‘I cannot.’
‘That isn’t good enough.’
‘Maybe someone framed me!’
‘You really are grasping at straws, aren’t you? Don’t patronise me.’
‘If I had taken your daughter I would not be so stupid to leave a shoe in my bin.’
‘OK, you have a point I suppose but you are on the list, Amit. You are a paedophile. Maybe you made a mistake, panicked, I don’t know.’ Spotting the picture of Hope floating in a puddle of water on the floor, I rush over to retrieve it. The water has already warped the photograph. Trying desperately to salvage it I rub it on my jacket as if that will absorb some of the water.
‘You are wrong about me. It is a mistake I am on that list. My wife, she will tell you.’
‘I’ve spoken to your wife already, months ago.’ Amit looks over at me as if this is news to him. ‘She didn’t mention it?’
As he shakes his head, I smile.
‘You see, that’s what I mean. People keep secrets.’
Libby
The drive up to Scotland was awful. There was an atmosphere in the car. Clare and Paul had a huge argument about how best to handle Danny. Even Gracie has been as quiet as a mouse and that’s unheard of.
Paul drove most of the way, speeding along the motorways and gripping the steering wheel like a man possessed. Clare sat in the front passenger seat of their large blue Audi, her arms crossed, staring out of the window not speaking.
Since they have known Simon longer than I have, plus the fact they are older, I encouraged them to take the lead once we got into the house. Paul had no problem with that and knocked on the door with the authority of a bailiff.
I sit on the sofa in Simon’s small apartment sandwiched between Clare and Paul who are still not talking, while Gracie sits on my lap twiddling my hair. Simon perches awkwardly in an armchair opposite us. He looks uncomfortable.
‘So where is he?’ Paul leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. No time for niceties.
‘It wasn’t meant to get out of hand.’ Simon looks at the floor and scuffs the carpet with his shoe. His dark hair is dishevelled and he needs to shave.
‘We need to know, Simon. You’re not schoolboys any more. This isn’t a game.’ Paul’s words are cutting but fair.
‘There was this old abandoned place up in the hills that I once did some filming in. It’s really quiet and he remembered me mentioning it a while back. He asked if he could use it.’
‘You’re a bloody fool.’ Paul stands up and storms out of the room, slamming the front door on his way out, leaving Clare looking embarrassed.
‘Where is it, Simon?’ I move Gracie over onto the sofa between Clare and me.
‘In the hills the other side of Dunfermline, near Cleish. It a forty-five-minute drive.’
‘Thank you.’ I stand up not wanting to waste a second more. ‘Let’s go.’ I turn to Clare who is looking at Simon strangely.
‘I wouldn’t just barge in if I were you. He’s not behaving like himself. Let me come with you. You won’t find it by yourselves. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.’ Simon is doing his best to make up for his stupidity.
‘What do you mean “he’s not himself”?’ Clare asks.
‘Just weird. Like it’s a different person. He kind of scared me to be honest, which is why I left.’
Clare and I share a look. We both know that Danny has a temper.
‘Let’s go then.’
‘Follow my car.’ Simon says picking up his keys out of a neglected-looking fruit bowl on his dining room table. ‘Because of its position he’ll be able to see us coming if we have our lights on. I don’t want to spook him. When we get close I’ll call you. I think it would be better if we park the car and walk some of the way.’
‘You’re acting as if we are trying to catch a criminal.’ Clare says.
Simon doesn’t respond.
‘I think Simon’s right, Clare. Look, it’s pitch black already. It’s nearly nine o’clock. Why don’t you stay here with Gracie and I’ll go with Paul and Simon? She shouldn’t be witness to this.’
Clare nods with what I interpret as relief.
‘There’s some food in the fridge and in the cupboard by the sink I always keep a stash of chocolate and crisps.’ Simon points towards the kitchenette after pulling on his coat.
‘Chocolate!’ Gracie’s eyes light up.
‘Do whatever you have to do to keep her happy.’ I kiss Gracie on the top of the head before following Simon out of the door, leaving Clare looking bereft.
