Seven Days

by Alex Lake

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘How do you know Mum?’

  ‘I was her teacher,’ the man said. ‘But not merely any teacher. It was obvious from the start that she was special and I was put there to save her. She stood out from the others. There was something’ – he looked up – ‘luminous about her. A light from within. I saw it – others didn’t, but I did – and I tried to tend it, but I did not see the dangers. I underestimated them. I thought she would be able to resist temptation, but it turned out she was weak. Delicate. And before I could do anything, I’d lost her.’

  This wasn’t making any sense. ‘What do you mean, “lost her”?’ Maggie said.

  ‘She had a boyfriend. Like you.’

  ‘So?’ Maggie said. ‘That’s normal.’

  He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Once she’d been with him – in that way – she was lost to me. I needed her to be perfect.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘She let him do it to her. I don’t think she wanted to – she was misguided – but he led her astray. I watched it happen. He ruined her.’

  Maggie felt she was losing her grip on the conversation. ‘How do you know they weren’t just friends?’

  ‘Because they were doing it, Fruitcake. She was letting him. I saw them.’

  ‘You saw them? Where?’

  ‘In his house. His parents were out and I watched them go inside. They closed the curtains in an upstairs window, but they didn’t lock the door. I let myself in and heard them. Heard their grunts.’ He shuddered in disgust. ‘I went to look, so I could be sure.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘And there they were. The door was ajar. I watched them. It was disgusting.’

  Maggie closed her eyes as tightly as she could. This man had spied on her mum and her boyfriend, crept into a house and watched them have sex. And now she was in some prison he’d made. This was more fucked up than she had imagined.

  He tapped her on the shoulder and she opened her eyes. He leaned forward. ‘You are the same, Maggie. You have the same light. And I saw the fate coming to claim you, and I could not let it. Once you were with that boy, I knew I had to save you. And now you are safe. Your light will never go out.’

  ‘Me and Kevin are friends,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘For now. But he would do the same to you as that animal did to your mother. And I had to keep you safe. Keep your light shining.’

  ‘But I’m trapped,’ Maggie said. ‘There is no light in here. This is no life.’

  The man shook his head. ‘This is the only life. The only place your light is safe. I won’t make the same mistake again, Maggie. I loved your mother. Loved her like no man has ever loved a woman before, and if only she had known it, if only I had been able to tell her, we could have made a beautiful life together. But it was impossible. And even if that boy hadn’t ruined her, people’ – he spat the word out – ‘society, wouldn’t allow it. They were blind to the truth. They saw only my age. And it was all ruined. Ruined forever.’ He wagged his finger. ‘And then you came into my life and I had another chance. And I’m not going to miss it.’ He looked around. ‘This is the only way. If it wasn’t for this, you would not give me a second look. You – like your mother – have been conditioned by society to think of age as an insurmountable obstacle to love. Buy why? In other areas society has moved on. Black people used to be unable to marry white people. Men could not have sex with men. The poor could not marry the rich. But all these things have become acceptable. So why is age still such a problem?’

  He tapped his feet on the floor.

  ‘It won’t be, eventually. But I cannot wait for that day to come. I love you, Maggie, and this – all this – I did for you. One day you will understand.’

  Maggie hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please go. I need to be alone.’

  She heard footsteps, then felt a hand on her shoulder. He kissed her head with his soft, fleshy lips.

  ‘This is the only way we can be together,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, my love.’

  4

  One thing was clear now. Among all the uncertainty, all the doubt, one thing was clear.

  She had to get out of there.

  The man wasn’t going to let her go. He wasn’t going to relent and start feeling sorry for her. This wasn’t some temporary imprisonment that he would end once he had what he wanted.

  No, this was for good. This went back to her mum, went back decades. She was important to him in ways she couldn’t begin to understand, but she understood what that meant.

  It meant that, unless she escaped, she’d be here forever.

  And there was no time like the present.

  She was awake the entire night, turning over her options.

  And there weren’t many. She couldn’t hide, she had no weapons. Her only advantage was that he wasn’t expecting her to fight, which meant she’d have one chance to surprise him and get away.

  She pictured his routine when he came into the room. He closed the door, then locked it with a key he kept on a chain around his wrist.

  That was the moment. Once the door was locked, she wasn’t sure she could get the key off his wrist, but if she could hurt him in the second before he locked the door she could get out.

  And maybe lock him in the room, if there was a lock on the outside and she could find some way of locking it.

  But she would only have one chance.

  She was lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, when she heard the scraping sound. She tensed. When the door opened the man needed to see her on the mattress or he would not come in, but then she would be ready.

  The lock clicked. The handle turned.

  The door cracked open.

  ‘Good morning, Fruitcake.’

