The Fear

by C. L. Taylor

  That I was on the verge of death.

  ‘This is nothing to do with me,’ I say. ‘You believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He reaches for his wine and takes another sip. ‘As soon as you threw that line in my face about you ending things.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He gives me a sideways look. ‘For what you said or what you did?’

  ‘Both.’

  A wave of sadness crashes over me. In another lifetime, one where I wasn’t such a big fuck-up and I hadn’t dumped the nicest man I’d ever met, we’d be curled up under a blanket right now, watching a film and laughing and teasing each other.

  ‘Lou,’ Ben says, ‘do you think—’

  He’s interrupted by several sharp knocks on the front door.

  I stand up. ‘It’s probably the postman.’

  I hurry out of the room, my mind whirring with everything Ben has just said – and everything he hasn’t – and yank on the front door handle.

  ‘Hello—’

  ‘Good afternoon,’ says a police officer with closely cropped hair. ‘My name is PC Bray from West Mercia police and this is PC Broome. Could we have a quick word?’

  Chapter 31

  Lou

  ‘A word?’ I repeat. My heart is beating so quickly I feel sick.

  ‘Lou!’ Ben calls from the living room. ‘Can I help myself to some more wine?’

  I ignore him. I can’t stop staring at the two policemen standing in front of me.

  ‘We’re sorry to disturb you,’ PC Bray says, ‘we were just wondering if you’d seen this man recently?’

  He opens the clipboard in his hands and flashes a photo of Mike at me. It looks like it was taken in a pub, with Mike propping up the bar, drink in hand.

  ‘You know him,’ PC Bray says. It’s a statement rather than a question.

  Do they know? Did they send out a helicopter when I was in Worcester yesterday? Did the heat sensor pick up that Mike was in the barn? Or did they trace the last phone call he received? Are all these pleasantries just preamble before they arrest me? There’s a police car in the driveway, parked up next to my red Mini, dad’s Volvo and Ben’s grey Audi. Shit.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do.’

  ‘How well?’ PC Broome asks.

  ‘I … we …’ There’s no point lying. They know who I am and what my connection is to Mike. ‘He groomed me when I was fourteen. He convinced me to run away to France with him. He was arrested and sent to jail.’

  PC Bray’s eyebrows flash upwards. Shit. He didn’t know. They’re just doing house-to-house enquiries and they had no idea who lived here. ‘And your name is?’

  ‘Louise Wandsworth.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Mike Hughes?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for years. Not since we were in France.’

  ‘I couldn’t find the wine.’ Ben appears behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Oh.’

  PC Bray smiles tightly. ‘And your name is …’

  ‘Ben Feltham. Why? What’s this about?’

  ‘We’re looking for this man.’ He flashes Mike’s image at him. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Nope. Why, what’s he done?’

  ‘He’s missing.’ The police officer flips Mike’s photo over and shows us another image. ‘Have either of you seen this van? We have reports that it was seen in the area on Monday, 30th of April.’

  ‘I just got here today,’ Ben says. ‘I drove up from London.’

  ‘And you and Miss Wandsworth are …’ PC Bray tails off.

  ‘Friends,’ I say at the same time Ben says, ‘It’s complicated.’

  PC Broome laughs, then turns it into a cough as he continues to scrawl in his notebook.

  ‘Have you seen the van?’ PC Bray asks me. He has an unremarkable face: small, green, slightly too close together eyes framed by thick, bushy eyebrows, doughy cheeks, pitted with acne scars, and rubbery lips. I can’t shake the feeling that he knows what I’m thinking. He’s picturing the van, submerged in the lake. He’s imagining how it feels to have your eyes, ears and nostrils flooded with dirty, murky water.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Not that I remember. I’ve probably seen dozens of white vans over the last couple of weeks but none that stick in my mind.’

  ‘Where do you work, Miss Wandsworth?’ PC Broome asks, looking up from his notepad.

