go home, I can’t stay here for ever. I’m having sex with someone I pretty much hate. I mean, there is not a lot there for you to ruin.’

  Ned’s face has changed. He’s looking at me so curiously, I have to ask: ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’

  ‘Do you really hate me?’

  ‘I used to. I don’t any more.’

  ‘When did you stop?’

  ‘About three minutes before we had sex.’

  ‘Really?’ he replies.

  ‘Yes. Why, did you think it was all cool between us or something?’

  ‘Well, yeah. A bit. A lot actually.’

  ‘No, Ned. Doesn’t work like that. Well, not with me, anyway. I don’t actively hate you, I haven’t for years, but you damaged me. If we hadn’t been thrown together in this way, there’s no way I’d even give you the time of day, let alone go to bed with you.’

  He is crestfallen all of a sudden, and it winds me, how I’ve hurt him. I think I like him more than I’m willing to admit to myself. I think he means more to me than I dare to imagine. He stares at a point over my head for a while, and the sounds of silence and night start to seep in again. ‘I hope you know that I really am very sorry. If there was a way I could go back and erase all those years of hurt I would do it in an instant. I don’t even properly remember why I did it. I was just a nasty piece of work and you suffered as a result of that. I’m sorry. So very sorry. I’m going to spend every day making it up to you.’

  ‘I know that. I know you’re sorry. And I don’t hate you any more, I truly don’t.’

  ‘But you’re wary.’

  ‘I’m wary of most people.’

  ‘D—’

  ‘Ned, either kiss me or help me work out what I’m going to do.’

  ‘B—’

  ‘I’m serious,’ I cut in. ‘I need to work out what I’m going to do, or I need you to be kissing me. Nothing else. No other chat, no other activities. Except maybe beer drinking. But nothing other than that.’

  His eyes explore my face, my eyes, my lips. When he realises I’m serious, he goes for the kissing option.

  Part 8

  Pieta

  Saturday, 13 July

  It’s not like Kobi to sleep in late, but I’ve checked on him multiple times now and he is out for the count. Mostly flat on his back, often with his mouth open, eyes firmly shut as he stays in dreamland.

  I wish I’d been that free.

  I sent Ned to bed when he kept nodding off, and I sat on the sofa in his living area, legs pulled up to my chest, worrying. By the time the light started to seep in through the portholes at the top of the cabin, I was no closer to deciding what to do. Short of taking off with Ned and Kobi and sailing around the country, never staying more than a few hours in any port, I couldn’t work out what to do next.

  There probably is nothing to do until I get the courage to call Detective Foster and find out what is happening with Callie. I’ve turned off my phone because I know tracing it is a very simple way for them to find us. I can’t stay off-grid forever, though. And what if he’s gone after my mum and dad? Or my siblings? What if he’s out there now, torturing them, hurting them, branding them to get to me?

  ‘You look like you’ve not slept a wink all night,’ Ned says.

  And then there’s the Ned Factor. I’d conveniently dropped that out of my thoughts last night.

  ‘Coffee?’ I ask, spinning towards the kettle I’m standing in front of so I don’t have to face him.

  ‘OK. Yes, coffee. And maybe addressing the awkwardness before it starts to take root?’ He stays on the other side of the room, thankfully, as I flick on the kettle. My hands are trembling as I open cupboards looking for mugs. I just got one out for myself, but with all this awkwardness about, I’ve forgotten pretty much everything.

  ‘I don’t even know if you have milk in your coffee,’ I say brightly.

  ‘All right, so you regret it. And you’re probably back to hating me.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Ned.’

  Morning-after pill. I have to add that to my list of things to deal with. Yes, he pulled out at the last minute, but I’ve known since before I started having sex that withdrawal is one of the least safe methods of contraception and with my luck . . .

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. But you do regret it, right?’

  ‘No, I don’t regret doing that with you last night.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’ He pauses for a long time. ‘I really don’t regret it. In fact, I’m kind of hoping we’ll do it again, sometime soon? How about you?’

  I turn to face him at last. His eyes seem a darker hazel this morning. Or maybe it’s the way the light comes in through the portholes. He’s got on a white T-shirt under a purple-checked shirt, dark-blue jeans, fluffy white slippers. He’s pushed his hair back and I can see the road map of his life in his wrinkles. Ned’s face tells the world he’s been on a journey, that he has seen many things and they have left their imprints on him.