Danny
Amit’s mouth is dry and cracked. The blood from his broken nose has dried on his top lip like a dirty brown moustache. He sits shivering in the chair, his eyelids heavy from exhaustion.
‘Here.’ I approach him grab his face in my hand and tip a small amount of water into his mouth. He winces from the cold for a second before licking it up like a dog. His big pink tongue comes out of and searches for any stray drop he might have missed.
‘Thank you.’
I sneer and turn away. I don’t need his thanks and no amount of politeness is going to stop me from doing what needs to be done.
‘You are lucky Simon took his phone with him, otherwise you’d be listening to that shit again.’
‘You cannot force me to tell you something I do not know.’
His determined resistance pushes a button and I grab a piece of burning wood out of the oil drum, thrusting it against the bare skin on his foot. Amit lets out a high-pitched scream that sounds more animal than human.
‘Stop fucking with me. You will talk or I will keep on hurting you!’
He whimpers and looks down at the red, blistered skin on his foot. Little pieces of glowing charcoal are splintered around his feet in a halo. He tries to move his swollen foot away but the restraints on his ankle prevent him from doing so.
Opening yet another bottle of water I throw some down towards his foot, extinguishing the glowing coals and making the blisters on his foot even angrier.
‘I will pay you.’ He says suddenly, clenching his teeth because of the pain. ‘I have money. Name your price.’
‘I don’t want your money.’ I look at him with a newfound level of disgust.
‘Please. Simran will get you money. Her father is rich. You can use money to find your daughter.’ His pleading is pathetic.
‘Nice try.’ I turn my back on him and walk towards the door.
‘No, don’t leave. I need a doctor. Please!’ His begging falls on deaf ears as I pull the door closed behind me and go out into the black night.
I need fresh air. In the bitter cold I walk around the perimeter of the building, trying to think of a way to make him talk. Nothing I do is working.
Until recently I felt convinced Hope was alive but since coming to this place that feeling has abandoned me. It’s as if I’ve lost her somehow and there is more distance between us than ever before. Perhaps Amit’s refusal to cooperate is fuelling my suspicions that he has killed her.
Overcome with a mixture of sadness and violent anger I turn and punch the stone wall as hard as I can. The sound of my knuckle breaking echoes in my ears as I collapse to the ground holding my hand. Instantly I regret my decision to hit the wall. That was stupid. The last thing I need is an injury.
Cradling my bad hand I return indoors grateful for the heat coming from the waning fire.
In the light I examine my bloody hand. The knuckles are swollen and split. The pain is excruciating.
‘Shit,’ I mutter pouring water over the wound to clean it before searching for something I can use as a bandage. Amit looks over at me and I feel his pity.
‘Don’t fucking look at me.’ I roar and he quickly turns his head the other way. It dawns on me for the first time that he is actually frightened of me and it is a surprise to discover I relish it. I do have the upper hand, even if he hasn’t broken down yet. Realising this gives me renewed hope and as I wrap a wad of kitchen roll around my knuckles I w
atch as the white paper soaks up the blood, turning crimson. Watching the blood seep in reminds me of a rose unfolding. It is hypnotic and almost beautiful.
I am calmer now and I realise that I am in control. I sit on the floor near the fire and face Amit.
‘Let me tell you a bit about my daughter.’ My voice is calm and measured. ‘Hope was born on July 21st in 2006. She weighed six pounds one ounce. She was tiny. It took her mother twenty-eight hours to give birth to her. But after doctors, nurses, gas and air, and a troublesome lumbar puncture, Libby brought Hope into the world. She did not cry. She came out quietly and looked around. I cut the umbilical cord. My hands were shaking I was so overcome with emotion. It is one of the few times in my life that I have cried. She was so small and perfect I thought I might break her when the nurse handed her to me to hold for the first time.’ The memory is as clear now as it was then. I remember everything. ‘She was our firstborn. There is something special about that, something that can never be relived.’ Looking down at my left hand, the one that isn’t bandaged, I find myself staring at my wedding ring. ‘Hope coming into the world changed my life forever.’ I swallow down a wave of emotion. ‘She became the focus of my world, my reason for getting up in the morning, for working a shit job. It was all for her and her mother.’ I get up off the floor, compelled to pace once again. My hand is beginning to throb and I don’t want to focus on the pain.
