by M. A. Hunter
‘I don’t like the thought of leaving you with this woman, especially without a phone,’ she said.
‘But you forget,’ I replied, loudly enough for Anna to hear, ‘this woman is my sister, and she’s asked me to trust her, so the least I can do is listen.’ I then lowered my voice and added. ‘There’s a card with DI Oakley’s contact details on it. Give her a call when you get back and explain the situation. I’ll keep working on Anna to see if I can get her to give herself up.’
That was the moment Anna had leaned out of the van window and told me to get in or miss out. I was relieved when she returned Rachel’s SIM card to her, with the added warning not to use it until she was far enough away from the area.
We’ve been driving now for almost an hour, and the sky ahead is starting to darken, like a portent of what might be about to befall us. I’ve kept my eyes on the window ahead, and although we’ve taken a somewhat circuitous route, it looks like we’re on our way to Chichester, an area I’m not overly familiar with, save for the fact that it is along the coastal road that runs from Devon to Folkestone. Is it really so surprising that our next stop should be in the centre of the coastline where the ring have been operating for so long unchecked?
‘So, what’s in Chichester?’ I ask her as casually as I can, but also to show her I’m not stupid and have figured out where we are.
She glances over, even more casually, and simply says, ‘The truth.’
It almost makes me laugh how dramatic and ominous the words sound, as if she’s rehearsing for a poorly written play.
She has elaborated very little since we left Alton, and although I believed Daisy was still working at the laptop, I glimpse her in the vanity mirror, and as the glow of the passing street lights catches her face, I can see she is fast asleep. It’s probably been as harrowing a day for her as any of the rest of us. To think, my morning started with a trip to the Tesco Express to buy pastries for my and Jack’s breakfast. I never pictured this is how I would wind up.
‘So, do you remember me from before?’ I ask next, now that I know Daisy isn’t listening in.
She doesn’t answer initially, and I’m tempted to ask again in case I said it too quietly, but I catch her looking over. ‘Not really. It was a long time ago, and so much has happened since then.’
‘You don’t remember the last time we saw each other then?’
She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you tell me what happened, it might trigger… I don’t know.’
I’ve pictured this conversation a hundred times or more, but now that the moment’s arrived, I don’t know how much I should or shouldn’t say.
‘It was a Sunday afternoon,’ I begin. ‘I can almost remember it like it was yesterday. You and I were in the yard of Mum and Dad’s house in Weymouth, playing with my skateboard, but we had an argument, and you left because I think you were upset, and said you were going to walk to our grandma’s house.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yeah, you were older than me, so Mum and Dad trusted you to go there alone; it was only five minutes around the corner, but you never made it.’
‘Figures.’
‘You don’t remember what happened to you? Can you remember anything about the day you went missing?’
Another long silence descends, before she finally, and with a quiver to her voice, says, ‘No.’
I can’t tell whether that’s the truth, or just a convenient truth that she’s managed to convince herself of all these years. I remember having a similar conversation with Zara Edwards earlier this year about her memories of her abduction, but it soon became clear they’d been repressed for her own mental security. I wonder just how much Anna has repressed for the same reason.
‘Anyway, that isn’t technically the last time we saw each other,’ she says next.
I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. ‘It isn’t?’
She shakes her head, smiling crookedly. ‘Do you remember back in January, you were doing a book signing at the Waterstones in Weymouth? I think it coincided with the release of your book Isolated in hardback. You arrived with a police escort, which I thought was such a cool entrance. The others in the queue were suitably impressed, let me tell you.’
I do remember the signing she’s talking about, and how Rick gave me a lift from Portsdown police station because I was running late. I remember feeling flustered and panicking that Maddie would be cross about me being late, but surely I hadn’t been so blinded that I’d signed an autograph for my sister.
‘You were really there?’ I ask. ‘Did we speak?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I came along because I was going to ask you whether you’d received the picture of Precious that I’d sent to your agent, but then I bottled it at the last moment and left the queue. I was worried you would tell me to leave you alone, and that you weren’t interested in their stories, but then when I saw you turn up at Chez’s grave on Hayling Island, I knew I’d piqued your interest.’
‘You were following me?’
‘Not intentionally. I’d gone to lay flowers at the grave where I figured they’d buried Chez, and was leaving the graveyard when you and some guy turned up. Who was he, by the way? Your boyfriend? I can’t imagine that he’s the Jack Serrovitz you write about as he’s much taller than you’ve suggested. Unless that’s just a bit of artistic licence on your part.’
Rick must certainly be wondering where I am by now. Knowing him, he’s recovered my phone, and has been waiting on my doorstep to give it back to me heroically.
‘No, he’s just a friend,’ I reply. ‘I can’t believe I could have found you sooner, if I’d just looked hard enough.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up. Had I known you were my sister, I might not have avoided coming forward on those occasions. I was in awe of your writing and the determination you showed in bringing the likes of Arthur Turgood to trial. I figured if anyone could help me with my situation it was you.’
