Sleep Tight

by Rachel Abbott

  ‘Olivia, we’ve got some good news. Your husband’s car was picked up by cameras in North Wales, and the children appear to be in the car with him. That was a few hours ago, and we’ve not seen him since, but we’ve got the local police looking out for him.’

  My first thought is relief. They’re alive. Thank God. Then I suddenly feel dizzy. Oh no – not that, Robert.

  ‘Where was he? Where in North Wales? Are you sure it was him?’ I know Philippa can hear the panic in my voice, but she remains calm.

  ‘He was crossing the Menai Bridge into Anglesey. And it was definitely his car. Do you have some idea where he might be going? He hasn’t been picked up on any cameras since, and that’s unusual.’

  She’s looking at me with concern.

  ‘He’d take the side roads,’ I tell her. ‘He always says it’s a mistake to stick to the A roads when the others are so much more interesting.’ I have to ask. I can’t help myself. ‘Do you think he could have got as far as Holyhead without being picked up again?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the ferry port, aren’t you?’ Philippa leans over and reaches for my hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got people checking the details of all the boats. He wouldn’t need a passport to get to Ireland, but he would need some form of identification. Nobody’s booked anything in his name yet.’

  She turns her body through forty-five degrees so she is partially facing me, and I focus on looking at her, thinking only of what I can see in front of me and not what is trying to send piercing warning bells through my brain.

  ‘What are you not telling me, Olivia?’ she asks. ‘Do you know where he might have gone?’

  It was safer when I could block out the thoughts, but now I must face my recollection of the first time we went to Anglesey. Robert took us all to South Stack Lighthouse, to the west of Holyhead. We stood looking out to sea, a cold wind whipping my hair back from my face. I loved it. It made me feel alive. I was gazing at the magnificent breakers, listening to them crash on to the rocks below, my thoughts a million miles away, when Robert told me that earlier in the year a man had jumped to his death off these very same cliffs.

  ‘This is the perfect place to die,’ he’d said.

  I remember it clearly. I’d turned to look at him with a puzzled expression on my face, but he was staring down at the turbulent water far below.

  ‘If I lost you from my life, this is where I would come,’ he’d said. ‘This would be a beautiful place to remember you. You do know that I couldn’t bear life without you, don’t you?’ he’d said.

  But I’m still here. Has he guessed I’ve been thinking of leaving him? He can’t have – at least, I don’t see how. I close my eyes and try to stem the panic.

  A sob bursts from my throat, and I curl up in a ball on the sofa, trying my best to nurse the pain and drive the memory from my mind.

  5

  The waiting – the uncertainty and the frustration of being unable to do anything – is unbearable. I begged Philippa to let me go to Anglesey, even if she wasn’t prepared to take me, but she insisted that the local police are best placed to make enquiries. They know the area. Nothing I can say or do seems likely to change her opinion and angry, defeated tears continue to pour down my cheeks. Clutching a sodden handkerchief to my eyes, I shut out the sounds in the room and focus on the faces of my children, willing them to come back to me, whispering words of comfort and reassurance that they can’t hear.

  Vaguely, through the gulping sounds of my sobbing, I hear a change in the voices again. This time it is different. No staccato instructions or sense of purpose. It almost feels as if the breath has gone out of the room on a large sigh. I don’t know if it is a sigh of sorrow and distress, or something else completely.

  I feel the other end of the sofa compress. Somebody is sitting there, stroking my damp hair away from my face. I can hear a voice, but the words don’t penetrate.

  ‘We’ve found them, Olivia. They’re safe. Your husband and children are all safe, and they’re on their way home. They’re okay.’

  I can hear the smile in Philippa’s voice, and I’m glad something has pleased her, but it takes a moment or two for her words to sink in.

  ‘What?’ I ask shakily. ‘Where were they? Are you sure they’re all right?’