‘She was the happiest little soul and such a good baby. She didn’t really grumble and she wasn’t demanding. Although, at first it was exhausting, her mother and I found parenting her a breeze. Waking up to her face in the morning was a real pleasure. She was smiley and content.’ A vision of her sitting on the duvet of our bed, aged one, comes flooding back to me. ‘She was always giggling.’
‘When she was ten months old her mother and I got married. That was one of the happiest days of my life. I had a beautiful wife and a gorgeous daughter. What more could I ask for?’
‘Hope was carried down the aisle by a friend. She wore a little cream dress that cost her mother a fortune. I often look back at photographs from that day. She was the star of the show, everyone gravitated towards her. Libby and I were proud as punch. The fact that she was there for our wedding made it even more special.’
Looking over at Amit I see that he has closed his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear this.
‘Is it hard listening to this?’
He doesn’t respond.
‘She took her time to develop. She was in no rush to walk or talk. Hope was…’ I pause. ‘Is a cautious kid. She refuses to do anything until she is entirely convinced by it. She was not going to walk before she was sure she could do it without falling over. On her second birthday she finally took her first steps unaided and she never fell once. I remember that day so clearly. It was sunny and we had a barbecue in our garden. My mum and dad came. Libby made a cake in the shape of a caterpillar. It took her hours. We’d blown up a paddling pool and Hope was sitting in it splashing water at Mum and Dad’s old dog, who thought it was great fun trying to catch the drops in his mouth. In the afternoon she simply let go of holding the chair and walked across our patio. That was such a good day.’
‘When she went to nursery she was slow to talk. All the other kids were chatting away, mostly nonsense, but Hope wouldn’t say a word. Then when she was nearly three she began to speak using whole sentences that made sense. Up until then her mother and I had been worried but she proved, once again, that she would do everything in her own time.
‘The thing about being a father to a girl is that you want to protect her. The idea of anyone ever hurting her, well… you have a daughter. You must know how it feels.
‘My job is to bring her up, to teach her how to be strong and independent. I’m meant to walk her down the aisle and be a grandfather to her children. That’s all I ever wanted, to be a good dad. But no. Thanks to you, I let her down. But I will find her, Amit. Believe me when I tell you that I will find her – and you are going to help me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you.’
I make the mistake of leaning on my hand to prop myself up, I wince and get up. My arse is cold from sitting on the ground. I retrieve a piece of broken glass from the floor by the window. It is clear some kids have been spending time up here with their BB-guns. Small perfectly circular holes are scattered across some of the panes. One of the pieces of glass hangs onto its frame, sharp and glinting in the firelight.
It catches my eye and I watch the prism of colours disappear as my shadow looms in front of it.
‘You always seemed like such a non-entity. Nice smiling Amit, who sits behind his till taking payment for bread and milk. So very nice. How many years have you been at the shop now? It seems like a long time. Were you there when Hope was a baby? Did you peer into her pram when she was tiny, looking forward to the day you could snatch her from her family and molest her?’ It seems as though someone else is talking through me. I can hardly bear to listen to the words coming out of my own mouth. ‘Have there been others? Your own daughter, perhaps? Is she the new focus of your attention?’
I hold the blade of broken glass in my hand and turn it round slowly, examining it from every angle.
‘You do not say those things about me!’ Amit begins to buck in his chair backwards and forwards shaking it with a ferociousness I’ve not seen from him before.
‘Struck a nerve, have I?’ I hold the glass up to my chin and let the cold edge rest against my skin while he continues to rock in his chair. The sound of the wooden feet against the floor is horrid, like nails down a board.
