The thing about this place that I still don’t understand is where the door is. It’s like a nightmare game of hide and seek where I have to feel about in the blackness looking for my friend.
Once I saw a program on the TV that mum and dad were watching where this woman was put in a box with loads of worms and snakes and insects and she had to feel about looking for plastic stars so that her friends in the jungle could eat some food. And the cameras taped her. It feels a bit like doing that. But what I don’t understand is that someone is making me do this. Someone put me in here when I didn’t ask to be. The person on the TV walked into the box by herself. I remember thinking that was really weird.
But I don’t want to think about that now because if I remember all the creepy crawlies I saw on the TV, I might start to imagine that they are in here and then I’d be too scared to move, even though I know I have to because I want to find Zoe.
By now I am pretty sure we have been here for a long time. Even though there is no sense of time I can tell that my hair has grown because I think it feels longer than it used to before when I was at home. And my toenails feel long too.
‘Come on Zoe!’ Suddenly I feel angry. I’m so sick of this place. All along I’ve been brave and trying to find a way out but Zoe has given up. She’s not even talking now. ‘Don’t sulk. Just get up and help me.’
Silence.
Then I hear a screeching noise all around me. It makes my teeth ache and I put my hands up over my ears. I can feel it vibrating through the floor and I hug myself into a tight ball, worried that the walls of my prison might be about to fall down. Suddenly the shaking stops and I can’t feel the sound any more so I take my hands away.
‘Zoe,’ I whisper frantically, ‘did you hear it? Zoe?’ Still not a sound from my friend.
‘She’s gone.’ A scratchy voice echoes around the room. ‘It’s just you now.’
I’m so terrified I wet myself. The urine running down the inside of my leg is warm and stings my bottom.
‘Please,’ I sob, not knowing where to direct my words, ‘please bring her back.’
‘She’s gone.’ The voice sounds angry this time and I huddle, making myself as small as possible.
‘It’s just you now.’ The voice is calmer and I realise I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.
‘Please let me out. I want to see my family. Please, I won’t tell anyone anything.’
A chuckle explodes around the space.
‘You aren’t going anywhere. You will be staying here for now.’
‘But why have you let Zoe go?’
‘It was time for her to leave.’
‘I... I don’t understand.’
‘No, you don’t. And until you do, you will remain here.’
Then without any warning the voice is gone.
I want to call out and scream and beg for the voice to come back but I don’t, because I know it is useless. The voice has gone; Zoe has gone; and my courage has gone.
Danny
The bus journey seems to take forever. The large cumbersome vehicle plods through villages pulling in at every stop to collect kids on their way to the cinema or pensioners with plans to go shopping.
The windows have a coating of condensation on them that reappears within seconds of being wiped away. I give up trying to look out at the bleak countryside in the end.
An hour later and the bus stops on Hills Road in Cambridge. I nod to the disgruntled driver and jump down into a puddle, soaking the bottom of my trousers and my socks before setting off towards Newmarket Road that lies on the eastern side of the city.
Trudging through the drizzle my heart pounds in my chest. My mind is alive with ideas. This is something I’ve been planning for over a week and now it is all starting to come together.
As the rain starts to come down harder I can feel the bag on my back getting heavier with the water it has absorbed. The sound of the drops hitting the pavement play like a beat on the ground and helped to sooth my frantic brain. I can’t lose it. I have to remain calm and in control.
By the time I arrive at the car rental place I am soaked through. The guy behind the desk chuckles to himself at my drenched state but I am not amused. The smirk on his face quickly dissolves when I eyeball him from across the counter.
‘I’m here to pick up a van.’
‘Name?’
‘Bird.’
‘Righto.’ He taps away at his keyboard searching for the relevant information. ‘For a week, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘A Ford Transit. For one week?’
‘Yep.’
‘I need to see your license.’
Removing the soggy bag off my bag I remove my papers from a zip compartment and hand them over.
‘So,’ the guy runs an eye over them before handing them back, ‘going anywhere nice or is it business?’
‘Business, I suppose.’ I wish this guy would stop talking.
‘Right, well, if you can sign the papers here and here,’ he points with his dirty finger, ‘then I’ll hand over the keys.’
Twenty minutes later I am behind the wheel and making my way out of the congested city. Christmas shoppers block the roads with their cars and I have to contain my frustration with the gridlock.
After crawling through the city in the damned rain, having hit every fucking red light, I’m relieved to see the back of Cambridge.
As the van joins the motorway my pulse quickens again. This is going to be the hardest part to pull off. Thinking about it starts to make me feel a bit sick and I slow down and open the window, taking in gulps of cold fresh air to quell the nausea.
Looking over at my large damp backpack helps to steady my nerves. Everything I am going to need is in that bag. I’ve planned this carefully and as long as I stick to the plan then nothing will go wrong. Despite telling myself this over and over I am still nervous about the next phase. I’m just an ordinary bloke. This stuff should be reserved for the fucking SAS, but desperate times…
I know exactly what has to be done as I pull off the motorway and head through Duxford on my way home.
