She would keep it simple. When she had the chance, she would explain and thank him.
The train chugged on. It was the first time she had travelled by train since Simon had disappeared. Simon, she mused sadly, who had never really been there in the first place. Her sorrow at his loss was overlaid with double-edged anger; with him for his lies and deception, with herself for being so gullible.
By the time the train rattled into the station in Cork, she had regained her composure and, retrieving her parcel from the rack, stepped off the train. She had been told by her mysterious, nameless caller to stay on the platform and wait and she did, glancing around nervously. The platform was bustling with people arriving and departing, everyone busy with their own lives and unaware of the other lives crashing around them. She waited, her apprehension increasing as the minutes passed, going over the instructions she had been given again and again. She had followed them properly, hadn’t she?
Holding the parcel awkwardly with one arm, she ran a hand over her eyes and then glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. She was considering what she should do when she saw a man on the other side of the track staring at her. Suddenly alert, she watched him more closely. Aware he had her attention, he pointed to the screen showing the trains due. He held two fingers up and then walked to the far end of the platform.
She stood for a moment unsure of what to do. Was he being deliberately ambiguous to put her more on edge? Or was she making it more difficult than it was? He had pointed to the screen and held up two fingers. Okay, so did that mean he wanted her to get the second train from that platform or from this one, or to wait two minutes and get a train? Don’t panic, she told herself, feeling its jaws snapping around the edges of her sanity. She decided to check the screen on the platform she was on before crossing to check out the far side.
Two trains were scheduled to stop from the platform she was on. The first was to Dublin in five minutes, and the second train was to Midleton in ten minutes. Hurrying across the bridge she looked up at the screen there. The first train was to Mallow in thirty and the only other train was to Dublin in an hour. She glanced down the busy platform trying to get a glimpse of the man who had signalled. Which train was she supposed to take? Suddenly her mobile beeped and she quickly read the message: Midleton.
Five minutes later, the Midleton train pulled into the station and came to a grating halt, the small crowd surged forward towards the doors and clambered on, taking her with them. She was lucky to get an outside seat this time and kept her parcel on her lap as she waited for further instructions.
She didn’t have long to wait. The train was about two minutes from Cork when the man she had seen on the platform approached. He was a big man, stocky rather than fat; well-dressed, unassuming. Shouldn’t he look rough and menacing, not neat and ordinary? Shouldn’t he look like a murderer? The man stopped as he passed her, and bent down. Straightening, he held out a piece of paper. ‘You must have dropped this,’ he said, handing it to her, his voice soft. She took it, her hand trembling and he passed on.
Edel waited a moment and opened the piece of paper. Get off at Glounthaune. She turned the paper over; nothing else. She closed her eyes wearily. How much longer could she hold out without falling apart?
She had no idea where Glounthaune was, if it was one mile away or ten. Resting her head back against the plush of the seat, she closed her eyes. The train chugged on regardless, bringing her nearer to what she hoped would be the end of this ghastly saga. She could feel tiredness beginning to slow her down, could feel herself drift, and awoke with a startled cry when the intercom announced the next stop to be Glounthaune.
She got off the train, watched it leave and stood uneasily on the platform. The few people who had got off at the same time quickly left and within minutes she was alone. The beep of her mobile announced a message. Fumbling with the package, she opened it and read, Take the next train back to Cork and wait.
Her eyes closed, tears trickling to fall and dot the cardboard box with dark splodges. From the other side of the track, she heard voices and, opening her eyes, she looked across to see a few people gathering. The next train to Cork must be from the other side. Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, she walked to the overhead bridge and made her way across.
The train arrived within minutes and once again she struggled on and found a seat. Ten minutes later, she was back in Cork, waiting on the platform. The parcel was heavy and her arms ached. After five minutes, she placed it on the ground between her feet and stretched. Twenty minutes passed, twenty minutes of nerve-wracking, nail-biting anxiety that had her jumping at every passer-by.