  ‘Maybe, who knows?’

  He grins at me and I can’t help but grin back. I need to get my head in the game. Pushing myself away from the side and going to meet him in the middle of the room is
not having my head in the game. Smiling at him as he puts his hands on my face is not having my head in the game. Practically swooning as we kiss is not having my head in the game. It’s the very epitome of not having my head in the game. And I don’t care, to be honest. It’s nice being here with my head well and truly out of the game; it’s so much more liberating being firmly and decisively in this kissing game than it is out there, dealing with real life, adult reality, the things that stalk my world.

  Somewhere over his shoulder, Ned’s phone starts to ring, peeling into what we’re doing like the cry of a baby.

  ‘I thought you turned your phone off, like I did?’ I say to him.

  ‘I did, I just turned it on again to check my messages.’

  ‘But people will guess we’re together. If they trace your phone, they’ll find me and Kobi.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t think. It’s only been on for a few seconds. I’ll turn it off now.’

  As he goes to his phone to click it off, ‘Muuummmm,’ comes from the cabin area.

  I bustle past Ned to get to Kobi. He’ll be freaked out, wondering why he isn’t at martial arts, when we’re going to go home and how come I’ve let him sleep so late.

  He looks like he used to when he was small, tucked up in his cotbed, waiting for a story or for me to talk to him until he fell asleep. I used to talk to him all the time. It was such a novelty, having someone there all the time, I couldn’t help myself talking to him. And it helped get rid of those other feelings, which were sometimes so strong, so virulent in the first few weeks and months and years of his life. I was so ashamed they happened, so I used to combat them by talking to him, communicating with him, bonding with my son so the other feelings, those sharp, white edges, wouldn’t find a space in our lives.

  Kobi has the duvet right up to his ears, the smoothness of his almost-shaved head the only thing I can properly see.

  ‘It’s all right, Kobi, it’s all right,’ I hush.

  My son pulls down his duvet a little so I can see the crinkle of his frown, the scornful derision in his eyes. ‘Of course it’s all right, Mum. Why wouldn’t it be?’ he replies.

  ‘I just thought you might be a little . . . All right, never mind. Why were you calling me?’

  ‘Are we going to live on this boat for ever?’

  ‘No, no. Maybe a few more days, but not for ever.’

  ‘But it’s so nice, Mum. Why don’t you think about it? You’ve got your own room and I’ve got my own room, and Captain Ned has his own room.’

  ‘They’re called cabins, as well you know. And he’s not Captain Ned, he’s just a man called Ned who owns a boat. And we’re not living on a boat.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he replies.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You always say that about things that might or might not happen, so I’m saying it about this.’

  This stubbornness, this intractable certainty about particular things is all me; every last drop of it comes from my DNA.

  ‘What do you want for breakfast? You can choose from Rice Popperz with milk. Rice Popperz with water. Rice Popperz without any liquid. And . . . no, that’s it, those are your three breakfast choices so far. Which would you prefer?’

  ‘I’ll take the Rice Popperz, please, Mum.’

  ‘And would sir like to drink either water or the rest of yesterday’s juice?’

  ‘I’ll have a black coffee please, Mum. Easy on the sugar.’

  ‘Water it is then.’

  ‘Can I have breakfast in bed?’ he asks, already sinking back beneath the covers.

  ‘If you want,’ I reply. ‘I’ll bring it to you soon.’

  Ned is standing in the corridor outside Kobi’s cabin. He is pale, his features set like granite in the stone-greyness of his face. When I leave Kobi, he moves quickly towards the living area.

  There is cement lining the bottom of my stomach, where my heart plummeted after seeing his face.

  ‘Is she dead?’ I whisper, clamping down my teeth to stop myself from crying. ‘Has he killed her?’

  His eyes are wide, ringed with red, the whites are bloodshot. He looks terrified, absolutely petrified by what he has seen. But he shakes his head: no, he hasn’t killed her; no, she isn’t dead.

  He holds out his phone. I take the black rectangle from him.

  He has a photo up. A woman lies face down on a stone floor. She looks like she’s had her head caved in, from the way her thick, black hair is matted with blood. Why is he looking at this stuff? I look up at him, confused and disgusted. Why is he showing me this?

  Hang on, is that . . . ? I look down at the screen again. It is! It’s Detective Foster. I almost drop the phone in fright. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask him. Why is someone sending him photos of a beaten-up, possibly dead, Detective Foster?