  ‘In Malvern. Consol eLearning.’

  ‘I’m a graphic designer,’ Ben says.

  PC Broome nods but he’s still looking at me. ‘So you’ve had no contact with Michael Hughes recently? No phone calls, texts, internet contact. Nothing of that sort?’

  ‘You know that man?’ Ben asks, gesturing at PC Bray’s clipboard.

  ‘No,’ I say, ignoring Ben. ‘I haven’t had any contact with Mike whatsoever.’

  ‘Right. And how long have you lived here, Miss Wandsworth?’

  Just when I think they’ve finished asking me questions they fire another one at me. My legs feel weak but I’m determined not to rest a hand on the door frame to steady myself.

  ‘A couple of weeks. My dad died and left me the house. I came back to sort it out and sell it. But I’m skint so I took a job in town.’

  ‘Right, right.’ He nods then takes a step back and looks over the house, then the driveway. ‘No … um … no estate agent’s sign yet though?’

  ‘My dad was an alcoholic and a hoarder. I haven’t finished tidying.’

  ‘Anyone else live here?’ PC Broome asks.

  ‘No, just me. Ben’s visiting,’ I add as both police officers glance in his direction.

  ‘Right, well,’ PC Bray nods at PC Broome who shuts his notepad. ‘I think we’re done for now.’ He digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and hands me a small, white card. ‘If Michael Hughes does get in touch or if you think of anything, anything at all that might be useful, give me a call. Okay?’

  He smiles for the first time since I opened the door and gestures at his colleague to return to the car. A couple of minutes later it pulls out of the driveway and disappears.

  ‘Wow,’ Ben breathes. ‘That was intense. I felt like I was under arrest!’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘So did I.’

  Ben and I are sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. I’ve got a rug pulled over my legs and a cushion clutched to my chest. He’s topping up our wine glasses.

  He glances across at me, ‘You okay?’

  I almost laugh. Okay? I don’t know whether to run, hide or cry. I made a huge mistake telling the police my real name and how I know Mike. I should have lied; pretended to be one of my cousins, or a cleaner. They’re bound to start digging now, especially as Mike disappeared nine days after I came back. As soon as DS Hope sees a photo of me it’ll be over. She’ll tell the missing persons team that I made an allegation about Mike and Chloe and that I gave her a false name. They’ll put two and two together and turn up on my doorstep with a search warrant. But …

  I take the glass of wine Ben hands me and force a smile.

  … That’s assuming the police think Mike has been abducted or murdered. They might just be worried about him. Often when men go missing it’s because of a mental health issue.

  I press my wine glass against my lips and take a sip.

  I’ve still got Mike’s work phone. It’s hidden at the back of the medicine cabinet upstairs, along with the detached SIM. I could drive out to Gloucester or Birmingham and send a text to Joy from his phone. Life’s not worth living anymore. Or I can’t live with what I’ve done. It might not be enough to throw the police completely off but it could buy me a bit more time. Time to do what though?

  A new thought hits me. I didn’t meet Wendy. I’ll have to ring her and see if I can go round tomorrow and—

  I put down my wine glass, slump back against the sofa and press my hands to my face. I can’t do this anymore. Anything I do now will just dig me in deeper. The police just knocked on my door for god’s sake. It’s on
ly a matter of time until they triangulate his phone then put two and two together and come back. I can’t let Mike out because he’s too dangerous. I either run or I confess. They’re the only options I’ve got left.

  Or I could tell Ben. He might know what to do. But I’ve screwed up his life enough already without adding accessory to kidnapping to his rap sheet. No. I need to deal with this myself. I’ll go to the police station tomorrow and tell them what happened. I’ve tried my best to help Chloe but there’s nothing more I can do.

  ‘Lou?’ Ben touches my arm. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you crying?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Lou?’ He gently peels one of my hands away from my face. ‘What is it? Talk to me. Please.’