  Philippa reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘They were found at a bed and breakfast in Anglesey – one you often stayed at, according to your husband.’ Philippa looks at me closely. ‘And they’re absolutely fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

  Before I have a chance to fully absorb any detail other than the fact that my children are unhurt and on their way back to me, I notice that DC Tippetts is packing up his bag. The others seem to have gone already, and only Philippa and Tippetts are still here.

  Are they going? I don’t think I could bear to be on my own when Robert gets back. I look around in panic. It seems Philippa has read my mind.

  ‘Don’t worry, Olivia. DC Tippetts will stay here with you until your husband gets home.’

  I stare at her in alarm. I don’t feel any sense of empathy from this man, and I don’t want him here.

  ‘Can’t you stay?’ I ask, rather helplessly.

  She looks from me to DC Tippetts. I can see she’s puzzled and I get the sense that this should be a job for a lowly constable, but at this moment I feel as if Philippa is the closest thing I have to a friend. She gives a small, barely perceptible sigh.

  ‘Well, I was only going home to my cat and a few hours’ sleep. Go on Ryan. You get off.’ She turns to me. ‘Okay, Olivia. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.’

  I look at her, and I know my eyes must look wild. I’m confused, lost, but so overwhelmingly relieved that they are safe.

  ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and give your face a quick rinse so the children don’t see you so upset,’ she suggests gently.

  God, I must look dreadful. My hair feels like knotted straw.

  My legs are still wobbly, and Philippa helps me to my feet and guides me to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ she asks. But I have to be okay. I need to get my strength back before the children come home.

  I drag myself upstairs and into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. Red eyes, black mascara smudged around them, and blotchy cheeks.

  The crying hasn’t finished. I sit down on the toilet seat and sob with relief. Thank God.

  What was he doing? What was he thinking?

  Gradually, the tears subside and I get up and try to repair the damage. I clean my teeth, brush my hair and slap on some rarely used foundation to cover the worst of the blotches. Nothing will cure the red eyes, but perhaps the children won’t notice.

  I spend the next hour sitting on the edge of the sofa, my knees tightly together and my hands clasped, twisted, rubbed. I can’t keep them still.

  Then we hear it. The sound of a car on the drive, the headlights sweeping a path of pale light across the wall as the car turns.

  I am out of my chair so fast, flinging the door open.

  Robert is running up the drive towards me with arms outstretched, and I vaguely hear him shout to me. But I dodge around him. I have no time for him now.

  I just want to get to my babies.

  6

  I don’t want to leave the children. I want them all in one room, with me lying on the floor across the door so nobody can get near to them.

  I take a final look at my two boys and drop a gentle kiss on each of their warm foreheads, in awe of their innocent beauty as they sleep. I make my way quietly to Jasmine’s room. She knows something is wrong, because as hard as I tried I couldn’t stop the tears as I raced to the car and hugged my children’s little bodies tightly to me. But thankfully I can see she is close to sleep, Lottie clutched to her cheek.

  I kneel down by the side of Jasmine’s bed and tenderly stroke her hair back from her face. ‘Sleep tight, my
darling,’ I whisper.

  I don’t hear a sound, but I know I am being watched. I turn my head, and I can see Robert’s silhouette, backlit by the landing light. His face is in shadow, but I know he’s smiling. He turns and I hear him making his way back downstairs to where Philippa is still waiting. I don’t want to, but I know I have to follow.

  Kind as Philippa has been, she is still asking searching questions – and most of them seem to be directed at me.

  ‘Olivia, your husband says that you knew he was taking the children away for the weekend. Could you have forgotten?’

  Robert is wearing his anxious face, as if he is concerned for my wellbeing. He tries to sit next to me on the sofa, but I stand up and move away. I can’t bear to look at him.

  He gives Philippa what can only be described as an apologetic expression, as if he needs to excuse my appalling behaviour.

  ‘I didn’t forget. He said he was taking them for a pizza.’ I enunciate every syllable through gritted teeth.

