The door swung open and Bridget came in, light-brown hair scraped back in a ponytail. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her hair looked greasy and needed a wash, but it had been shoved out of the way and ignored. She was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a fitted T-shirt which said, in case you’re wondering, they’re real. Bridget still looked in need of a heart-to-heart, which made Naomi’s heart sink.
‘Where have you been all week?’ Bridget asked, close to an accusation. She flopped onto a leather chair beside a low table. It was centred with a salt pot and cluttered with used glasses and cups. This start was typical of Bridget – ask one or two questions then launch into her own agenda. Me, me, me! ‘I’ve hardly seen anything of you.’
‘Busy,’ Naomi said, indicating her mouth was full and that she was trying her best to swallow.
‘I hear you’ve got a new boyfriend, some hot older guy?’ Bridget smiled weakly and dragged a bar of chocolate from her pocket. She always abused chocolate when she was down.
‘He’s only twenty-five,’ Naomi said, desperate to avoid Bridget’s problems, hoping to escape before she got roped in.
‘Only?’
‘He doesn’t look it. Anyway, I haven’t been busy just because of him. I’ve been working on my essay.’
Naomi sneaked a look at her watch. Five fifty-five.
‘I think Max is seeing someone else,’ Bridget ploughed on. ‘He hasn’t said, but you know when you can just tell?’
No, Naomi didn’t know, and at the moment she didn’t care and she didn’t want to spend precious time talking or thinking about it. ‘How do you know if he hasn’t said anything?’
‘See, that’s the thing,’ she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on one bent knee, chewing on her chocolate without offering Naomi any. ‘It’s more what he hasn’t said. He doesn’t ring me as much as he used to and he hasn’t said he loves me for like fifteen days. What’s that about?’
Naomi didn’t know. She wanted to run over her dialogue with Camilla before she had to do it for real. How had she got sucked into this? ‘How often does he normally say it?’ Naomi asked, improvising, mind wandering. She put her half-empty plate next to the pile of pots at the sink.
‘All the time. Doesn’t yours?’
‘We haven’t been together long.’
Bridget screwed up the used chocolate wrapper and stuffed it in a dirty glass before proceeding to list all the amazing things about Max Lloyd and what she missed about him. ‘I hate not seeing him. I hate that he’s in Leeds and I’m in Manchester, it’s like fifty miles away. I hate not knowing who he’s with or what he’s doing. It’s driving me nuts.’
Naomi stole another glance at her watch while Bridget looked down. Five fifty-eight. ‘Look, my mum’s ringing me –’
‘I don’t know whether or not to get the train tomorrow and go and see him – just show up. What do you think?’
Naomi’s heart was beating. Bridget was oblivious. ‘I think I’d ring first. You don’t want to go all that way –’
‘Yeah, but I don’t want him to be prepared, you know? If he doesn’t know I’m coming I can surprise him. Hopefully it’ll be a good surprise not a bad one. Don’t you think?’
Naomi couldn’t think, not with Bridget going on. ‘Why don’t you tell him you want to go over and see him and see how he reacts?’
‘Nah. I offered last weekend and he said he was busy with assignments, but I reckon it was a load of bull –’
Naomi’s phone started ringing, making Bridget jump up and shut up. Beethoven’s fifth symphony blurted from the worktop. Naomi glanced down, seeing the three dreaded letters that were dancing, commanding her attention. Mum.
She looked at Bridget. Bridget stared back. ‘Don’t get it,’ Bridget ordered.
Naomi, hassled on all sides, lifted the phone. ‘Sorry, I have to.’
‘Why? Who is it?’ Bridget demanded. ‘Is it him?’ It was an accusation now.
None of your damned business. ‘It’s important,’ Naomi said, walking, phone still blaring, reaching for the door handle. ‘I’ll come back.’
She left the kitchen and accepted the call as she entered her room next door. She dropped onto the bed.