  For well over an hour Ben listens as I tell him about Mike. I tell him everything apart from the fact that, as we speak, Mike is lying in a shit-stained cage in my barn.

  Ben doesn’t comment and he doesn’t judge me as the words pour out of me. It’s the first time I’ve told anyone about what happened. When I reach the bit about going to France, Ben smiles ruefully.

  ‘That’s why you freaked out in Dover.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I wanted to tell you but …’

  He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘It’s okay, we’ve all got secrets.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  I laugh softly.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ He glances around the room as though he’s expecting a solution to magically appear in the patterned wallpaper.

  ‘You could drop me at the police station tomorrow. But I’ll totally understand if you want to get back to London.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come to the police station with you.’ He squeezes my hand again. ‘I’ll stay for as long as you want. Okay? I want to make sure you’re all right. God knows who’s been spreading shit about you dying but that sounds like stalker territory to me. You’re right to tell the police.’

  For a second I’ve got no idea what he’s talking about but then I realise – he thinks I want to go to the police about the weird Facebook messages he received. I don’t set him right.

  ‘Lou.’ He searches my eyes. ‘You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?’

  Nearly anything, I think but don’t say.

  Chapter 32

  Lou

  It’s late evening. We’ve been in the hotel room ever since Mike got back from his shopping trip and the only food we’ve eaten is the small box of chocolates he dropped on the floor when he realised I was suffocating to death.

  He’s never going to let me go. My only hope is to play along and wait for an opportunity to escape. So far today we’ve played cards, read to each other (from Mike’s really boring book about the Second World War) and played memory games and charades. My stomach rumbles as I pick up the remote and change channel.

  ‘Mike? I’m hungry … can we get something to eat?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll go out and …’ He pauses. He’s worried that if he ties me up and gags me again I might not be alive when he gets back. But going out is dangerous too. I’m not the only one who’s seen the news, Mike turned it off as soon as Dad started to speak.

  ‘They don’t know where we are,’ I say. ‘No one knows where we went when we left Rouen.

  ‘Look,’ I slip off the bed and pick up his baseball hat. ‘I could wear this. It would hide my fringe. And you … you already look different. You’ve practically got a beard now.’

  Mike drums his fingers against his lips. He’s considering jumping in the car and driving somewhere remote. The fewer people there are, the less likely I am to be found. I need to talk him round. Going out now might be my only chance of escaping.

  ‘Mike.’ I perch beside him on the bed and rest my head on his shoulder. ‘It would be lovely to go to a restaurant. It’s dark, no one’s going to see us and when we get inside I could face the wall and you … you could be on lookout.’

  He stares at our reflections in the window opposite the bed. ‘I don’t know, Lou. It feels risky.’

  ‘Please.’ I weave my fingers through his. ‘We had such a lovely day the other day when we went out to celebrate our engagement. Being in hotel rooms all the time isn’t good for us. And anyway, I might fancy doing that thing again afterwards … where you squeeze my neck.’

  He twists sharply towards me. ‘We could do that now, if you like.’

  ‘No, no. Not now. I’d … I’d like some wine first. It would help me relax. Please, Mike, let’s go out.’ Almost on cue my stomach rumbles again.

  Mike turns away and rests his elbows on his knees. He drops his face into his hands and sighs heavily.

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But you’re to hold my hand all the way there, keep your eyes lowered and do as you’re told.’

  Saturday 5th May 2007

  I slip out of bed just after seven, leaving Ben curled around the duvet, snoring softly, and pad into the bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet, snake my hand through the out-of-date medicine bottles, plasters and ointments and reach for Mike’s phone and SIM card. I tuck them into the pocket of my dressing gown, then quietly make my way down the stairs. Before Ben drives me to the police station I need to get them back into Mike’s bag, in the corner of the barn. I also need to take him a bottle of water and some food. My self-defence plea won’t hold if it looks like I tried to starve him to death. I feel calmer now I’ve made the decision to confess. Whatever the police throw at me, however long my prison sentence is, it can’t be worse than waking up each morning feeling sick about what I’ve done.

