Don't Say a Word

by A. L. Bird

  At least, I think that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t tell Tim. He’s forbidden me from talking to Rhea, won’t give me enough responsibility. So I’m going to need to sneak around behind his back. I’m going to have to make the call from home. Or Dan’s home. When Dan’s not about. And find out how she even knows Mick. He was probably fucking her while Chloe wouldn’t play, while I was pregnant and heavy. But that doesn’t mean he gets to fuck Rhea over now.

  I call Dan.

  ‘Am I on speaker?’ he asks me.

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Good, because I want to tell you you’re unbelievably sexy.’

  ‘I think I should put you on speaker. More people need to know that.’

  ‘If they’ve eyes in their heads, they will. Is it time to collect the boy?’

  ‘’Fraid so. Is that all right? You’re not too busy?’

  ‘I am, but you guys are more important. I’ll work later, while you’re getting Josh to bed. Then I’ll get you to bed.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I tell him.

  We ring off. Good. So. Dan is going to have to work for a little bit. That might give me window enough to make a call. Except, shit, will anyone be there to take my call, to summon Rhea to the phone? Does it even work like that? Are the lines recorded? Fuck it. Maybe if I can at least make contact, we can set something up? I don’t know. But I’ve got to do something. I jot down the details I can from the file – prison name, her prisoner number.

  ‘Have a nice evening!’ Tim shouts at me, winking, as he sees me go.

  ‘You bet,’ I say, winking back. Sex. That’s my alibi. If it turns out I need one.

  ***

  When Josh sees the two of us picking him up together, the grin he was wearing at breakfast flashes up on his face. But when I ask him how Henry the Eighth day went, his smile fades.

  ‘My wife was off sick,’ he mopes.

  ‘Which one?’ Dan asks (it’s a fair question).

  ‘Anne Boleyn, obviously.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t want to be beheaded,’ I suggest.

  ‘I wasn’t actually going to behead her,’ he tells me. Reassuring news. ‘But I had a speech planned and everything. And then Chris said I couldn’t marry Jane and Mrs Andrews got everyone to vote and they said I couldn’t either so I didn’t get to marry anyone else at all.’

  I struggle to find the appropriate words of sympathy. My brain is on Rhea, with her real-world problems.

  ‘Sometimes life works out like that,’ I manage.

  ‘But I’d prepared a speech!’ he protests.

  ‘I know, sweetie. I know.’

  Maybe it’s not the real world but it’s real enough to him.

  I give him a hug and wheedle him into Dan’s car. Stupid teachers. Since when did a retrospective vote by a school kid get to change the course of history? Or mess up my son’s day.

  ‘Nothing else unusual?’ I ask him. By which I mean, ‘no one turned up and tried to kidnap you?’

  Josh shakes his head and looks out of the window of the car. Dan tries to hum the Star Wars tune but Josh tuts (it doesn’t work every time, mate, honestly), so Dan stops. We reserve a respectful silence all the way to Dan’s. When we get back, Josh just wants to curl up with a book.

  ‘If no one wants to play, shall I clear up my work before supper?’ Dan asks.

  I nod. ‘Good idea.’

  As soon as he’s gone, I whip my mobile out of my bag. ‘Josh, I’m just going to make a call, OK? I’ll do it in my room so I don’t disturb you.’

  ‘I don’t mind, you can make it here.’

  But I’m halfway out the door already.

  In my room, I shut the door behind me. I google the prison’s details on my phone, then spread out the paperwork that I have on the bedspread.

  Do I really have to do this?

  But already my finger has pressed the number to call.

  It’s ringing.

  And then it’s answered.

  And it’s my turn to speak.

  ‘Hi, I’m calling to speak to one of your inmates. Rhea Stevens? It’s her legal counsel.’

  ‘You’ll need to come in and see her. You know that. Phone back tomorrow and make an appointment.’

  ‘No, wait – it’s urgent. Can you arrange something, get her to call me on the communal phone or something?’

  There’s a tutting. ‘What did you say the prisoner’s name was?’

