Captor

by Anita Waller

  She pulled a file towards her and bent her head. Work. That would take her mind off what was in front of her, and off the face she loved. The perfect face. It would have been so easy to send the cheque by recorded delivery.

  She lifted her head. In her heart she knew the cheque fiasco was something that Phil had thought about, because why on earth would he want a cheque when he could have received the money straight into his account by bank transfer? It didn’t make sense.

  And why did he have to respond to her text?

  She couldn’t wait to leave work, but first she had to risk ringing the Latimers, to inform them of her visit. She stood with the receiver pressed to her ear, listening to it ringing out in the hallway of their Ecclesall home. There was no answer, and the relief was palpable.

  Using Rosie Latimer’s email address, Liz notified her of the impending visit, and sent it, feeling a shudder coursing through her body.

  She desperately wanted to get home to Jake, to hold him, to cuddle him, to enjoy his smell, his warmth, his love. He looked like her; for that she was grateful.

  Gareth had never queried his early birth; three weeks early was nothing and they joked that it was a good job he had come early, with a birth weight of eight pounds.

  She waved to Karen, who was busy switching everything through to the automatic line, and almost ran up the hill to the tram stop. She took out her book and tried to read, but her thoughts were anywhere but in those pages.

  Texting Sadie as she got off the tram, by the time she had walked up the road to the childminder’s house, Jake had been strapped into his pushchair.

  Liz left quickly, after telling Sadie what was happening the following day, which would enable her to be home a bit earlier, and went through her own front door breathing a sigh of relief.

  Dan came out of the kitchen and kissed her. ‘You okay, Mum? You look a bit frazzled.’

  ‘It’s cold. I wanted to get home quickly. Something smells good.’

  ‘Meat and potato pie, as promised.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ she laughed. ‘I dare you to put a small plate of salad in front of your dad.’

  He returned the smile. ‘Great minds think alike. I’ve already prepared it.’

  She lifted Jake out of the pushchair. Dan bent to fold it and placed it in the hall cupboard.

  ‘You settling in at work?’

  ‘Sort of. I thought I would swan back in and it would be all hunky-dory, but it’s not like that. I’m working on Tom and Oliver’s cases instead of having cases of my own…’

  ‘Mum! You’ve been back two days! Give it time.’

  She nodded. ‘Oh, I know you’re right. It’s me. It’s more tiring than I expected it to be, for a start. I’ll be home earlier tomorrow, because I’m going to see an old client, so maybe I won’t feel so exhausted.’

  They heard the front door open, and Gareth’s shout of ‘yeah, meat and potato pie!’

  Dan and Liz looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  4

  Liz was grumpy when she arrived at work. Jake had woken twice during the night and she had dealt with him both times. She guessed he was finally feeling teeth breaking through, but Calpol wasn’t helping much. Neither was Gareth.

  She walked into her office, extracted herself from her thick coat and scarf, and put on a coffee to create something to warm her up. She heard the double buzz indicating Oliver wanted her, so she picked up her notepad, and went through to his room. He smiled when he saw her.

  ‘I thought I heard you pottering about. We really did mean a ten start, you know.’

  ‘I know. I catch the tram and that decides what time I get here. Did you want something?’ She waved her notepad at him.

  ‘Yes, to give you this.’ He handed her a file. ‘Read it, it’s concerning a nursing home that’s not doing what it’s supposed to be doing. I’d like you to handle it all the way through.’

  ‘Oliver, you’re a star. This is what I need. Don’t forget I’m not in for most of the afternoon. If you need anything doing, make it this morning, will you?’

  ‘I will. You’re going to sort out the Latimers, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know about sorting them out, but I’m taking them a replacement cheque. It’s up to them whether they cash it or not. Something about leading horses to water…’

  He nodded. ‘Strange situation, isn’t it? No bank transfer, not querying a missing cheque – and let’s face it, Liz, it isn’t peanuts. What are they like? You knew them better than anybody else.’

