by Lucy Wild
I got to the house before them, walking inside cautiously, glancing around, looking for any signs that this was a trap.
The place looked different to last time, more threatening, though that had nothing to do with any ghosts. There was the blanket, still laid on the floor. It felt strange to think that I’d first had sex with Hope on that blanket. Part of me felt a strange sense of nostalgia, as if it had happened a very long time ago.
I’d barely got to know her but already I couldn’t imagine a life without her in it. She’d gotten under my skin so quickly, wrapping herself around my heart and claiming me in a way that had been completely unexpected. I hadn’t been expecting any of this. I hadn’t expected her.
But she was part of my life now and there was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Which is why I stood my ground when I heard a car pulling up outside the house. A glance out of the window made me smile. Two things were in my favour. He was on his own and he hadn’t noticed the softness of the ground where he’d parked.
“You’re alone?” he asked as he climbed out of the car, looking across at me stood in the doorway.
“As are you,” I said, nodding towards him.
He wasn’t what I’d been expecting. For one thing he was older than he’d sounded on the phone, the wrong side of fifty, his hair mostly white, neatly brushed across his scalp.
He was wearing a woollen jumper with cream corduroy trousers and looked like the least threatening man I could imagine, not helped by the extra weight around his midriff.
He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief as he crossed the ground towards me. “Rather warm today,” he said, a weak smile forming on his lips. “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Edward Lewis, I’m Hope’s father.”
He held his hand out towards me and I found myself shaking it before I realised what was happening.
I’d been so ready for a film noir villain to step out of the car, duelling scar, eyepatch, gun at the ready. I hadn’t expected a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a retirement party at an accountant’s firm.
“I don’t know what Hope told you about me,” he said, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of a handshake from me. “But you must know she is ill.”
I watched his body language closely. “How did you get my number?”
“A man gave it to me, told me to use it to get in touch with you.”
“He…gave it to you?” I couldn’t keep the suspicion out of my voice.
“I know you think I killed him, Hope probably told you all manner of awful things about me, how I’m capable of such things but I’m not.” He dabbed his forehead again. “She makes things up. It’s what she does.”
“So what happened to Harry?”
“Took his own life. I couldn’t believe it when I found out.”
“So why did he give you his phone?”
“Because I paid him a large sum to do so. Mr Davies, all I care about is my daughter. I am willing to do whatever it takes to get her back. Which includes paying you to keep away from her.”
“How did you get that cut on your face?”
“Because she fought to get away from me. She doesn’t like taking her medication. She does this. You’re not the first man she’s managed to convince to help her. Please tell me where she is. She needs help, Mr Davies, help that only her father can provide.”
I almost believed him. But then his eyes flickered. It was only for the briefest of seconds but it was enough.
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“I thought you might say that,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips.
“Why are you smiling?” I asked, closing my hands around the knife in my pocket, keeping his focus on my face.
“Because you haven’t worked it out yet. All your money and your education and you haven’t worked it out yet. I just think it’s funny, that’s all.”
“Worked what out?”
“Worked out that the only reason I brought you here was so that you wouldn’t be at the cottage when my son went to collect Hope.”
“How did you find out about that?” I asked, taking a slow step towards him.
“It was simple enough, we just used what’s in the boot of my car.”
“What have you got in there?”
“Have a look for yourself,” he said, pushing a button on his keyfob. The boot of his car swung upwards.
I walked over slowly, keeping my eye on him in case he came for me. When I reached the car, I looked down into the boot, finding myself staring into the bruised and swollen eyes of Anthony.
“What have they done to you?” I asked, reaching down to untie the ropes binding his wrists together. In the shock of seeing him like that, I didn’t notice the shadow falling over me until it was too late.
HOPE
I’M NOT PROUD OF the fact that I ran. It was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make. But in the end, I thought of the life growing inside me and then it all became very simple.
I woke up to the sound of the birds singing outside the bedroom window. The noise broke into my restless slumber, bringing me bleary eyed back to the land of the living.
In my dreams, I had been running. It seemed afterwards as if I spent all that day running. I had been back in the woods, crashing through the trees, the pain in my throat making it hard to breathe as I heard them yelling behind me, screaming at me to come back or they’d only make it worse for me.
As I ran, an alarm started to sound. At first I thought it was coming from the trees around me but then I woke up and realised. It was just the birds singing. I was safe.
I sat up, spotting the note a few seconds later. Rob had left it on the bedside table. I scanned it quickly.
“Had to go to a meeting. Back this evening. R.”
His handwriting was as bold as he was, with a hint of a flourish to the initial at the end.
I climbed out of bed, my heart sinking as I thought about what I was going to do. I had first begun to ponder the night before and I had woken up with the idea firmly set. It wasn’t an easy decision but it had to be done.
