As a rule, I was the sunny sort; optimistic and upbeat, no doubt to the irritation of some. But I felt as though my heart and mind had been switched with a character in a black and white film noir, rocking back and forth in the furthest corner of a psychiatric ward, drugged up, a lost cause and unlikely to be leaving anytime soon. Lost in my lonely madness, my mind strayed to the pile of shoes in my wardrobe; with pairs to create longer, slimmer legs, pairs bought on impulse and still like new, as well as my favourites worn for comfort. Of all the things that could have delayed us, why did it have to be something so insignificant? I added this to the accumulating layers of guilt that weighed down on me - pressed against my chest and prised the breath from me.
My heart pounded against my ribcage like a battering ram. I gasped for air as a sickening ache stirred deep within me. Despair surged through my insides - spread through my chest and neck and jabbed at my scalp. My throat tightened and I dropped to the floor and came to rest against the range. Its warmth gave no comfort. I cried; oblivious to anything beyond my fear, my daughter’s fear – our shared fear.
Sometime later, my heart stripped bare and my bones carved out and hollow, I turned to the window. Night had drawn in, and the furniture appeared vague and subdued in the halfway light. I heard voices nearby. Were they keeping secrets from me? I got up, walked from the kitchen and across the landing to the top of the stairs. Max and Louis were in the hallway, talking in undertones. They stopped abruptly and looked up. Max’s face looked ashen, and I tried to read his expression.
“What is it?” I said. “Have they found her?”
He shook his head.
“Tell me,” I screamed, and my nerves fired missiles.
“They’ve found your car…but not Lyssa.”
Max sank onto the bottom stair like a rock falling silently through black water. He dropped his head into his hands and wept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stargazing
Lyssa lay on a narrow bed and gazed at the small rectangle of inky-blue sky set in the opposite wall. The chilly air reeked of mould and the damp seeped beneath her clothes and clung to her skin. She longed for a warm blanket to wrap herself in, and she turned awkwardly onto her side. With her hands bound tightly behind her back, she found it impossible to lie comfortably.
When they had arrived she was blindfolded, and so had seen nothing of their approach. He’d carried her up the stairs, dropped her onto the bed, and only then allowed her to see. He’d stepped back and studied her as he ran the scarf back and forth between his fingers. He cleared phlegm from his throat, spat onto the floor then silently turned and left the room and locked the door behind him.
She hadn’t heard him stomp up and down the stairs recently and wondered if he was asleep somewhere or whether he was sitting behind the door to keep guard. She twisted her arms above her head and when that proved impossible she wriggled her hands under her bottom. But again, it was hopeless. She drew her feet towards her, leaned over and chewed furiously at the string around her ankles. Finally, breathless and beaten, she fell back and wept with fear and frustration.
He knew her parents’ names and he was angry with them. He swore a lot and shouted vile things, and sometimes she didn’t know if he was talking to himself or to her.
She wondered what her mum had done when he’d driven away? What was she doing now? If she was here, they could hold one another and plan their escape together.
After Lyssa had screamed for him to let her out of the car, he’d pulled into a quiet woodland track, climbed onto the back seat and tied her hands and feet. When Lyssa had kicked and struggled, her chest had gone into spasm as if she were sinking deep below the water’s surface and unable to swim back up for air.
“You’re not getting out so quit fucking with me,” he said, with black eyes and twisted brows.
Lyssa wheezed and nodded desperately at her school bag.
“A kid at school had one of these. I tried it, thought it might give me a buzz,” he said, and pressed the canister.
After three successive puffs the tightness eased, and she realised she had no option but to succumb.
Lyssa needed the toilet but she wouldn’t shout for him to take her; she didn’t want him anywhere near her if she could avoid it. She’d heard stories about children being snatched, and when she was little her mum would usually switch off the news. More recently, her mum explained how and why bad things happened.
“It’s rare for a child to be taken. One chance in a million.” Her mum had reassured her.
Sometimes she used a similar phrase to describe Lyssa; that she was her ‘one in a million’, usually when Lyssa had done something good, or when they hugged each other good night.
Lyssa yearned for home, her mum smiling and tucking her into bed, ‘Night-night Lyssa, sleep tight, sweet dreams until the morning light’.
Her mother would often leave the curtains open and when she’d turned off the light, and they saw the clear night sky, they would look up at the stars. ‘See that constellation there, Lyssa? That’s Cassiopeia’, or ‘that’s Perseus just there’. Her dad knew them too, and it was something they loved to look for, to imagine what might be on distant planets. Perhaps the stars were out tonight and her mum was standing at her bedroom window, wondering where Lyssa was.
Her bladder twinged painfully. She shuffled over to the window, pressed her brow against the damp windowpane, and looked to see if there were any stars. Veiled by cloud, the moon was only an indistinct shimmer, unable to hint at what lay beyond the four walls that held her. Tomorrow she would look into the daylight and work out a way to escape before it was too late.