I need to find a suitable place to park, somewhere hidden from sight. Then I have to sit tight and stay calm. That is the most important thing, to stay calm. If I panic it could all go horribly wrong.
It makes sense for me to take the long way back to the village, so that I approach it from the other side where I will need to wait.
Winding through a quiet country lane on the outskirts of Duxford, I pass a stream where I used to take Hope to play. Although I know it’s pointless I stop the van on the side of the road and get out. I want to go back to a time when we were all happy and I think that if I can spend a minute in a place where that was the case, it might give me the strength I need to continue.
Walking a few steps along the road the trees on my right hand side part and there is a clearing where the stream slopes gently down. I remember watching Hope paddle there, splashing and laughing in her turquoise swimming costume, while I splashed her and her mum sat in the shade cradling a newborn Gracie. That had been a good day; a happy day. The sun shone and after playing in the water we picnicked on the bank. I flash back to a vision of Hope eating strawberries and the red juice dripping down her chin. For some reason the thought makes me shiver, as if someone has walked over my grave.
The memory of that day should make me feel happy but it doesn’t because it was so long ago and I can’t think of a time in the last few months when any of us have been happy like that.
Bending down I pick up a small smooth stone and rub my thumb over it. It’s icy cold, like a corpse. With sudden anger I hurl the pebble through the air watching it splash into the trickling water and sink.
‘I’m coming to get you.’ I look up at the grey clouds threatening yet more rain. ‘I’m going to make this right.’
Getting back into the van I realise I am shaking but it’s not as a result of the cold. Before starting the engine I sit staring
at the bag lying on the passenger seat. The bag represents my future and now appears smaller than before.
As the van roars into life I put my foot down on the accelerator and speed away from the place that harbours those special memories. There’s no point getting sentimental. I just have to get on and get the job done.
Arriving in Ickleton, via Brookhampton Street, I slow down to a crawl, searching for the ideal spot to stop and decide to park on the pavement next to the churchyard. In this position I am fairly well hidden. I leave the battery on so that I can listen to the radio. I need something to do. I could be waiting for a while.
Then I reach over and grab the bag, unfastening the straps that keep everything in place. As I unzip the top a few items come bursting out onto the passenger seat. Spotting what I was looking for I grab the baseball cap and put it on my head, pulling it low over my eyes so it shadows my face. I shove some of the other bits back into the bag, leaving only the small glass bottle and syringe on the seat.
When I turn the radio on I am greeted by Justin Bieber, singing a tuneless number. I hate that kid. Such a smug little git but I can understand why girls like him. He’s clean-faced and doesn’t look like much more than a boy himself. Fiddling with the dial I am determined not to let that song be what I listen to and thankfully find something altogether more tolerable on Radio One.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me to the fact that I’ve received a text. It’s from Libby.
Just stuffing our face with McDonalds in the services on the outskirts of Bristol. Will call when we arrive at Chez Hardy xxx
I smile at myself at the thought of Gracie’s little mouth covered in ketchup.
Hope she’s not car sick! Have a great time and don’t worry about me. Love you xxx
I need to eat and the banana in my pocket sits heavy but I just don’t have an appetite. The last thing I am thinking about is food but reluctantly I remove the fruit and peel the skin. The flesh is brown, bruised and unappealing but it’s the only thing I brought with me so it’ll have to do. If I’m going to pull this off I am going to need to remain focused on the task at hand and not be distracted by a rumbling stomach.
After sitting in the van for nearly two hours I begin to get bored. Adrenaline kept me going to begin with, but that has long gone. I just sit there, staring out of the windscreen at the same bloody view, listening to average pop on the radio. The one positive is that it is beginning to get dark now. The darkness will help cloak what I am about to do. Glancing at my clock I see it’s three-thirty. It can’t be much longer now.
Fidgeting in my seat, I wish I could get out and stretch my legs but I can’t just in case I miss my opportunity.
Then, a figure appears around the corner walking towards me. I have to really concentrate on the shape to be sure it is who I think it is. When the person has come ten yards closer I can clearly see who it is. I need to act quickly. Adrenaline reignites when I grab the small glass bottle off the passenger seat, turn it upside down and plunge the end of the needle into the foil cap, extracting some of the drug. Stay calm, stay calm; the mantra goes round and round in my head.
As casually as I can manage I get out of the van and walk around to the back to open the doors, then seconds later, as I am arranging the blanket on the floor, the figure appears in my peripheral vision and I leap towards the unsuspecting person, who wriggles in my grasp and ends up burning the palm of my hand with the cigarette they are smoking.
After putting the needle into their neck and releasing the drug it takes less than a minute for the body to stop fighting and start to go limp. Bearing the dead weight of the body, I manage to wrestle it into the back of the van. Panting heavily I then reach for the cable ties and bind the arms and feet together before gaffer tapping the mouth. Despite shaky hands I get this job done quickly before another person appears or a car drives past. Then I close the doors of the van, double-checking they are properly shut, before scooting round to the driver’s side and getting back in. I check my side mirrors just to be sure that no one has seen us before starting the van and driving up to the house.
Leaving the engine running I dash indoors. I turn my mobile off and place it on the pillow in my bedroom, along with a letter to Lib. Then I lock the house, get back into the van and drive out of the village, heading back towards the motorway.
