[DCI Tom Douglas 03.0] Sleep Tight

by Rachel Abbott

  I only half hear them, though, because my thoughts turn to Sophie. It’s hard for me to accept that Robert has been to see her, and I’m certain that she didn’t tell me everything. Robert wouldn’t have calmly asked her where I was, and then politely left when she refused to tell him. I feel so guilty that I dragged her into this, although to be fair she was the one who persuaded me that I had to get out of this marriage, as she slowly but surely pulled me out of the pit of despair in which I was mired.

  ‘Listen, Liv,’ she had said on the third or fourth time that we met. ‘You might think the children are safe as long as you stay with Robert, but he’s clearly unhinged. What if he moves the goalposts and you’re not prepared? What if he becomes so obsessed with knowing your every move that he keeps you locked in the house? A total prisoner? You’ve got to get out.’

  We had already explored the legal route to escape, but it appeared there was none. I had no proof of Robert’s threats, but on the other hand he had plenty of proof that I wasn’t quite stable. I was told that I could be classified as a hostile partner, and at the very least Robert was sure to be awarded contact time with the children – which is all he would need to carry out his plan.

  In spite of all my anxiety, I feel seduced by the peace of this island. It seems that nothing bad can happen to me here and I think it’s the simplicity of the place that gives me that sensation of safety. People smile all the time, and go out of their way to be helpful. The roads are calm with little traffic and not even a roundabout to be found. But it’s the sea that brings the serenity to me. It’s rarely out of sight, and whether it’s calm and turquoise blue or dark grey with white breakers thrashing against the churning water, I can’t take my eyes off it.

  Even though the Dan situation isn’t completely resolved yet, I know it will be. And then, finally, I will be able to move forwards with my life. At the moment it feels like I’m living in a bubble, floating safely amidst turbulent air. I can almost picture myself and the children within this bubble. The air around us looks dark and grim, with black clouds and grey, stormy seas. But inside our bubble it is a day like today – sunny, bright and filled with laughter. I have to stop the darkness from seeping in and destroying our happiness.

  I turn my head to watch my beautiful children playing in the sand, Jaz – no, Ginny – in her favourite ice-blue T-shirt and the boys with their chubby little legs covered in white sand as they stand in the shallow sea and shovel water into orange plastic buckets to try to fill the moat of their sandcastle. How long will it be before they realise what a fruitless task that is? But they need to discover this for themselves.

  I sit up and look behind me at the house we rented. It couldn’t be more perfect. It’s secluded, but yet doesn’t feel lonely. At night I can sleep with my window open and hear the waves lapping gently on to the shore. I can’t wait for the first big storm, which should be spectacular here.

  The house is painted a pale cream colour, and has a small lawn leading down to a gate through to the beach. I didn’t choose it specifically for its seclusion, even though it is a bonus. I chose it because along the back of the house is a veranda with doors from all the bedrooms, and from that veranda there’s a spiral staircase down to the terrace behind the kitchen and living room. I couldn’t believe my luck at finding such a perfect spot, because as I visualise my bubble, I am reminded of one thing. The outer casing of a bubble is fragile and can pop at any moment.

  That’s why we have a plan, and it’s time we had another practice.

  I’ve made it into a game for the children. It’s our war game. The children are evacuees who have missed the last boat. When the enemy soldiers arrive, the children have to hide. I want them to take the ‘game’ seriously, but I don’t want them to have nightmares, so I’ve tried to make it fun.

  The first thing we did when we came at Easter was to find a convenient bunker. This island is not short of them, that’s for sure. Not the closest bunker to the house, though, but one that they could safely get inside, and hide. So we had a great couple of days exploring those that wouldn’t be too far for a four-year-old’s little legs. We cleared out the rubbish that had accumulated in there, and then I bought a plastic cool box and filled it with biscuits and the children’s favourite drinks, plus a couple of battery-operated lights and a fully charged mobile phone. The plastic box, I reasoned, would protect the food from any four-legged predators. We covered it with a few dark grey blankets so that if anybody glanced in they wouldn’t see the bright red plastic. We check it every couple of days – I have spares of everything in case somebody finds the cool box and takes it.

  There is one thing about this island, though. I don’t think anybody would ever dream of taking anything that wasn’t theirs. The lady who rented me the house was surprised that I wanted a key, saying she hadn’t locked her door for twenty years. Nobody seems to steal what doesn’t belong to them, and there’s nowhere for a burglar to run anyway. Or a kidnapper for that matter.

  But I will be keeping all my doors permanently locked. I may think I’m safe here, but I have to be careful for the sake of the children. I can’t become complacent.

  Once we had established our hiding place for the enemy invasion, we practised the escape from the house – out through the bedroom doors, on to the veranda, and down the spiral staircase. Across the grass, through the gate and along the coastal path. Past the first two bunkers, slide down the hill, and into the little bunker that’s hidden in the side of the cliff. It’s a bit of a drop from the door, but I piled some stones up so the little ones can clamber in and out easily.