She leaned against the wall and warm urine ran down her legs and into her shoes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A Wee Dram - 1999
By the third week in September the work on our house was complete, with self-generated electricity and hot water throughout. The engineers had finally connected the wind turbine and solar panels, and miraculously, everything appeared to be working. After living in the cramped and freezing caravan for months on end, running hot water and electricity felt like pure luxury. I vowed never to take either for granted again. The wind turbine had cost a small fortune, but up here on the blustery hillside we felt sure it would in time be worth every penny.
“I’m off to run myself the hottest, deepest, bubbliest bath. You’re welcome to join me,” I said.
“You’re not taking an eco-shower then?” Without looking up, Max laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“Not a chance. After months of deprivation, I feel like indulging myself.”
Max sat at his drawing table in the naturally well-lit and still sparsely furnished office, working on some designs. I hooked an arm around his waist, ran my hand teasingly down the front of his trousers and gave a lingering squeeze.
‘Mm-mmm, an offer I’ll struggle to refuse,” said Max. “Shall I bring you a wee dram to celebrate?”
“What before the noonday sun? Go on then,” I said. “I love it when you go all Scottish on me.” I kissed him, and he slid his hand up my T-shirt and fondled my breasts.
“Christ! Damn these drawings. Go on you rotten wee temptress,” he said, and slapped my backside as I turned to leave.
The Bosky stove was a fantastic piece of kit, making the house cosy and warm despite it feeling so cavernous. When Max walked into the en-suite a few minutes later he was carrying two tumblers of whisky and was stark naked save for my red and white spotty shower cap perched ridiculously on his head and a flannel hanging over his appendage.
Laughing, I slid up the old cast-iron roll-top bath to make room for him. “Oh my God! What heavenly vision is this? You look like a mutant Fly agaric toadstool. Pass me that glass, now I definitely need a drink.” As my gaze ran down his nakedness, I decided he had the perfect, classic male physique; naturally long, lean and toned, with soft curly hair in all the right places.
He stepped into the hot bubbly water and
as we sipped our whiskies, I slipped my foot in-between his legs and wriggled my big toe which made him splutter. Then taking my glass he placed it on the floor and pulled me on top of him. I pinched the shower cap off his head, flung it over my shoulder and leaned in and kissed him slowly and deeply, savouring his hot whisky laced lips. Our bodies moved together, sliding in rhythm, seeking to give pleasure to one another and receive pleasure in return as the hot water spilled unnoticed over the sides.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mountainological Knowledge
With the arrival of spring once more it was clear to see that Max was becoming the successful architect and businessman, although by his own admission he still had a great deal to learn about both his art and managing a business. He was winning more clients and getting great feedback. In turn his clients were recommending him to other individuals and organisations, which again brought in more commissions. My management trainee job was going well too. I was spending most of my time out and about making new contacts and directing projects, albeit the smaller ones. Jason Bittles, our Regional Director, had been inviting me to senior managerial meetings, and after I gave a presentation on ‘Reducing our Carbon Footprint’ at a recent conference, Jason personally commended me in the organisation’s national magazine. The double page article included my picture and a biography, along with a breakdown of what I would be doing during my training. Finally, all the time and energy I’d invested in my education was reaping the rewards. Life was fun and full, money seemed plentiful, and I honestly didn’t think we could have been happier.
One Friday evening I arrived home after two full days working away. Initially, I was disappointed that Max wasn’t back, but not concerned as he often visited clients or sites well into the evenings, especially now that the days were getting longer. It had been an unseasonably warm April, which was fortunate as I’d arranged for Rosie, and boyfriend, Will, to stay over Saturday night. I hoped I could persuade them to go for a walk up Benn Cady, and if the weather stayed fine they’d love the spectacular views. I stepped through the back door and looked up to the rocky outcrop Max and I often visited, even when there were gale-force winds, as was often the case. I sensed there was something special about the place, that it held a mystery of some sort. I don’t think Max was totally convinced, but he always joined in with my musings. Whether there was something special about the place or not, I always felt an immense sense of calm and tranquillity there.
I had collected in the dry clothes from the washing line and turned to go back inside when I spotted a flash of movement up near the rocks - something orange, perhaps a young deer, a fox or a dog. I felt curious and put down the basket of clothes and made my way up the steep, rock-strewn path. Oddly, I hadn’t seen a fox in the whole time we’d been here, and I knew there were no houses within two miles, so I figured it could have been a lost dog.
By the time I’d walked halfway up, I cursed that I’d forgotten the midge repellent. I pulled down my sleeves, buttoned my shirt right up and fanned my hands futilely at the midges.
My breath felt raw in my throat by the time I reached the rocks and I paused for a minute and gazed back down. I never tired of the view - the warm evening sun still reached over the peak of Applecross on the far side of the valley. Gentle rays branched out and lit up the rocks and they glistened across the mountainside.
