I can’t bear the thought.
Maybe Libby feels about bodies of water the same way I feel about dark, enclosed spaces. When I told her we should jump into the water, she looked like she’d rather saw off her own leg than follow my suggestion. And the way she kept insisting that I should go and leave her behind … I glance at Libby. She’s staring straight ahead. I think she really meant it about me going without her. Did the river really bother her that much? Stupid question. If it didn’t, we’d both be all the way across it by now.
Oh hell! There’s the house we escaped from. The only one where the bottom windows aren’t boarded up. I slow as we approach it. The gun jabs into my back again, pushing me forward. In their rush to come after us, they left the front door wide open.
‘Where is she?’ the tiger asks the rabbit, his voice gruff.
She?
Who are they talking about? Libby’s right here beside me.
We enter the house, back in this prison that smells of piss and old food. A single dim bulb provides the only light in the hall. I hate this place. Tiger and Rabbit push Libby and me forward, past the living room, towards the basement door. I can’t do this. Go back down to that basement? I can’t do it. I won’t. I’m about to turn and take my chances when footsteps sound behind us. I look round. The man in the fox mask emerges from the sitting room – but he’s not alone.
Three men – all Noughts – follow him out, each armed with a gun. None of them is wearing a mask. One Nought has curly red hair and a matching trimmed moustache and beard. The second Nought wears his blond hair in locks tied back and extending down past his shoulders. This one has mean eyes. Dead eyes. The last Nought guy is bald and wearing black jeans and a black short-sleeved T-shirt revealing upper arms each the size of one of my thighs. I stare, thrown at the sudden sight of them.
‘Libby!’ the fox calls out urgently.
The person in the fox mask isn’t a man, but a woman. I blink in surprise. How did I miss that? Shocked, Libby spins round and utters one bewildered word.
‘Mum?’
fifty-four. Libby
* * *
I recognize her voice straight away. ‘Mum?’
The fox stumbles towards me, still wearing her mask. The rabbit steps in front of me, reaching out to her.
‘Misty? What the hell—?’
His voice … Ohmigod! I was right. Back at the harbour wall, when Rabbit Man threatened us, I thought I had to be going crazy, that my ears were deceiving me. The voice had sounded so like Pete’s but I dismissed it as my imagination playing tricks.
It all clicks into place now. Mum – and Pete …
‘Libby, run!’ Mum calls out.
Without warning, I’m hauled backwards and pushed to the floor.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound is explosive. Deafening. Like the end of the world. Troy’s body covers mine as the guns go off. Ears ringing, heart pounding, I struggle to stand back up. I have to get to Mum.
‘Libby, for Shaka’s sake! Stay down,’ Troy hisses, his breath warm in my ear. His voice is coming at me through cotton wool. I can barely hear him over my thundering heart and the continuing sound of explosions over my head. I turn my head, the only part of my body I can move. The fox is looking down at the blooms of red spreading out across her light grey hoodie. Mum pulls off her fox mask as if to get a better look, her expression pure shocked surprise – and bewilderment. Such bewilderment.
‘MUM!’
Mum drops to her knees, her eyes now on me. Then she pitches forward – and is still. Behind her, Pete is already on the floor, his mask lying beside him as he looks out of the front door, staring out into nothing for all time. His gun still in his hand, Tiger Man is lying next to him. His mask is still on but he isn’t moving.
I stare at Mum’s body, both of us frozen in the moment. It’s so clear now. My own mum and Pete snatched me off the street and kept me in a basement, just to get money out of my dad. No explanation or confirmation required. I know Mum and I know the reason why she did it. The moment both Pete and I found out who my dad was, it was inevitable that she’d pull this kind of stunt. Maybe Pete put her up to it. Maybe he didn’t. Was it my threat to go through my trust-fund bank account that prompted Mum to try and rinse Dad for more cash? Or maybe it was my promise to ask if I could go and live with him instead. My own mum did this to me, put me through all this, and for what?