  The man stood in the door frame, a tray in his hand. He put it on the carpet, his eyes on her. Her stomach tensed. He was going to leave without coming inside.

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  He caught her eye. ‘I’m fine – as usual. You’re talkative.’

  ‘I was thinking about what you said last night. I think you were right.’

  A faint smile touched his lips. ‘Right about what?’

  ‘About me being safe. In here.’

  ‘Exactly.’ The faint smile swelled into a grin. ‘I knew you’d start to understand, eventually.’

  ‘I needed time to consider it.’ She smiled back. It took a huge effort. ‘Tell me more. About how you decided on all of this.’

  The man nodded. He gripped the key in his fingers, the chain taut.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, a look of something like triumph in his eyes. ‘Of course I will, Fruitcake.’

  5

  He turned, and bent down to put the key in the lock. As soon as his eyes left her, she sprang off the mattress and threw herself across the room.

  She hit his back, hard. He was much bigger than her but he was off balance and his head smashed into the door. He twisted away from her and she slammed her knee into his balls. His eyes widened and he puffed out his cheeks, then groaned and clutched his groin. He sank back on to his haunches, his face pale.

  Maggie tried the handle.

  It turned, and the door opened. Ahead of her wooden stairs led up into blackness.

  To a hatch of some kind.

  To freedom.

  She had done it.

  She ran up, her hands over her head, feeling for the way out.

  And felt a hand on her ankle, pulling her back. Pulling her back hard.

  The hand yanked and her foot slipped, and then she was being dragged backwards down the stairs and back into the room.

  The man threw her on to the mattress. He stood over her, his face purple with pain and rage.

  ‘You lying fucking bitch!’ he screamed. ‘You’re not my Fruitcake! You’re not my Fruitcake at all!’

  He stamped his right foot on the floor.

  ‘I’m going now,’ he shouted. ‘I’m going before I
do something I regret.’ He stepped backwards and kicked the tray across the room. ‘But I’ll be back. You needn’t worry about that, Margaret. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  He walked out and slammed the door.

  Seconds later the light went out.

  6

  It was dark – black, black dark – for a long time. She didn’t know how long, exactly. Many hours, certainly. Days, probably.

  Long enough to get very, very hungry.

  But that was the least of her concerns. It was the thirst that tortured her. It was all she could think of. Her tongue swelled in her mouth and visions of glasses of cold water swam in front of her eyes. She reached for them, her hands groping in the darkness for a drink that did not exist. The only liquid she tasted was the salt tears that ran down her cheeks.

  And then she heard the scraping sound. The light came on. She squinted, the brightness hurting her eyes.

  The door opened. The man was stood there, something in his hand.

  A tray, she thought. With food and drink.

  But it wasn’t a tray.

  It was something much worse.

  The man locked the door – this time keeping his eyes on her – then put the thing down. It looked like some kind of helmet.

  ‘Please,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘You need to be punished,’ the man replied, his voice flat. ‘That’s what you need.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing at the helmet.

  ‘It’s a cage.’

  She didn’t understand. Now her eyes had adjusted she could make out that it was a motorbike helmet.

  ‘It’s not a cage,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, it is.’

  She was puzzled. There was nothing here to put in it. ‘What for?’

  He looked at her, his head tilted sideways.

  ‘For my pet.’ He grinned at her. ‘My other pet.’

  She blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will,’ he said. ‘You will.’ He picked up the motorbike helmet and walked towards her. When he got to the mattress he lifted it up and, before she could do anything, he put it over her head. He tightened a strap under her chin, and secured it with a small chain, through which he threaded a padlock.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Fits perfectly.’

  It didn’t fit perfectly at all. It was way too big. Maggie shook her head; there was plenty of space around her face and between the helmet and her neck.

  But not enough to get her head out, not with the strap secured. She tugged at it, but the padlock – clearly his own addition – held fast.

  It was uncomfortable, but not that bad. She started to relax a little.

  Then he turned and walked to the door. He unlocked it and reached on to the stairs. When he came back into the room he was holding a shoebox. He took off the lid and held it up to show Maggie what was inside.

  There was a large, white rat. Its pink nose sniffed the air.

  ‘No,’ Maggie croaked. ‘Please, no. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that,’ he said.

  He picked up the rat and pulled the chin of the helmet towards him, then put the head of the rat in the gap between her neck and the helmet. She tried to twist away but he grabbed her neck with his free hand, and, seconds later, she felt tiny feet scrabbling on her cheek.

  And then a pink nose came into view and she screamed.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ the man said. ‘You’ll upset him.’ He tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. ‘This is James,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d like the name. And he’s very hungry.’

  7

  Sometimes the rat – James, he had called it, and even though she knew he was using her brother’s name to punish her she couldn’t get the name out of her head – slept, or was still. Sometimes it moved slowly, walking around her head and mouth and lips and nose in steady circles.