“Squawk!”
Startled, I spun around and saw a bird as it darted from a nearby bush, and then it rasped its wings and flew over my head. Just a grouse. But then I heard the sudden yet distinctive sound of children’s laughter and a shriek. I stopped dead and listened. I heard more shrill laughter, and although I knew the wind could redirect noises, the sounds seemed close by. I jogged uphill and scrambled over stones and rocks to reach behind the outcrop. I froze. No more than thirty feet away I saw two young children - a boy, and a girl – who giggled and laughed as they built a tower out of stones. I moved closer but they remained oblivious to me.
I called over, “Hello there.” But they didn’t look up and continued to lift and balance the stones. I stepped nearer. “Hello, I’m Katriina, what are your names?”
They still didn’t react and continued their game amidst shrieks of laughter. I knew I must find their parents. It wasn’t safe for them up here on their own among the jagged rocks and steep drops. I walked on past them to the far side of the rocky outcrop where the hillside opened out, and tried not to let them out of my sight, but I couldn’t see another soul. I decided I’d persuade them to come back to the house with me. Once safely inside, I’d contact the police and locate their parents.
I turned around, but I could no longer see the children. I raced back and looked down the path, but there was no one. I wondered briefly if I’d walked too far, but in truth, I knew that wasn’t the case and within a few steps I’d returned to the half tumbled pile of stones where the children had been playing. I crouched down amongst the rocky pile and glimpsed something small and yellow. I picked it up. A tiny sword that perhaps belonged to a toy soldier. I slipped it into my trouser pocket, then ran back and forth and checked every possible hiding place around the outcrop. But within the stillness, only silence gathered, except for the speckled clouds of midges that encircled me.
A feeling of alarm rose within me along with a crushing need to find the children. I stopped, took slow breaths and tried to calm my thoughts. They must have been an impression, something ethereal, or something I’d only imagined seeing. I clambered up onto the highest of the rocks and sat there for a while, as I tried to make sense of the past few minutes. The delicate radiance of the first stars appeared. The full moon bathed the hillside in moonlight and eventually I picked my way down the path, my mind emptied of rational thought, yet even though I couldn't explain it, I understood there must be a significance in what I'd seen.
I knew Max was home, by the divine cooking aromas wafting from the kitchen.
“Been for a walk? Thought you might have already cooked my dinner,” Max said, laughing. He turned, and his expression became serious. “Hey, what is it, my love?”
“Nothing, I’m just tired. It’s been a hectic week.” I kicked off my shoes.
“Come here sexy. I’ve missed you badly.”
We held and kissed one another, and his warmth and vigour steadied my nerves. As we held one another, I inhaled his earthy, masculine scent, a heady mix of pine and perspiration.
I pulled a bottle of red wine from the rack.
“Want a glass?” I asked, unnecessarily.
“Yep,” he said. “And tonight we have something to celebrate.” He scraped chopped garlic into the pan. “Remember that chap I told you about at Upland Homes and the big project for the sustainable homes in Inverness?”
“Yes.”
“He’s only given me the contract. Said I had the best designs, most innovative ideas and the price was competitive too. Think it’s worth 30K and it’ll mean taking someone on. I can’t do it all myself now,” he said, stirring the onions and garlic sizzling nicely. He turned back and smiled broadly. “My first employee, how cool will that be?”
I set his glass of wine on the worktop and kissed him. “That’s fantastic Max. I’m so proud of you. You deserve it.”
And I was proud of him. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, so I didn’t mention the lost children up at the rocky outcrop. In one selfish way there was an element of wanting to keep it to myself, to take some time to figure it out. Besides, I knew if I told Max he would say I’d imagined it. Even to me it sounded too absurd to be remotely plausible. Either that or he would say the obvious, that I was getting broody. How could I explain that I’d seen two unaccompanied young children half way up a remote hillside who then disappeared into thin air?
We’d discussed having children at some point, but the truth was, having a baby was definitely not on my radar. I was focussing on my career and loving our life, just the two of us. At only twenty-three, I reasoned I had plenty of fertile years ahead of me.
Just before twelve the next day I heard a car pull up on the gravel, and I sprinted to open the front door.
“Rosie Dickens,” I shrieked, and ran over to embrace her.
The first thing I noticed was that her bleached blond hair was a more natural dark blond shade; a far more flattering tone for her pale Anglo-Saxon complexion.
She stepped back to appraise me.
“Oh my God, look at you. You’re more beautiful than ever,” said Rosie.
Knowing Rosie would be looking trendy and expensively fabulous as always I had made more of an effort with my appearance than usual. My hair was freshly washed and blow-dried, and my long brown curls bounced down my back. I was wearing my favourite pair of black skin-tight jeans, knee-high brown leather boots and a cream fitted angora cropped jumper. I’d even applied a touch of makeup, put on a pair of amber earrings and as I’d stood in front of the full-length mirror I was happy with the overall result.
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