Once he found out I was pregnant, it would ruin everything. He was a businessman, not a babysitter. He wouldn’t want a child in his life. I didn’t need to talk to him to know that. He had barely known me a few days and in that time I’d seen him running back and forth to work, taking calls and emails late into the night. I couldn’t burden him with a child that wasn’t even his.
He would ask questions too. If I told him I was pregnant, he’d want to know who the father was. How could I tell him it was the same abusive scumbag who’d given me the bruises on my neck? The man I’d run from in the woods, the man I wanted nothing to do with ever again.
He wouldn’t understand. No one would. The world thought you needed a father to your child. The world didn’t seem capable of grasping the fact that some men were bad, that the child would be better off without them in their little lives.
I had a baby growing inside me. A baby that was mine. I was responsible for it, no one else. I couldn’t ask Rob to be part of its life, it was asking too much.
Maybe if we’d known each other longer, I might have been able to do it. But it had to be this way. It was for the best, I thought to myself as I slipped my shoes onto my feet.
I would go while he was at his meeting. He would come back to find me gone from his life. Then he could get on with his.
There was a pile of banknotes in a pot on the kitchen counter, wedged tightly in together, perhaps a thousand pounds worth. I took two twenties and folded them in half, waves of guilt washing over me. I told myself it was just a loan, I’d send them back as soon as I found work in my new place, wherever that was going to be. All I knew at the time was that I was going to head north.
It was to help him more than me, I told myself as I opened the front door of the cottage. It would be agony to move away from him, to never see him again. But I couldn’t stay.
Not only was I going to be a s
ingle parent, I was risking his safety and my own if I stayed. They would find out I was here eventually and they would come for me. It was too much to ask him to deal with that, to risk his life over someone like me.
I could picture it. I’d tell him I was pregnant and a look of disgust would creep over his features, his playboy life interrupted as he tried to work out how to politely push me away. For a moment I hated the baby, hated being pregnant. Then I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at even having that thought. “I’m sorry,” I said out loud, rubbing my stomach as if she could hear me. She.
I’d already begun to think of it as a she. Was that why I’d talked to Rob about families? To sound him out? To see what he might think about them. We’d lain in bed together late last night, talking about the future. I’d told him if I had a child, I’d call it Faith. He’d told me that was a beautiful choice of name.
But he had seemed distracted throughout the conversation, his mind clearly on work, not on me. That was how it would always be.
My head hurt from all the whirling thoughts running through it. One moment I was convincing myself I was running so he wouldn’t be in danger, the next it was because he would hate me for being pregnant. Then that he’d get bored of me soon enough. He was bound to, I was nowhere near good enough for someone like him.
The thoughts changed but the conclusion was the same. I had to run. I had to run far and fast, get somewhere he’d never find me, somewhere they’d never find me.
I found an old bike in the garage, rusty but functional enough for me to push my way along the track. Once I was on the road at the end, I wobbled along, becoming more steady as each mile passed, mentally and physically.
I was doing the right thing. I was able to convince myself of that fact. Despite the doubt in the back of my mind, the gut wrenching pain of thinking I’d never see him again, I was doing the right thing for everyone.
It took a couple of hours to reach the nearest town and I jumped on the first bus that came along. That got me to the next town where I was lucky enough to find a coach station.
The money shouldn’t have been enough to get me anywhere but my luck held as I found a last minute deal at a travel agent’s on the high street. With my ticket in hand, I went back to the coach station and climbed aboard.
“Any luggage?” the driver asked, examining me with unsmiling eyes.
“Just a little one,” I replied, rubbing my stomach gently as I passed him by and went to find a seat at the back, out of the way, passing by an old man who was complaining about newspapers to the driver. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to put as many miles as I could between me and Rob. I knew that if I didn’t get away soon, I wouldn’t be able to do it at all and then we’d both be doomed.
ROB
ANTHONY TRIED TO WARN me, frantically shaking his head from side to side, muffled noises coming from behind his gag.
I turned but too late. Edward was already on me. He moved very quietly for a man his size and age. He got his hands on my shoulders and shoved me violently forwards, my head smacking into the boot of the car. I bounced off, seeing nothing but white light. I felt hands on me again and lashed out blindly, the knife gripped tightly in my hand, hoping to catch him with it.
I felt a tug as the knife came free from my fingers at the same time as Edward yelled in pain. I blinked and my vision came back, the knife was wedged in the back of his hand.
I twisted away from him and began to run, hoping he’d follow me. He probably thought I was running for my life and in many ways I was, just not in the manner he expected.
I made it to the treeline with him close behind. Glancing back I saw him pull the knife free, waving it in the air as he came crashing after me.
My original plan had been to get back to the car but I couldn’t leave Anthony behind, bound like that, unable to escape. Nor could I phone home and tell Hope to get out of the house, he’d hear me. That would have to wait.
I made all the noise I could along the trail back to the road before suddenly dipping to the left, squatting down and waiting for my breathing to slow. I heard him coming past, thinking he was still following me.
