by Wendy Clarke
His lean body hunches over the railing. He looks older. Broken.
‘Mark?’
When he doesn’t answer, I press him. ‘It’s good news though, isn’t it? It means Joanna’s okay. She might come home. We mustn’t give up hope.’
Slowly, he turns his head, acknowledging me at last.
‘Later I’m going to call the police and tell them I’ve heard from her. That she contacted me and is fine.’ His words are flat. Unemotional. ‘I’ll say it’s all been a misunderstanding.’
My heart leaps. ‘My God! Joanna’s been in touch? Why didn’t you say?’
He looks at me as though I’m stupid. ‘Why do you think, Alice?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ My head is reeling with the unexpected news. ‘She’s all right. That’s all that matters.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ He locks eyes with me as if by force of will he can get me to understand, rather than having to tell me. ‘It’s simply what I’m going to say to them.’
At last, the penny drops. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to lie to them. For Christ’s sake, Mark, why?’
Mark looks at me, then sighs heavily. ‘Because of this.’
Taking his wallet from his pocket, he opens it and from where he keeps his bank notes, pulls out a folded piece of paper. He places it on the settee next to me. I look at it but don’t touch it. Too afraid of what it might say.
‘Just tell me.’
Mark leaves the window. He comes over to me and sinks back onto the other settee, his hands over his eyes.
‘Someone has got her, Alice. And they’re asking me for money.’
Twenty-Nine
Joanna
It was dark. Darker than anything I’d ever experienced before… and so cold. I lay on my side on the thin mattress, feeling the scratch of the sacking that covered me, the concrete floor beneath making my shoulder ache.
I tried to move, but I was so drowsy it was as though my muscles and nerves had a life of their own and I fell back down again. My head hurt, my wrists too. Lifting my hand, I felt the skin. It was tender and sore, as though at some time my wrists had been bound. I lay still, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest. Trying to make sense of everything.
I remembered walking along the quayside, stopping only when I reached the Devil’s Staircase. For a few minutes, I’d looked at the stone steps lapped by the brown water, wondering if I had the nerve to walk down them. If I had the courage to let the river take me to a place where I could be at peace. I knew I didn’t, though; I wasn’t that brave.
It was as I stood staring out at the sluggish water, that I’d thought I’d heard my name being called. Maybe it was my imagination or just the wind playing tricks on me. Blowing through the broken windows of the empty warehouses. Rattling the doors on their hinges.
I’d turned, my foot slipping on the slimy stone, the blue sky tipping and filling my sight as I fell backwards. I remembered nothing more and when later I came to, it was as if I’d awoken in hell.
‘Hello?’ The voice that came out wasn’t like my own. I was used to sounding confident. In control. This was the voice of someone weak.
The only sound was a scratching somewhere behind me. Rats? I pressed my face into the sacking.
‘Please. Is anyone there?’
My words echoed. What was this place? Lying very still, trying not to give in to the fear that was enveloping me, I forced my brain to make sense of things. There had to be a reason why I was here. Reaching out my arm, I dragged my hand across the floor, feeling nothing but the rough concrete beneath my fingertips. I tried again to sit up, this time taking it slowly. Managing to get onto all fours, I crawled forward, my hand outstretched, stopping only when my fingers made contact with a wall. Cold overlapping metal sheets that rang dully when I slapped the flat of my hand against them. Where was I?
I banged again, my fingers bunched into fists, the sound echoing in the empty space, like the tolling of a bell. The hollow sound only accentuated how alone I was. Not caring that my knuckles were smarting, I carried on, unaware that they were sticky with blood. I didn’t care about the pain. I just needed someone to hear me.
It was exhaustion, not pain, which eventually made me stop. My hair was stuck to my face, my breathing coming in gasps. Why didn’t anyone come? I sat with my back against the wall, my knees pulled to my chest, the blackness pushing in.
I’d never felt so alone. I wasn’t used to it. All my life I’d had someone by my side who needed me. Where were they now?
In the pitch darkness my husband’s face came to me, and I reached out my hand as if to touch it, remembering the first time I saw him. How my parents had presented him at their work gala dinner as though offering me a prize. I saw him as I did then – a bit older than I was used to, tall and slim, his muscles smooth and defined beneath his white dinner shirt. Understated, not showy, like the men I’d met who went to the gym to impress rather than keep fit.
Poor Mark. Unaware he was just a pawn in my parents’ chess game. I remember the way his eyes lingered a little longer than they should on mine. The smile that changed his face, making me wonder what it might be like to kiss him.
Knowing the vision wasn’t real, I pulled my hand back and leant my head against the wall, wincing as the metal ridges made contact with the tender back of my skull. Gingerly, I touched it. A lump was forming, but thankfully the skin didn’t appear to be broken. I wanted Mark now. Where was he? Why didn’t he come for me?
The darkness was like a living thing. Images moving out of the black then receding. Taunting me, torturing me, until I wondered if the blow to my head had made me delirious.
As soon as Mark’s face began to fade, it was replaced by my mother’s. I pressed my fists to my eyes, knowing that if I lowered my hands, she’d be watching me, just as she had at that dinner. My father’s face stared out of the blackness too – his lips moving, telling me what a godsend Mark had been. How the company would never have survived had it not been for his input. His great ideas for expansion.
