by Tom Bale
Ignoring Renshaw’s order, Alice began the task of manoeuvring her way out of the car without waking Evie. The woman noticed her at once and gave Renshaw a quizzical look. For a second her amiable expression gave way to something quite fierce, and Renshaw seemed taken aback by it.
‘Nerys, I am so sorry. I will explain.’
The woman nodded, rather neutrally. Renshaw made to embrace her but Nerys caught his arms at the wrists and held them while she turned her head to one side, allowing him to place a kiss on her cheek.
‘It’s just for one night?’ Her voice was low-pitched, with a soft Welsh accent.
‘One night. I promise. Tomorrow, Alice here can return home on the train.’
He was trying not scowl as Alice joined him. Nerys offered her a weary but welcoming smile.
‘Hello, I’m Nerys.’ After shaking hands with Alice, she gently touched the carrier. ‘And who’s this little sweetie?’
‘Evie.’
‘Evie? She’s adorable. Now, you must come in, out of the cold.’
She waved Alice into the house. Renshaw was turning towards the car when Nerys, still in a mild tone of voice, asked quietly: ‘No one followed you here?’
‘No. I’m certain of that.’
‘I hope so, Edward. I’ve put the past behind me. I thought you had, too.’
The comment had a faintly bitter edge to it, but Alice could see why Nerys was so keen to keep her new life firmly separate from the old, if this house was anything to go by.
She was in an entrance hall so spacious that it wasn’t cramped by the presence of a bureau and a couple of easy chairs. Its centrepiece was a wide staircase, and there were doors to several living rooms. The decor and furnishings were old, and in some cases slightly tired, but in a way that was entirely sympathetic to the age and style of property. From the kitchen came the delicious aroma of fresh baking.
Alice could hear a TV playing in the nearest of the living rooms. She recognised it as the six o’clock news: a reminder that right now she and Harry ought to be at home, bathing Evie, getting her ready for bed, then settling down to usher in the weekend with pizza and maybe a glass or two of wine …
‘It’s a beautiful home,’ Alice said, wondering if her relief was evident. She’d been anticipating somewhere a lot more basic.
‘Oh, it’s a bit ridiculous, really, me on my own in a place this size. But it’s the sort of house I always set my heart on, you know? And my son’s often round – his kids just love it here.’
‘How many grandchildren do you have?’
‘Four, now,’ she said proudly. ‘The latest probably isn’t much older than your wee darling …’
There was enough of a question in her voice for Alice to say, ‘Evie’s eight weeks, and already has a mind of her own.’
‘Don’t they all?’ Nerys winked. ‘Still, us girls have to take charge from an early age, don’t we?’
They made small talk while Renshaw unloaded the car. He trudged in with the rucksack on his back, the bag of nappies in one hand and a heavy-looking duffle bag in the other. That, presumably, had been stashed in the boot, ready for a quick getaway.
Nerys peered at the carrier bag as Renshaw passed it to Alice. ‘Is this all you have?’
‘We left in a hurry,’ Alice said.
‘Let me get settled, and I will tell you the story,’ Renshaw said.
Nerys gestured to the front room. ‘Help yourself to a drink while I show Alice to the nursery.’
‘Nursery?’ Alice queried.
‘Oh, yes. It’s where the youngest ones stay when they sleep over. Well, not the babe, Mikey, yet. He’s almost twelve weeks, and won’t be parted from Mummy.’
She climbed the stairs at a brisk pace, explaining a little of the house’s history. In the thirties it had been owned by a world-famous naturalist with a brood of eight children, and later by a cinematographer with an Oscar to his name.
‘My husband’s in the film business,’ Alice said. ‘Special effects.’
The words were out before she’d had a chance to consider the wisdom of revealing too much about herself and her family.
‘How fascinating. I can’t believe some of the things they can do nowadays. And I love those animations, like Toy Story and the one with monsters. Mind you, my granddaughters watch Frozen so often, I think there ought to be a support group for us grown-ups!’
Alice laughed politely and made noises of agreement while admiring the landing. As with the hall, it was wide enough to accommodate a bookcase and an antique writing desk.
The nursery was no less impressive. It was a vast room, containing both a double and a single bed as well as an old-fashioned crib and a huge wardrobe, painted white and decorated with a pattern of climbing roses. A similar design had been hand-painted on one of the walls, feeding into a large mural of a woodland scene, complete with bubbling stream and verdant meadow. Various mythical creatures frolicked along the riverbank: nymphs and fairies and fawns. The other walls were painted cream, while the ceiling was decorated with a sumptuous trompe l’oeil sky with white fluffy clouds drifting overhead. Pre-motherhood, Alice might have regarded the whole thing as a bit sickly and overdone. As a newly sentimental parent she adored it.
‘This is absolutely … amazing!’
‘You can see why it’s a hit with the children, though I have a devil of a job stopping Betty from embellishing it with her crayons.’ Nerys was bustling around the beds, plumping pillows and turning back the covers. ‘Now, I can make up the crib if you’d like, or would you prefer Evie to share the double with you?’
‘She’ll be fine with me. I don’t want to put you to any more trouble.’