Finally, just as she worried that something had gone wrong, the same man she had seen on the train approached with a casual gait and stopped in front of her. ‘Sorry for all the cloak and dagger stuff,’ he said, with a smile that stayed firmly put on very narrow lips. ‘I had to make sure you weren’t being followed, you understand?’
‘I’m not sure I understand anything anymore, Mister…?’
The smile became an unpleasant smirk. ‘You can call me John. I think, Mrs Johnson, the less you know about me, the better it will be for your health.’
His gaze drifted over her; cold eyes took in her trim figure and classic good looks, lingering on the curve of her breast. The smile widened now in appreciation, quickly broadening into a leer of lust. ‘Your husband may have been one of the most stupid people I have had the misfortune to meet, but I see he had good taste in women.’ He measured up the parcel she had put down by her feet. ‘Not a stupid woman either, I see. It’s all there?’
‘Almost three hundred thousand,’ she said, seeing his eyebrows rise at the almost. ‘There’s two hundred and ninety-one thousand. The bank charged me nine thousand for arranging everything at short notice. Please,’ she finished, ‘it was all I had.’
‘So, I’m out of pocket by two hundred and nine grand,’ John said, his voice taking on the menacing tone she had heard earlier. He looked her over again. ‘Perhaps,’ he continued, moving closer, ‘we could come to some arrangement to pay the balance.’ He lifted a finger and ran it along her jaw.
She felt her insides contract with fear and revulsion. ‘You s-said,’ she stammered, ‘you said you’d settle for the three hundred thousand.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t bring me three hundred, did you? Nine thousand euro can buy a lot.’ Again, he raised a hand, this time parting her jacket to run a hand over her breast. ‘Oh, yes,’ he murmured. ‘I think we can work that nine thousand off very quickly.’ He squeezed her breast painfully and reached around to pull her to him, opening his coat, pulling her inside.
Panic froze her into immobility as she felt his body hot against hers. She felt the heat from his breath before he closed his thin lips roughly down on hers, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth. His hand dropped and cupped her bottom, pulling her hard against him. Releasing her slightly he pulled her hand down and rubbed it over the hardening bulge in his trousers with a groan.
This can’t be happening. She watched people move past them unconcernedly, unaware or perhaps uncaring, intent on their own lives. One woman cast them a look of disgust. Would she come if I screamed for help?
‘You are one hot woman,’ John whispered thickly against her ear, and then ran his tongue down her neck to where the soft triangle of skin met her shoulder, and he sucked hard, and then bit down, his teeth bruising as she squirmed and tried to pull away. But his grip was tight, and he held her effortlessly as his mouth moved back to cover hers and his tongue once more plundered her mouth, almost choking her.
His hands were all over her, under her T-shirt, squeezing and pinching. Her squeals of pain he stopped by the simple method of keeping his tongue firmly lodged in her mouth. She wanted to bite down on it, wanted to bite it off and spit it at him but she was too afraid to do anything. He tried to insert his hands down the waistband of her jeans but was stopped by the tightly secured leather belt.
She didn’t know how long the assault went on. It felt like hours. She didn’t know how long it would have lasted if not for the crowd of schoolchildren who arrived on the platform like a swarm of locusts, filling whatever space was available with noise and laughter, elbows and knees and overlarge backpacks that they swung to and fro.
The man glanced behind him with a hiss of frustrated annoyance as a backpack knocked his shoulder and, for a moment, he relaxed his hold. Without thinking, Edel kicked the parcel of money as hard as she could towards the edge of the platform and, as his eyes followed in alarm, she pulled away and ran for the exit, weaving in and out of the schoolchildren with a speed she didn’t know she possessed.