For money.
Lousy, stinking money.
The man in the tiger mask. I didn’t know him. One of Pete’s lowlife friends who agreed to help for a slice of the pie? Probably.
My mum … My own mum did this to me. That knowledge carves its way through me, slicing and dicing. This house, this situation is a monument to just what Mum thought of me. I was a means to an end, nothing more.
‘You two, get up.’ Combat boots fill my vision as the men who emerged from the living room stand before us. Troy shifts off me, then gets to his feet before grabbing hold of my hand to pull me up.
‘Keep your hands where we can see them.’
Mum …
I turn to go to her, but Troy pulls me back, frantically shaking his head.
‘That’s my mum!’ I cry out. ‘She needs me.’
‘Stay where you are, unless you want to join her,’ the massive bald guy sneers. The other two men peel away from him, one heading up the stairs, the other down into the basement.
‘Sh-she’s dead?’ I whisper, my eyes on Troy.
Grimly, Troy nods at me.
I dig my nails into my palms. Not enough. The pain isn’t enough. I dig harder, raking so deep I draw blood. And still it isn’t enough. I open my mouth – and a howl rises up from the very depths of my soul. It erupts from my mouth, the cry of a wounded animal.
‘Shut the hell up!’
I can’t stop. Even when the bald man takes a step towards me, his arm raised, I can’t stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Troy move forward, but he isn’t fast enough. The bearded man slaps my face so hard I stagger and fall. My cheek burns. I can taste blood in my mouth. The whole world tastes of blood. Troy is at my side in an instant, kneeling down to cradle me in his arms.
And me? I just want to die, but my scream dies before I do.
I clutch at Troy’s arm, trying to merge his flesh with mine. If I let go, I’ll sink, my mind pulled under by ragged, jagged, scrapping thoughts of my mum and what she’d done. If I let go of Troy, I’ll surely sink, never to rise again. I glance over at the bodies on the floor. Yes, one of them really is my mother. I’d thought … I’d hoped … Mum lies still, eyes closed, entirely too motionless to be asleep.
I need to wake up. Please let me wake up.
The words are a prayer in my mind, constantly repeated.
Let me wake up.
Mum …
fifty-five. Troy
* * *
I don’t dare let go of Libby. She’s trembling so much that if I move she’ll melt into a puddle on the floor – and I’ll be only a second or two behind her. Baldie takes a step towards us. I pull Libby closer, my arms tightening round her.
‘Don’t hit her again. That’s her mum, arsehole. You just killed her mum.’
‘Then keep her quiet,’ says Baldie. ‘And that goes for you too.’
I can’t believe I just shouted at the Nought thug waving his gun around, but I had to shout, otherwise the words would’ve died of fright in my mouth. Beads of sweat prickle like pin jabs all over my body. My heart is revving up so fast I expect it to burst through my ribs at any moment. I’m still having trouble absorbing it. Libby’s mum was the one who abducted us. But why? And why me? What did she want with me? Libby’s mum didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. We’d only met once when I was eleven, and even then she could barely look at me. So it had to be Liberty who her mum had wanted. But then why didn’t she just grab her from her own home? Why grab her from school? It made no sense. Speculation, however, would have to wait. The fact was, Libby’s mum was
dead, shot full of holes along with her accomplices, but by whom?
Who are these Nought men?
Libby is trembling for the both of us. I’ve never seen anyone killed in real life, yet here I am less than a couple of metres away from three dead bodies. My arms tighten round Libby. The rust-iron smell of blood fills my nostrils. The pools of blood beneath the bodies are no longer spreading outwards. Proof that their hearts aren’t beating? Guns that have been recently fired have a very distinctive smell. A bit like fireworks but so much stronger. Is that cordite? I’m not sure, but it’s a smell I know I’ll never forget. My ears are still throbbing from the sound of gunfire. All the time the guns were going off, I didn’t dare raise my head. At any minute, I expected to feel a bullet rip into my flesh or explode my skull. Each moment could’ve been my last. The gunfire has died away. My terror hasn’t. Libby and I are alone with three dead bodies and three armed brutes who’d shoot us as soon as look at us.