Camilla talked about the house, the cats, Henry’s midday naps that drove her mad, Annabel’s whole life that had the same effect. She moved on to Lorie’s help in the garden and the planting of hundreds of bulbs for spring. No mention of Nathan, like he’d been filed away or just forgotten. It made things harder. Naomi had prepared for a confrontation. Now she’d have to do the confronting herself.
‘We’re off out with Richard and Abigail for dinner tonight,’ Camilla continued, talking about the neighbours – Henry’s golfing buddy and Abigail, his much younger wife. ‘Abigail’s a bore, you know. She wastes her time watching reality TV and has the audacity to bring them up in conversation with me. Do I look like the kind of woman who’s spent her life rotting in front of trashy TV, Naomi? Do I?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘No. What fascinates Richard about the woman I do not know. I can’t think I’ve ever seen her in a top that adequately covers her chest.’
‘Mystery solved.’
‘Well,’ she breathed. ‘The only common ground I can find with the woman is that our husbands wear ridiculous trousers for their sport. If I catch your father’s eyes wandering –’
‘Mum, I really don’t think Dad’s interested.’
She heaved out a sigh. ‘Well, I need to go and do something with my hair. I’ll get Loretta to look at it.’
‘Lorie still there?’ Naomi asked, knowing she’d need her ear as soon as possible.
‘She has to leave at six-thirty. Off out with . . . boyfriend. I hate these midlife moments where you open a memory door for a name and the room is empty.’
‘Simon.’
‘Simon,’ she repeated. ‘Have you met him?’
Naomi’s eyes rolled. ‘Not yet. She’s bringing him to my birthday dinner.’
‘That’s right.’
There was a moment of silence where Naomi hesitated. It wasn’t a great time to bring Nathan up. There would never be a great time. ‘Mum, I need to speak to you about Nathan.’ Her heart worked harder.
‘Who?’ Naomi imagined her in that vacant room again, name-searching. ‘Oh him. Go on,’ Camilla said, sharply.
Naomi closed her eyes. ‘We haven’t broken up.’
‘You obviously weren’t clear enough with him, Naomi. How exactly did you word it?’
‘I haven’t said anything to him.’
‘What do you mean? Have you seen him this week?’
‘No, I’ve been too busy.’
‘So you haven’t had chance to explain then.’
Naomi rubbed her eyes with one hand. ‘Mum, there’s nothing to explain to Nathan –’
‘Oh yes there is. Do you want me to speak to him?’
‘Mum, just listen. Please. Nathan’s in love with me. I’m in love with –’
‘Oh, good grief,’ she shouted. Naomi lost her nerve and went quiet. She could feel her cheeks colouring and nausea stirring in the pit of her stomach. ‘You’ve only known him five minutes. Drop him, Naomi, before you’re in too deep.’
‘Mum, I’m doing all my work. I’ve performed in the concert hall this week. I’ve spent time with a friend who needed help. I’ve done a long essay which is why I haven’t seen Nathan. My work is fine. I’m sure once you get to know him, you’ll see that he’s an amazing person.’
‘I do not want to get to know him, Naomi.’ It was her warning voice.
‘Why not?’ It was Naomi’s sheepish apologetic voice.
Camilla, refusing to explain herself said, ‘Why are you doing this?’
Naomi was loathing every second of this conversation. Confrontation made her feel like digging a pit and hiding in it until the storm passed. ‘Doing what?’
‘Turning into Annabel. Has she put you up to this just to torment me?’
‘Mum, Annabel doesn’
t even know about my relationship with Nathan.’
‘You’ve always wanted to be like her. Don’t think I don’t know. I’ve seen your diaries. I hoped you’d have more sense than to want to follow her.’
Naomi couldn’t speak. Camilla had read her diaries? How much? How dare she?
Camilla didn’t apologise. She was finishing up the conversation now with no thought for the damage. ‘I’ll ask one thing. When I see you next Saturday I hope to hear you’ve ended this relationship. And don’t tell me you’re in love with someone you don’t know. Ridiculous. Get your head secured, Naomi. Think about this, would you? I’ll call next Friday, usual time. Be available.’