  He’s the man I came so close to spending the rest of my life with, he’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s unhappy at home. He’s Jake’s father. He’s the love of my life.

  ‘They’re pretty ordinary, really. The compensation, if you recall, was from the NHS for a botched operation on their daughter’s arm which left her with little use in her left hand. They seemed to me to be normal, although Rosemary Latimer was always a little bit over-protective of Melissa. I suspect that was because she believed she caused the accident that broke her daughter’s arm in the first place. It was a bad break, a really bad one – she fell off a slide. They had to operate to set it, and the operation wasn’t successful, nerves were trapped and it wasn’t spotted that her hand was becoming fixed. By the time the cast came off, she had lost all feeling in the hand, and couldn’t move it. It was a fair settlement, agreed by both the NHS and the Latimers, so they had no reason to refuse the cheque.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll throw some light on things this afternoon.’

  Maybe she will. He won’t be there.

  ‘Let’s hope so. In fact, let’s hope they’re there. I’ve emailed them to tell them I’m calling to bring a replacement cheque, but I’ve had no reply. There was no answer when I rang, either.’

  But there was when I texted. Okay. I love you.

  ‘If they’re not there, don’t mess about. Shove it through the letterbox, and go home. You’ve booked the taxi through FleetLine?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, and I’ve told them I’ll need the driver to wait until I’m ready to go.’

  She clutched the file containing her new case to her chest, and left Oliver’s office. His eyes stayed on her, unmoving, until she closed the door.

  The coffee was ready, and she stood it on the coaster, drawing the file towards her.

  At midday, Karen rang through to her to ask if she needed a sandwich bringing in, but she declined. Her stomach was churning far too much to accommodate food.

  Karen rang through again at 1.30pm to say the taxi had arrived, and Liz picked up her briefcase and her handbag before heading for reception.

  She wanted the journey to take forever, but it was remarkably free-flowing traffic, and Jim, her taxi driver over many years, pulled up outside the Latimer home with ten minutes to spare.

  She sat for a moment trying to find some courage, and only moved when Jim turned around and spoke her name.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, and flashed a sickly smile at him.

  ‘You okay? You need me to go with you?’

  ‘No, I'm fine, Jim. I needed two minutes to gather my thoughts. This shouldn't take long, and then you're taking me home.’

  She opened the rear door and stepped out. It was bitterly cold, and she shivered. She walked up the long path that showcased the front garden, and knocked on the door.

  It opened immediately, and the shock must have registered on her face. Rosie Latimer had aged. Her hair was grey, and her face had thinned and become lined. The biggest change was in her body. Her clothes hung on her. And yet, when she smiled, it was the old Rosie.

  ‘Liz! Come in. It's lovely to see you. Would you like a drink?’

  Liz smiled. ‘No, thank you, Rosie. I have a taxi waiting outside to take me back to work.’ She figured Rosie didn’t need to know she was going home; she might press her to have that drink. ‘I came to bring you this,’ and she handed over the envelope.

  ‘The cheque is inside it,’ Liz explained.

&nbs
p; ‘Okay, thank you.’ She offered no explanation for the previous cheque not having been paid in, and she stuffed the envelope into her skirt pocket.

  ‘Right… erm… I'll get off then. Good to see you again. Are Philip and Melissa well?’

  ‘They’re fine.’ Her tone was abrupt, and Liz stepped out of the front door. She walked down the path, and heard Rosie say softly, ‘So you've had the brat, then?’

  Liz felt sick, and almost fell into the car. ‘Let’s go, Jim. Straight home, please, not back to the office.’

  ‘You okay?’ He could see she wasn’t, and he spun round in his seat to look at her. ‘A problem?’ He had always felt quite protective of his pretty, blonde haired client, and didn’t like to feel somebody had caused her pain.

  ‘No, it's fine. I'm still at the same address, but can you drop me here, please?’ She handed him a piece of paper showing Sadie’s address. ‘I have to collect my baby before I can settle down at home.’

