by Ann Evans
Julia didn't know the name of the band playing, but it was a familiar song, one Lucy sang along to, sometimes. She forced back her tears.
With Nash’s arm bandaged as tightly as she could, and the patch of red that had immediately soaked through the bandages getting no worse, she put his arm in a sling. She fastened the knot four or five times behind his head, securing his arm tightly to his chest.
“Is that comfortable?” she asked, feeling as if she were betraying herself and Lucy by showing concern.
“What’s with the sling? It ain’t broken.”
“The less you use it, the less chance you’ll have of bleeding to death,” she reminded him, not about to divulge her primary reason. Immobilising his arm had lessened the odds against her and Lucy, if only by a fraction.
Concentrating next on picking out the last fragments of glass from his forehead, she felt the crawling sensation of his other hand slipping under her coat, pawing her thigh.
She leapt back, sending her chair skittering across the floor. “Keep your hands off me!”
Lucy screamed, and clung to her.
The good side of Nash’s mouth curved into what could have been a grin.
Vincent watched, one eyebrow arched. “You’d rather he played with your pretty little daughter?”
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”
They both laughed.
“Mummy…” Lucy murmured, hiding behind her.
“I’m too knackered anyhow,” Nash grumbled, slurring his words.
The music faded on Vincent’s mobile, and someone spoke. He’d tuned into the local radio, Julia recognised the late-night DJ. It was the three am news bulletin.
He turned up the volume. “Shut it. I want to hear if there’s anything yet.”
They all listened as the latest political squabbles were reported, along with an earthquake in a town Julia had never heard of, and an accident on the M6, with police blaming reckless drivers going too fast in the fog. Julia eased Lucy a little further towards the door, wondering if now was the time to make a run for it. Yet, she knew one move would have Vincent leaping at them. She would wait, bide her time, wait for the right moment.
There was a contented smirk on Vincent’s face, as the weather report came on. He clicked his mobile off. “Nothing yet, mate.”
“Good.”
Julia leaned against a damp wall, cradling Lucy to her. Whatever these two demons had done, it was bad enough to make the news. Her heart cried silently out. Ian, why did you do this to us?
She closed her eyes. It was no use blaming him. It was her fault. She ought to have faced him with their problems, instead of running away.
She put her lips close to her daughter's ear. “Lucy,” she whispered. “Did you tell Daddy in your letter where we were going?”
The child nodded. “Yes. Aunty Steph's.”
“Good girl. When he rings her, and finds out we haven’t arrived, he’ll tell the police. They’ll come looking for us…”
“It’s rude to whisper,” Vincent interrupted, standing up, kicking his chair aside. The clatter of wood made them jump.
As he sauntered closer to them, Julia felt her skin crawl with terror. She backed away, keeping Lucy tucked behind her. Ian had to ring Steph. Please God, she implored under her breath, let him ring Steph before it was too late.
He towered over them, broad-shouldered and powerful. Icy blue eyes sweeping over her slowly, from head to toe. His hands slid down the front of his coat, and she saw the silver buttons and the leather were streaked with blood. Nash’s blood – or someone else's? Benjamin’s, maybe?
She inched away, recoiling inwardly, keeping Lucy locked behind her, shielding her from this maniac. Her terror rose, as he began unbuttoning his long leather coat. The knife was tucked inside a deep pocket. She couldn’t see it, but knew it was there. He stood a few inches from her, coat open revealing a lean athletic torso. He was all in black – a black sweater, black tight fitting jeans. He knew he looked good. No doubt he thought he was irresistible.
“Get away from us,” she said, through gritted teeth.
His eyebrows arched innocently. “I was only going to ask if you'd care for more coffee?”
“Just let us go. My husband will have alerted the police by now. Whatever you’ve done, you don’t want us on your conscience, too.”
He stood with his hands on his hips, the heavy leather coat pushed back. “Oh, but we like the company. Don’t we, Nash?”