  ‘Rhea Stevens,’ I say. Shit, this might actually work.

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Prison number.’

  I read out the number I have written down.

  Another pause.

  ‘Nope,’ says the prison official.

  ‘What do you mean, “nope”?’

  ‘No one of that name or number here.’

  What? ‘Have you moved any inmates recently?’

  ‘She’s not coming up as ever having been here. Sorry.’

  And the line goes dead.

  I stare at my phone in disbelief. What the …? I’m sure I didn’t write the prison number down wrong. And even if I had, I gave her name. Really weird. I phoned the right prison, didn’t I? I look at my phone again. Yes, I did.

  I leave the bedroom and go and see Dan in the study/Josh’s room.

  ‘Dan, have you got Rhea Stevens’s prison number to hand?’

  ‘Yep, here we go – why?’

  ‘I just phoned and they said she wasn’t there!’

  As soon as the words are out of my lips, I regret them. Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I was so caught up in my puzzlement.

  Dan looks up. ‘You did what?’ He seems shocked.

  ‘Just an admin thing. I needed to speak to the prison.’

  ‘What admin thing? Jen, what’s going on?’

  ‘It was just about, erm, I wanted to make sure her little girl’s letters were getting through.’

  Dan gives me a long hard look.

  I avert my gaze. I don’t want to be lying so early in a relationship. Well, not about this too.

  ‘Jen,’ Dan says softly. ‘Come on, this is my work. What’s happening?’

  ‘Oh, look, Dan,’ I say, pretending to be discovered. ‘I just don’t know if Tim is getting the best out of her. I thought maybe if I could talk to her …’

  Dan shakes his head. His jaw is jumping. ‘You shouldn’t have done that Jen. There’s a way of handling this kind of thing, procedures, protocols. And I’m assuming you didn’t tell Tim your master plan?’

  I shake my head. ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  Dan comes over and kisses me on the top of my head, holding me tight. ‘I know you were trying to do the right thing but just … not like that, hey? I won’t tell Tim if you promise to let the real lawyers deal with it, OK?’

  Fuck off, the real lawyers?

  I push him away.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says. ‘That sounded patronizing.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  I stand there, arms folded, tapping a foot – back in surly teendom again, all those little rooms where I didn’t belong.

  Dan flaps his hands out. ‘I just meant, let Tim take care of it. He’s precious about this one. OK? Think about your job. Don’t mess it up.’

  I shrug. ‘Weird though, about the prison saying she wasn’t there. Have you got the prisoner number?’

  He rifles through some papers. ‘Yep, here you go.’

  He passes it over. I check against what I wrote down. Identical.

  ‘That’s really weird.’

  His brow crinkles. ‘A bit odd. But you probably just got a moron on duty,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  ‘Christ, you must sleep like a baby! Our client isn’t in the prison and you tell me not to worry about it?’

  ‘I’ll ask Tim to check up on it tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘You can’t tell him I phoned!’

  ‘I
won’t. I can be subtle. Speaking of which, come here, sexpot!’

  I allow him to pull me to him. He puts his lips on mine. My starved libido stirs and I wonder if we can escalate it when we’re near Josh’s sleeping quarters and he’s awake next door.

  But that question is answered by a knocking at the front door of the flat.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ shouts Josh.

  I want to tell him to stop but my reactions are too slow. By the time I’m out of his room, Josh is at an empty front doorway, picking up a parcel.

  ‘Who was it?’ I ask.

  ‘Delivery guy,’ Josh says. ‘Didn’t stick around for a signature though.’

  I start to get a vaguely chilly feeling. ‘Did you see who it was?’

  Josh shakes his head. He’s pulling something out of a parcel.

  More Lego. Like the Lego he got before. At our flat.

  ‘Oh rubbish,’ he says.

  ‘What do you mean, rubbish?’

  ‘Well, someone’s already assembled it for me. Look, it’s a bike and campervan set, and a boy. Except they haven’t assembled him very well. Look – his head’s come clean off!’