The bald guy kicks the gun out of Tiger Man’s hand, then picks it up. He twists it this way and that, examining it, then sneers, ‘A replica – and not even a good one.’ Dropping it on the floor, he studies me and Libby like we’re specimens under a microscope.
‘Is that Liberty Jackman?’ The bald man’s quiet voice is gruff. Chilling.
My heart begins to thump hard. Why does he want to know? Asking Libby’s name is ominous. I nod slowly.
‘Ding, ding, ding! Jackpot! Now listen to me, Troy. In fact, both of you, listen up,’ he says. ‘Amateur. Hour. Is. Over. One word or step out of line and it’ll be your last. Do as you’re told and you might just make it through this.’
I look up at the bald guy towering over me. This lot have no problem showing their faces. I know what that means.
‘Who are you? What do you want? Are you Nought Forever?’ I ask. ‘Is this about politics or money?’
‘What’s the difference?’ The bald guy’s silky smile chills my blood. ‘We want something only your sister and Liberty’s dad can deliver.’ The bald guy winks at Libby, the mocking smile never leaving his face. ‘When word reached us of what your mum was planning, well, we just had to follow them and step in when the time was right to take over. If your mother, her pathetic lover and his equally pathetic brother were still standing, I’d thank them for making our job so easy. Getting hold of both of you at the same time is a lovely bonus. My boss will be very pleased.’
‘Who’s your boss?’ I ask.
Baldie raises an eyebrow. Yeah, it was unlikely he’d answer the question, but I had to ask.
‘That’s Pete’s brother?’ Libby whispers, indicating the man in the tiger mask lying on the floor. She’s still clinging to my arms like they’re a flotation device. She isn’t the only one in danger of drowning.
‘Yeah, that piece of shit in the tiger mask is him,’ sneers the bald guy. ‘Or rather it was. He came to my boss for help in return for five per cent. Five per cent? Why settle for a little when you can have the lot? His thinking was too small. We have bigger and better plans in mind for both of you.’
A shiver runs down my spine. Libby clutches at my arm that much tighter.
The other two muscle-heads come into view.
‘Boss, the cellar is secure. We can stash them down there,’ says the bearded guy.
‘No! Don’t put us back down there. Please …’ Libby’s nails are now digging into my skin. I wince but hold on to her like her life depends on it – which it probably does. The man in front of me knew my name. He had to confirm Libby’s. The shoe is now on the other foot. They’re here for me, not her. She’s a bonus – and bonuses are expendable.
‘Shut the hell up and get down there,’ the blond Nought with locks hisses at Libby.
‘The upstairs is deserted, but the doors don’t have locks and some of the floorboards are rotten,’ says the bearded guy. ‘Those shitsticks lying over there obviously weren’t planning on a long stay.’
‘Who’d want an extended stay in this craphole?’ says the blond guy.
‘On your feet, you two. Get down in the basement,’ says Baldie.
It takes a few seconds to untangle my arms from Libby’s. I stand up, helping her to her feet. A surreptitious look around. Can we make a break for it? Two of the three thugs stand between us and the front door. The only way I could make a dash for it is if I picked up Libby and hurled her at them first. There’s no point in trying to run anywhere with Libby in tow. She can barely stand up, never mind run for her life. And there’s no way I can leave her behind. Plus the heavies have guns. Big frickin’ guns. Real ones. Pointing straight at us. Now I’m a fast runner, but not fast enough to outrun a bullet.
