by Anita Waller
Dan brought a cup of tea through for her. ‘I’ve turned the music down.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I don’t mind Metallica. I don’t think this young man will still be awake in five minutes, though, so we’d have to have been a bit quieter then, anyway. You okay with the meal? Need me to help?’
He gave her the look that said keep away from my kitchen, and she laughed. ‘I used to cook, you know!’
Dan bent down to kiss the top of her head. ‘I know, but let’s say you’re better at legal issues, and leave it at that.’ And then he chuckled as something clearly drifted through his mind. ‘That’s Jake, isn’t it? A legal issue. The issue of a paralegal. Hey, that’s cool, Mum.’
He moved out of the reach of her hand, and left her to pick up the grumpy-sounding Jake. She took the sleepy baby upstairs and placed him in his cot.
‘Sleep tight, baby boy,’ she whispered, and pressed a finger kiss to his lips. ‘Love you.’
Quietly closing his door, she headed for her own bedroom, where she lay her head on the pillow for a couple of minutes. She was tired, she was worried, and everything was making her feel a little sick. She was baffled, as much as anything – didn’t know what to do, couldn’t understand this strange direction her life had taken; and it had all happened because she had gone back to work.
Her eyes started to close, and she forced them open. If she slept now, she would never sleep later. She needed to be alert for work, not staggering around like a zombie.
And the next day, if Rosie’s somewhat ambiguous email was to be believed, Liz would see Phil for the first time in eighteen months.
10
He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and sat hunched on the camp bed. So cold, so bloody damn cold. He could tell he was starting with a sore throat, and he prayed it wouldn’t develop into anything worse than an irritation.
He heard the rattle of the dumb waiter and waited. He moved as it stopped, always fearful that if he didn’t get the food quickly, it would disappear upwards. The carrier bag was bright orange, a Sainsbury bag. Over the months of his imprisonment he had saved the carrier bags, building them up to form insulation underneath his camp bed. The layer of plastic helped stop the cold from seeping up into the canvas from the damp floor beneath his feet.
As always, he waited for the rattle of the dumb waiter as it disappeared upwards, and then he opened the bag. Two sandwiches, two bags of crisps, two bottles of water, a pack of ginger biscuits and toilet rolls. He picked up the ginger biscuits and rolled them around in his hands.
This almost seemed surreal. There had been nothing like this for the entire period of his imprisonment. He hadn’t tasted hot food for months, had existed on sandwiches and water, and he knew his health was suffering. Ginger biscuits wouldn’t help with his health, but they would certainly help with his taste buds. He picked up the carrier bag and realised there was still an item inside it.
It was a small metal flask. He unscrewed the lid and saw coffee. He quickly poured some into the small metal cup and drank, burning his lips slightly but not caring.
Despite having sugar in it, it was delicious. He opened the packet of biscuits, took one out and tentatively dunked it in the hot liquid. It tasted like heaven. He took out a second biscuit and then sealed the packet tightly. He would ration them; he guessed he wouldn’t get this sort of food every day.
He finished the coffee quickly. His experience of metal flasks told him it wouldn’t stay hot for long, so he drank it and carried it across to the small sink to rinse it out. He placed it beside the hole where the dumb waiter had been, and hoped that by returning it, he would get a hot drink every other day. He would place it inside the box when he took his next food delivery out of it.
He settled back on to his camp bed and stared at the low wattage light bulb. He had no idea of the time, assumed that when the food arrived it was morning, but it could as easily have been the evening. The only exit from his prison was the stairway; if the light bulb stopped working, he would be in darkness. And still he didn’t know why he was here.
He felt comfortable with the hot drink inside him, so he pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Captor watched, and smiled. A small touch of a finger switched on the camera to time how long the prisoner was asleep, and Captor left the stone-built, neighbourless house.
11
Liz spent half an hour putting together a form that required two signatures, confirming that the cheque had been re-issued following cancellation of the first payment, due to non-presentation at the client’s bank. She made it sound as official as she could, hoping that Rosie wouldn’t realise that there was nothing legal or official about it.
She read it through for the third time, then fastened it into a clipboard, ready for the Latimer signatures. She needed to talk to Phil, and hoped that Rosie would offer to make a drink, and leave them together.
She had already checked the diary and seen that both partners were out for the afternoon; Tom attending court, and Oliver had simply put home visit.
She booked a taxi for four o’clock and returned to her work, satisfied that she could do no more.
In a couple of hours, she would see him.
---
Jim jumped out of the car and opened the rear door.
‘I’m going for a coffee down the road. When you’ve finished, give me a call. I’ll come and pick you up. And any trouble…’
‘There’ll be no trouble, Jim,’ she smiled.
‘You don’t like going here. I can tell.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. But I will ring. I’m going straight home after this.’
He watched her walk down the path, and didn’t move until he saw the door open.
His unease made him decide to drive to the end of the road, switch off his engine, and simply wait for her call. He liked Liz, and knew she had been uncomfortable at her last home visit to this house. He’d keep an eye on things while he was near enough to help, if she needed it.