The man quickly retrieved the parcel and held it as he watched her run up the stairs to the exit. He took out his mobile quickly and phoned her. ‘I’ll call that an appetiser, my dear,’ he snarled quietly. ‘I’ll have my main course when I have built up a bigger appetite.’ He waited a beat before continuing, ‘And I can get very hungry, Edel.’ He snapped his phone shut and pocketed it and, with a quick glance around, strolled nonchalantly to the exit with the parcel under his arm.
22
Edel heard her mobile ring as she ran out the station door. She ignored it and climbed into a waiting taxi, collapsing onto the seat in disarray.
‘Just drive!’ she snapped at the startled driver. As he pulled out of the station car park, she looked back through the rear window and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t appear. She was shaking, and wrapping her arms around herself. She could taste him, could feel where his hands had touched. Shivering, she felt the cooling slug trail of saliva on her neck, the throb of pain where he had sucked and gnawed, smaller pains where he had pinched and squeezed. She longed to wash her mouth out and scrub herself until she bled. Degraded beyond belief, she felt a spark of hatred for Simon who was responsible for all of it, for leaving her with this mess to cope with and being the cause of such grief. Her eyes welled, one tear escaping. She brushed it away, this wasn’t a time for tears.
What to do? Panic bubbled just below the surface and she desperately held it at bay. She remembered her mobile ringing; reaching for it, she listened to his message and heard the threat. He knew where she lived; she couldn’t go home.
Where to go? She needed a place to think, to hide away, but she didn’t know Cork at all, didn’t know where to go. A passing van made a mirror of the taxi window. She saw her reflection, the deep frown lines, the grimace that twisted her mouth. She gulped, and held a hand over her face.
‘I can’t just keep driving around, Missy,’ the taxi driver called back.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, of course,’ she managed to get out with difficulty. She took a deep breath, tried to clear her head and think. ‘I need somewhere to stay,’ she said in a voice that trembled only a little.
‘A hotel?’
Lack of choice made the decision easy. ‘Yes, a hotel. Can you recommend one, please?’
He hesitated a moment. ‘Well, there’s the Cork International. It’s not far from here but it’s a bit pricey. Do you want something cheaper?’
All she wanted was somewhere safe to hide. ‘No, that will be fine.’
The taxi dropped her at the imposing doorway of the Cork International and she quickly paid the fare and entered, looking nervously around her. The foyer was busy, a large party having just arrived before her. She waited anxiously, constantly glancing toward the entrance as if John had caught the scent of fear and followed. Finally, it was her turn.
The hotel was busy, the receptionist explaining that there were only executive rooms available. ‘Fine,’ Edel said impatiently, handing over her credit card. If she’d been told they only had suites left she would have said the same. She wasn’t going any further.
‘Would you like a hand with your luggage?’ the receptionist asked.
Edel shook her head, took the key card and walked quickly in the direction of the lifts. She was pleased her room was on the fifth floor. It felt safer, more inaccessible, to be higher up.
Reaching her room, she quickly slid the key card down the slot, got a green light and opened the door. She closed it behind her, collapsed back against it as a sudden weakness overcame her and cried bitter, angry, frightened tears until, exhausted, she gave a soft hiccough and stopped.
She continued to lean against the door, desperately trying to think of a plan. Her stomach churned at the idea of meeting John again. When she considered what he might demand of her in payment for the nine thousand she still owed him, she felt her stomach churn again and, pushing away from the door, she stumbled into the bathroom in time to empty the contents of her meagre breakfast into the toilet.
She stayed there, her hands grasping the ceramic bowl as dry retching followed. Finally, more than exhausted now, she got to her feet. Turning on the tap, she washed her face with cold water and then washed her mouth out too, gargling with the water in an attempt to remove the taste of the man that still, disgustingly, lingered. She desperately wanted a shower, to try and wash away the feel of his touch, the smell of him and the sour smell of her fear. Even her clothes stank of him. It was tempting to strip and use the white robe that hung from the back of the bathroom door but she was reluctant to leave herself so vulnerable. She needed to be able to leave if she had to and she couldn’t… wouldn’t… put those clothes on again if she took them off.