Nash said nothing. He had his head down on the kitchen table, eyes shut.
Vincent inched closer, his index finger trailing from her throat down to her breasts. He fingered the zip of her coat. “And such attractive company.”
She didn’t flinch. If he expected her to look away, or avoid eye contact, he was in for a disappointment. Whatever harm he intended, he would have her face on his conscience forever. In a whisper, she breathed, “You have my word we won’t tell a soul. Please, let us go.”
For several drawn-out seconds, he said nothing. Then, with a glance at his accomplice, he said, “That’s something my friend and I will have to consider, won’t we, Nash?”
The other man made no reply. He looked asleep – or unconscious.
“Tomorrow, I think, when he’s up to it. As for tonight, I think it’s time we got a little shut-eye.” He smiled. “Not here, though. I should hate you to slip out, and get lost. Upstairs, I think.” He extended his arm towards the far doorway. “There’s no need for me to use undue force, is there? You look like an intelligent woman. So, would you like to take yourself and your daughter upstairs to bed?
Left with no alternative, Julia lifted Lucy into her arms.
“Would you like me to carry her?”
Julia cast him a contemptuous glare, and walked ahead, Lucy’s arms and legs wrapped fiercely around her.
The hallway leading to the staircase was draughty, bleak, and bitterly cold. The front door was bolted top and bottom, possibly nailed up. She couldn’t tell. The precarious staircase shook and shuddered as they climbed, the bannister rotting and broken. Vincent followed at her heels, with the paraffin lamp casting horrendous shadows along the wall.
There was a rickety balcony on the first landing, and then, another flight of stairs to climb, worse than the first. Julia hesitated, only to be jabbed sharply in the back, urging her onwards. Terrified, she climbed, expecting the stairs to disintegrate underfoot at any second.
Somehow, they reached the top landing, without the entire staircase collapsing like a pack of cards. She doubted they would withstand much more use, though. This place was a death trap.
“There’s a nice little room at the far end,” Vincent said, like some estate agent showing prospective buyers around a desirable property.
The floorboards bowed beneath her feet, as she walked along the passageway. She could feel the rotten wood bending and groaning with every step. She moved slower, inching her way, as if she were walking on eggshells, their shadows on the wall looking nightmarish.
“You actually live here?” Julia asked, finding him too close, almost on top of her.
“Let’s say, it’s a sort of un-rented apartment while we’re between homes. We’ll be moving on to pastures newer and greener tomorrow.”
“And what about us? I imagine we’ve complicated your plans.”
Vincent moved past her, and opened a door. Again, his hand pressed into the small of her back, forcing her inside.
It was like walking into a tomb. If there was a window, it had been boarded up, although there was a draught blowing in from somewhere. The cold and damp seeped through to her bones, while the smell of mildew from dank walls invaded her senses.
“My partner sorts out the complications,” he said, blowing her a kiss. “Sleep well, beautiful.”
He closed the door with a bang, cutting off the meagre light source. Total impenetrable blackness closed around them, along with a suffocating sensation
of claustrophobia. Lucy began to sob.
“Leave us the lamp,” Julia shouted. He didn't answer, but she could hear him moving about outside in the passageway, as if looking for something. And then, he was back outside their door. She felt the handle move a few times, and then, came the groaning of the stairs beneath his weight as he went back down. She prayed with all her heart the stairs would collapse under him that very minute.
“I want to go home,” Lucy sobbed. “I want my daddy!”
“I know, I know, sweetheart. We'll be out of here soon,” she said, trying to sound confident. Once they were asleep, they'd be able to slip out, and get away. Cautiously, she tried to open the door, to peep out, but it opened a fraction and no more. She yanked at it furiously, not caring about the noise she was making. But, he'd secured it somehow.
“Pull it harder, Mummy!”