  Very quietly, I tell Josh to come away from the door. And that he is on no account to answer it again.

  Because if someone knows where we are, that is bad enough. But if someone is sending my son toys with decapitated small boys, that is worse.

  Chapter 31

  The next day, I phone in sick. And I phone in sick for Josh too. If Dan thought he was getting sex last night, he had another thing (not him) coming. I moved Josh into the double bed with me. Our own cosy little prison cell. After a sleepless night, we migrate into the living room.

  ‘What’s going on, Mum? Are we going to have to move again?’ Josh asks me, as I peer nervously out of the windows, still in my pyjamas.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I tell him. I move away from the window, and dial my witness protection officer. I get voicemail. Fuck it – how can they have other priorities? They’re dealing with a mother and child here. And what about that Patricia woman? How has she lost interest so quickly in taking Josh away? Do they not give a shit about us any more?

  ‘Did you tell anyone we’d moved here?’ I ask Josh.

  He shakes his head. ‘No, you said not to.’

  ‘That’s right, I did.’

  So who’ve I told? Witness protection, Dan (obviously), and Tim.

  Who have they told? How many smug texts has Dan exchanged? How much gossip has Tim passed round the office?

  ‘Mum, I’m bored.’

  Oh, God, Josh would pick this moment to have existential ennui.

  But then, he’s presumably not kept entertained by mental vipers, like I am – hissing and spitting poison about what might happen next.

  ‘OK, let’s have some fun them shall we? How about we watch a movie? Any movie of your choice?’ Please, not Star Wars again.

  So we find Batman v Superman on one of Dan’s subscription channels.

  ‘Can I stay in my pyjamas?’ Josh asks.

  ‘Of course you can. In fact, let’s get the duvet from your bed, and some ice cream from the freezer, and make it a Batcave pyjama party!’ Because I can be fun and anxious at the same time, right?

  Josh jumps up and gets the ingredients for our party, then we settle back down on the sofa.

  Or rather, he settles. My brain is off again. And the film doesn’t help. I wish we could have opted for a cheesy romantic comedy, not bad guys jumping out from behind good guys, and good guys becoming bad guys. Oh, is that a kidnap being signposted? Excellent.

  I distance my brain from the film and go to my happy place. Or rather my unhappy confused place. Who sent the stuff to Josh? The same person who sent him the spaceship before? It must be. And why don’t they just take him if they’re going to take him – why play these fucking mind games? It’s got to be Mick behind this somewhere. But he’s in prison. And Rhea isn’t! Or at least not the right prison.

  Fuck it. I need to figure that out. She hasn’t gone away, or not gone away, just because we’re hibernating in here. I need to figure it out, find a way of getting through to her. Dan said he’d check, but what is there to check? Tim hasn’t mentioned anything about her moving. The CPS would know, I bet. Or maybe there’s something on file. If only I could be in the office. But I couldn’t leave Josh today. Not after last night.

  Maybe I can log in remotely? Yes, that’s it, that’s what I’ll do. The whole file should be kept electronically as well as in hard copy. If Dan’s left his laptop here then …

  ‘Sweetie, I’m just going to get something, OK. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Shall I pause it?’ he asks dutifully.

  ‘No, don’t worry. Carry on.’

  He does, but as I slip out of the bedcover into the cold I know there’s been a shift. This is meant to be a mother and son day. I’ve broken the cocoon. I hope you’re grateful, Rhea.

  Yes, there’s Dan’s laptop. I scoop it up and take it back to the sofa.

  ‘Mum, don’t do that now; we’re watching a film,’ Josh whines.

  ‘I’ve got to, sweetie. It’s for work.’

  Josh does a big sigh and stares at the screen, a sulky expression on his face. You should think yourself lucky, kiddo, I want to tell him. I never had anything close to this when I was your age. But of course, that wouldn’t be nice parenting, so I ruffle his hair instead. He jerks away.

  ‘I’m watching the film, Mum.’