‘Sit still, you fucker!’ I begin to feel less sure of my position. He is really angry. I thought I was in charge. ‘I said sit still, or I’ll fucking cut you!’ The words leave my mouth before I’ve had a chance to even think them but nothing I say has any effect.
As if in slow motion I watch the chair tip back and the man strapped to it falling towards the floor. With lightening quick reactions I catch him using my bad hand and stop his skull from cracking onto the ground. Letting out an almighty scream I manage to push him back into an upright position using all my strength.
Collapsing into a ball I cradle my limp hand wondering if I am going to die. Small white dots fog my vision as I vomit up a puddle on the floor. The bitter taste of bile brings me back to reality.
Amit sits in his chair, a horrified look plastered on his swollen bloody face and stares at me. ‘You are mad.’ He speaks in a half whisper. ‘You are actually mad.’
I hardly hear what he says as I straighten myself up.
Lying on the ground, a few feet away, is the piece of glass I was holding. Without thinking I pick it up and move towards my prisoner.
Libby
‘What the hell was that?’ I whisper in the darkness, looking towards the small lit building in the distance.
‘It didn’t sound good.’ Simon sounds scared.
‘Nearly there.’ Paul leads the way, like a poacher out hunting. Either he didn’t hear the blood curdling scream or he is trying not to think about what it might mean.
‘Stop! Stop!’ I call out louder than I intended.
‘What is it?’ Paul’s figure turns in the darkness. Above us the sky is full of beautiful white stars.
‘This isn’t right. We can’t just walk in there. What if…’ my words fade like my hope.
‘Fine. You stay here then but I’m going to talk some sense into him.’ Paul is as stubborn as his son.
‘Didn’t you hear that?’ Simon stands by my side and I welcome the warmth from his body. Paul doesn’t answer.
‘What if it’s Danny in trouble?’ I turn to Simon petrified of what we might find in the cottage high up on the hill.
No one speaks. We stand there, frozen by both the cold and our fears, beneath the universe that circles above us, its weight on our shoulders.
‘If I go up there and call out he’s less likely to freak.’ Simon is finally showing he has common sense. ‘He wo
uldn’t be surprised if I turned up.’
Shivering in the freezing cold I check the time on my mobile.
‘It’s nearly two in the morning.’ I wish I had brought gloves. It’s fucking Scotland in December for Christ sake. ‘Maybe this is a bad idea.’
‘You heard that noise.’ Paul’s gruffness cuts through the night. ‘We can’t wait.’
Then in the distance we hear the hum of car engines. Peering out into the black countryside I try to identify the direction it is coming from. My head swivels left and right trying to determine the source.
‘What the fuck is that?’ I am feeling really spooked.
‘Sounds like cars.’ Paul removes his mobile phone from his coat pocket, turns the torch app on and shines it around trying to see where the sound is coming from.
None of us can see anything but the noise is getting louder.
Danny
‘I told you, you little fucker, that I would get answers,’ the broken edge of the piece of glass tears through the skin on the back of his neck revealing bright pink wet flesh, which contrasts with his brown worn skin. Blood floods out of the wound and spills down his back.
Amit squeals like a pig as I move away from him.
‘You’re a stinking mess,’ I take my hand up to my nose trying to avoid the stench of faeces that wafts up into my nostrils. ‘Jesus Christ.’ My eyes start to water and I feel the vomit rising once again in my throat.
‘Animal,’ I spit a mouthful of saliva onto the floor.
‘Would you have let me go toilet if I had said?’ Amit doesn’t even try to hide his sarcasm and I am shocked he has time for it still.
‘Shut the fuck up, pig.’ It is unbelievable that he still hasn’t talked, even when I sliced his skin. He is a harder nut to crack than I gave him credit for.
‘I think it is you who is the animal.’ Amit talks through chattering teeth. Clearly the pain and the cold are having more of an effect than he is letting on and my faith is restored. But I do wonder how much more I am going to have to do to break him. How much more violent are things going to get? How much am I capable of?
Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner Page 16