by Daniel Hurst
I stare at the phone, waiting and hoping to see a message come back from James. As I do, his partner continues to hammer on the toilet door, and I’m starting to worry that he might come through. He must know that I’m never going to open it while he is out there. If I can, I’m going to stay in here all the way to the end of the line now.
Suddenly, the shouting and banging stop, and I can hear low voices talking on the other side of the door.
I’m not sure who he is talking to. Another passenger? A train employee? Security? Somebody must have heard all the noise he was making and come to investigate. Maybe they’ll arrest him for causing a disturbance. That would be a big help to me. As long as I have his phone, he can’t tell James to hurt Louise.
But where is James? Why hasn’t he replied? Has he even seen my message?
Or am I already too late?
31
JAMES
I think I’ve managed to stop most of the bleeding after Louise kicked me in the face. I dab the tissue against my nose a couple more times to check, and there are a few splotches of red, but nowhere near as much as ten minutes ago. The bleeding has stopped. But I suspect it will be a while until the pain does.
I toss the tissue into the toilet and flush it away before leaving the bathroom and heading back into the bedroom where my prisoner is currently tied up. My head was spinning after the initial kick, and it took all of my restraint not to hurt Louise in the immediate aftermath, but I kept my cool. I’d rather not have to hurt her. I’d much rather her mother just gives up that code, and I can get out of this flat as soon as possible. But time is running out, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, and if that means drawing blood from Louise, then so be it, particularly after she just drew blood from me.
I walk back into the bedroom, and I’m just about to take out my phone to see if there are any updates from the train when I freeze.
The bed is empty.
The bedpost is snapped.
Louise has gone.
I look around the room for any sign of her, but I can’t see her anywhere. Panicking, I turn back to the door, worrying that she has already left the flat while I was in the bathroom. But I would have heard her leave, and I definitely would have seen her. She couldn’t have got to the door without passing the bathroom first.
That’s when I hear the creak of the wardrobe door to my left and turn around just in time to see Louise bringing the broken piece of bedpost down at my head.
I raise my hands to protect myself, but I’m too late to stop it striking me across my forearms.
The bedpost cracks against my bone, and I let out a cry of pain as I fall back against the wall.
I see Louise run from the bedroom, and I know exactly where she is going, but I’m not letting her get away from me now. I don’t even care about the safe at this moment.
I just want to hurt her.
Giving chase, I quickly catch her up and dive on her before she can make it to the front door. We wrestle on the cold, hard tiles of the kitchen, but I quickly gain the upper hand and have her pinned beneath me, where she continues to try to wriggle free but is unable to escape my grasp.
‘Let’s see how you like it when I hit back,’ I say, and I’m just about to get my revenge on my troublesome prisoner when I feel the vibration in my pocket.
I use one arm to keep Louise pinned beneath me as I take out the phone with my free hand, and that’s when I see the message. I was hoping it was the code but no such luck.
“Plan is cancelled. Leave the flat and meet me at the station.”
What does he mean the plan is cancelled?
‘Get off me!’ Louise cries as she continues to writhe beneath me, but I keep my body weight on top of her as I try to figure out what could have caused this message to be sent to my phone.
The only way the plan would possibly be cancelled would be if my partner saw no way for it to be successful. Has something happened on that train? Is Louise’s mum a more formidable foe than we thought?
I need to find out before I leave. I can’t just take his word for it. We’ve come this far. I have to know why he wants to give up now. But I can’t do that until I deal with the problem of the escaping prisoner.
‘Stop it, or I’ll hurt you!’ I say to the woman beneath me, and I raise my fist to emphasise my point.
But Louise refuses to give in, and she’s clearly willing to take a beating as long as she has a chance of escape. My fists aren’t enough to threaten her. But the knife I held to her feet earlier clearly was.
I reach out for the drawer above us where I found that first knife and fumble around inside for another one. It’s not easy with Louise trying to escape beneath me, but I feel the cold, hard steel of another blade in the drawer and lift it out before holding it above my head so she can get a good look at it.
‘No!’ Louise cries, and she stops fighting instantly, clearly afraid that she has pushed me too far and I’m about to plunge this knife into her as punishment.
‘I meant it when I said I didn’t want to hurt you,’ I say. ‘But I will if you keep fighting!’
Louise’s fearful eyes remain on the blade above her head.
‘If I get off you, then you have to promise not to try to run again, or I swear to God I will kill you.’
Louise nods her head, and I slowly climb off her and get to my feet. I keep a firm grip on the handle of the knife as Louise crawls away from me until her back is resting against the kitchen table, where she sits and watches me, cowering in fear at what I might do next.
But for the time being, she is no longer my biggest concern. What I need to do is find out why the plan is cancelled. I haven’t put myself through all of this for nothing, and I’m not prepared to walk away from a safe full of money unless there is a damn good reason to.
But I’m not going to waste time sending a text message back to that train and waiting for a response.
