Sleepwalkers

by Tom Grieves

  It took them twenty minutes to navigate through the field. Henry carefully lifted the kite out of the bushes, then held it up, inspecting it. The kite had no marks, no tears, nothing. He smiled at his daughter.

  ‘See? It’s perfect.’

  Anna’s legs were covered in pricks of blood, stung and scratched. She put her finger to a wound and tasted the blood. And then she looked up at her father, realising that he was watching her. He handed her the kite and she heard herself saying ‘thank you’. She said it so politely, you would have thought they were strangers. Then she followed him back, the route made easier by the flattened path already travelled. When they reached the bottom, Henry washed her legs with seawater and although it stung, she didn’t wince. And then he smoothed more sun cream onto her skin before returning to his novel.

  Anna flew the kite for the rest of the afternoon. But she never touched it again after that day. And her father never asked her why.

  She wondered why she remembered this moment above the others. Why didn’t she focus on the time he bought champagne for everyone in a restaurant when he learned about her outstanding exam results? Or the long walks they’d taken together, arm in arm, them against the world? She shrugged the thoughts off and turned to look at Ben who was sitting next to her, driving the car he’d stolen only half an hour before. The car had been taken from a family home and he assured her that they wouldn’t notice its disappearance until the morning. She’d told him little when he’d asked where they were going and why, and she was grateful to him for not pressing her further. He had his own secrets, she imagined.

  They were close to her father’s house now, entering one of the smartest parts of the city. The houses all shared the same white stucco frontage, protected by high gates and iron fences. Anna glanced at Ben as he drove. He wore a simple black T-shirt and jeans. She noticed his well-muscled arms, and despite the nerves and anxiety that meant she barely ate, she couldn’t help but notice that he was handsome. Anna had never had much luck with men. A brief fling with Paul (Maths, married and coffee breath) last year was enough to have her retreating to her novels. And Ben, despite his kindness to Toby, was a strange, wild figure. They couldn’t have been more different. Yet here they were together, alone in a car, unknown to the world.

  Ben had explained what she should do if she were worried and where he would be waiting for her. He would flash the headlights when he saw her to let her know where he was.

  ‘If you’re unsure about anything, anything at all, then just run. Trust your fears and get the hell out of there.’

  She glanced at his tough, scarred hands that gripped the steering wheel, then at her own pale hands. Blemish-free. When she looked up again, they were nearly there and the streets were wide and clean with old-fashioned street lamps and expensive cars parked in private drives.

  Ben stopped the car where she told him. ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘No. Thank you. Why?’

  ‘In case.’

  ‘He’s my Dad.’

  ‘Right.’

  Anna put her hand on his – I’ll be fine. Then she got out of the car and Ben drove away. Suddenly she was all alone for the first time in ages. The quiet was delicious. She walked along the street and glanced up at the front door she knew so well. There was the spot where she had once sat, covering the stone steps in chalky flowers, suns and angels.

  Lights were on inside the house. Although Anna had a door key, she did as Ben had instructed and walked along the spotless paving stones to the back of the house, passing the bins she had never had to take out, never even had to fill.

  Past the bins was an imposing gate with wire above it. Anna, however, knew that you could jiggle it open if you did it the right way. She’d done so when she was a teenager, sneaking out to join Bella and Sophie when her father was away at a conference, taking a bottle of his Dalmore whisky to get the party started.

  The garden was just the same as when she was a child. A long strip of lawn, a small pergola, a summer house at the end where she would play for hours. The kitchen had one solitary light on, but was empty. He’d be working in his study, just as he always had for as long as she could remember.

  The fridge made a gentle hum, but otherwise there was no noise. The house had always been quiet – too quiet for some of her friends, who claimed it was weird to be this neat – but she had always liked it. She put her foot on the bottom stair, placed a hand on the banister, reassured by the slow tick of the grandfather clock. She climbed the stairs without a sound, just as she always used to. For a moment she saw herself as a little girl, ready to be admonished for interrupting her father’s work, and she had to shake the thought away. She needed to be bigger and braver.

  The door was open when she got to Henry’s study. He used to close it, but now, alone, there was no need. He sat at his grand desk, glasses perched on his nose, a cup of coffee to his right and a glass of whisky to the left. Three expensive fountain pens sat on a silver tray in front of him. There were no photographs on the desk, just papers. The only concession to progress was a laptop computer, folded down and shut.

  Anna stood in the doorway and watched her father sniff in irritation at something on the page before circling it with his pen. On the way here she had concocted a hundred questions for him: searing, penetrating accusations that would have his mouth flapping under the inquisition. But now, seeing him, they had slipped and spilled to somewhere unreachable.

  He looked up and his eyes widened with surprise.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Anna, Jesus Christ.’ He was on his feet, rushing around the desk to her, pulling her to him in an embrace. ‘I’ve had the bloody police around here, you’ve been on the television, what the hell are you up to?’