She said could rather than can: does that mean she’s having second thoughts about me helping her, or have I finally managed to convince her that this vigilante-esque plan is destined to fail?
‘Do you still write?’ I ask, attempting to keep the conversation light.
‘Did I ever?’
‘Yes,’ I nod, ‘you were the reason I got into it. I idolised you as a child, and when you disappeared, I thought if I started writing like you used to, that somehow… I don’t know, it sounds silly now to say it out loud, but I thought it would give us a connection. I read so many books as a means of escaping the drama at home, and that fuelled my imagination. I never thought I’d end up choosing fact over fiction though.’
‘What do Mum and Dad think about your writing? Are they proud of you?’
A lump fills my throat as my chest tightens. I haven’t told her about Mum’s passing, nor Dad’s, and it reminds me just how cruel the timing of all this has been. If only she’d come forward back in January, there might have been a chance we’d have connected the dots sooner and she could have met Mum. After a lifetime of searching for Anna, Mum never learned the search was finally over; she deserved to know.
‘We don’t really discuss my writing… The thing is, Anna, Dad died many years ago. I’m sorry.’
The steering wheel jerks momentarily, but she quickly regains control. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of time has passed, right? In fact, you’ll know better than me; how long has it been since I was taken?’
‘Twenty-one years now. A heck of a long time. You should know that Mum never gave up. She used to drag me out to town centres every weekend to hand out leaflets with your picture on, stopping anyone in the street who wasn’t running away. She always believed she would find you, and never gave up hope that you were still alive; I guess it’s what drove my belief too.’
There’s another jerk of the steering wheel, and the air around us in the front cabin suddenly feels decidedly cooler. There are fewer street lights around us, making it more difficult to read Anna’s fe
atures.
‘You spoke about her in the past tense… Is Mum dead too?’
My eyes instantly fill as I think back to the nurses and doctors fussing over her in that bed. ‘This morning’ is all I can muster before my heart explodes with grief.
‘Oh wow, I’m sorry,’ she says, and although I can feel her eyes on me, I look away.
‘I suppose I should be sad too,’ she continues, ‘but it’s difficult when I don’t even remember what she looked like. I guess, in my mind, she died a long time ago. Or at least, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t ever see her again. Was it sudden?’
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘She’d suffered with Alzheimer’s for a number of years… She was in a care home, but had suffered a minor heart scare earlier this year. I suppose it was only a matter of time before her heart packed up again. I tried to tell her that I’d found you, but I don’t think she heard me.’
I hear Anna sniff, but I can’t see whether her eyes are shining. ‘Probably for the best. She didn’t need to hear about everything that’s happened since they took me. I’m sorry for you though. Losing a parent is never easy.’
That’s when it hits me: my only family left is sitting in the driver’s seat beside me. No matter what hair-brained scheme she’s concocted, she’s asked for my support, and I can’t simply turn my back on her. I’m all she has left, even if she doesn’t remember me.
Her shoulders tense. ‘We’re nearly here.’
‘Can I ask where we’re going? Is this where you live?’
‘Not exactly, but it’s a place I know. You wanted to know the truth, right? Well, I’m taking you to somewhere that has the proof you so desperately crave. And when you’ve seen the evidence with your own eyes, maybe you’ll see why I’ve done the things I’ve done, and realise just how much danger Daisy was in when she reached out for my help.’
The road narrows, and but for the headlights, outside is pitch black. I can just about make out large trees either side of the road – conifers, unless I’m very much mistaken. They stretch up so high that I can’t even see the tops with my forehead pressed against the ice-cold glass of the window. Although I’ve lost my bearings since we left the last road, I can understand how she has evaded detection for so long. To say this road is off the beaten track would be an understatement. And then we arrive at a sign marked ‘Private Road’, but she doesn’t hesitate, lurching the campervan along it. The first house we pass on the left has a long driveway, and must be at least a six- or seven-bedroom detached property, about a hundred metres from the edge of the road. But it is just the first of many such elaborate properties. Something doesn’t feel right, but as I try and catch Anna’s gaze, I can see it is rooted firmly on the road ahead. The properties here must be worth seven figures or more each, and I can’t see how Anna would have got her hands on that kind of money, given what little I’ve learned about her.
She finally pulls over as the end of the road looms, parking by a large expanse of chalk-like wall. Darkness envelopes us as she kills the engine and the beam of the headlights evaporates.
‘We walk from here,’ she says, opening her door, grabbing at the bag beside my legs, and quickly slipping it over her shoulders.
‘What about Daisy?’ I ask, turning to search the back but finding nothing but shadows.
‘She’ll be fine where she is. She needs the rest. Come on, we won’t be long.’
