by Toby Faber
In the end, Laurie found the ride invigorating. The streets had their summer-holiday emptiness and there was enough of a breeze to temper the sun. She arrived back at the flat with a sense of freshness, of new possibilities, for all the way her dress stuck to her back. London didn’t have to be a place of violence, did it?
The atmosphere behind the front door was stuffy: hot, still and humid, as if Jess had left the central heating on. Laurie walked through the hall to the sitting room, intending to check the thermostat and let in some air. Then she became conscious of something else: an acrid, almost tomcatty smell. She checked the bathroom. No, Jess hadn’t failed to flush. Perhaps it was coming from the kitchen.
Going through the sitting room to get there, Laurie realised that it was exactly as she had left it that morning. There was no sign Jess had been in the kitchen either: no plates waiting to be washed up, the milk in the fridge still unopened. The smell had to be coming from somewhere else.
Laurie came to Jess’s door. Could she hear any sound from within? Might Nigel still be in there with her? She knocked, hesitantly at first, and then with more purpose. Was that humming she heard? Moaning? Surely the two of them couldn’t have spent the whole day in there? Laurie knocked again.
‘Hmm hmm.’ There was a strange insistency to the double grunt, but it didn’t have the rhythm of ecstasy. ‘HMM HMM,’ it came again. Laurie reached a decision. If all was well, so to speak, she could simply close the door again and hope they hadn’t noticed her. What was the worst that could happen? She opened the door gently and prepared to look inside.
Even before she saw anything, Laurie knew she’d done the right thing. The smell of urine that attacked her as she opened the door was enough to make her gag. And the heat! Prickles of sweat started up on her forehead and between her shoulder blades. She wanted to hold her breath, to get out and shut the door – anything to escape. As it was, she couldn’t help making for the window as her first action, throwing it open to let in some cool, fresh air.
The curtains, however, Laurie left drawn. Jess’s window was overlooked by others across the street. She didn’t want there to be any chance others might see through to Jess’s bed, to the sight that had met her eyes on entry, which she could even now barely acknowledge.
Jess lay on the bed. Apart from her pants she was, essentially, naked. Her dress had been torn down the middle and was now rucked under her, held in place only at the shoulders, where it tangled with her bra, which had been cut open at the front. Her head was not visible; an Emma Hope shoe bag enveloped it, tied loosely under the chin. Jess’s arms were extended beyond her head, as if Laurie had caught her mid-stretch. Except that these arms were going nowhere. Something was looped through the headboard, tying Jess’s hands together, keeping her whole body in place.
‘HMMM, HMMMM!’ Jess was still saying.
‘It’s me,’ Laurie replied. She approached the bed. Now she could see the full horror. Jess had been locked to the bed with a pair of handcuffs. All the way up to the base of her thumbs, her lower arms were raw and bloody. The hands themselves looked puffy and lifeless. The smell of dried urine was almost overpowering.
Laurie steeled herself. Now was no time to retch. Jess needed help. She should be talking to her, reassuring her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Laurie said, ‘I’ll just get this bag off your head.’ The drawstring had been tied off in an incongruous bow. Despite her trembling hands, Laurie had no problem in loosening the knot and slipping the makeshift hood up over Jess’s head.
Now she could see the reason for the strange sounds Jess was making. A wide piece of plastic tape was wrapped around her chin from ear to ear, covering her mouth. It turned her into some strange object, deprived of voice and expression. Without the use of her hands Jess had no chance of removing it. Laurie reached for the tape, ready to peel it off as gently as possible, to restore her cousin to humanity, but with a jerk of the head Jess made it clear this was not what she wanted. Her eyes, bloodshot and watery within an otherwise papery, dehydrated face, shot to the side and then came back to stare at Laurie, willing her to understand her meaning
‘Huh, hmm, hmm huhhh.’ Once again Jess’s eyes shot to the side. Laurie attempted to follow her gaze. What was she trying to say?
‘The bedside drawer? You want me to look in the bedside drawer?