A quick call to reception informed her that there was a shopping centre just five minutes’ walk from the hotel.
Five minutes’ walk.
Rationally, she knew John couldn’t have followed her to the hotel. Was this the way she was going to live her life now, fear underlying every decision, every choice? It was only five minutes’ walk away. He had no idea where she was. Had he?
She sat on the bed for a moment, gathering her thoughts, putting off making a decision.
It was a generously-proportioned room. Decorated in turquoise and lime-green, the furnishing was tastefully modern. The king size bed, dressed in crisp white cotton with a turquoise throw folded neatly across the middle, held an extraordinary number of pillows all in various shades of the key colours. In front of the tall picture windows that gave a view over Cork, two comfortable chairs nudged a small table. One wall held a large, but discreetly framed, flat screen television and the others, tasteful line drawings of Cork’s beauty spots in matching frames.
A small alcove caught Edel’s eye and she rose listlessly to investigate. It held a coffee percolator, kettle, fridge and microwave with a small basket holding an assortment of teas and coffee. Even a selection of upmarket biscuits. Perhaps, she’d have some later when her stomach stopped heaving. She wasn’t hungry but she knew she had to eat. After all, she might have to run again.
Restlessly, she went into the bathroom where the turquoise and lime-green colour scheme continued, large mirrors reflecting light around the room. They also reflected back a pale, defeated woman who reached a hand out to her reflection in distress. Her other hand felt the slight indents John’s teeth had made on her neck and the contusions that would look worse before fading. Her breath caught on a hiccup and she closed her eyes, resting her face against the cool glass, and felt tears sting. She pushed away from the mirror, refusing to look in it again, too embarrassed, too humiliated to see how she had been branded.
Lifting a towel, she dried her eyes in its soft pile, taking some tiny comfort in the clean scent of it. She needed to feel clean again, to regain some sense of self that was not degraded, humiliated, debased. A bath would be the first step. A long soak in water as hot as she could take it, clean clothes and a glass, or several, of wine. Decision made.
Grabbing her bag, she removed her key card and made her way down to the foyer, choosing to go down the five flights by stairway rather than taking the lift. She didn’t want the lift door to open and see John standing there. Okay, she was probably being ridiculous, but she wasn’t taking any more chances. She stood on the stairwell side of the double doors befo
re carefully parting them to look out across the foyer. It was a vision of sophisticated calm with twinkling chandeliers, plush carpets and relaxed faces.
No John, waiting to claim his pound of flesh.
She took a calming deep breath, pushed through the double doors and walked slowly to the exit.
It was a lovely day, she realised as she stepped outside. It was late afternoon but the sun, though low, still had warmth. Summer had come and she hadn’t even noticed.
The shopping centre, as the receptionist had promised, was a short five-minute walk away. It was a bright bustling place, busy with people laden down with shopping bags. Shops were filled with summer colour; light music filled the imperceptible silences between chattering people, clattering footsteps, laughter and all the other myriad sounds of commercialism.
She dredged up a smile and, infected by the colour and buzz, felt a slight release in the tension that had gripped her since that early morning phone call. Drawn by a window display, she wandered into a department store, joining a throng of women who looked, touched and bought. She’d intended to purchase necessities when she left the hotel but instead, swayed by the normality of it all, she indulged and bought a lot more, tempted by colour and fabric and a simple need to pamper herself, to feel good again.
Ignoring the plain cotton underwear she had intended to purchase, she chose a matching bra and brief set in baby-blue silk and another in teal satin, her fingers handling the soft material with genuine pleasure. This was what she needed, a luxurious contrast to the seediness of her encounter with John. She picked up a basket and dropped them in. A silk camisole and matching French knickers in pale rose caught her wandering eye. She found her size and added them to the basket and didn’t give a second’s pause before adding a matching robe, the material spilling from the basket in a silky rose stream.
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