I feel like a criminal myself and try to push this thought out of my mind. It’s a long drive up to Scotland and I can’t afford to have any doubts. The easy bit is over. The rest will be the real challenge.
Libby
After a long drive I finally make it to my parents’ house, on the edge of St Austell on the south coast of Cornwall. The sheets of rain come down at an angle, making it difficult to see on the narrow road that leads to my final destination.
Outside the sky is dark with night-time clouds. Coming to a stop I stare at the house, floodlit by my bright headlights. The windscreen wipers rush backwards and forwards, allowing me glimpses of the building, which hasn’t changed much since I was last here.
In the back of the car Gracie sleeps soundly with her mouth wide open and her head slumped to one side.
It has been some time since I came back here and it takes me a while to pluck up the courage to go in. Something is telling me to turn around and head straight home and I’ve felt like that since I left this morning, but I put it down to guilt for leaving Danny, despite his insistence that I go. Finally, I step out of the car and into the harsh Cornish elements.
Pulling my coat up around my neck and mouth, I fumble about trying to unlock Gracie’s seatbelt without waking her up, all the while being pelted in the face with icy rain. She does not stir as I remove her from her seat. Her head lolls immediately into a relaxed position on my shoulder.
The luggage can wait, I decide, closing the door. I turn towards the house and find Alex on the porch waiting to greet me.
‘I saw your headlights,’ he calls against the ripping wind.
‘Hi,’ I mouth, not wanting to disturb the child sleeping in my arms.
Alex, in a pair of old man slippers, shuffles towards us and takes Gracie out of my arms before planting a kiss on my cheek. For a twenty-five-year-old he has questionable taste in footwear.
‘Good to see you, Sis.’
‘And you,’ I wipe raindrops off my forehead, ‘let’s get inside.’
As soon as we step into the warmth I am hit by a familiar smell; the scent of my mum’s cooking mixed with the air freshener she always uses. The food smells good. The air freshener does not.
Following Alex into the sitting room I see my father sitting in his armchair flicking through the papers. He gets up and comes to give me a stilted hug. He’s never been good at physical affection.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘All right, girl.’ He peers at me over his reading glasses. ‘You made it then.’
‘Looks like it.’
Alex carefully manoeuvres Gracie out of his arms and into position on the sofa before covering her with a blanket.
‘Hasn’t she grown?’ Dad remarks. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself saying that if they bothered to see her more often it wouldn’t come as such a shock.
Alex, feeling me tense, quickly defuses the situation.
‘Fancy a drink, Sis?’
‘Yes please. A large one.’
He winks and heads off into the kitchen where I can hear Mum crashing about.
‘How are you, girl?’
‘Shit. To be honest.’
My father scratches the back of his neck and looks at the floor. ‘Awful business,’ he mutters.
‘How are you, Dad?’ My only option is to change the subject. I cannot do this with him right now.
‘Can’t complain. My knee is playing up, bloody thing. Don’t know why they won’t just give me a new one and be done with it.’ Easing himself back into his armchair he winces. ‘Your mum’s cooking up a storm.’
‘Great. I’m starving.’ My mother always hides in the k
itchen busying herself cooking rather than face the music. It’s her way of being nice to me without having to talk to me. I’ve come to accept it. ‘What’s on the menu?’
‘Some pie or other I think.’ Dad has returned to looking at his paper already.
‘I was happy to go and pick up fish and chips.’
‘Your mum wouldn’t have it.’
Alex arrives just in time brandishing a large glass of white wine.
‘Get your chops round that.’ He says, tucking into his pint of beer.
On the sofa, Gracie begins to stir.
‘Thanks, Al. I’m just going to call Danny and let him know we’ve arrived safely.’ I say stepping back out into the hallway and removing my mobile from my pocket.
Holding the phone to my ear I take a long sip of the wine. The sweetness is unexpected and I remember my mother has no taste. The phone rings and rings until going to answerphone.
‘This is Dan’s phone. I can’t answer right now but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Cheers.’ Beep.
‘Where are you? Anyway, just letting you know we’ve arrived. Dad has already insulted me and I’m drinking a glass of really nasty white wine. Other than that everything’s fine. Call me back. Love you.’
As I hang up I can’t help but notice that the uneasy feeling has returned to the pit of my stomach.
Entering the sitting room again I see that Gracie is now sitting upright on the sofa rubbing her eyes, clearly discombobulated.
‘We’re at Grandpop’s house.’ I sit down next to her and rub her back.
‘Do-do.’
‘It’s in the car. I’ll get it a bit later.’
Do-do is her name for her dummy. As a baby she couldn’t pronounce the word and that’s how it came out. Despite being nearly four years old she still hasn’t given it up and since Hope went missing I’m not inclined to try and make her. She’s had enough taken away from her already.
‘Hello, trouble.’ Alex comes over from where he was sitting with his beer and greets his niece.
She looks at him like he’s a threat and I remind her he is her uncle, who she speaks to regularly on Skype. Quickly her caution evaporates and she begins to interact with him.
Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner Page 11