  I bundle two bottles of water, a couple of apples, some crisps and a few cereal bars into a plastic bag and head towards the side door. I don’t open it. Instead I drop the bag onto the kitchen table and walk into the living room. I need to write Ben a note. I’ll give it to him before I say goodbye to him at the police station. I owe him that much.

  We didn’t sleep together last night – it was a decision I made more for him than myself – but we did share the same bed. He curled himself up around me as we whispered into the darkness. It was mundane, drunken stuff mostly and I cried silent tears as he nuzzled his face into the nape of my neck and planted a kiss on the top of my spine. I hated myself for my selfishness in letting him stay. I’d only told him half my story. He didn’t know who I was or what I’d done. But I couldn’t spend another night alone in the house, not knowing what was to come. I wanted to pretend my life was normal, just for a few hours.

  I lean over a bookshelf and press a biro to an unfilled betting slip I found between the pages of a book. The note won’t explain everything, but at least he won’t feel hurt when he doesn’t hear from me again.

  Dear Ben.

  I lift the pen from the paper. What do I write? How can I possibly explain what’s happened?

  Please don’t hate me. I wanted to tell you everything but …

  A creaking floorboard makes me look up. Is Ben awake? I hold my breath as I listen but there are no new noises. The house has fallen silent again.

  I couldn’t find the words. You’ll probably hear about what I did on the news and I want you to know that I never planned on keeping Mike prisoner. I was scared and …

  Another creak. Ben’s walking down the stairs. I snatch up the piece of paper and crumple it into my dressing gown pocket. As I do, Ben walks into the living room.

  ‘There you are!’ He runs a hand through his crumpled hair and glances at the carriage clock on the fireplace. ‘God, it’s early. Are you coming back to bed?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I’m wide awake.’

  ‘Oh well.’ He reaches his arms above his head and stretches. ‘I suppose I’d better get up too. Have you got any eggs and bacon? I’ll do a fry-up if you fancy it?’

  ‘I haven’t got any but there’s some cereal if you’re hungry.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ He steps towards me. ‘You look really pale.’

  I force a smile. ‘I didn’t sle
ep very well last night.’

  He pulls me into a hug and runs a hand across my shoulder blades. ‘I’m not surprised. I’ve been thinking about her too.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘That Saskia woman. Can you think of anyone who’s holding a grudge?’

  ‘Not really.’ I shake my head. I haven’t given the Facebook messages a single thought since I woke up.

  ‘Ah well.’ He kisses me on the top of the head. ‘Don’t worry about it. The police will sort it out.’

  I smile tightly. Yeah, right after they arrest me for kidnapping.

  Ben hasn’t let me out of his sight for the last two hours. The bag of food and water for Mike is still on the kitchen table, taunting me each time I walk past it. I tried to get rid of Ben for a while by asking him if he wanted to pop to Bromyard to get eggs and bacon but that backfired when he said we should go together. I thought about telling him to watch TV while I did a bit of work in the garden but I can’t risk it. If I’m gone too long and he comes after me he might discover the barn. Mike hasn’t had any food for a while but I gave him a quarter of a bottle of water yesterday. He’ll survive until the police get here.

  ‘Ready?’ Ben wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. ‘I know you’re nervous but the police will be able to put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say as I open the side door. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  The police station car park is full so Ben has to park several streets away, on a busy road. He didn’t put up an argument when I suggested we come in his car. In fact he said, ‘Of course. I’m more than happy to drive.’ At least this way he won’t be stranded when I don’t come back out.

  He unclips his seat belt and puts a hand to the door handle. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Actually, Ben, I’m going to go in alone if that’s okay.’

  ‘What?’ His face falls.

  ‘Please,’ I beg. ‘I really need you to stay here.’

  ‘But I’ve got the photos on my phone. I was the one she contacted. They’ll need to speak to us both.’