* * *
Rosie didn’t look happy, and Liz felt her heart rate accelerate. What was wrong with the woman?
‘Hi, Rosie. Are you well?’
‘Yes, thank you, Liz. And you? Come through to the lounge.’
Liz followed Rosie’s slight figure, and glanced around the room. Phil wasn’t there. Liz didn’t know whether to feel elated or angry.
‘Coffee?’ Rosie asked.
‘That would be lovely. Is Phil not here?’
‘He’ll be here in a bit. He’s been delayed.’
Liz nodded, and sat in the armchair. ‘And Melissa? Is she well?’
‘She’s really good. Staying at my mum’s at the moment.’
Liz watched as Rosie left to make the drinks, and looked around the room. It seemed bare, devoid of the homely bits and bobs that had been there when she’d had to make home visits while pursuing their case in the courts.
Now there were no pictures on the walls, no photographs of the happy family, no ornaments, costly or otherwise.
Rosie returned carrying a tray loaded with mugs, biscuits and anything else they might need for a mini feast. She placed the tray on the coffee table and poured.
Liz thanked her, and picked up a biscuit. She held out the clipboard with the form on it. ‘I need your signature on here. Phil can sign when he comes home.’
Rosie nodded, and unclipped the attached pen. ‘Is it one signature?’
‘It is. It’s to prove to our auditors that we don’t issue two cheques to the same client without having a good reason.’
Rosie signed her name, then handed it back to Liz.
‘Thank you,’ Liz smiled. ‘I need Phil’s now, and I can get out of your life.’
‘That will be good.’ Rosie’s face looked like granite.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Maybe you should have thought about staying out of our lives some time ago.’
Liz went cold. She couldn’t speak
, didn’t know how to respond anyway.
‘I know,’ Rosie continued. ‘I know about you and Phil.’
‘There is no me and Phil,’ Liz managed to stammer.
‘There was.’
Again, silence from Liz.
‘He told me. He told me all about your affair, where you used to meet, how much he loved you, and then he told me about the brat. How could you, Liz? How could you?’
Liz gasped. ‘But he said…’
‘He said we were just friends, didn’t he? Maybe we were, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love him. It never occurred to him that my feelings were as strong as the day we married. I forgot how to show them.’
Liz was floundering, out of her depth. There was vitriol pouring out of Rosie. ‘Rosie…’
‘Just get out, Liz. Leave my home, get out of our lives.’
‘I need Phil’s signature.’ Liz was aware how stubborn she sounded.
‘You’re not going to get it here. Don’t you understand, Liz. He’s gone! I haven’t heard from him in months. He walked out one day and left. I have no idea where he is, and frankly, I don’t want to know, now.’
‘Did he leave a note?’
‘If he had, I wouldn’t let you see it. But, no, he didn’t. He took his wallet, his phone, and disappeared. So, your guess is as good as mine.’
Liz stood.
‘Then I’ll get off back to work, Rosie. I haven’t heard from him, so he’s not with me.’
‘Yes, Liz, you go back to your nice, cosy little family, and live your nice, cosy little life. Obviously, you still have your job…’
Liz nodded at the woman falling apart in front of her. ‘I went back after maternity leave. If there’s…’
‘Don’t say anything else. Just go.’
Liz picked up her bag and the clipboard and headed for the front door. Rosie didn’t follow her. Liz stepped out on to the path, and fished in her bag for her phone. Before she could ring, Jim was pulling up outside.
She climbed into the backseat without saying anything, fighting to hold back tears of frustration.
‘Okay?’ Jim asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just take me home, Jim, please.’
* * *
Neither of them heard the crash of breaking crockery as Rosie upended the tray containing the drinks. ‘Fuck you, Liz Chambers,’ she muttered, and walked from the room.
She picked up the telephone receiver and rang her mother. ‘I’d like Melissa home now, please.’
‘But she’s only been here an hour,’ Angela Harmer protested. ‘Can’t she stay a bit longer? We were going to watch a film…’
‘I would like her home, please. She’s my daughter, and I make the decisions in her life.’
‘Rosie, maybe next time you want to dump your daughter for reasons best known to yourself, maybe we’ll have our own decisions to make about whether we can help out, or not.’ Angela slammed down the phone, and Rosie burst into tears.
This simply couldn’t go on.
12
Sadie Fremantle watched from the bay window as Liz set off down the road, taking Jake home. She felt uneasy. There was clearly something wrong with Jake’s mummy, and she hoped it was nothing to do with her. Or Gareth.
Suddenly Liz stopped and turned around; she had felt eyes on her and she caught sight of Sadie in the window. Both women waved, and Liz continued her journey.
Jake crawled happily around, dragging his blankie behind him. The comfort blanket seemed to be an integral part of his make-up, and Liz watched in amusement as he struggled to extricate it from the legs of the coffee table.
‘Cup of tea, Mum?’ she heard Dan call, and responded with a no thank you. She felt she didn’t want anything – no drink, no food. She wanted to sleep, to escape from the thoughts running around her head.