  ‘Scroll on,’ he whispers.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe. Calm, calm, calm.

  I use my trembling finger to move the message on.

  A woman sits on a chair in the next picture. She is average height, average size. Her skin is a warm brown and her mouth, which is used to smiling, is a straight line of fear. Her long, beautiful plaits are pulled back into a ponytail. Around her eyes is wrapped an orange silk blindfold. Her hands are behind her and from the angle of her body, the discomfort apparent in every muscle, I can tell she is tied up.

  Sazz.

  Sazz has been taken by The Blindfolder.

  ‘Read the message,’ Ned murmurs.

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what he’s done to her, what he’s going to do to her. I don’t want to know. I don’t want any of this. I just don’t want to know.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe. Calm, calm, calm.

  I gather all my strength, force it into every muscle and force myself to read the message.

  It’s time for you to meet your destiny, Pieta. You always knew

  this day would come. Bring my nephew with you. If you don’t,

  the delightful Sazzleoj here, dies. It’s really that simple.

  And if you go to the police, she’ll be dead before they

  break down her door. You, me, your son.

  Be here by noon. Callie

  Part 9

  Pieta

  Saturday, 13 July

  ‘Before we go in there,’ Ned says, stopping me from leaving his car. I sit back in my seat and stare out of the front windscreen. ‘Let’s make plans for afterwards. I was wondering . . . thinking, that we could, possibly, you know, go away together?’

  I have to look at him as I ask, ‘Pardon?’

  ‘When this is all over, how about you, me and Kobi go sailing around the country? It’d be awesome.’

  ‘It would be totally awesome,’ I say, sounding like Kobi. I know why he’s suggesting this – to give us something beyond what is coming – but I can’t commit to anything. I want to live, and I want to believe that I’ll get out of this alive, that Ned will, that Sazz will and that DI Foster will recover in hospital. But I don’t know if that will happen. I don’t know if I can go into another situation that threatens my life and come out of it alive. That’s why I had to take my son and hide him as best I could in the time I had.

  Ned grins at me. ‘I know it’s only been a nanosecond since this began, but I’m falling for you, Miss Rawlings. Really hard.’ He reaches out to put his hand on my face. ‘I really want you and Kobi to be a big part of my future.’

  I lean forward and push my lips onto his instead of saying anything. I can’t answer that, I can’t say something similar because I don’t know what is going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll be around to be part of anyone’s future. I mean, in real terms, this could be the last time I get to kiss anyone. And it wouldn’t be so bad if the last man I kissed was Ned, but I don’t know how I feel about him, not really. Last night was incredible, and we’ve come to mean a lot to each other in this briefest of points in our lives. But how would I feel about him if The Blindfolder wasn’t breathing down my neck? Would I want me
and my son to go into the future with him? I don’t know and I don’t have time right now to work it out. So kissing him is the best I can do.

  We break apart and rest our foreheads against each other, breathing deeply. I’m trying to get strength from this. I have to get strength from anything I can.

  ‘Shall we get on with it?’ he eventually says.

  Before he can get out, it’s my turn to stop him, hold him back. ‘Thank you, Ned. For everything.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  Jody

  Saturday, 13 July

  I feel humiliated.

  I should do, as well. I can’t believe I’ve got myself into this mess.

  I woke up just as I was being dumped on the floor. I tried to open my eyes but I had something tied around my face. I could tell, though, it was daylight and I had been out for hours. Before I could react, or even move, someone grabbed my wrist and cable-tied it to something. From the faint bubbling sounds, the near-silent shushing, I guessed it was a radiator. They had taken me somewhere, which suggests they drugged me to keep me unconscious. All of this added to the feeling of humiliation. I was suspicious of Callie, but all along I thought she was in his thrall. I never imagined she was a part of it. No, not just a part of it. From the way he kept looking to her, she was clearly the mastermind.

  ‘Are you sure she’ll come?’ Ross/The Blindfolder asked.

  ‘Yes. For the millionth time, yes,’ Callie replied, her frustration not even barely restrained. ‘This is her nanny. She will come because she will want to rescue her.’

  ‘That’s what you said before about that one. And she didn’t bring them.’

  ‘I overestimated how important I was to the police. I thought good old Jody would do anything to get me back. That’s not the case here. Pieta has known this woman for years. She will do anything to get her back.’