‘It’s a pleasure, honestly. The bathroom’s right next door. Why don’t I leave you to freshen up, and when you’re ready, come down and have something to eat and drink.’
‘Sounds great. Thank you.’
Nerys paused in the doorway. The thoughtful look on her face gave Alice a little jolt of alarm. She was about to ask what was wrong when Nerys snapped out of it, smiled broadly and left the room.
Alice stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths while she tried to come to terms with the day’s events. Yes, it had been horrific, but she and Evie had come through it, physically unscathed. Now they were somewhere comfortable and safe.
Time to look on the bright side. There was only tonight to endure: tomorrow, all being well, she and Evie could go back to their normal lives.
Evie wriggled, moaning softly. Easing her out of the carrier and taking off her pramsuit, Alice wandered across to the larger of two windows and drew back the curtain. The room overlooked the back garden, but there was little she could make out in the darkness: a wide lawn, hedges and trees, a couple of vague shapes that might have been a shed and a climbing frame or swing. There were no lights anywhere, nothing to indicate the presence of neighbouring homes or farms. She pictured the acres of wild open countryside that must lie beyond the garden, and thought: What an idyllic setting.
And then it struck her: perhaps Nerys had chosen to hide away from the world for exactly the same reason as Renshaw.
Alice might be safe here for the time being, but that didn’t mean she could let her guard down.
Thirty-Four
Alone in the hotel room, Harry decided to take a long shower. The pleasure was diminished somewhat by the prospect of having to dress in the clothes he’d been wearing all day, but at least it left him feeling moderately fresher than before.
Afterwards he sat on one of the beds and stared at the phones in his hands. His own was still switched off. The Samsung, loaned to him by Ruth, steadfastly refused to bring him an incoming message. He’d sent three texts to Alice’s phone and called her half a dozen times, and all he’d got was voicemail.
What really ate at him was the thought that his own phone might hold the message that would ease all his fears. But Ruth had warned him not to turn it on, in case the authorities tracked his location. That seemed
like overkill to him. Ridiculous.
Aware that his willpower was slipping away, he placed the phone on the unit by the TV, then returned to the bed and played around with the remote control. He found BBC1, where the six o’clock news had just got underway.
He frowned. He wasn’t sure precisely how long Ruth had been gone, but it had to be getting on for an hour.
That meant she ought to be back any minute. He comforted himself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t done anything stupid in her absence.
Yet.
After a while he muted the TV volume. He didn’t want to hear about other people’s problems; nor was he interested in what the TV companies classed as entertainment at this time of the evening.
But his tetchiness was a warning sign. If Ruth wasn’t here soon he might not be able to resist using his phone.
Then it hit him with brilliant clarity. Ruth wasn’t coming back. She must have found another way to locate Keri, and so Harry, having served his purpose, had simply been discarded.
He grabbed his trainers and the key card, then noticed Ruth’s suitcase on the floor by the bed. Why had she brought it in here, if she was intending to do a runner?
He hesitated, aware that the combination of stress and solitude might be causing him to overreact. It was all too easy to think the worst.
Fortunately there was a straightforward way to find out.
He passed several other guests on his way through the atrium, but no one paid him any attention. He took the steps down to the car park and felt only a queasy satisfaction at the sight of the empty bay where Ruth’s Corsa had been parked. Another couple of minutes and he had surveyed the rest of the car park and verified it beyond doubt.
Ruth was gone. He was on his own.
Returning to the room, he tipped the contents of her case on to the bed. It was mostly clothing: underwear, t-shirts, a spare pair of jeans, plus a toiletry bag with just the basics for a few days away. A second wig, this one with reddish, wavy hair. There was nothing essential: no paperwork or identifying documents, no keys or money or personal items. Everything here could be quickly replaced – and evidently the cost of doing so had been a price worth paying to be rid of him without further complication.
Of course, he still had the phone she’d given him, which held her number from when she’d called with the all-clear from the hotel room.
He rang it, and a recorded voice informed him that the mobile was switched off. There was no option to leave a message.
He slumped on to the bed and considered his options. First he wondered if something could have happened to her. But that was almost too terrible to imagine.
The desire to check his own phone was now overpowering. As for being tracked, his understanding – admittedly garnered from TV cop shows – was that the signal could be triangulated using the nearest base stations. Given that his location was right in the centre of Crawley, pinpointing this hotel must be next to impossible.
‘Worth the risk,’ he murmured to himself. He powered up the phone, and a series of quiet chimes announced that he was a man in demand. He had a stack of missed calls and three voicemail messages: one from Sam at work and two from his mum. Wiser to ignore those, he decided.
He switched to texts. Five messages, the first a junk thing about concert tickets. One from Sam, wishing Alice a speedy recovery, which made no sense until he remembered his earlier lie about the migraine. One each from Alice’s mum and his own mother, while the remaining text was from an unfamiliar number. Maybe the detective who’d spoken to him on the phone?
Braced for disappointment, he opened that next and was rewarded with a surge of relief.
Harry, this is Alice on Renshaw phone. Me and Evie fine. Staying at R friend in Gloucs, hope to call u later to collect us. Let me know who u r xx
Alice was okay. They were both safe and well, and free to come home. Harry wasn’t sure why Alice hadn’t been able to text him from her own phone, but that seemed a minor detail in the circumstances.