  Sure. Right, Rhea – let’s hope you and your little girl are worth spoiling this time with my not so little boy.

  I fire up the laptop then I log in to the firm’s secure system.

  What have we got?

  I type in the file reference code. Nothing. Rhea Stevens. Nothing. Damn, Tim will have hidden it from view if it’s that confidential. I click into my emails to see if I can find one on the case – maybe if it’s been linked to the file code I’ll be able to find the electronic file that way. Did Tim copy me in to the email to Dan about the charge sheet? No. So I have nothing by email on this. Strange way to work.

  Hang on. Dan’s laptop, so Dan’s emails?

  But that would be a real breach of trust, wouldn’t it?

  I’m only going to look at work emails though. Not personal ones.

  I log out of my work account, and click on the Mail function. Sorry, Dan, but needs must.

  It’s all spam, marketing links, catalogue stuff. A few emails about beers with friends. Nothing work-related. Of course, he must have a separate account for his chambers stuff. No idea how to get into that. Crap.

  I’m going to have to go into the office if I want to somehow get a link to Rhea. There must be something on the physical file I can use – or Tim’s computer. If I feel like getting fired. Pretty sure it’s a breach of our IT policy to hack into partners’ computers.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. Oh good, witness protection maybe finally?

  But no, it’s a text, from an unknown number saying:

  ‘Hope you and J liked the present. See you in person soon. X’

  ‘Fuck!’ I shout out loud.

  ‘What’s up?’ Josh turns his head away from the film.

  I hold my phone out to him. It shakes in my hand.

  ‘Do you recognize that number Josh?’ I ask him.

  He shakes his head. ‘No. Why don’t you text them back?’

  It’s a perfectly sensible suggestion from an innocent childhood brain free from conspiracy theories and death threats. Text back the person who texts you. Simple.

  But what if that person is someone who wants to kidnap your child? Someone who’s found out your past? Someone who wants to take away your future?

  What do you put in a text to that person?

  ‘Here, let me,’ Josh says, and he takes the phone from me. He taps something quickly then passes it back. ‘There. Done.’

  ‘What? You’ve sent something?’


  He nods.

  ‘What the hell, Josh? What did you say?’

  I look at the sent text: ‘Thanks. Who are you?’

  It’s almost funny. And brilliant. If the mystery text was from someone who thought they were spooking me out, that text will show I’m undeterred.

  ‘You are definitely my text adviser in the future, Joshy-boy!’ I say, nudging him affectionately.

  ‘Only if I get extra pocket money,’ he says.

  ‘You can have 50p a text.’

  I was going to say a pound but we’re not rolling in money.

  The phone vibrates again. Josh makes to take it from me.

  But this time it’s not a text. It’s a call. From the same unknown number as the message.

  Chapter 32

  Hands shaking, I answer the call.

  ‘Hello?’ I say.

  ‘Hi,’ says the voice back.

  A woman.

  That doesn’t relax me.

  ‘Who is this?’ I ask.

  ‘Louise, of course. Your child minder?’

  The child minder.

  Of course, the child minder.

  The child minder who gives Josh Lego presents.

  Shit. I didn’t phone her to change the childcare arrangements. I meant to, but with everything else, I clean forgot.

  ‘How did you know we’d moved?’ I ask her, mentally adding, ‘And where we’d moved to?’

  ‘Tim told me,’ she said. ‘I went to pick Josh up yesterday, like we’d arranged, and they said you’d already picked him up. So I went over to your old place, and there was no one there, so I asked Tim.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you just phone me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to intrude,’ she says. ‘New relationship and all that. Plus on Friday you seemed a bit … unsettled.’

  ‘So you sent Josh a present?’

  ‘I’d bought it to give to him. No point hanging on to it.’

  ‘Right.’

  I can’t think what else to say. Is this the activity of a good, Mary Poppins style child minder? And am I just an ungrateful bitch? I haven’t got a benchmark for normality.

  Louise talks again. ‘It’s just, I turned down a couple of other child-minding jobs for you guys. I’d like to know where I stand.’