I tried to push their images away. Hating them. But, in the vast, lonely confines of my lockup, the only things I had to keep me company were my memories. They played before me like a film: the starter of lobster bisque the waiter served us; how comfortable Mark seemed and the way he sparred off my father, not letting him get away with his bullshit. Every now and again, he’d look over at me and smile. It made me feel attractive – appreciated in a way I hadn’t for a long time. Alice had made me feel that way too. But Mark had been my parents’ choice not mine. Why had I been so weak?
While I was trying to work out the answer, I thought I heard a vehicle outside. Maybe someone had found out where I was. Mark. The police. Forcing my wobbly legs to stand, I beat at the wall.
‘I’m here. I’m in here!’ I screamed.
By the time I gave up, exhausted, my hands throbbing out the rhythm I’d just beaten on the metal sides, there was no longer any sound. Either they’d got out of the vehicle or driven away.
Minutes passed, but there was still nothing.
Sinking my head into my hands, I cried as I hadn’t cried since Alice turned her back on me.
Thirty
Alice
‘What do you mean got her. Who? Where?’
‘Jesus, Alice. Stop asking questions. How would I know where? It’s not as if they’re going to tell me, is it?’
My mind’s racing. ‘You’ve got to say something to the police. You must. You can’t lie to them now and tell them we’ve heard from her when we haven’t.’
‘Don’t you see I have to? If they think she’s still missing, they’ll come back. Search the empty apartments. Talk to people.’
I’m struggling to understand. ‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Christ, don’t you get it at all?’ His tone is sharp. Impatient. ‘They’ll kill her if the police are involved.’ He jabs at the paper. ‘You just have to read what they say they’ll do. They’re sick.’
He crouches down in front of me. Sinks his head into his hands. ‘They want money. In cash. I’ve been doing everything I can to get my hands on it by the deadline: emptied my bank accounts, clawed back money from people who owe me. Jesus Christ, I even asked Gary for a loan, which was fucking hard when I couldn’t say what it was for. He suspects something. I know he does. Keeps asking why she’s not answering her phone, and I have to stall him. Promise I’ll get her to ring later.’
I pick up the letter and read it quickly, my insides churning when I reach the last paragraph where they say what they’ll do to her if Mark doesn’t find the money. I drop it onto the floor and press my hand to my stomach.
‘They can’t mean it.’
Mark looks up at me, his eyes red. ‘Are you willing to take that risk?’
It’s hard to speak, the words sticking in my throat. ‘How long have you known? When did you get this?’
‘A few days ago. It was why I went away yesterday. To try to get the money.’
‘Where is it?’
Mark looks at the door of the bedroom he shares with Joanna. ‘It’s in a holdall under the bed.’
I look at his face. See written there the strain. The worry. ‘You’ve got to tell me. When is the deadline, Mark?’
‘It’s tonight at ten.’
‘Tonight?’
Getting up, Mark starts to pace, his hands balled into fists. ‘There’s an abandoned chapel further along the dock, and I’m to leave the holdall in there.’
When he walks back my way, I grab his hand. ‘Don’t do it, Mark. Tell the police. It’s too dangerous to do this on your own.’
He looks down at our joined hands, my fingers clutching at his. ‘I’m not on my own though, Alice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, there’s you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’ Mark kneels on the floor next to where I’m sitting, and although it’s an inappropriate time to be thinking it, I can’t help wondering if this was where he proposed to Joanna.
I force myself to ignore the bitter taste of jealousy that’s formed at the back of my throat. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I knew you were different the day you first set foot in here. Knew you were trustworthy… call it a gut feeling. I can trust you, can’t I, Alice? I have to.’
‘Yes, but lying to the police again? This isn’t a game, Mark.’
‘Of course, it’s not a bloody game. My wife is in danger, and you imagine I’m treating it like a game of chess?’ He shuts his eyes and tips his head back. ‘Is that really what you think? What you really, truly believe?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just…’ I turn my body round, so I’m sitting rather than lying, wincing when my foot touches the floor. ‘Do you really think this is the right thing to do?’
Mark pushes himself up from the floor. ‘There is no other way. Not if we want to keep Joanna safe from harm.’
‘But who do you think has her? Why Joanna?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? To anyone on the outside, I must look the perfect target. Successful property developer, smart car, apartment in the next Covent Garden of Dockland.’ He mimes quote marks in the air, bitterness creeping into his voice. ‘Only they’ve got it wrong, haven’t they? I’m worth fuck all! Lost everything when the bubble burst. The two of us living off Joanna’s parents. It’s humiliating.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry, Alice? It’s not your problem.’
‘No, but I know what it’s like to have nothing. When I was growing up, my mum had to hold down three jobs just to make sure we ate properly and had a school uniform that wouldn’t embarrass us.’
‘What about your father?’
I think of the series of menial jobs he won and lost. Nightclub bouncer. Garage cashier. Building labourer. Jobs he’d give up when he got bored. ‘He was a loser. It was Mum who held it all together.’