  I want to practise over and over again but the children would get bored, and I’m worried that if the time comes, they might refuse to go. Freddie cried the first time, but he seems okay about it now. Let’s hope we never have to try it out for real.

  I push myself to my feet and wander up to the bench where I’ve left the beach bag. I want to take a picture of the children so I grab my phone from where it’s hiding under a pile of towels and I can see that I have missed several calls – starting two hours ago. Most are from Sophie, but there are a couple of numbers I don’t recognise too. The phone starts to vibrate with a new call. It’s Sophie, but it’s not a scheduled time, and that’s not like her.

  For a moment, I feel a tremor of nerves, but dismiss them. I must learn to be more confident. I touch the screen to answer.

  ‘Hi, Soph. This is a nice surprise on a beautiful day,’ I say. ‘Have you been trying to call me?’ But my smile fades in a second. She tells me the last thing I want to hear.

  ‘Liv, it’s Robert. He knows where you are. He’s found you.’

  My body freezes. I can’t speak.

  He’s come to get my children, just as he said he would.

  I hadn’t always understood what he was threatening me with, but when he took my children two years ago he waited until the police had gone and we were alone. Then he put his threat into words, each one spoken clearly and slowly so I could be in no doubt of what he was telling me. I tried not to listen, as if not hearing it would somehow make it not real. I tried not to look at him, as if not seeing him would make him disappear. He put his face close to mine, though, and breathed into my ear, so I could hear every word.

  ‘Olivia – you are my life. Nothing else matters, only you. If you leave me there will be no point in me breathing. Do you understand? I think about you every second of every day. I cling to the belief that one day, you will feel the same about me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But that’s not going to happen, Olivia, is it?’

  I couldn’t speak.

  ‘You’re mine, Olivia. Even if you can’t love me the way I love you, you’re mine. And I can settle for that, as long as I can see your face every day, touch your body when I want – yes, Olivia, when I want – and know that you will always be here each evening when I get home. But if you leave me, one day I will take your children – just like I did tonight – and nobody will ever find me.’

  He move
d in even closer, so that his lips touched my ear.

  ‘If you leave me, you will never see any of us again. You will be left with nothing.’

  53

  Marjorie Beresford was feeling guilty. She was supposed to be looking after her father, but this morning she had been into town and instead of coming straight back from the butcher and fishmonger as she had promised, she had decided to stop off for a cappuccino. It was a lovely day, and the tables at the brasserie were set outside.

  And after all it was only a cup of coffee – just an extra ten minutes.

  The problem was that ten minutes had expanded to half an hour as she had chatted to people she hadn’t seen for weeks. She didn’t get out much because her father needed almost constant nursing now. But he wasn’t prepared to go into a home, and so what else could she do? It was good to talk, though, and she couldn’t help it if she got a little carried away and forgot the time. Just this once.

  It was as she was paying the bill that the nice young man had come in, saying he was looking for his sister. She’d come to the island a while ago with her three children, and he thought she had said she was renting somewhere. He’d promised to visit, but he’d stupidly lost the address. He was asking Joe, the owner, but Marjorie couldn’t help overhearing. All the man knew was that his sister’s place was near a beach. Was it okay for him to ask around – to see if anybody knew where it might be?

  Marjorie was certain it must be Lynn that he was talking about. And she had three children.

  She wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not, but by the time she had paid and spoken to a few other acquaintances on her way out, she saw that the man was sitting disconsolately at one of the outdoor tables, and she felt sorry for him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she’d said. ‘I didn’t quite catch your name?’

  ‘Jonathan,’ he replied, with a friendly smile that held more than a hint of sadness in her view.

  ‘I’m Marjorie. What’s your sister’s name?’ She was surprised when he gave a small laugh.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a long and complicated story. My sister got herself into a bit of trouble in England. She owed some people money. The usual thing – she’d over-stretched herself when her husband walked out, and she took out what seemed like a sensible loan. Only the interest was about a thousand per cent, and she just got in deeper and deeper. I gave her some cash to pay them off, but she used it instead to run away. She came here. I want to find her to tell her I’ve settled all her debts. She’s totally in the clear and can come home whenever she wants. My parents are missing her and the children – but I don’t know what name she has dreamed up for herself. Her real name is Olivia, and when she was younger she was called Liv by a lot of people. But I don’t know what name she will have adopted – or what she’ll be calling the children either.’

  Marjorie looked at the sad face of the man opposite. What a good brother to have, she couldn’t help thinking. She had a brother herself, and he did absolutely sweet Fanny Adams to help with their father.

  ‘Your sister’s very lucky to have you,’ she said frankly. ‘Look, I don’t know if it helps or not, but I take care of a property for some people who used to live on the island but have gone to America for a few years. They let it privately, and there’s a lady living there at the moment with three children. They took it at the end of last October, though, so I don’t know if it’s the same woman. Her name’s Lynn. I can’t remember the children’s names, but there’s a girl and two little boys. Could that be them, do you think?’

  The man called Jonathan beamed at her.

  ‘That’s wonderful, thank you. It sounds just like them. Can you tell me where the house is?’