Jess nodded as vigorously as her contorted position would allow, then slumped into inactivity, exhausted by the effort to make herself understood.
The dildo was hardly a surprise. Laurie knew Jess well enough for that, but that certainly wasn’t what she wanted. What else was in there? Two boxes of condoms, one still in its plastic cellophane wrapper, a packet of disposable sterilising wipes, a tube of KY jelly. Perhaps Jess thought that would make her wrists slippery enough to remove the handcuffs? Laurie picked it up, doubtfully, revealing one other item – a small silver key, the kind that might, in fact, fit a pair of handcuffs.
If Jess knew the key was there, then presumably the handcuffs were hers. Until that moment, Laurie had been assuming that her next act would be to phone the police, or perhaps an ambulance. Now she saw that things were slightly more complicated than that. Still, questions could wait. She fitted the key in the handcuffs and released first Jess’s right hand, and then her left. Both arms remained in place, as if their owner did not yet believe they were free. As gently as she could, Laurie cradled each and returned it to a more natural position by Jess’s side. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘how about that tape?’
Again Jess shook her head, but not with the urgency that saw off Laurie’s previous attempt. Her eyes remained shut; tears crept out from beneath their lids. She lay there for a moment, her feelings unfathomable, then, with slow deliberation, rolled onto her side. Laurie had some idea of the relief this brought when she saw Jess’s back. Were those pressure sores? And was that general redness a nappy rash? The renewed smell of urine that rose up from the mattress certainly seemed to suggest it.
Jess lay there, hunched in a foetal position, her hands by her mouth, picking away at the tape. Laurie moved to help, but once again she was shrugged away. For whatever reason, this was something Jess had to do for herself. Finally, however, she got a corner of her mouth free. Laurie could hear the air whistling in and out as her cousin gathered her strength. Finally, a painful whisper emerged. ‘I think I’m going to need your help getting to the bathroom.’
By half past seven, Jess was tucked up in Laurie’s bed; there was no other place for her. The mattress in her own room would clearly have to be thrown away, and she had firmly rejected Laurie’s alternative suggestion of a visit to hospital. Her first act on getting into the bath run by Laurie had been to roll over and hold her face underwater, loosening the glue on the tape over her mouth so that it eventually peeled off relatively easily. The skin beneath was white – almost translucent – and her lips so chapped and flaking that Laurie immediately understood why she had been so anxious to remove the tape carefully.
Since then, Jess had drunk five glasses of water, sip by careful sip, and had eaten the best part of a banana with painful slowness, but had uttered hardly a word other than the occasional command. Laurie had performed the role of nurse to the best of her ability – removing the ragged dress, carefully soaping Jess’s aching arms, helping her into and out of the bath and dressing her in the old pyjamas she found at the bottom of her chest of drawers. For most of the time, however, Laurie simply held her hand, or – more accurately – allowed her own hand to be held. Apart from her brief absences in the kitchen, the only time Jess let her out of her sight was when – after the third glass of water – Laurie had helped her out of the bath to sit on the loo. She had crawled out of the bathroom some minutes later, shutting the door behind her with an emphasis that both belied her general feebleness and made it clear Laurie was not to go back in. Now she snoozed, still gripping Laurie’s hand.
Laurie sat there, uncertain what to do next. Every time she thought of moving her hand, Jess’s g
rasp tightened. The only way to get comfortable was to lie down beside her. Instinctively protective, Laurie used her free arm to hug Jess. Only then was her hand relinquished, as one comfort was exchanged for another. So, finally, they fell asleep in each others’ arms.
Monday, 3 August – 10.30 p.m.
Laurie woke up to realise first that she was alone in the bed, and second that it was dark. Surely she should be the one who was up and about, while Jess slept? That must be her moving about in the kitchen. Laurie swung her feet onto the floor, and went to investigate.