She was struggling to accept the idea of Phil walking away from Rosie; the Phil she had fallen in love with wouldn’t have done that. Yes, he could conceivably have left Rosie, but certainly wouldn’t have done it by disappearing. He would have made provision for Melissa as a priority, and as Rosie didn’t seem to have any idea where he was, that provision didn’t appear to be in place.
So where was he, this man Liz loved? Even her thoughts came as something of a shock, because she knew that the eighteen months without him hadn’t dimmed her feelings.
What had Rosie said? ‘He took his wallet and his phone…’. She knew something was wrong. What if he’d simply fallen, and cracked his head? He could be lying in the woods somewhere, undiscovered… dead. She knew he enjoyed his daily walk through the woods before starting work every morning.
She caught the sob in the back of her throat. But somebody had his second mobile phone. She was getting messages, messages that she knew he hadn’t written.
And what about money? Her brain felt as though it was about to explode with all the crazy, inter-connected thoughts tearing through it. He would need money if he was still alive. Rosie had said he disappeared one day.
How could Liz find out if he had accessed his bank account? Ask Rosie? She could imagine what Rosie’s answer would be.
And why hadn’t Rosie reported him as a missing person? She hadn’t, because if she had she would have told the police about their affair, and the police would have been knocking on her door.
Liz saw car headlights swoop on to the drive, and stood. She had to put it to the back of her mind. Gareth was home, and he would soon pick up on any internal turmoil. She scooped up her son, and moved into the hall, where she smiled at her husband.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Good day?’
She nodded. ‘So so. You?’
‘Quiet. Glad to be home.’ He took Jake from her, and kissed him. ‘And how’s our youngest member?’
Jake smacked him in the mouth.
‘Oh. You’re okay, then,’ he laughed. He turned to his wife. ‘Any problems?’
‘None,’ she said, a shade too brightly, and walked into the kitchen, leaving Gareth to handle the wriggling little boy.
None at all.
* * *
Liz ate her meal in silence, aware of the general chatter between her husband and her son, but not joining them. She sensed Gareth casting looks in her direction, but said nothing. She would speak when she was ready; Gareth should know that. They had been together long enough for him to recognise when she needed her own space.
‘Thank you, Daniel,’ she said eventually, standing and pushing her chair away from the table. ‘That was lovely. I’m going to check on Jake, he was a little unsettled. Then I might have a long soak in the bath.’
‘You okay, sweetheart?’ Gareth looked at her with concern.
‘I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ll probably have an early night. Will you load the dishwasher, please?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, you go and relax.’
She left them knowing their eyes were following her. They knew something was wrong; they knew her.
Her brain was on fire. She was churning the facts around in her head that she had gleaned from everything Rosie had said, and to Liz’s horror, concluded that it was possible, even probable, that Phil was no longer alive.
Should she approach the police? If she did, it would blow everything wide open; she could say goodbye to Gareth, and even possibly Dan. And she couldn’t do anything to hurt Dan. He needed stability at this point in his life.
Rosie? Could she persuade Rosie to report Phil as a missing person? Again, that could open up the whole situation. And could she even believe Rosie? What if Rosie had killed him after Phil had come clean about their affair?
Liz laughed aloud. Her imagination really was taking her off into the realms of fantasy. Ordinary people didn’t do things like that.
She realised how very much on her own she was, and she tried to think logically. The only concrete thing connecting her to Phil was the love phone, and she knew it was somebody else using that. And if somebody else was using it, it meant Phil couldn’t. He would never have gi
ven up that phone voluntarily, any more than she would part with hers.
Some answers must lie with Rosie, but Liz hadn’t a clue how to get her to talk. And really, as far as Liz was concerned, the answer to one question could set her mind at rest. Had Philip Latimer accessed his bank account since the day he went missing?
13
The dumb waiter clanked, and Phil moved across to it, eager to see if he would get a hot drink. The flask was standing by the side of the carrier bag and he grabbed at it eagerly. As he turned to place them on his bed, he noticed a tall brown cardboard box at the back of the cupboard.
He reached in and pulled at it, then decided it was too awkward with one hand. He laid his meals on the bed, and returned to the dumb waiter. He heard the clink as it prepared to rise, and he tugged at the box with some speed.
He managed to get it out with seconds to spare, dropping it on to the floor as he did so. He picked it up and carried it across to the bed.
This was such a break in routine he felt quite sick at the thought of opening it. Nothing on the outside gave any clue as to the contents, and he carefully peeled back the Sellotape sealing the end.
He slid out a camping cooker. In the bottom of the box was a smaller box, holding two gas canisters and two boxes of matches.
He stared at it for some while, conflicting emotions raging through him. What the fuck was going on? Why was he being held prisoner? There had never been any communication, not a word spoken, an utterly silent world, for what must surely be months now. Whoever had taken him had played with his mind; exactly the same unpalatable food and drink, day after day after day, and then suddenly, when he had learned gratitude for being kept alive, Captor had changed things.
Captor was upping the odds; making life a little bit more comfortable. And forcing Phil into making a simple decision. Should he use the cooker to warm the room, in view of the absence of any cooking implements, or should he conserve the gas and hope for maybe a saucepan or a kettle to be sent down.