  And so she had. And because of that she ended up being forty-five minutes late in getting home. Her father was now in a mood, and when he deigned to respond to any of her questions, he was monosyllabic at best. She needed to make amends for her thoughtlessness.

  As she left his bedroom, having received his order for a sandwich, the phone in the hall started to ring. She wanted to answer it, because she so enjoyed chatting to other people – people other than her father, that would be – but she couldn’t. First things first, she needed to at least make him a cup of tea.

  She stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, but she could still hear the message being recorded on the machine. She recognised Pam’s voice – somebody else she hadn’t seen for weeks. Pam no doubt wanted to know if they could get together for coffee one morning. Chance would be a fine thing. But as she added the water to the teapot, she thought she heard Pam say something about the police.

  Abandoning her tea-making, she went into the hall.

  Her face flushed with distress as she listened to the full message.

  Oh goodness. What have I done? she thought.

  54

  I’m too stunned to move. How is it possible? How has Robert found us? I know I didn’t leave a single scrap of evidence in the house, and even though he now knew we had not been to Anglesey, I can’t think of anything that would have led him here. I’m almost dazed.

  A shout from the children jolts me out of my contemplation. Jaz is pointing towards the road behind me and shouting.

  Oh, God – no. Please don’t let it be Robert.

  I never gave the children any hint that they should be scared of their father. I didn’t want them to live in terror, and I didn’t think he would harm them as long as I was the dutiful wife. But when I understood the depths of his obsession and acknowledged the full extent of everything he had done, I finally started to believe that we could never be safe with him.

  As I turn to see what Jasmine is pointing at, I’m relieved to see that it’s nothing more than a couple of horses going by. She loves horses, and I’d always thought we could arrange riding lessons when things have settled down.

  I have to force myself into action.

  I need to get the children to safety and call the police. I can’t call them now; it would take too long to explain.

  As I stand up, my phone starts to ring, but I ignore it. Nothing matters except getting my children away from danger. I’ve been inactive for less than thirty seconds but it feels as if I may just have risked their lives through my inability to move.

  ‘Jaz!’ I yell. ‘Come here quickly.’

  I run down the beach as fast as I can and grab Freddie, swinging his sturdy little body into my arms. I shout to Billy who is at the edge of the sea, filling his bucket with water.

  ‘Leave your bucket. Leave it – don’t argue. Just run as fast as you can back to the path.’

  I can see that I am scaring them, and Freddie starts to cry.

  ‘Sorry, darlings,’ I say in a slightly calmer voice, although kids pick up so easily on emotion. ‘It’s a practice for the invasion. I need you all to go to the bunker. You need to hide from the enemy.’

  I try my best to smile.

  The kids trudge up the beach – not as fast as I would like, but the sand is soft, and it’s not that easy to run.

  We stumble across the dunes at a half-run, and past the bench. I pick up my bag and hear my phone still ringing. I don’t have time for that.

  As we reach the path that runs along the back of the house, I hear the worst sound in the world echoing through the empty house and out through the open dining-room window. It’s the sound of a ringing doorbell.

  The children look at me. But for a second I am glued to the spot. Billy tugs on my hand.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’ he asks, confused by my sudden tension.

  I crouch down and pull Jasmine towards me.

  ‘Okay – enemy soldier alert. You’re in charge for this practice, Jaz. You know where to go. Take the boys and run. Stay there until I come for you – okay?’

  Jaz looks at me in horror.

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ she asks in a shaky little voice.

 
; ‘I’m going to follow. Let’s see how well you’ve learned the drill. Go on, darling – you’re a brave girl, let’s see what you can do.’

  I turn her round and give her a small shove. The boys are looking a bit confused, but my smile tells them everything is okay.

  I can’t go with them – he will be round the back of the house in seconds, so they need to go, and I need to head him off.

  Jaz glances over her shoulder at me once, and I try to paint a fun, happy face for her, but I don’t think she’s fooled. She knows the enemy is real.

  I can’t help wondering if I will ever see my children again.

  *

  I turn back to the house. He has stopped ringing the bell, and I hope and pray he’s looking through the front windows and isn’t on his way around the back. I need to delay him. If he comes round here now, he will see the children who are not moving nearly quickly enough.

  I run at full pelt towards the back door, fingers sticky and struggling with the lock. Finally it’s open, and I race through the kitchen to the hall where I see the outline shape of a man through the frosted glass of the front door as he rears up from where he was trying to peer through the letterbox. I would recognise the shape of that head anywhere.

  ‘Just a moment,’ I shout, trying to sound chirpy and relaxed.

  Anything to give my children time to get away.

  I grab a tea towel, as if I’ve been drying my hands, and pull the kitchen door closed behind me. I want him to think the children are here – playing in the garden or on the beach. My heart feels as if it’s going to punch through my chest, but I can’t phone the police. He would be on to me in a second, and his patience will be running out. I’m sure the only reason he rang the bell is because he can’t be one hundred per cent certain that I’m here. If somebody has given him this address, it can only be a ‘maybe’ in his mind so, if he doesn’t want to be reported to the police himself, he will have to pretend to be civilised. At least until he knows for sure.