  ‘Darling,’ Robert says, moving across to sit on the arm of my chair and stroking my hair with his hand. I want to slap it away, but I’m scared this will make me look even more demented. ‘You packed their bags. Don’t you remember? How would I know what a two-year-old needs?’

  I can’t push Robert off, but I jump up again and go to stand in front of the fake fire that we never use. My earlier fear and panic have transformed into a ball of rage. I spin round and glare at him, waving my hand towards his face and making a stabbing motion with my index finger to punctuate every word.

  ‘I thought you were all dead.’ My voice cracks, and comes out much weaker than I want it to. ‘How could you, Robert? How could you?’

  Robert turns to Philippa and gives her the benefit of the full shrug action – hands out, palms facing upwards, as if to say, ‘Do you see what I have to put up with?’

  It’s not long after this demonstration of my volatility that Philippa decides to leave. While Robert goes to get her coat, she speaks to me quietly, squeezing my hand.

  ‘If you’re worried about anything, Olivia, this is where you can contact me. Call me if you need to.’ She passes me a business card, and I quickly push it into my pocket as my husband comes back into the room. If he sees it, I know he will take it from me.

  Robert shows Philippa out, and when he comes back into the living room he’s smiling, looking pleased with himself.

  I always thought I was clever, but clearly I’m not clever enough. Robert is the master, and my brief burst of anger is seeping away, to be replaced by fear. I am frightened of my own husband – of what he might do.

  ‘Why did you do that, Robert?’ I ask, although I have already guessed the answer. I can hear the quiver in my voice, and Robert will know that the adrenaline of panic has gone – and with it, my fury.

  I’m scared, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes.

  ‘Do what? I just took our children away for a couple of days. I don’t know how you could have forgotten.’ He attempts a puzzled look, but he knows I’m not fooled.

  I turn away from him. I can’t bear to look at him. When I speak, my words come out at little more than a whisper.

  ‘You know I didn’t forget. That’s not what you were going to do at all. You were going for a bloody pizza.’

  I watch him in the mirror and see the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. Violence doesn’t come naturally to me, but if I had a weapon, I swear I would kill him right now.

  He reaches out his hands to my shoulders, and I only just prevent myself from flinching at his touch. He turns me round and looks into my eyes, as if that will make me believe his lies.

  ‘I wasn’t ever just going for a pizza. You know that.’ Robert puts his head on one side and just looks at me. ‘I wonder if that’s how it feels to be a divorced woman. Each time her children go away with their father, she has no idea what they’re doing or where they’re going. They could be anywhere. Just imagine.’

  Like a child, I lift my hands to cover my ears. I don’t want to hear what he is saying. I want to get out of the room, but he is between me and the door, and he’s still talking. Still telling me how I am the only thing that matters in his life.

  He comes towards me, and reaches out to grab my arms and pull them down to my hips. I don’t try to resist. He stands very close – so close that I can see the individual pores of his skin.

  He leans forwards to whisper in my ear and I feel his breath, hot on my cheek. ‘If you leave me, Olivia…’

  PART TWO

  TWO YEARS LATER

  7

  Friday

  There was a buzz in the air as Tom Douglas walked into the pub where members of his team were celebrating their latest success. It was impossible to identify individual voices through the hubbub, but somehow noise had a different feel to it when it was celebratory. Voices were pitched higher, people spoke more quickly, odd bursts of laughter penetrated the general commotion. This, however, was one hell of a night for a celebration.

  Tom had been back in Manchester for several months now after a brief sabbatical in Cheshire following his resignation from the Met, and he was loving his new job. He’d inherited a good team, with one or two notable exceptions that he knew he needed to deal with. He couldn’t put it off for much longer, but it would have been a mistake to cause any disruption when they were so close to cracking a major case. And today it had all paid off. Two years of hard slog – most of it before he joined the team – had finally resulted in getting the irrefutable evidence they needed to arrest a serial rapist.