  She pushed herself away from him. She was meant to be the one asking questions.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, you’re bloody well not.’ He rubbed her arms as the familiar awkwardness crept in between them. ‘Come with me to the police. I’ll get you the best lawyer, we’ll sort it all out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anna, this isn’t a time for arguments, you’re in a lot of trouble, child.’

  ‘I know. But I’m not a child.’

  He looked her up and down with the same old critical eyes.

  ‘You look dreadful.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Well, you do. And you should. Where’s the boy, this schoolboy? Did you really abduct him?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So he’s not with you?’

  ‘You know what, Daddy? I don’t want you to ask me any more questions.’

  He stood back, folded and unfolded his arms.

  ‘Come on, then, what do you want?’

  ‘Are you …?’ she stammered and was angry with herself for it. ‘I’ll have a drink, please.’

  ‘Whisky and water?’ She nodded and he poured from a crystal decanter. The drink was a welcome prop.

  ‘Daddy. What do you know about all this?’

  ‘No more than the papers said. The police were particularly bloody cagey.’

  ‘Please. Don’t lie to me. Not to me.’

  He looked up at her sharply, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she’d hit on something or because he was surprised by the accusation.

  ‘What am I meant to know?’

  ‘Don’t make it a game, just be honest with me. I thought you were always honest with me. You could be cruel like that, but at least you were honest. Never hid anything from me. Not even Mum’s death.’

  She regretted this the moment she said it, and she saw his mouth tighten with hurt.

  ‘I just tried to bring you up the best way I could. You were so clever, I thought you deserved it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure, but look, I’m not hanging around here for long. We’ve agreed I’ll only stay for five minutes.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Are you involved in all this?’

  ‘All what?’ His bew
ilderment seemed genuine enough to her. But that was not enough.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Hang on, are you saying you didn’t run off with that kid? You think I’ve got him?’

  ‘Daddy!’ she screamed. ‘You know what I’m saying. I’m your daughter and you know what I’m asking you. Tell me, please. Tell me what I should be scared of. Tell me how to hide. If you love me, help me. Tell me what you know.’

  Suddenly he looked incredibly tired, incredibly sad. She’d never thought of him as old before, but now she saw the wrinkles and creases on his face. His eyes looked worn and weary. He stared down at his desk and she realised with shock that he was unable to meet her eye. When he did look up, he shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement. It was as though he was afraid to speak. Afraid to be heard. She looked at him and saw a man who was trapped in his own luxurious abode. As trapped and as helpless as she was. His eyes flicked across the room then back to her. But still he didn’t say anything, his face lined with concern and doubt.

  Neither spoke.

  And then, as though he was aware of the silence lasting too long, he coughed loudly and stood a little taller, as though he was about to address an audience.

  ‘Do you want money?’

  She knew that this was all he could offer. Everything was incredibly clear. She could not trust him. She should not be here.

  ‘I don’t need money.’ She turned away from him. ‘Bye bye, Daddy.’

  ‘No. Anna, darling, please.’

  He chased after her as she walked calmly down the stairs and decided to walk straight out through the front door. Ben would be waiting at the end of the street. She’d be there in one minute. She put her hand to the latch and pulled the thick door open. She looked back and saw him watching her from the top of the stairs. She gave him a small wave goodbye. He seemed so small and frail.

  She didn’t bother to pull the door shut as she skipped down the steps, pulled open the iron gate and broke into a run. If her father called after her, she didn’t hear him.

  A car’s headlights flashed nearby and Anna dashed to the passenger seat. Ben drove off immediately and soon they were miles away.

  He didn’t ask her a thing. She sat next to him with her head down, trying to think of something to say, but was overwhelmed by sadness. Her father had been her last connection to a happier, safer world. She was cut adrift now. Maybe she’d never been safe, not really, but she had loved the feeling, the lie. And that was gone now. She could never go back.

  She started to cry as she stared down at her pale, manicured hands. They seemed so inadequate for the tasks ahead and she seemed so tiny next to the big man behind the wheel. She felt like a little girl in a woman’s body.

  Ben drove on in silence and neither spoke for the rest of the journey.

  NINETEEN

  Ben knew that he shouldn’t go anywhere near Carrie. He knew that the men who took him before would be waiting for his return. And Carrie was a part of that. But as he drove Anna back from her father’s, he found he was thinking about her again, remembering her sweet, shy shuffle, that infectious giggle, the way she’d bite her lip. He’d try to think of other things, but she would always find a way back in.

  He dropped Anna off at the squat and told her that he’d have to dump the car far away so there was no possible link to them. She thought he was being careful, not realising that he was an addict, lying to her so he could get his next fix of Carrie. He told himself he would just drive past once, glance in, and then drive off. But, like an addict, he knew that he was lying to himself as well.

  He parked in their road. Five doors down. He was being an idiot, he told himself. He was going to get himself caught. What made him do this? Was it some cruel programming they’d left ticking in his brain? He sat in the car, the engine off, the lights extinguished, trying to cool his head, work out what to do.

  Get out and run away, his mind told him.

  Start the engine, drive, drive and drive some more, his instincts screamed.