My eyes fill with tears at the thought of her. ‘When she died, I lost the person who meant the most to me.’
Apart from Joanna.
I picture her at the funeral, even though I hadn’t invited her. Remember how she’d sat with her arm around my shoulders, a packet of tissues in her hand for when they were needed. I’d told myself it was better than having no one.
Don’t cry, Alice. I’m here for you.
And for a while, I’d almost forgotten what she’d done. What she’d made me do. It was only when the grief at losing my mother started to lessen, that I let myself remember.
Quickly, I push the thought away. That was a long time ago, and this isn’t about me now. It’s about Joanna. This time it’s she who needs me, just as I needed her all those years ago.
Mark leans over me and places a hand either side of my arms. ‘You must tell me, Alice. Are you going to tell the police what I’ve just told you?’
I can’t think clearly. Can no longer feel the breeze from the river through the heavy doors. Instead, the air in the room now seems thick. Suffocating.
I try to stop my thoughts from racing out of control. ‘What if they don’t let her go? What if it’s just a trick and they ask for more money? You know that could happen… I’ve read about it often enough.’
Mark releases me, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘If that happens, then we’ll go to the police, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. Are you?’
I think of Joanna, the way she’d turned around in her chair, her hand shooting up. I’d like to look after her, Mrs Talbot. My relief that someone had wanted to be my friend, despite the fact that I didn’t fit in.
‘I suppose so, but if anything goes wrong…’
‘It won’t, and, if it does, we’ll tell them, I promise.’ He looks at his expensive watch. ‘Jesus, the time. It’s nearly five.’
‘We need to stay calm, Mark. We’ve hours yet.’
‘No. We haven’t. I didn’t manage to get all the money. I’m about ten thousand short. I’ve got to go out again. Pull in some favours.’
Going across to the island, he picks up his keys. ‘If the police get in touch, say nothing. Tell them I haven’t been home.’
‘But why would they get in touch? The girl they found in the river wasn’t Joanna. You’re going to tell them she’s no longer missing.’
Mark puts his suit jacket over his shoulder, holding it with one finger. ‘That’s true but…’ He pauses, and I steel myself for what he’s going to say. No revelations at this moment are likely to be good.
‘What is it?’
‘The girl. The one who drowned. I know her.’
The blood drains from my face. ‘Who is she?’
He looks at me intently as though waiting to see my expression. ‘It’s Eloise.’
Thirty-One
Joanna
I had no way of knowing if it was day or night. No way to tell how long I’d been there. I’d pushed my mattress against the wall so that I wouldn’t lose it in the cavernous space. Most of the time I sat or lay, but when I felt my legs start to cramp, I’d stand and find the wall, pressing my hands against its cold surface. Working my way to the far corner, then back again.
I’d discovered that there was a door at the far end of the unit, had felt the frame with the tips of my fingers and run my hand down the ridge where the door slid shut. Desperately trying to open it before realising that with no handle on the inside, nothing to grip, it was impossible. Eventually, I’d given up trying, screaming into the darkness in frustration.
In time, my eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, and I’d begun to make out shapes. Crates and boxes that offered up objects that, without full sight, I had no hope of recognising.
My empty stomach rumbled. It must have been hours since I last ate – a small tray of sushi from M&S that I’d bought for my lunch along with food for the weekend. All the things I knew Alice would like: salmon, wild rice, nectarines and Greek yogurt. The type of food we used to eat at the small kitchen table in the house we rented when we were a
t uni. Food we wouldn’t have been able to afford had it not been for the money my father put into my bank each month. Guilt money for being an awful dad.
Alice. I pictured her car pulling up outside the wharf, her eyes widening as she took in the impressive brick building. I hugged the thought to me. It would keep me going until they let me go. But who was it that was keeping me here? I looked in the direction of the door, my heart pounding. What did they want with me?
And where were you, Mark? Weren’t you worried what had happened to your bride?
I twisted the wedding band on my finger, still finding it hard to believe the two of us were actually married, that I didn’t insist we wait. I would have been happy to have stayed living together, but I’d given in. Not to my parents – oh no, they’d wanted a big wedding: marquee, a band, a parade of bridesmaids my dad could ogle at. The works. No, it was Mark who’d wanted us to just get on and do it, saying it would be more romantic just the two of us. No fuss. No charade.
In the end, we never told my parents what we were doing, just skulked away like naughty schoolchildren. Me high on adrenaline, Mark high on the cocaine he’d snorted before the ceremony. When I said I do, the only ones to hear my words, apart from Mark, were the registrar and two witnesses from the office next door.
But looking back wasn’t going to help me.
Was Mark at this very moment looking for me, criss-crossing the passageways between the derelict buildings, pulling open the rotting doors and staring into the spaces filled with car tyres and fallen masonry. Or would he have walked further still? Climbed the fence into the new development – the one that looked like ships washed up on a sea of rubble. Calling my name.
Jez wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have cared enough. But why was I thinking about him anyway? Jez was ancient history, and it wasn’t as if I’d liked him that much anyway. A tear slid down my cheek, betraying me, and I wiped it away with my sleeve. This was what being locked in that echoing metal building did to you; it made time lose all meaning.