My heart plummets as I realize we’re going nowhere – except back to the basement. Libby snatches for and finds my hand. With guns pointing the way, we reluctantly stumble through the door and onto the stairs that lead down to our dungeon. The air smells slightly fresher due to the fact that the door has been open for a while – but only slightly. The room is still uncomfortably warm, the air still stale. We’ve only taken a couple of steps when the door slams shut behind us and there comes the sound of bolts being pushed shut, top and bottom. We make our slow way back down the stairs. Libby and I turn as one at the bottom, staring up in dismay at the now bolted door. Our last chance of freedom has slipped through our fingers.
‘I’m sorry, Troy,’ Libby whispers. ‘I should’ve tried harder to jump, but I … Mum used to pull on my legs when I was having a bath to drag my head under the water. I can’t bear the thought of being underwater. I’m so sorry. My mum … she did this. My mum and her pondscum boyfriend Pete and his equally lowlife brother.’ Libby’s voice is barely audible. ‘Now we’ve gone from the frying pan into the raging fire.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would your own mum do something like this?’
‘For money. What else?’ says Libby sombrely. ‘Mum blitzed through the trust fund Dad set up for me. I found out, so I guess this was her way of trying to get more out of him.’
Frowning, I scrutinize her. I don’t like the way she’s speaking – in a monotone. And she looks so calm. Too calm. I mean, Shaka wept! Libby’s mum would do that to her? Really? She’d set all this up just for money? Well, Libby has no doubt about it. And, if that is the case, then her mum has paid for it. I will never forget the way the blood spread across her fleecy jacket when she was shot, or the look on her face when she realized.
I sit down on the nearest crate near the stairs, unwilling to get too far away from the door.
‘What d’you think this lot are after?’ whispers Libby, sitting down next to me.
‘The same thing as your mum and her boyfriend, I expect. Money – if we’re lucky.’
‘What does that mean?’
I shake my head. What’s the point of making Libby even more anxious than she already is? Something tells me that those men above want more than mere money. This has something to do with my sister defending Tobey Durbridge. Do they want her to dump him as her client? Back off? Deliberately throw the case? What?
The problem is, I know my sister. She can be led but not driven, as Mum says. And someone trying to blackmail Callie into giving up or losing this case? Never gonna happen. Callie has never allowed, and will never allow, anyone to bully her. So where does that leave Libby and me?
In the middle of nowhere.
‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’
I glare at Libby. ‘What the hell kind of question is that? No, we’re not going to die. Bollocks to that. Those dickheads upstairs need us alive.’
Libby looks at me and nods once. Once is enough. Maybe she believes me. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe her mind is still on her mum. But, in that moment, I believed me. That is enough. We’re going to find a way out of this.
Libby bows her head. Tears run down her cheeks, picking up the pace with each passing second. But she’s quiet. Sobbing silently. I place a tentative arm round her shoulder, giving her every chance to tell me to back off. Instead,
she turns into my body and her tears become a waterfall. Hugging her to me, I hold her tight while she cries for her mum and what might’ve been and what was.
THEN
* * *
fifty-six. Tobey
* * *
The studio lights were blinding, casting everything behind them in shadow. I closed my eyes, gathering myself while the host of Guest of the Week, Kennedy Coughlan, had powder applied to his brown forehead to reduce its sheen.
‘Thank you for agreeing to be tonight’s guest,’ Ken said to me as the make-up artist buzzed round him with her brushes, dabbing at this and brushing at that. ‘But, let me tell you now, I think it would be a disaster if you became Prime Minister. You Noughts are responsible for most of the problems in this country and your own political views are naïve at best—’
‘Five!’ announced the studio manager.
‘And wilfully ignorant and out of your depth at worst,’ Ken continued.
‘Four!’
Ken smirked at me while I regarded him, momentarily stunned. But only momentarily. So it was like that, was it? Good to know. If he was going to come at me, guns blazing, I needed to be ready to spike his guns and no messing. Eyes narrowed, my mouth snapped shut. It wasn’t the first time an interviewer had tried to knock me off my stride just before a live interview and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. It was a common tactic to put me on the back foot. None had been quite as blatant as this, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.
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