See How They Run: The Gripping Thriller that Everyone is Talking About

by Tom Bale

  Harry took a gulp of vodka, already aware that one glass wouldn’t be enough.

  ‘He said the numbers got mixed up? We’re 34. Does that mean he lives at number 43?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Alice hesitated. ‘I had a word with Clare McIntosh today. I didn’t say anything about the break-in – just had a general chat about neighbours. 43 is owned by a woman who emigrated years ago. Clare says it’s been rented out in the past, but she thinks it’s empty at the moment.’

  Harry pulled a face. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone coming or going.’

  ‘Me neither. But now it’s got me wondering if he’s in there. Hiding.’

  Harry mulled it over while automatically rocking Evie in his arms. He glanced down and found she was asleep.

  ‘Her routine’s in chaos,’ Alice said. ‘We’ll pay for that tonight.’

  ‘Can’t be helped.’ Harry set Evie down in the Moses basket, then refilled his glass and sat beside Alice. She had barely touched her vodka, having vowed to drink sparingly while breastfeeding.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tentatively, she placed a hand on his knee. ‘Last night I just froze. But even if I’d told them, it wouldn’t have been enough to stop them hurting us – or worse.’

  ‘Maybe not. Or maybe they’d have gone storming over to number 43.’

  Alice shivered. ‘After what you said this morning, I’ve been wondering if Renshaw did it deliberately. Arranging to have the parcel sent here, knowing he could collect it and keep his own address a secret.’

  Harry had to think about that for a moment. He felt sick. And a little angry, too, if he was honest. But he had no right to be: would he really have acted any differently, in the circumstances?

  ‘There’s another reason I didn’t tell you,’ Alice said quietly. ‘It occurred to me during the night that we were more convincing – or you were, I mean. Because you didn’t know about a parcel.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He frowned. ‘You’re saying you were going to keep it secret, in case they came back?’

  She gestured weakly at him, as if exhausted by this conversation. ‘Well, didn’t you think they might? Isn’t that why you kept asking if I’d be all right here today?’

  ‘I suppose. So what’s in this parcel, do you reckon?’

  She shrugged. ‘It was just an ordinary padded envelope. A bit bigger than A4, quite thick and heavy. But it felt like paper inside, rather than something solid. Quite … supple.’

  ‘Like money? Bundles of money?’

  ‘Could be. Which means he must have an accomplice somewhere.’

  ‘And you think he gave this accomplice our address, as a kind of drop-off point?’

  ‘The timing has to mean something. To knock at the door within seconds of the delivery, he must have been watching for it. And you can see our front door from the windows at number 43.’

  Harry leaned forward, wearily rubbing his eyes. ‘All we’ve just done is make a series of logical deductions. And if we can do that, so can they. Sending the fake cops – if that’s what they were – was a pretty astute way to verify what we said last night.’

  ‘Thank God we kept our story consistent,’ Alice said, with a heartfelt sigh. ‘Hopefully this might now be the end of it.’

  ‘Unless they reach the same conclusion we just did – that Renshaw used us. Used our address, anyway. That means he’s got to be hiding close by, in which case the smart thing for them to do would be to hang around for a while, until he resurfaces.’

  ‘If Renshaw’s got his parcel he’s probably miles away by now.’

  ‘Hmm. But the men chasing him won’t know that for sure. They might go on searching for weeks. Or watching us for weeks.’ He thought about Cassell’s parting comment, which now seemed loaded with menace: We won’t let this drop. You can be sure of that.

  There was a burbling moan from Evie: waking far too soon from her nap. Alice frowned but Harry, as usual, welcomed any opportunity to spend time with his daughter. He lifted her to eye level and rubbed noses; Evie responded with a sound halfway between a cough and a giggle. Her eyes shone with such delight, such overwhelming love and trust that Harry was in no doubt about how she felt.

  As far as their baby was concerned, he and Alice were the entire world; the universe itself.

  But would that be enough to protect her?