Naomi found her tongue, but her tone was gentle like she hardly dared say what she needed to say. ‘There’s nothing to think about. I’ve invited Nathan to the party and he’s accepted. So we will see you next Saturday. I hope you’ll give him a chance.’
Camilla cut the call without another word. Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, hands shaking, thinking things through. She had no clue how much time passed before there was an almighty banging on the door. She opened it. Bridget stood, arms crossed, head cocked on one side.
‘Half an hour I waited like an idiot for you in there,’ she shouted, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Some friend you are.’
13
CAPTIVITY
The pink rose that stood in the thin vase opposite her bed, had wilted. It leaned, head bowed, colour fading, petals brittle and browning at the edges. It had given up. That morning the monster had noticed and removed it. He replaced it with another fresh rose, same colour, same vase, doomed to the same fate. Naomi guessed it was from the garden. How was a stupid flower meant to fill the vacant hours and make up for a husband, a family, a life? She’d have killed for a book or even a pen and paper. If she ever escaped this place, the poetry would flow.
A week had passed in solitary confinement. During that time, apart from an attempted escape which had spectacularly failed, nothing had changed and everything had changed. She was still no closer to knowing why she was in the Lake District with a psycho, or what he planned to do with her, but she did know that each new day ushered in the same feelings with new intensity. Her body hurt constantly from lack of use. Like an untended garden, ugly fast-growing weeds were threatening to overpower the delicate flowers and strangle them. Her mind felt like that garden.
Prayers for help had dried up in the jungle. Why would God want to hear from someone plotting to kill? She found herself daydreaming about ways of doing it. Her Bible reading had taught her that committing a crime in her heart was as good as doing it. She supposed God was done with her now, which made her feel painfully sad and kind of lost and abandoned, but she couldn’t give up on the plan. Escape. It was just that simple. She’d catch the monster off guard, wrap the chains around his neck from behind and lock her arm muscles, exerting all her strength until he stopped struggling. She’d take the keys from his pocket, free herself and drive away in his car. She’d visualised the whole thing from beginning to end working beautifully. It had become her fantasy and her hope. Escape. She enjoyed toying with the word in her head.
She’d prefer to do it without violence, but he’d left her no choice. In extreme circumstances, people did what they had to do. End of. Survival was the most primal human instinct. So it was only self-defence. With the prize of winning her life back, she was certain she could do it. She had to make a move before he did. Inaction amounted to apathy, which equated to danger. So while nothing changed, simultaneously nothing stayed the same. And that altered everything.
While she was daydreaming about murder, at the same time she ached for Nathan. He was always there either in pictures in her head, or on the horizon of her consciousness. Every day, she’d walked down the aisle and married him all over again. The wondering was the most debilitating thing. What had happened to him? What was he doing? Was he OK? She spent lost hours in a trace, imagining his smile, his arms around her, the way his jawline pulsed when he was tense or thinking hard; where they’d be if she hadn’t been torn away from him. She imagined him searching and losing hope. The wedding seemed so long ago. Focussing on Nathan helped her through, and also intensified the pain.
In lesser degrees, she wanted a reunion with family and with Lorie. None of her college friends stayed in her mind for long. They’d parade through her head briefly then disappear, replaced by the more important people who’d defined who she was. The roots of family were entrenched the deepest.
Naomi stood up and walked to the French-door windows. From the look of the sky, her only clock, it was around four, four-thirty in the afternoon. The monster had done the food drop about an hour before. Naomi had intended to save some of it for supper, but had scoffed the lot. She regretted that now. The empty plastic plate lay on the red tray on the table beneath the usual plastic fork. She wouldn’t see him again until morning.