  Pushing his way through to the bar, Tom lifted his hand in greeting to various members of his team and tipped his open fist back and forth in the air in the universally understood gesture for ‘Do you want a drink?’. Several pint glasses were raised, with index fingers pointing, suggesting a refill would be good. Tom turned to the barman.

  ‘Can I give you my credit card, so you can keep them coming?’ he asked.

  It was no secret that Tom had money, although most people had no idea he had inherited it all from his brother. His team deserved their drinks and Tom was delighted that he could afford to buy a few rounds. They’d worked hard, and the bastard who had been grabbing these girls at knife point and then waving two fingers at the police because they couldn’t find a single scrap of evidence was going down for a very long time. He liked to think Manchester was now a safer place. And so it was – but he wasn’t daft enough to think that in the overall scheme of things this was going to make a huge difference. So many crimes, and always so much more to do.

  He decided to stay for an hour, and then leave them to it. Most of his team were reasonably relaxed around him, but the younger ones and the lower ranks – with the possible exception of the cocky Ryan – were intimidated by him, and they’d have a much better time when he was gone.

  Anyway, he was debating whether to call round and see Leo. It had been a while and neither of them seemed quite ready to break the apparent deadlock in their relationship – if that’s what you would call it. It looked like it would be down to him, and not for the first time.

  Leonora Harris. The joy and the pain in his life. It was nearly a year since he’d met her, and he had hoped they would become close. When he had first bought the cottage in Cheshire next to Leo’s sister, he’d had no thoughts at all about starting a new relationship. In fact it was probably bottom of his list of priorities. But Leo was so different from other women. Straight as an arrow and honest to the point of painfulness, she had suffered a difficult childhood and had been scarred by the indifference of her father. She had made it clear that she kept all men at arm’s length, but Tom was hoping to be the exception to that rule.

  There was something special about Leo. She had a unique style, carrying her tall, slim body with a careless elegance. She tried so hard to hide her vulnerability beneath a slightly acerbic manner, but Tom had never been fooled.

  He had known it wasn’t going to be easy to get close to h
er, but had hoped that by always treating her with honesty and respect he would be able to break down the barriers against men that she had been building all her life. She was hard work, though. It was a case of two steps forwards and one back – although sometimes he felt it was the other way round and that he was constantly in retreat. She seemed to want to see him and be with him, but then suddenly the barriers would come up and she would push him away, making herself unavailable for sometimes weeks on end. He didn’t know if she was testing him, but he suspected so. How long was this going to go on?

  Leo had been very clear from the start that she ‘didn’t do relationships’. Sex was one thing – but he mustn’t assume that would make them a couple. And he mustn’t assume that if it happened once, it would happen again.

  Tom exhaled a deep breath. He couldn’t live like that, not knowing whether he was in a relationship or not, and always living by her rules. She wasn’t having it all her own way, but he knew that once they had made love he would be lost. He was just holding on to the very edges of sanity where Leo was concerned, and being that close to her would tip him over the edge.

  ‘Sir!’ There was a yell from behind that jolted him out of his reverie. He turned round, and saw his team raise their glasses to him in a toast. He grabbed his pint off the bar and saluted them back. ‘Cheers,’ they all yelled in unison. That felt good. He would put Leo out of his mind, and maybe not go round to see her tonight. He didn’t want to play games – it wasn’t his style. But if he called to say he was out celebrating, she would be fine. ‘You didn’t have to call. If you hadn’t turned up, I would have assumed you were busy,’ she’d say, just to let him know there were no obligations on either side. Bloody woman.

  He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Speaking of bloody women, here was another one – his boss, Detective Superintendent Philippa Stanley. She’d become even more serious, bordering on officious, in the intervening years since she had worked for him, and she had received one promotion after another. He’d like to think she was ringing now to congratulate the team for a job well done, but it was unlikely. She would do that formally, but she would never call him in the pub for that purpose.