  But Ben could not move.

  And then he saw something, a slip of light, some movement at the door and there she was: Carrie, wrapped up in a coat, walking to the car. She glanced behind her and waved to a young girl – Keira, the babysitter – who waved back and shut the door. Ben was shocked by the sight of her; this young girl who had been an everyday part of his life but who he had completely forgotten until this moment.

  What day was it? Tuesday. Book club. Ben watched as she went to the car, got in and started the engine. Inside, the kids would be bouncing around as Keira tried to settle them so she could get on with her studies. He tried to recall the course, but he had never paid her much attention. He had always found her presence awkward: a pretty, trendy girl with aspirations, and he a plodding mechanic. He’d make bad jokes and she’d smile politely and both would hope that Carrie would finish her make-up and get downstairs as soon as possible.

  Ben’s hand reached for the key in the ignition and he felt his salivary glands explode. He shoved the car forward, brain working hard to remember where she was going and how to get there before her. It would either be Heather or Sally. As her car indicated left he knew it must be Sally, and he made a hard three-point turn to go the other way. With effort and a little luck, he would make it.

  If she was in on it, Ben told himself as he powered down the back streets, then she would be waiting for the moment when he appeared again. She’d be followed at all times, so all she would have to do would be to signal them, let them know when she saw him, and then they would take care of him once and for all. There would be no surprise for her. And he’d be able to spot it if she tried to fake the shock.

  Ben remembered the surprise party he’d organised for Carrie, getting Sally to help him with friends and invitations. He’d dragged her unwillingly to a church hall, claiming his present was a set of ballroom dancing lessons (‘honey, it’s a lovely idea, really, you’re sweet, but it’s not quite what …’), and then he’d pulled open the doors and there they all were. He’d never forget her face that day.

  He needed to see that expression. He’d know if she was lying. He’d told himself this over and over. Now he stood in the shadows, a few yards from Sally’s gate, waiting for her to arrive. When she approached, he would step out, maybe even say hello, and he would see her face. And then he’d know for sure.

  Ben shivered slightly as he waited. He glanced back at Sally’s door and remembered the time he and Carrie had made their excuses early, gasping for each other, pulling clothes off frantically in the back of the car in this same street.

  A car’s lights swept into the road, turning slowly, the driver looking for a space. It was her. She locked the car, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm, and she walked quickly towards Sally’s house.

  As Carrie approached, checking the contents of her handbag as she walked, so Ben stepped out into the light of a streetlamp. He took his hands out of his pockets and although there were two knives hidden under layers, he was trying to make sure she saw him as he was, not a madman, not a fugitive. Her Ben. That’s what she always used to call him. My Ben.

  She looked up and when she saw him she faltered for a second. If you were watching from afar you might think she tripped on a paving stone. Then she walked on, straight towards him, their eyes locked. Ben felt tears welling up in his eyes. He was overwhelmed by this strange sense of weariness, exhaustion and absolute euphoria. If she held him now, he would curl up in her arms and sleep for a year.

  Carrie walked on, the gap between them no more than ten metres now. Her face was blank and he was waiting for something – a slap, a scream of anguish; something. Her eyes stared at him but still she said nothing.

  He was about to speak. Think of a line that doesn’t sound too corny, you dope.

  And then she broke the stare, turned and walked straight up the path to Sally’s house where she rang the doorbell. Ben didn’t move, confused. There was a weird silence before the door was pulled open and Sal
ly’s braying voice pulled her in.

  The door shut with a heavy thump, leaving Ben still standing under the light.

  Come on, then. Come and get me. Come on, you bastards. Here I am.

  He stood there and didn’t bother to move when a car drove past, but the driver was uninterested. He knew she must be making the call now that she was inside and safe. She hadn’t spoken because she knew of the betrayal that was to come. He was a fool and he deserved what was coming.

  But half an hour later, the road was still quiet and Ben was standing in the same spot, a suicidal sentry. Now different doubts drifted in on the breeze. Her refusal to speak … maybe it was to protect him? Maybe her actions were a carefully coded warning. A warning, and a sign that she did still love him and that he could trust her.

  Inside the house Ben could hear women laughing.

  Slowly, he walked away, casually running the stolen car keys along every car except for Carrie’s. He eventually dropped them down a drain and walked on. It would take him hours to get back to the others, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything at all.

  TWENTY

  Carrie stared out of the kitchen window, stirring a pot of bolognese sauce on the stove. She knew that no one could see her from here, but she still felt that she needed to maintain this performance. It was nearly time to pick up the kids from school and she’d need to look normal for the other parents. But now that she knew the cameras were trained on her, she found it harder and harder to maintain the artifice. A cold, shivery terror spread through her, and although days had passed since she had met David, the fear didn’t diminish. On the contrary, it grew, burning with an icy fire that made her stare at strangers with mistrust. It turned her bedtime stories with Emma into a husky whisper and would push her into a curled-up ball in the far corner of the kitchen, hidden away, desperate for a moment that she could call her own. She felt she was falling apart.