Jess was sitting at the table, eating ice cream straight from the tub. Her wrists bore bruises that would take days to fade but had lost the puffiness Laurie had found so shocking earlier, and her voice, when she spoke, was close to normal. ‘I suddenly thought what the fuck am I doing in bed? I’ve just spent the best part of two days there, for God’s sake. That’s the last place I want to be.’
‘Two days?’ Laurie didn’t even try to keep the shock from her voice. ‘But I’ve been here.’
Now it was Jess’s turn to look surprised. ‘I’ve been on that bed since lunchtime on Saturday. This morning was the first time I could hear you in the flat. I thought you must have been at your dad’s.’
‘I got stuck at work.’ Laurie paused before continuing. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not much to tell, or not much that I care to remember. I came in about one. Nigel’s gone back to Australia, so I’d been saying goodbye. There was a man in your bedroom. I assumed he was with you, though I can’t say I thought much of your taste. He reminded me of one of those Mitchell brothers off EastEnders. Anyway, I stepped into your doorway. I was about to speak when I was banged over the top of the head. Woke up like you found me.’ She shuddered – an involuntary shiver that for a moment revealed the terror within – and then fell silent.
Laurie reached across for her cousin’s hand. ‘Jess—’ she began, but what to say next?
Shooting Laurie a look, Jess went on, ‘They ripped my dress; one of them … felt me …’
Laurie’s mind raced in the pause that followed. Should she be doing more to comfort her? Encouraging her to speak? Let the trauma out? But it was Jess who eventually filled the silence. ‘They stayed for quite a while longer. I could hear them moving around the flat. I kept thinking they were going to come back … It’s as if they just wanted to see me like that … for me to realise how vulnerable I was. Then they left. I thought it’s OK. You’d be home soon. Then it got uncomfortable. It was a relief when I fell asleep.’
If that was as much as Jess wanted to tell, Laurie was not going to press her. She gave the hand she was already holding a squeeze. ‘What can I do now? Are you sure you won’t go to hospital? I could call a taxi. Have you called the police?’
Jess removed her hand, in a way that spoke of determination, to signal that she was no invalid, rather than a desire to put distance between them. ‘I’m not going to hospital. That’s for ill people and I’m not ill. And if I did they’d want to know what happened. I don’t particularly feel like talking about it at the moment, so I don’t want to get the police involved either. It’s not as though I’ve got any insurance for whatever they’ve taken.’
Jess paused, and Laurie waited. Was she supposed to argue with her now? To try to persuade her to do the right thing? What was the right thing? Surely Jess would know? She’d lived in London for years. Now was clearly not the time to ask her about those handcuffs.
‘Well, OK, if you’re sure.’ Laurie looked at Jess to check but could detect no hint of uncertainty. ‘Are you missing much?’
‘I haven’t looked yet, but we should probably both do that, and we’d better track down a locksmith sooner rather than later. I don’t want them coming back.’ Jess’s voice cracked a bit as she spoke. Once again Laurie wondered if she should be arguing with her, and once again she decided to let it rest.
Now that she was alert to the possibility, Laurie could see that someone had gone through her drawers. The idea of an alien hand in there, rooting through her clothes, was more upsetting than she had anticipated, but she only seemed to be missing her laptop. No real surprise there; it was the only thing she possessed with any kind of resale value – not that they’d get much for it. At least all her photos and stuff were stored in the cloud.
Jess was still moving slowly and took longer to search. She had lost more: not just her laptop but also her iPad and phone. Overall she seemed more relieved than anything, when a moment’s panicked search showed they hadn’t found her nice jewellery. ‘I knew I was right to keep it all jumbled up together!’
Despite everything, Laurie had to smile at a glimpse of the Jess she knew.
Without a computer, they were reduced to calling 118118 for a twenty-four-hour locksmith. He arrived within thirty minutes, and was finished half an hour later, even allowing for the long visit to the bathroom that Jess later swore was a staple of every workman’s visit: ‘It’s like dogs marking their territory.’ Along the way he’d given Jess a lecture about the uselessness of the lock he was replacing: ‘You might as well hang out a welcome sign to villains.’ And she had reluctantly agreed to an upgrade.