  Both of them seemed glad to take a break from the conversation. Harry carried Evie upstairs and ran her a bath, while Alice took care of some chores. But even with Evie in a happy splashy mood, Harry was too preoccupied to fully enjoy the time with her.

  If the cops were fake, then what about Ruth Monroe? Had her approach been yet another attempt to worm information out of him? Reflecting on it now, he saw how she had remorselessly pumped him for information while revealing practically nothing about herself.

  There was one positive aspect, of course, and ironically it was thanks to Alice. If she had told him about the parcel any sooner, he might have mentioned it to Ruth.

  But was she one of the gang? Harry didn’t want to think so. He regarded himself as having pretty good instincts about people, and she hadn’t triggered anything like the same unease that he’d felt when he was talking to Warley and Cassell.

  He decided to contact her tomorrow and suggest another meeting. If she was working with the fake cops she’d be expecting Harry to get in touch. But this time, if he played it skilfully enough, he might be able to tease a little more out of her.

  And then, when he came home tomorrow, he would tell Alice all about it. He didn’t want to add to her fears right now. Better to wait until he had a clearer idea whose side Ruth was on.

  Fourteen

  First, the phone call. It was not a success.

  The voice in her ear was young and sweet and warm as honey. ‘This is Keri. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Keri, please don’t hang up—’

  ‘Who’s …?’ Then a snarl, her voice unrecognisable from seconds before. ‘Leave me the fuck alone!’

  ‘I can’t. I need to see you.’

  ‘You must be joking, psycho bitch.’

  ‘Keri, listen, I don’t care about you and—’

  ‘Just leave me alone! Fuck off and die, will you?’

  The line went dead. Ruth dropped the phone on the bed, the air suddenly warmer, the four walls close and stifling. She had to get out.

  No destination in mind. No purpose other than to lose herself in the only way she knew how.

  Her knowledge of Brighton was limited to a handful of day-trips and a couple of hours’ internet research. She headed east, only because she knew that to the west lay Hove, with its genteel reputation. She wanted anything but genteel.

  She followed the upper pavement of what quickly became a two-tier coastal road. Eleven p.m. and there were cars and buses thundering past; to avoid the noise and fumes she took some steps to the lower road, Madeira Drive, and found that a terrace ran between the two levels. There were benches at regular intervals and she sat for a while and studied the view, the Brighton wheel and the pier both dressed in gaudy lights, reflected on the water in shining dabs of colour.

  From this vantage point the historic Volks railway seemed both cute and slightly ridiculous, given that it seemed to run for about the length of a bowling alley. Beyond the tracks, vague shadows flitted over the beach. It was a mild, cloudy night, no moon or stars, but the wind was light, and above the crunch of stones and the wash of the sea Ruth made out the occasional moans of pleasure and pain. Life in the raw, here on the beach in the dark: drinking, swearing, shooting up, dancing and fighting and fucking. None of it meant anything to her and none of it ever would; not while she could whisper his name and hear nothing in reply.

  Would you be here, on this beach?

  She listened, watched, staring straight ahead, her peripheral vision alert.

  Waiting, waiting …

  Edging towards midnight, when predators come a prowling.

  Oh, yes please.

  But, tonight,
nothing.

  Fifteen

  Harry was sound asleep until someone grabbed him. His precautions had failed; the intruders were back in the house and it was too late—

  No. It was Alice whispering his name. He rolled towards her, listening hard for other sounds or movement.

  ‘What woke us?’ he asked.

  ‘Me, I think.’ She was barely audible, but he could feel the puff of her breath on his skin as she talked. ‘I had a nightmare. The whole thing again. They question us. This time I admit to the delivery.’

  ‘That’s just because—’

  ‘No, Harry. Listen. I tell them, thinking it’ll make them go away, but it doesn’t. The one with the gun stays here and the other goes to find Renshaw.’