“It won't budge. He's tied it up.” Her thoughts were racing. Had she a pair of nail scissors in her bag? She could ease them through the gap, try and cut through the rope, or whatever was holding them. But, as quick as the thought struck her, the answer came back as quickly. Her nail scissors were in her shower bag, in her suitcase, at the bottom of the reservoir.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she breathed, setting Lucy down, and dragging her bag out from under her coat. “I've got my mobile.” She fumbled through it finding her make up bag, her purse, her hairbrush – but no phone. She searched again, getting Lucy to hold onto every item, as she pulled one thing after another out. Frantically now, she checked and double-checked the zipped compartments. Turning the whole thing inside out, pulling and pressing the lining, shaking the bag in desperation.
A silent shriek was building up from the pit of her stomach, threatening her sanity. Only the sight of Lucy’s hopeful face peering up into hers stopped her from giving way to panic.
She buried her face into the child’s hair, smelling the strawberry-scented shampoo she had used on her a few hours ago, and her heart broke.
CHAPTER 10
Ian’s eyes felt puffed and heavy when he awoke. A check of his alarm clock showed it wasn’t yet six, but he had done all the sleeping he could do. The bed was empty without Julia. The house was empty without her and Lucy.
Pushing back the covers, he slid his legs out and sat on the edge, head in hands. The rainbow-coloured note had fallen to the floor during the night. He picked it up again, and re-read it.
His own stupidity crippled him. He'd let the two people he loved most in the world slip out of his life. And for what? A fling with an older woman, not even a serious relationship, just sex. She’d shocked him, though, the way she’d come at him with those scissors. Talk about a woman scorned.
He dragged himself along to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and peeled the plasters off his wrist and finger. Both wounds were still inflamed. He applied more antiseptic and plasters, and went downstairs.
He hesitated by the telephone in the hall. No point in ringing Stephanie this time of morning; they wouldn’t be up. Probably when Julia got to her sister’s last night, they would have put Lucy to bed, and sat discussing his failings long into the night. No, they wouldn’t be up yet. He would ring later.
He made himself a cup of strong black coffee, and took it through to the lounge, working out what he'd say to Julia. He’d have to come clean, tell her the truth. There was no point in lying now. He owed her the truth, at the very least – and a massive apology, if she would accept it.
The whine of the electric milk float and jingle of milk bottles roused him from his thoughts, and he peered through the curtains. The fog had lifted, giving way to a dull grey morning. He watched the milkman leaving the milk on his own doorstep, then disappear down Benjamin Stanton’s driveway. People in this street were old school – still having their milk delivered. If Julia wasn’t back by tomorrow, he would have to nip round, and tell Benjamin she wouldn’t be doing his shopping this week, and he’d have to make other arrangements. He ought to offer to do it, seeing as it was his fault Julia wasn't about. Yes, he’d probably do that. He’d certainly think about it, anyway.
Wandering back into the kitchen, he cooked himself a couple of rashers of bacon, threw in an egg, and watched them sizzle. He ate automatically, tasting nothing.
He couldn’t go into work, not today. He rang in, and left a voice message on the boss’s phone. He didn’t want to talk to him either, even though Tony Wyndham was as much a friend as a boss. He couldn’t face anyone, at the moment. Perhaps he should drive over to Stephanie’s, see Julia for himself. See if she would talk to him.
No, it was too soon. Give her time. It was up to her whether she wanted him back. And she would need time to make up her mind. Better if he rang later.
At nine am, he emptied the pockets of his jacket, and took a walk down to the dry cleaners, needing the cold air to clear his mind, and get his thoughts together. By the time he got home, Julia should be back at her sister’s, after taking Lucy to school. Steph worked full time, so Julia would probably be in the house on her own, hoping he might phone.
There was broken glass in the road near his house. He guessed there must have been a bump last night. Not surprising, with all the fog about. He kicked it into the gutter. The last thing he needed was a puncture, on top of everything else.