Changing the mattress, however, was beyond the power of money to solve at that time of night. So Laurie and Jess slept head-to-toe like two nine-year-olds on a sleepover.
Tuesday 4 August, 7.30 a.m.
The alarm had no effect on Jess. When Laurie left she was still lying there, head slightly askew, mouth open, snoring gently, suddenly looking ten years younger.
Michael, by contrast, appeared to have derived little benefit from his day off. Perhaps the rings under his eyes were slightly less pronounced? He certainly seemed to have got stuck back into work: a slew of forms that left him no time to talk to Laurie, although he did look up and smile when she sat down. Every now and then he’d go into Henry’s office with a question, or to ask for a signature. As for Laurie, a Dictaphone tape left on her desk told her that Henry had been busy since yesterday afternoon, and that now she would be too.
It was lunchtime before Laurie remembered her mobile phone. She called down to reception: yes, a package had arrived this morning. At last! Who needed to eat, anyway? This would be a much better use of her free time.
Eagerly, Laurie returned to her desk, assembled all the disparate parts – SIM, battery and handset – and plugged in the charger, waiting for the phone to fire up properly. It gave her an idea for a modern version of the old saying: ‘A watched phone never finds its network.’ At any rate, it seemed an age before it started waking up, with various beeps and buzzes to indicate texts received and voicemail messages waiting for her attention.
The three texts were all from O2. In order, they commiserated over the loss of Laurie’s last phone and suggested that next time she insure her handset for the bargain price of £4.99 a month, welcomed her to her new payment plan, and told her she now had 300 minutes of speech, 3,000 texts and 1GB of data, with the next update to take place in one month’s time.
And there were only two voicemails. On Monday, Dad had called to ask how she was. His messages were always short; this was no exception, but there was an evident note of concern to the enquiry. Laurie had been neglecting him. She would have to put that right. In the meantime, she moved on quickly to the second message: ‘Hi. It’s Paul. Bit worried that you haven’t been in touch yet. Hope I haven’t offended you. If I have then I’m sorry, but do call me anyway.’
That was it! Eagerly, Laurie accessed the message envelope to get the number. ‘This message was received … today at … eight … thirty-one, from … a private number.’ Only an automated voice could have delivered such devastating news with so little emotion, let alone sympathy.
What? No number? How was she going to get hold of him now? What if he never called again?
At that moment, her new handset burst into life. Dad! From the moment he started to speak, Laurie realised she was in trouble.
‘Lauren Miranda Bate
man. You certainly know how to wind up your loving parent.’
‘Dad! I’m sorry. It’s just things are frantic at work. I’ve only just got my new phone and heard your message.’
‘It shouldn’t need hearing a message to work out that your Pa might be getting a bit worried. All I get is a call to say your phone’s been stolen and then total silence. For all I knew you’d been stolen too.’
‘Dad, I can’t really talk right now, but it has only been two days.’
‘Two days in which it turns out you’ve had a break-in.’ Dad paused for a moment, as if waiting for a response, before continuing. ‘I thought that might shut you up. I called Jess just to check you were OK, and she let the cat out of the bag. Don’t be too hard on her. She was trying to explain why you hadn’t called yesterday.’ There was a note of amusement in his voice: Dad knew how annoyed Laurie would be at the idea of him checking up on her.
‘OK,’ Laurie surrendered. ‘What did she tell you?’
‘That you’ve been burgled and both lost your laptops.’
‘Yeah, well. That’s London for you.’ Laurie hoped she sounded suitably world-weary.
Dad wasn’t going to be fooled. ‘London or not, you don’t have your phone stolen and flat broken into within forty-eight hours unless something’s going on. I’m coming down this evening.’
Dad! Come to London? The thought left Laurie struggling for words. The best she could come up with, after a pause that Dad could have hardly failed to notice, was, ‘But who’s going to look after Roxanne?’
‘I’ll sort something out. You matter more. I’ll be with you around seven. Love you.’ Dad hung up.