I exit the vehicle, gasping at just how cold it is outside, and even though I zip up my jacket, it provides little warmth. I too slip on my satchel, not that it contains anything of any use. Certainly nothing I can use to let Rachel or the police know where we are. And as I follow Anna along the pathway, keeping less than a foot behind her in case the darkness swallows her up for ever, I can’t help thinking there’s a lot she’s still to tell me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Then
Dorchester, Dorset
It was all Emma could do to keep up with her mum as they bustled into the hospital, past the flurry of cafés, restaurants, and shops, only stopping briefly to read the directory of departments hanging overhead. According to the prison governor, John had been taken to the Accident and Emergency department at Dorset County Hospital as a precaution because of injuries sustained during the fourteen-hour siege. Bronwyn had relayed this information on the bus ride into Dorchester, and the knot in Emma’s stomach hadn’t stopped growing ever since.
He’s still alive, she reminded herself. That meant her final words to him – whenever they might be – wouldn’t be the silly argument they’d had last month. She had to be grateful for that; grateful for the chance to tell him how sorry she was, and how she’d only criticised him because she was worried about losing him. Because she hadn’t told her mum about the argument, she’d have to wait for the right opportunity to apologise, but as soon as it presented itself, she vowed to take it.
Turning left, her mum once again picked up the pace, doors and hand sanitation units passing them in a blur, and it was once again all Emma could do to keep up. They eventually reached the Accident and Emergency department through a maze of corridors and came to an abrupt halt by the main reception desk.
‘John Hunter,’ Bronwyn said urgently. ‘He was brought in from Portland prison.’
The woman behind the desk tapped her fingers across the keyboard, studying her screen. ‘And you are?’
‘Winnie – sorry, Bronwyn – Hunter. I’m his… I’m his wife.’
The woman’s eyes didn’t leave her screen. ‘Okay, he’s being assessed at the moment. If you’d like to take a seat, someone will come and find you when you can see him.’
Emma could barely see over the top of the reception counter, and pushed herself to her toes. ‘Is my dad going to be okay?’
The woman looked at her, and something softened in the focused glare she’d been diverting at her screen. She smiled reassuringly at Emma. ‘That’s what we do here, my love. We’re the best at making mummies and daddies better. Take a seat with your mum and we’ll let you see your dad as soon as we can. Is that okay? If you ask your mummy nicely there’s a vending machine around the corner; maybe if you’re super good, she might buy you a treat.’
Emma wasn’t convinced, but as Bronwyn led her daughter from the desk, she headed straight back to the corridor, locating the vending machine. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I don’t have much change, but what would you like?’
At home, there was usually a ‘no sweets before mealtimes’ policy, but even though it wasn’t even midday, the rule had been relaxed.
Emma selected the least expensive chocolate bar, and was surprised when her mum chose two, handing one to Emma, and swiftly tucking into the other.
‘Our little secret,’ she said as they found two free seats and plonked themselves down.
The chocolate bars hadn’t lasted long, but eventually a nurse called their names from the desk and led them through the secured doors, past the emergency department, and up to a ward designated for outpatients.
‘He’s had stitches to the laceration on his neck, and we’ll keep him in overnight for observation due to a likely concussion,’ the nurse explained to Bronwyn. ‘He’s awake and in good spirits at the moment.’
They stopped at a closed door, and the nurse waited for them to sanitise their hands again, before allowing them to enter. Emma couldn’t prevent the gasp escaping her throat when she saw her dad beneath the white sheets. His face was purple and swollen, resembling a gobstopper; his neck was surrounded by a thick scarf-like bandage, with obvious droplets of blood smeared against it, and one of his arms was held against his broad chest in a sling. She broke free of her mum’s grasp and hurried to the side of the bed.
‘There, there,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll be all right. There’s no need to make a fuss.’
Bronwyn closed the door behind her, but maintained her distance at the foot of the bed.
He hugged Emma close with his free arm. ‘You didn’t need to come all th
is way to see me,’ he said to Bronwyn, ‘but I appreciate you coming. I’ll be out of here by morning hopefully.’
‘What h-happened?’ Emma stammered as the tears escaped her eyes, and she blotted them with the corner of his starched blanket.
‘Nothing that need worry someone as innocent as you, my love,’ he said, resting his bruised cheek on the top of her head. ‘Sometimes bad men feel the need to do bad things to be heard. That’s all that happened yesterday. You remember I’ve told you that there are some bad men that I have to watch over at work?’
She nodded, and he winced as her head bobbed against his cheek.
‘Well, some of those men didn’t feel that they were being treated well enough by my some of my colleagues at the prison, and so they caused a big old fuss so that they could make their complaints heard by the prison governor. He’s my boss and is in charge of decisions that affect the prison and those imprisoned.’
‘Will the bad men be punished?’
‘Yes, I imagine they will have to remain in prison for longer than originally planned, and they’ll probably find some of their home comforts are taken away because of what they did.’
Emma couldn’t really understand why anyone would risk staying in prison for longer, but simply nodded, dismissing her dad’s words as nothing more than complicated adult things.
‘What were you doing there, John?’ Emma’s mum bristled from her post at the end of the bed. ‘And don’t lie to me; I know you weren’t working.’
He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. ‘I was visiting one of the inmates,’ he said, raising his head from Emma’s and straightening in the bed.