Once he was a few yards past, I doubled back through the trees, moving as quietly as I could. I stepped back out into the clearing by the house shortly afterwards, running over to the boot which was still open.
Anthony was trying his best to climb out of it and when he saw me, his eyes widened in surprise.
I got hold of him and hefted him out of the car, tugging his gag from his mouth. “Can you walk?” I asked as I fiddled with the knots around his ankles.
He retched twice before spitting, then answered, “Yes.”
It was a single word but it summed him up. No complaining, just to the point as ever.
“We need to be ready for when he comes back,” I said. “Here, round the side of the car.”
We crouched down together, me peering round the edge of the boot to watch the treeline, ready for when he worked out he’d been duped.
Anthony sounded like he was about to say something but then he fell silent, the sound of a twig snapping warning us that Edward was on his way back.
He emerged a second later, coming over to the car, knife still in his hand. He looked into the boot and saw that it was empty, rage crossing his features.
He ran to the driver’s door and pulled it open, turning over the engine and slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The wheels spun but the car went nowhere, just sinking deeper into the mud. He swore loudly and climbed out, moved around to the boot again. As he reached in for something, I leapt up, slamming the boot down onto his hands.
He screamed in pain, his other hand sweeping through the air, trying to catch me with his clenched fist. I leapt back in time for the blow to pass harmlessly in front of my face. As momentum twisted him, I got in a swift punch to his face, stunning him.
Another punch silenced him and as it caught his chin, he slumped forwards against the boot, falling still.
I watched him for a few seconds to be sure before moving around the car as Anthony stood up. “Keep an eye on him,” I said, leaning into the driver’s side and finding the button that opened the boot. I hit it and the boot swung upwards, Edward rolling back and then collapsing on the floor. My hand was already beginning to sting from striking his jaw and I had a headache that was getting worse with each passing second but I refused to stop, not until I knew Hope was safe.
“Reckon you can handle him?” I asked, looking at Anthony.
“The fucking idiot didn’t even take my phone off me,” he replied, pulling it out of his pocket, wincing as he did so.
“You stay with him then. I’ll go get Hope.”
He nodded and I set off, sprinting back to my car, trying to ring her at the same time. “Pick up, pick up,” I said, wondering if she thought she was supposed to ignore the house phone when it rang. Where was she?
I kept trying to ring her and by the time I thought to ring the police, the battery had died, leaving me to swear loudly as I raced along the road, cursing my lack of forethought. Why didn’t I have a charger in the car? I was a fucking idiot.
I got to the cottage after a drive that seemed to take forever, calling out her name. There was no response but I saw a figure in the upstairs window. I shoved open the front door and ran inside, taking the stairs two at a time.
“We need to get you out of here,” I said, coming to an abrupt halt as the figure turned to face me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” the man replied. “Where is she?” He took a step towards me. He was clearly Edward’s son, the family resemblance was uncanny. But where Edward had managed to plaster on a calm, neutral expression, this man’s face was contorted with bitterness. “Where is she?” he asked, hurling himself towards me.
I twisted to one side just in time and he slammed into the wall behind me. The wall creaked, not used to that kind of punishment. He turned to face me again as I backed slowly
across the room, trying to put some space between us.
“Last chance,” he said. “Where’s my wife?”
“Somewhere you’ll never find her,” I replied, watching fury boil over in his expression. I hoped I was telling the truth, he was someone I wanted as far away from her as I could get him. I couldn’t tell him I had no idea where she was.
He ran at me with his head down and I held my ground, watching him come on, waiting for the right moment to make my move.
Just before his head struck my stomach, I leapt sideways onto the bed. He kept moving forwards, unable to turn or slow in time. A second later he struck the feeble single glazed window, slamming through it with the shatter of glass echoing loudly around the room.
He looked back at me in disbelief as he fell and I froze in place, listening for the thud of him hitting the ground below. It didn’t come.
There was a piercing shriek of agony from outside and then a gurgle and I crossed to the window slowly, not wanting to see but needing to see at the same time.
I looked out and blinked slowly. It was hard to take in. He’d caught his neck on the edge of one of the iron railings in the garden, his body held up like a scarecrow, his arms limp, his head slumped downwards. He didn’t make another sound. The birds didn’t sing either, as if frightened away by his dying shriek. Then there was nothing but silence.
HOPE
I COULD SAY, READER I married him. But it wouldn’t be true. It might be satisfying but it wouldn’t be true. What I did do was settle down into a new life.
It took a week to end up on this island, far from the mainland, accessible only by boat or small plane. I had headed north as far as my money took me, finally stepping down onto the ground in the north of Scotland. It didn’t take long for a sailor to take pity on me and agree to transport me across to the island.
I’d looked up a map of Scotland at an internet cafe during my travel north, zooming in on the different isles that ringed the country. In the end I picked the smallest inhabited one I could find, balancing that out against the risk of finding no place to stay when I got there.