  Sometimes – and these were the worst – it scuttered around, making sinister, high-pitched noises.

  She waited for it to bite her, waited in the darkness for its needle-sharp teeth to pierce her cheek, waited to feel her blood flow as the rat lapped it up.

  And when she thought she could bear it no longer, when she thought she was going to lose her mind, the light came on and the door opened and the man came and took the rat and the helmet away.

  He stood by the door, his arms folded.

  ‘Don’t do that again,’ he said. ‘Got it, Fruitcake?’

  Wednesday, 20 June 2018

  Three Days to Go

  1

  Max sat on the end of the mattress, trying to balance the tinfoil ball on top of a Duplo tower. It was a precarious situation; even if he got it to stick, as soon as he moved, the mattress shifted and the ball fell down.

  Every time it fell, Max burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Maggie wasn’t sure why he found it so funny, but she was glad he took so much joy in it. It wasn’t unexpected; Max was one of those people who always saw the light side of everything. Whatever happened, however simple the pleasure, he was almost always happy.

  That was how she would remember him. Despite the tininess of his world, the lack of fresh air and friends and sweets and ice cream and all the things a child should have, despite everything he had to put up with, he was happy.

  He had a constant smile and bright, inquisitive eyes, and at the slightest provocation – a tickle or a song or a funny face – he would let out an explosive laugh. She could see the man he would have become: charming, engaged and warm. He would listen and smile and laugh and make people feel good about themselves. He made her feel good about herself; if his guffaws were anything to go by, she was the funniest person in the world.

  He reminded her of James. He had been prone to fits of giggles; a memory came to her of him, aged about six, clutching his stomach, bent double with laughter at the sight of their dad miming to the song ‘Daddy Cool’.

  Max would never get the chance to watch her dad miming. In a few short days he would be gone.

  She picked up her pencil and the calendar and put a line through the date. More than halfway there. More than halfway through the last week of Max’s life.

  S

  Su

  M

  Tu

  W

  Th

  F

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  The image was with her always, now. In her dreams, at night, in her thoughts during the days. All she saw was herself, sprawled in the corner of the room, beaten back and powerless, while the man stood in the doorway, Max in his arms, screaming and looking at her, pleading for him to save her.

  Pleas that she could not answer.

  And then the door shutting. Max’s screams fading. Silence.

  And after that? What would happen to Max, to her laughing, gentle, beautiful boy? The same as happened to Seb and Leo, no doubt. She didn’t know what that was, exactly, but she was sure it was nothing good.

  She’d asked the man where Seb was. He had left her alone for two nights after Seb had been taken, but when he came down, wearing his blue robe tied at the waist, she had fought back the tears and asked him.

  Where is he? she said. I want to see him. Please.

  He shook his head.

  That’s not possible.

  Why not? Is he OK? Please, tell me he’s OK.

  The man didn’t reply. He loosened the belt of his bathrobe and pointed at the bed.
r />   Lie down.

  Please. Is he safe?

  The man ignored her. Lie down, he said again.

  I need to know he’s not suffering. That’s all.

  The man nodded. He’s not suffering.

  And that was all he said. Over the weeks she asked for photos, for an item of his clothing, anything, but the man ignored her. Eventually, though, he could not ignore her any more.

  Don’t ask about him again, he said. Ever again.

  She carried on. How could she not? He was her son. The next time he came, she badgered him with questions until he turned and left the room.

  He never answered. All she had were the man’s final words.

  He’s not suffering.

  She had turned the words over in her mind a million times. She always came back to the same two possible interpretations.

  Seb was not suffering because he was alive and well and happy somewhere – maybe living in the man’s house, or in some foster care – or he was not suffering because he couldn’t.

  Because he was dead.

  And she was pretty sure she knew which one it was. It was inconceivable to her that the man would take the risk of having a three-year-old in his house, or of trying to find a foster home. People would ask questions. Far easier to get rid of Seb. All he had to do was dispose of the body, and that would be simple enough. He could put it anywhere – in a lake or a forest or even in his back garden. No one would report Seb missing, because no one knew he existed.

  She watched Max try to balance the tinfoil ball. In three days, that was the fate that awaited him.

  She blinked back tears.

  Max placed the tinfoil on the top of the tower. It wobbled, then settled on top of the tower.

  Max whipped around, his eyes wide in delight.

  ‘Mummy,’ he said. ‘Look!’

  As he spoke, he pointed at the Duplo and the movement unbalanced the ball. It tumbled to the mattress.

  Max giggled. ‘It fell, Mummy! It fell down!’

  She grabbed him in a hug to hide her tears. She didn’t want to fill his final days with worry about his mum.