Back home, he picked up the phone, and dialled Steph’s number. Eventually it clicked through to the answer phone, and he hung up. His insides felt like they’d tied themselves into a knot. Was Julia listening to the ringing, knowing it was him, and deliberately not answering? He picked up the receiver again, this time began dialling Julia’s mobile number. He got through to the fifth digit, and then stopped. What the hell was he going to say?
For long agonising minutes he stared at the phone, and then, furious with himself, and his own stupidity, he slammed it down again, strode over to the cabinet, and poured himself a large whisky. About to turn away, instead, he picked up the bottle, and sank down into an armchair, bottle and glass in hand.
He didn’t have any excuses to give Julia for his behaviour, but perhaps the bottle of scotch would supply one.
CHAPTER 11
Vincent awoke feeling good. The haul from the old bloke’s place was going to set him up for a long time. It was top quality antique silver and gold, worth a bomb. Pity he’d have to halve the take with that little runt.
Nash deserved fuck all, seeing as he hadn’t lifted a finger throughout the whole episode, and then, he’d turned into a liability, a weight around his neck. He’d had to do the dirty work, and killing really wasn’t his style. Nash was going to have to earn his share by getting rid of the woman and the kid. That was something he couldn’t do, not in cold blood, only if he had to, in the heat of the moment. Once that was done, they could drive her car down to London, unload the stuff, and he and Nash could split. He would never have to look at that ugly mug again.
It was going to be a busy morning.
He yawned, his hands going down the inside of his pants. First, though, he would give the cow one last thrill.
He crawled off the mattress, stood up and stretched. His jeans lay neatly folded on the floor, his trench coat hung from a nail in the wall. He lifted up his sweater, and scratched his stomach, rubbing his hands over the ridges of muscle, liking what he felt. Nash wasn’t up. He could hear him in the next room. The miserable sod was groaning in his sleep, like a pregnant sow.
In stocking feet and trouser-less, he headed towards the stairs. If Nash wanted to screw her before snuffing her out, he could. But, right now, it was his turn. His cock twitched at the thought of it.
He climbed the next set of stairs. They swayed under his weight, the old timber creaking, like it was ready to snap. He’d be glad when they were out of this dump. It was a death trap. Still, it was serving its purpose; somewhere to hang out before they got rid of the antiques, away from prying eyes. His flat wouldn’t have done; too many nosy neighbours. He’d split from there a few weeks ago, so
the trail would be cold, if anyone came looking. Nash had done likewise.
There were no worries, though; that fog had been a Godsend. No one had seen them, not a soul. He grinned. Not a soul who would live to tell the tale, anyway.
He had fastened the door handle of their room by a piece of rope tethered to an adjacent door handle. Now, he untied it, and opened the door. A swathe of dismal light cut into the blackness of the room. There was a fragrance in the air. He'd expected to smell piss and shit, like they'd crapped themselves.
The woman and her kid scrambled even closer to each other, like a couple of frightened mice. Then, she got to her feet, shielding the kid behind her. He could tell they’d both been crying, and neither looked like they'd slept a wink.
“Good morning,” he said, and gave them both the benefit of his smile.
The woman’s eyes flicked over him, resting briefly on the bulge in his underpants. He saw her cringe.
“Care to stretch your legs, beautiful?” he asked pleasantly.
“You’re letting us go?”
“Now, that all depends on whether you do as I say, and you don't give me any grief.” He extended his arm for her to go with him. As they both made a move, he held up his hand. “Ladies, one at a time.”
She jerked backwards, as she grasped his meaning. “You keep away from us.”
He inclined his head, so his blond hair flopped over one eye. He guessed he must look pretty good to her. “So, you don’t want to go home?”
“Of course we do.”
She really did look like a little mouse, cowering there, short tousled hair, big frightened eyes, but in a way, he quite admired her guts. For a woman, she had balls. All the other women he’d known in his life would have shit themselves by now. He kept his tone pleasant. “And you will, but all in good time. I thought we might have a little chat first. Get to know one another. What do you say?”