Instead, I’m going to call.
32
AMANDA
Come on. Text me back. Tell me you have left the flat.
I’m still standing in the train toilet, waiting to get a response from James to say he has left Louise alone before I use this phone to call the police, but so far there is nothing. The radio silence is making me more anxious as my imagination runs wild as to why there has been no response yet.
Has he even seen the message? Is he ignoring it? Is he harming Louise right now?
The shock from the phone suddenly vibrating in my hand almost causes me to drop it, and I look down at the screen to see an incoming call.
It’s James.
I panic as I try to figure out the best thing to do. I obviously can’t answer it because then he will know it’s me and not his partner, but if I ignore it, then what will happen? But if he is calling because he suspects something is wrong, it will only make things worse if there is no answer.
What do I do?
My finger hovers over the screen, and I’m just about to make my decision when there is a loud knock on the toilet door.
‘Hello? Is everything okay in there?’
It’s a male voice, but I don’t recognise it. It’s definitely not the man I’m hiding from. But where has he gone?
‘I’ve got your boyfriend out here, and he’s worried about you,’ the voice says.
My boyfriend? What is he talking about?
Then I figure it out. My pursuer must have explained away all the commotion as an argument between a warring couple. I bet he’s making out like he is the concerned boyfriend right now and I’m the troubled girlfriend. But I’m not going to let him talk his way out of this that easily.
‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ I call back.
That should do it, and the silence from the other side of the door suggests so. But I can’t relax yet. I look down at the phone and see that it’s no longer ringing.
I didn’t answer.
What will James think of that?
‘Look, I don’t want to get involved in
any dispute the two of you may be having, but you can’t stay in the toilet,’ the man calls out again. ‘There are other people out here who need to use it.’
I’m guessing this guy works on the train in some capacity. Maybe he’s a ticket inspector, or perhaps he’s just a guy who sells the crisps at the shop in carriage four. I’ve never visited that shop because I didn’t want to start another bad habit that I wouldn’t be able to break on my commute after the whole G & T phase, but I know it’s there. Or maybe it’s just a passenger who really needs to use the loo. But the last thing I need right now is a busybody sticking his nose in.
Whoever it is, I don’t care.
I’m not coming out until we get to Brighton.
‘Use another toilet!’ I cry, shaking my head and looking back at the phone.
Is James going to call back? I’d rather he sent a text because then at least I would know what he is thinking. Either way, I just need to find out if Louise is okay. Maybe I should have answered the call.
Am I just making things worse?
‘Open up now!’
The man outside is clearly not going away. But I’m not budging either, and I decide that the best thing to do is just ignore him. He can’t get in until the door gets unlocked in Brighton, and by then I imagine the man I’m trying to evade will be fleeing the train.
The phone vibrates again in my hand, and I look down to see I have received another text.
It’s James.
“What’s happening?”
I type a quick reply.
“Police officers on the train. I can’t risk it. Have you left the flat?”
I hold my breath as I wait for the reply.
“No. Still here. Louise is a problem.”
The message sends a shiver of dread down my spine because I don’t know what he means by that. But I’m also a little proud of my daughter for not making it easy for her captor—just like I haven’t made it easy for mine.
Maybe we’re not as different as I thought.
“Forget about her. Just leave her and get out. Text me when you’ve left.”
I press Send again and wait.
There is still some commotion on the other side of the toilet door, but I ignore it and keep my focus on the phone.
A minute goes by without a response, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe James is leaving, which is why he hasn’t replied. Or maybe Louise is still causing him problems.
I admire my daughter for obviously putting up a fight at the flat, but I pray she hasn’t gone too far. From what I can tell with these men, they need us far more than we need them. If they hurt either of us before they get the code to the safe, they’ll never get the money, so I’m confident that Louise won’t be in real danger unless she pushes James too far.
But knowing my daughter, I wouldn’t put it past her.
Finally, the phone vibrates again. It’s another text from James.
“How do I know it’s really you?”
Damn it.
“Of course it’s me. Stop wasting time. We’re almost in Brighton.”
I hope my quick reply will do the trick.
But I’m wrong. James is calling me again.
This time I decide to answer the phone, but I make sure to say nothing.
‘Is this really you?’ James asks.
I can hardly impersonate a man’s voice, so I stay quiet, but I feel like my plan is falling apart at the seams with every silent second that goes by, and I get confirmation of that when James speaks again.
‘I know this is you, Amanda. Well, guess what? Your daughter is going to pay for this now.’
That’s when I hear Louise scream in the background again. At least I know she is still alive. But this has gone too far now. I’m out of options.
‘Wait!’ I beg. ‘I’ll do it! I’ll give you the code!’
This is it. It’s over. I tried my best, but I can’t keep the contents of that safe secret forever.
It’s time for the truth to come out.