She touched the doors just because she could, and stood examining a threatening sky with an assortment of black and grey cloud on the move. A medium strength breeze was puffing and panting, stirring the trees in the back garden and stripping them of dying leaves. They swirled around before noiselessly settling somewhere. This was the hardest part of the day, the pacing, the watching, the dreading of the oncoming darkness. It was the time her sanity felt most threatened.
It was Sunday now. Naomi had found a use for the hairgrip. Considering Jack Bauer would have escaped with it blindfolded and semiconscious, having unlocked his chains during a window of only ten seconds using one arm, she felt quite pathetic really. But this wasn’t Hollywood, it was Cumbria, the wettest County in England. She’d tried the whole Jack Bauer thing and was now certain that a hairgrip in her hands was capable of almost nothing. Making any use of it was a triumph.
Using the sharp edge of one side, she’d scored the leg of the bed every day to mark the days of the week. And she’d written her name on the base of the leg close to the floor. If she ever got out of here alive, she’d never forget the single secret chore of her day in scratching that tiny line and the importance she attached to it. She’d made the lines neat and accurate and parallel, cutting through four of them when she got to five. It had been a definite highlight of the week. Apart from the shower, the fifth scoring day stood out.
She hadn’t spoken to the monster since the failed escape. She often suspected he watched her for long periods through the keyhole. It made her skin tingle uncomfortably and she’d shift to one side of the bed out of view. She also sensed that he was becoming increasingly edgy. Translated into words, she picked up that he was waiting for something to happen and that things would change once it did. She could be wrong, but she couldn’t deny that his anxiety transferred to her and for that reason, she hadn’t provoked him by saying a word. It also meant that time to launch an attack was running out.
A routine of sorts had emerged throughout the week. After breakfast, he showered and left the house at the back and walked down the garden path in his black woolly hat, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He climbed over the fence and took the ten to fifteen minute trek to the distant hill where he disappeared for long enough to buy a newspaper. She wondered if the house on the same hill with the billowing chimney, was a shop. He returned along the same lonely route, head down, dark hair showing beneath the hat. Despite long vigils at the window, she’d never seen another person.
He usually spent part of the morning with the TV on low. She suspected it was a cover so he could speak freely on his phone. He occasionally went out in his car. Mid afternoon, he’d bring more food, balaclava always on.
After this second daily visit, nothing ever happened except an immediate clear up downstairs. Late afternoon eventually came around, where the hours crawled painfully by until the sun sank and the room reduced to shadows. The only light she could reach was the bathroom, so she switched it on in the evenings and opened the door to brighten the room.
As she watched the dry leav
es chasing around on the back lawn, she tried to remember something specific to define each day that week, and couldn’t. Time had knitted together, blurring details, making her head feel sluggish and fuzzy. But she knew it was Sunday. The new academic year was due to begin in eight days, the day after she was due back from her honeymoon. It had all been carefully worked out. Her clothes had already been moved into Nathan’s flat where she’d planned to begin her life with him. That thought only prompted the perpetual questions: how did she wind up here? Blah, blah, blah. At least she’d been spared the icy graveyard.
She couldn’t count on it staying that way. She had to put her plan into action. Soon. Something had to change. It did, that very night, in the most unexpected way.
<><><>
LIBERTY
Naomi tentatively knocked on Bridget’s door at 11 o’clock on Saturday morning and didn’t get a response. She’d failed to show at the planned clean-up session that morning. Naomi suspected her disappearance had nothing to do with cleaning avoidance and everything to do with Max Lloyd. She’d prepared a short note which she now shuffled beneath the door. It read:
Hi Bridget. I wanted to apologise for last night. I have stuff going on at home, but no excuses. It’s my birthday next weekend and I’m having a dinner party at home. I’d love you to come. Hope you get things sorted with Max.
Naomi x
With no plans to do anything except work, Naomi muddled through a dull day with only books for company. Her desk was stacked with everything from orchestral scores and sheet music to books about the orchestral scores and sheet music she was studying. She did three hours of piano practise in between, focussing on what she planned to play for Nathan.
Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1) Page 15