  Fifteen minutes later, she was pushing Jake and trying not to think about the strangeness of the words that had come out of Rosie Latimer’s mouth. Liz felt frozen through, and knew it wasn’t to do with the sub-zero temperatures the UK was experiencing.

  The house was cold, and she turned the heating up high; after putting Jake into his cot for a nap, she made herself a drink. Comfort drinking – there was something special about wrapping your hands round a mug of tea, and relaxing.

  So, you’ve had the brat, then. The words seemed to echo in her brain. What did Rosie know?

  Liz took out the small, non-descript phone, and toyed with it. Should she text him? Would it cause more problems than solve them? Indeed, dare she text him?

  Liz could feel a headache starting, and popped two painkillers before picking up the phone again. She typed a message but then deleted it. Indecision. Could she bear to speak to him? Would he want to speak to her? She thought back to that awful afternoon when she had told him of her pregnancy, and remembered his words. I’ll come and get you, no questions asked, and with the same amount of love in my heart.

  In the end, it became simple. No words of love, no ‘can we talk’ request, just a tight little message; Does Rosie know?

  She finished her cup of tea, and went to gather up the laundry. With the washing machine drumming quietly, silence from Jake’s bedroom, and time to herself before Dan arrived home from school, she moved into the lounge and took the love phone with her – Phil’s name for the phones only they used. And it had been about love; even now, after all this time, she missed his touch, his presence, his mind so in tune with hers. There was still no reply, and she sighed. It could never be over; what she would give to feel his arms wrapped around her one more time.

  Surely, they had been careful enough… Phil had never expressed any concerns that Rosie suspected he was seeing someone else. And if Rosie hadn’t used the word brat, if she had said so you’ve had your baby then, Liz wouldn’t have given any further thought to it. There had been venom in the way the word brat had been delivered.

  Liz hadn’t received a reply by the time Dan came in from school. He popped his head round the lounge door.

  ‘Nice and warm in here,’ he said, blowing her a kiss.

  She smiled. ‘It wasn’t when I arrived home. We having something warming tonight?’

  ‘Certainly are. Bangers and mash with mashed carrot and swede. That sound okay?’

  ‘Sounds delicious. Your dad will be pleased.’

  Dan laughed. ‘He’s pleased with anything that doesn’t contain lettuce.’

  He blew Liz a kiss and disappeared into the kitchen. She picked up the love phone one more time, saw that she had had no response, and silenced it before zipping it back into the pocket in her handbag.

  A wave of disappointment washed over her, and she knew it would never be over between her and Phil, never.

  5

  The reply came at 3am.

  Yes. I love you.

  6

  Jake slept well. He went all through the night, finally waking Liz at just after seven. Gareth stirred as he felt her get out of bed.

  ‘Should I get up?’ he mumbled, pulling the duvet so that it enclosed his shoulders.

  ‘Might be a clever idea,’ she responded. ‘It’s gone seven.’

  He sat up with panic etched on his face. ‘I didn’t set my alarm, did I? I relied on that nocturnal kid waking at his usual six!’

  ‘Nope, no alarm. You want the shower first, I take it?’

  He moved at speed. ‘Thanks.’

  She heard the water within seconds of him leaving the bedroom.

  It was only when both Gareth and Dan had left that Liz took out the phone. She saw the message and felt the blood drain from her face. She had to speak to Phil, she had to know how much Rosie knew, or how much she was guessing.

  She pressed speed dial 1 and waited for him to answer. It went straight to voicemail, so she disconnected. He must have switched it off, because she knew he would never ring anyone but her on it. She sent off a small text, and put the phone on the coffee table, taking it off silent.

  Ring me if before 3.30 pm.

  She hoped he would. She felt a shiver of anticipation as she thought about talking to him again. He had a rich, deep, timbre to his voice, that sounded especially good over the airwaves, and she knew if she did speak to him again, she could easily be lost.