33
AMANDA
ONE MONTH EARLIER
I try to enter the flat as quietly as I can. It’s eleven o’clock, and Louise might be in bed now. I’m certainly hoping that she is. I doubt she would have bothered waiting up for me, and I wouldn’t blame her. But I’m glad not to see her as I creep through my front door, and I’m hoping I can make it all the way into my bedroom without running into her. That’s because I’m currently in possession of the contents from Charles’s safe, and the last thing I need is to see another person before I can shove them into my own safe and lock the door.
I’m halfway past the sofa when I hear a sound from my daughter’s bedroom. It sounds like the television. She is still awake, but it’s no problem as long as she doesn’t come out and…
Louise’s bedroom door suddenly swings open, and my daughter spots me just before I can make it to my room.
‘What time do you call this?’ she asks me, but it’s not in a sarcastic tone that would be suitable for a child scolding their parent about staying out late. It’s done in her usual argumentative manner, which tells me she is annoyed at the fact I’ve been out all night.
‘Oh, you’re still up,’ I reply, feigning surprise and doing my best to stay calm. ‘I was trying to be quiet. I thought you might be asleep.’
‘I’ve been waiting up to see if you were ever going to come back.’
‘Of course I’ve come back. Don’t be silly.’
‘Is it silly? You’ve hardly been here these last few months. You keep leaving me alone with nothing to eat and nothing to do, yet you go mad if I ever dare to stay out late during the week.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. Work’s been crazy today. We’ve got a deadline for the end of the week and—’
I hate lying to my daughter, and it’s only now I realise how much I have been doing that lately. Perhaps my daughter isn’t the only one to blame for our constant arguments. Maybe I should have been making an effort to be around more.
‘I don’t care about your stupid deadlines!’ Louise says, confirming what I just thought. ‘What kind of mother leaves her daughter alone all night without calling to say where she is?’
‘I was working. Where else would I be?’
‘I don’t know. The point is you didn’t even call!’
‘Because I was working!’
The initial fear I had about being seen entering my flat with my ill-gotten gains has faded a little, and I feel myself growing annoyed at my daughter for her attitude. She has no idea of what I’ve been through this evening, and while she can never know, I wish she weren’t giving me this problem right now.
‘Have you actually been working? Or have you been on a date?’ Louise asks, and my breath catches in my throat.
‘What are you talking about?’ I reply, looking down at my clothes nervously in case I have left something on that can give me away. But I haven’t. I always make sure to get changed in the toilets on the train on the way home after my escorting work, and tonight was no different.
Though of course, tonight was very different.
‘I don’t believe you’ve been working,’ Louise says. ‘I think you’re seeing someone. Are you?’
I’m not sure where she has got this idea from, but I decide that she is just speculating and taking her bad mood out on me.
‘I’m not going to argue with you at this time of night,’ I reply, heading for my bedroom. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Tell me about your new boyfriend? I can’t wait to hear all about this next guy. Is he going to take all of your money like the last one did?’
I grit my teeth as I resist the urge to turn around and have it out with my daughter. She blames me for what happened with Johnny and the money, which is a little harsh even though I could have been more careful, so I’d like nothing more than to give her a piece of my mind right now, but I can’t stop. I need to get Charles’s things into my safe as quickly as possible.
‘
Why have you got a rucksack?’ she asks me, but I ignore that, which I know is only going to irritate her even more. ‘Great, just disappear on me like you always do!’ she cries as I enter my bedroom, and I make sure to close the door behind me before I remove the bag from my shoulder.
I hear the sound of my daughter’s bedroom door slamming as I go into my wardrobe where my safe is located. Kneeling down on the carpet, I enter the eight-digit code into the keypad and hear the click that lets me know I’m in.
Opening the safe, I see the money already in there, which consists mainly of my hard-earned savings from my dual jobs in purchasing and escorting. There’s nearly £20,000 in there already. But there’s about to be a whole lot more.
I reach into my handbag and take out the first stacks of cash and stuff them inside the safe as quickly as I can, paranoid that Louise might burst in here to continue the argument and catch me with all this money.
Then I unzip the rucksack and work fast until all the cash is out before searching around at the bottom of the bag for the watch and ring I also took in my haste.
It was a moment of madness to take more than just money, although it’s been a night full of such moments. I should just throw them away because I have no idea how I will sell these items. I obviously can’t do it legally in case they are traced back to Charles’s flat and I’m implicated. The safest thing to do would be to get rid of them. But how much are they worth? Can I really afford to throw money away? I might as well sell them, and a dodgy pawnshop in the East End will be my best bet, but that’s a problem for another day.
I locate the watch quickly and toss it on top of the money. But I can’t see the ring?
Where is it? Did I drop it on the way?
Another quick search of the rucksack yields no immediate results, so I tip the entire contents of my handbag out onto the carpet beside me to speed it up. I rummage through my possessions. Purse. Mobile phone. Mirror. Lipstick. A work email that I printed off before I left the office and really need to read before the big meeting tomorrow.