  Harry moved back so he could see her face. A warm, soft glow from the nightlight she’d insisted on using tonight; enough to make out the tears glistening in her eyes.

  ‘He’s gone for what feels like hours. When he comes back he says there’s no sign of Renshaw, so he … he …’

  ‘It’s just a dream. Don’t torture yourself.’

  ‘They kill Evie. Right in front of our eyes, Harry. They murder our little girl, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.’

  She refused to be consoled. Harry was almost grateful when Evie cried out.

  ‘I’ll see to her,’ he said. ‘You get back to sleep.’

  It was twenty past three; about the same time they’d been woken the night before. Maybe a cuddle and a bit of rocking would be enough to get her back off.

  He peered into the Moses basket and saw Evie’s face light up, arms and legs thrashing with excitement. He could almost read her mind: Hey, Dad! Thought we could hang out for a while, burp and burble some of the night away: you’re cool with that, aren’t you?

  He returned her smile. ‘Nothing I’d rather be doing, kiddo.’

  He took her downstairs, where he had to move the ironing board to get into the kitchen. He switched on the light, checked the window was intact, then prepared a bottle of formula milk that they’d agreed to use in emergencies or at times of exhaustion. Harry felt it was the least he could do, given how guilty he was feeling.

  He had passed a long, tense evening without mentioning Ruth Monroe. Having begun to doubt the wisdom of his decision to say nothing, he realised that he’d already delayed too long. Telling Alice now wouldn’t just freak her out: it might cause her to question his motives for holding back in the first place.

  It got him thinking about timing, and chance, and how the significance of those small, often innocuous decisions never became clear until you looked back and saw how your life had been nudged, irrevocably, in one direction or another, for better or worse.

  The way they’d met was a perfect example. Harry had been twenty-one, in his second year of a fine art degree at Central Saint Martins, while Alice, a year younger, was studying dental hygiene at Barts. Sadie, a fellow student of Harry’s who prided herself on her matchmaking abilities, happened to land a part-time job in the cafe where Alice worked at weekends. She decided to connect them after discovering that they both came from Brighton and shared a love of the Channel 4 sitcoms Spaced and Peep Show, and a violent aversion to TV talent shows.

  The venue was a birthday party at an enormous but dilapidated rental property in Dalston, occupied by some thirty undergraduates from universities across London. When Sadie warned him that she was running late, Harry nearly bailed out – he had a painting to finish. But he’d wandered in on his own and immediately hit it off with a cute, dark-haired girl who he mistakenly believed was the friend that Sadie wanted him to meet. The fact that the girl, Mia, had so readily given Harry her phone number was something Alice still ribbed him about, eleven years later.

  The close call had been discussed on their first proper date, and Alice had brought up the film Sliding Doors, where the life of a character played by Gwyneth Paltrow divides into two parallel realities. ‘Imagine if that had happened to you: one where you stayed all loved up with Mia, and one where Sadie barges in, punches her in the face and steers you off in my direction.’

  ‘It wasn’t quite like that. And multiple universes may well exist, but if we can only see the one we’re in, it’s a moot point.’

  ‘You don’t think you missed out on a perfect life with Mia?’

  ‘Not really. She’d never heard of Nick Frost.’

  ‘So you weren’t even slightly tempted to call her?’ At this juncture Alice liked to tut, as if Harry were a hopeless innocent. ‘You could have got laid that night, instead of waiting … ooh, what was it, weeks of agonising abstinence before I—’

  ‘Eleven days, three hours and six minutes.’

  Fortunately it seemed to delight her that Harry remembered precisely how long it took for them to tumble into bed. But it was true that on the night of the party Mia had been far more interested in him than Alice.

  Harry, naturally, had been drawn to the girl who played it cool, and made him work for the reward of her interest. Alice was smart, and funny, and came across as unusually comfortable in her own skin. And yet it had bothered him ever since, these jokes about Sliding Doors and alternate realities. He didn’t see any reason why she should feel insecure about the choice he’d made, and yet the doubts were there – and now motherhood appeared to have pushed them closer to the surface once again. So any mention of Ruth Monroe had to be handled very delicately …

  After taking a few ounces of milk, Evie’s eyelids grew heavy. She began to wriggle, slapping her hands against the bottle in frustration.