  She switched on her laptop and sent emails to both Tom and Oliver, informing them that she was working from home, if they had anything for her that she could deal with. A reply came back with some speed from Tom, reminding her that she was on her day off, and while they were struggling in a coffee-free environment, they would not be contacting her unless her office blew up. Or they needed her.

  She smiled. She gave them an hour, and knew something would wend its way through the ether towards her.

  She worked on some documentation in the care home case, and after picking up the phone for the fourth time, decided that maybe it wasn’t good to work on such a complex issue when her mind wasn’t on it. She followed Jake’s progress around the furniture as he clung on for dear life, and knew he wasn’t so far off being a walking toddler. He was such a cutie, but he truly was beginning to look more like Phil every day. Heartbreakingly, guiltily so.

  It wasn’t an issue – Gareth would never have considered for one moment that the baby, the unplanned baby, wasn’t his. She felt a gentle twang of the heartstrings every time she held her son. More than a gentle twang, a whole symphony of twangs.

  ‘Shall we go shopping?’ she said to the little one. He held up his arms at the sound of her voice, and sat on his bottom with a thud. She laughed at the shocked expression on his face, and scooped him up.

  ‘Come on, cosy toes and hands today, you’ll have to cope with a red nose.’ She dressed him warmly, loaded him into the pushchair, and put the small phone in her pocket. Her iPhone went in her bag.

  It was bitterly cold, and she walked briskly, pulling her scarf up over her nose. It hurt to breathe in the frigid air. The whole country had been in the grip of an icy spell for several days, with no end in sight. As she walked, her mind played around with summer holiday spots. It didn’t really warm her, but the thoughts were productive.

  * * *

  An hour’s walking saw them arrive at the shopping mall, and she went to the stationer’s shop. She loaded the pushchair with paper, printer inks and biros – a five-minute search for a pen that morning had caused her to check what supplies were running low.

  She directed her steps towards a coffee shop: kindle time, and peace, combined with a coffee. Jake woke while she was enjoying the break.

  She handed him his sippy cup, and he smiled, toothlessly. They shared the rest of her cookie, and as she was about to stand to leave, the phone rang.

  For a second, she froze. It had been so long since she had heard that ring tone proclaiming Chris Montez’ undying devotion in The More I See You, that she felt tears sting her eyes.

  She
pulled it from her pocket and pressed the answer button. Silence.

  ‘Hello? Phil? Is that you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Phil? I can’t hear you.’

  Silence, the silence where you know someone is there, but they’re not going to speak.

  And then nothing, as the caller disconnected.

  No words spoken, no sounds made.

  She shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. The phone went back into her pocket, with a hope that he was in a bad signal reception area, and he would call later.

  She pushed the heavily loaded pushchair on to the tram, and sat in the small designated seat by the pushchair section, playing with Jake and listening out for the ringtone. It didn’t ring, and she walked the short distance from the tram stop with a heavy heart.

  * * *

  It was toasty warm inside the house, and she quickly stripped Jake of all the outer garments she had used that had turned him into a stiff little doll-like figure. He seemed relieved to be a normal child once again, and he crawled rapidly around the lounge in ever decreasing circles.

  Liz tipped the small toy box of cars, trucks, dinosaurs, farm animals and assorted Peppa Pig vehicles, switched on Netflix to provide him with back-to-back Peppa Pig, and moved to the small office area they had set up, in order to be ready for her part time return to a job that really demanded full time attention.

  With Jake holding a mini Peppa in one hand and a dinosaur in the other, Liz watched for a moment as his eyes followed the fat pigs on the television screen.

  She opened her laptop, and logged in, then placed the small Nokia to one side. He had to ring. He had to ring.

  She checked her emails, dealt with two that were easy answers, forwarded a file to Tom, the Tom who had said it’s your day off, and answered a personal one to Nora, a long-time friend from university days.