He read it again. This time the last line made him frown. Let me know who you are. He hoped it was an error, rather than a dig at him for holding back information.
Still puzzling over it, he happened to glance at the TV and saw a familiar location on screen.
Lavinia Street.
The sight of his home on the local news came as an almost physical blow. Harry reeled back in shock, hoping desperately it was a coincidence: something else had happened in Lavinia Street to attract the media’s attention …
He restored the volume in time to hear an improbably handsome man, identified as Detective Inspector Thomsett, issuing an urgent appeal for Brighton filmmaker Harry French to make contact with Sussex Police. They cut to a head shot of Harry, taken from the LiveFire website, while DI Thomsett explained that, following calls to the police made from the property earlier in the day, they now had serious concerns for the welfare of Harry, his wife Alice and their infant daughter.
Another picture: this one of mother and newborn, taken by Harry’s mum. He felt a shudder of revulsion at the thought that she must have supplied the photo. Did that mean she was willing to think the worst of her own son?
Back to the studio, where the presenter solemnly reiterated the plea for him to get in touch. She sounded faintly disgusted, as if his guilt were already beyond doubt.
But it wasn’t, was it? He had a message from Alice to prove she was unharmed.
He was pondering how best to approach DI Thomsett when he spotted the flaw in his plan. The text had been sent from an anonymous mobile. As evidence that Alice and Evie were safe and well, it was useless.
He punched the mattress in frustration. He was back to his original plan: get Alice to ring DI Thomsett.
His own phone was toxic, but before switching it off he took a note of the number Alice had used, keying it into the Samsung. Then he rang the number, but there was no answer. Of course there wasn’t.
He texted: Alice, it’s Harry. I’m having to use a borrowed phone, too. Will explain all soon. If this really is you, tell me where we went for that weekend before Evie came along. And tell me you really are safe! I love you. Harry xx
For good measure he tried Ruth’s number again, but no one answered. That sealed it: he was alone. Wanted by the authorities, stranded in a traveller’s hotel in Crawley, a wad of cash in his pocket but no idea how it could help him.
A wanted man. He tried out the phrase, reciting it several times in the hope that it would sound absurd, but all it did was make him more afraid. How could he possibly help Alice and Evie if he was on the run from the police?
Thirty-Five
Alice fed Evie for a good twenty minutes, then let her lie on the bed in just her nappy, taking great pleasure at the sight of her daughter kicking and punching the air with her chubby limbs. For an old house it was remarkably warm: the heating seemed to be on full blast. The air in the room was a little fusty, but nicely scented by the ageing timber furniture. Lying next to her daughter on the double bed, Alice soon began to feel drowsy.
She stirred at the sound of a car starting up. Wrapping Evie in her pramsuit, she hurried along the landing and watched from the window as Renshaw inexpertly guided his car into the garage. It seemed like an unnecessary precaution – unless it meant that, even here, he didn’t feel safe from his pursuers?
Jittery again, she tiptoed back to the nursery. She knew she must face her reluctance to join Nerys and Renshaw, but all she wanted to do was speak to Harry and make sure he was all right, then go to bed and put this dreadful day behind her. She no longer held out any hope of being reunited with him tonight, but if she could at least arrange something for tomorrow she’d sleep a lot more easily.
Except that Renshaw had taken his phone back, and her own phone was useless without a charger.
A landline, then? Out here in the wilds the mobile reception was probably patchy at best. Nerys would no doubt rely on a landline, and in a house as large as this, surely she’d have more
than one extension?
Alice deliberated for a few minutes. It would be an abuse of the hospitality Nerys had offered to go snooping around the woman’s home, and yet Alice knew she would prefer to do that than ask to use the phone. Having spent all afternoon pressuring Renshaw for the right to contact Harry, she didn’t have the energy for another battle with Nerys. In any case, there was too much at stake to worry about social niceties.
She waited a while on the landing, listening for movement from below. There were four other rooms on this floor, as well as a narrow staircase that led up to the roof space. She opened each door in turn and found two more guest bedrooms, far more modest in scale than the nursery. There was a large bathroom with a big steel tub and a built-in shower, and then a master bedroom, notable for being considerably untidier than elsewhere. The floor was strewn with discarded clothes, and a small landslide of shoes was piled against the side of a free-standing wardrobe.
There was only the one bedside table. It was home to a tin of boiled sweets, a Sylvia Day novel and a neat black cordless phone.
A floorboard creaked as she walked around the bed, making her wince. From what she could make of the layout, Renshaw and Nerys were most likely in the living room directly below her. She braced herself for an angry reaction, but no one came running. An old house like this, it probably creaks all the time, Alice told herself.
She shifted Evie to her left arm, which provoked a cry of displeasure. Not loud enough to be heard downstairs, she hoped.
Alice lifted the phone from its cradle and put it to her ear. Nothing.
She examined the keypad. Maybe she had to press the call button to open the connection? She tried that, but still there was no dial tone. And yet the charger had a tiny light glowing to indicate that it was plugged in.