  ‘I feel for you,’ Harry murmured. ‘Stay awake and go hungry, or feed and be sent to sleep. It’s a tough dilemma.’

  She struggled for another ounce before surrendering. When Harry carried her back upstairs, a couple of treads creaked. He wondered how the men last night had managed to move so stealthily through the house. And where were they now?

  Did Ruth know?

  Was she part of the gang?

  He’d have to try and find that out once and for all. And then he would come clean to Alice.

  He settled Evie in her crib and climbed into bed. He was just getting comfortable when Alice spoke.

  ‘I keep asking myself: why us?’

  ‘There’s no answer to that. Lots of bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it.’

  ‘I’m so scared, Harry. I don’t see how we can ever be safe now. Whether we go to the police or not, it makes no difference. Whatever we do, we’re at their mercy. Because we obey the rules, and we’re up against people who don’t.’

  ‘I won’t let them hurt you or Evie. I promise you that.’

  Alice moved closer and caressed his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then, as she turned away, he thought he heard her whisper, ‘But you can’t.’

  Harry lay awake, pondering that, for a long time. She wasn’t taunting him, wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings: she was simply stating a fact. No matter what assurances he gave, it wasn’t within his power to prevent them from coming to harm.

  We obey the rules, and we’re up against people who don’t.

  He tuned in to Evie’s steady breathing, and thought about Alice’s eloquent description of the terrors that accompany your firstborn into the world. He considered what it meant to have something so precious that it was worth more than his own life. From that came a profound anger and determination. His promise to Alice had been sincere, and he intended to keep it.

  Whatever it was they tried next, Harry would be ready for it.

  And he would fight back.

  Sixteen

  On Friday morning Harry left the house with two questions uppermost in his mind. Would Ruth Monroe be following him again – and could he trust her?

  The weather was unexpectedly glorious for November: mild and still, the sunlight diffused by a gauze of morning mist. Harry took a bus to Queens Road, then strolled down the hill to Middle Street. He saw no sign of anyone watching him.

  He made the call as he walke
d. Ruth answered on the fourth ring, her voice thick with sleep.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Probably nothing, but I’d prefer to discuss it in person.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ A groan; the creak of bedsprings. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’ve got to work this morning. How about lunchtime?’

  ‘Can it wait till then?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Same place as before, at twelve o’clock?’

  ‘No. Let’s meet on the lower esplanade, near the Pump Room cafe. Make sure you use the same evasion techniques as yesterday.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ The scornful tone was deliberate. He figured that if Ruth was part of the gang, she’d be less inclined to persist with this rigmarole.

  ‘If you don’t do it, I won’t be there to meet you,’ she said, and rang off.

  Sam was at his desk when Harry got in, a half-empty jug of coffee on a hotplate beside him. He was wearing his Harman Kardon noise-cancelling headphones: a sure sign that he needed to work without being disturbed. A quick nod and a smile, then he was back to his screen. That was fine with Harry.

  After clearing his emails and dealing with some of the usual administrative crap, he tried to focus on his storyboard project. During the night he’d thought up a couple of great sequences, but now he struggled to see what had made them so special.

  He felt exhausted. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time, and by six a.m. he’d been back downstairs, roaming the house to check it was secure, then drifting and dozing on the sofa until he heard movement in the bedroom.

  After making tea for Alice, he’d sat on the bed while she fed Evie. Alice hadn’t slept well, either, so they were both a bit grumpy and uncommunicative. Only when it was time for him to leave for work did the barriers come down. They shared a long embrace, and then a kiss that became a little more than a gesture of farewell.

  ‘Mmm,’ Alice had said. ‘This is a bad time to feel horny.’