Strangers (ARC)

by C. L. Taylor

  Ursula raises her eyebrows too and gives the smallest of nods.

  Alice nudges Simon, who’s been watching the exchange. He

  looks over at the knife and frowns. He seems conflicted, but

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  Alice hasn’t got time for him to make up his mind. Edward has

  nearly finished cutting through the duct tape with the nail scissors. If she doesn’t make a grab for the knife now it’s going to be too late.

  Her heart thumps against her ribs as she shuffles on the floor, moving from a cross-legged position to knees bent, feet to one side. She freezes as Ed stops cutting the tape and glances at her.

  She bows her head, eyes fixed on the ground, waiting for a kick or a blow. When none comes she risks a sideways glance. To

  get to the knife she’s going to have to get onto her knees and lunge, arms outstretched. If she can knock the knife off they

  can rush at Ed as he tries to pick it up. She steels herself. She’s got to do it, now.

  In an instant she’s up on her knees and throwing herself at

  the table but she underestimated how far away it is and her

  bound hands land six inches from the knife. She frantically

  shuffles forward but, as her fingers graze the edge of the blade, it’s snatched away from her and Ed’s angry roar fills her ears.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ The knife curves through the air, then slices

  through the thin material of her blouse and cuts into her skin.

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  Chapter 51

  Gareth

  Gareth is crouched in the cubicle with a finger to his lips when he hears the scream. Georgia, still curled in the corner, shrieks with fear, then makes a strange gulping sound as her mum

  smothers the sound with her hand.

  ‘Ssssh,’ Kath whispers. ‘Georgia, ssssh.’

  Gareth doesn’t think his heart has ever beaten as quickly as

  it is right now. He’s been trained for all sorts of situations over the years – fires, terrorist attacks, natural disasters – but never anything like this. He never dreamed there’d be a hostage situation in the Meads. He’s not sure what it was exactly that made him realise something dodgy was going on. Maybe it was his

  training or some kind of sixth sense. Earlier, when Kath was

  trying to get Georgia to open up about what had happened, he

  caught snippets of a conversation as three people, a man and

  two women, passed the cubicles. Something about a stalker and

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  the cubicle. telling them to stay where they were, and peered

  between the clothing racks at the end of the stalls, watching as the red-haired shop manager led a very tall woman and a blonde-haired man towards the back of the shop. If everyone was

  leaving, he needed to remind Alice to let them out too.

  But no one left. Instead he heard someone double back,

  heading to the staff changing room and a woman calling Alice’s name. It went quiet for a few minutes, then a different female voice shouted, ‘Simon.’ There was something about the strangled way she called the name that made the hairs stand up on Gareth’s arms. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He crept out

  from behind the racks of clothes and stepped quietly through

  the back of the shop, keeping against the wall. He froze when

  he heard weighty footsteps, trainers slapping against the ground.

  Simon, running after hearing his name? Gareth waited a few

  seconds, then set off again. As he drew closer to the staff changing rooms he heard a new voice – male, clipped, posh – saying, ‘Do anything other than what I tell you and she dies.’

  Instinctively Gareth clutched at the radio, clipped to his belt.

  But it wasn’t there. He wasn’t on duty and wearing his uniform.

  He had no weapon and no way of radioing for help. Unless . . .

  in his mind he sees Kath clutching her phone in the car, repeatedly dialling Georgia’s number. If she still had battery left he could call the police.

  Now, with the scream still ringing in his ears, he presses 999

  on Kath’s phone and holds it to his ear. It connects almost

  instantly.

  ‘Emergency, which service do you require?’ the operator asks.

  ‘Fire, Police or Ambulance?’

  ‘Police,’ Gareth says.

  ‘Connecting you now.’

  Gareth stares at the cubicle curtain as the call connects. It’s the only thing separating him from whatever madman is holed

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  up in the staff changing rooms. He’s standing now, with Kath

  and Georgia crouched behind him, both breathing hard.

  ‘What is the telephone number you are calling from?’ the

  police operator asks him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he hisses. ‘And I haven’t got time to talk.

  There’s a potential hostage situation in the —’

  He gasps as two things happen at once. The curtain is yanked

  aside and Alice stares in at him with terrified eyes, the sleeve of her blouse slashed, her arm drenched with blood. There’s a man standing behind her with an arm around her throat and a knife

  pressed to her cheek. His eyes meet Gareth’s. ‘End the call.’

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  Chapter 52

  Ursula

  There was a moment, after Ed locked Ursula, Simon and Lynne

  in the office so he and Alice could search the shop for stragglers, when Ursula thought they might be able to escape. There was

  no laptop or landline in the cramped room because Ed made

  Lynne remove them before he locked them inside. He also gath-

  ered up everyone’s bags and mobile phones. He called Ursula a

  liar when she told him hers had been stolen by a man who’d

  barged into their house searching for his wife and child. It was only when she described the inside of Ed’s room that his expression changed.

  ‘You can pat me down if you don’t believe me,’ she said,

  raising her bound arms above her head.

  He grimaced – ‘I’d rather not’ – and ordered her into the

  office.

  As the lock turned outside she and Simon headed straight for

  the narrow window. They were two storeys up and there were

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  people milling around on the pavement below. If they could just open it, they could shout for help.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Lynne said miserably as Ursula pulled at the

  handle. ‘He made me lock it. He’s got the key.’

  Simon suggested they try and smash the glass with the office

  chair but his hands were bound and it took him forever just to pick it up. Even when he did manage to lift it, his awkward

  throw was so feeble the chair bounced off the pane. They tried hitting the glass then, smashing their fists against it and shouting, but it was double glazed and the people on the street below

  didn’t so much as glance up.

  They were still trying to decide what to do when the key

  turned in the lock and a terrified-looking woman in a beaut
ician’s uniform told them to come out. For one wonderful second Ursula thought they’d been rescued, but then she noticed that the

  woman’s hands were bound too. As she filed out of the office

  with Simon and Lynne she saw a short man with a goatee

  standing beside a crying young girl. They both had their hands tied with tape.

  Standing at the far side of the staff changing room, with one

  arm around Alice’s throat and the knife pressed into her cheek, was Edward.

  ‘It turns out Alice was lying,’ he announced to the room.

  ‘Which is a shame . . . for her. Now that we’re all assembled, let’s make our way out on to the shop floor. The show is about to begin.’

  Ursula, sitting cross-legged against a wall, has Gareth on one side of her and Simon on the other. Sitting beside Simon is Lynne with her head in her hands, then Kath with her daughter weeping beside her. Standing between the racks of clothes, with one arm still around Alice’s neck and the knife pressed under her jaw

  like some kind of macabre puppeteer, is Ed.

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  His gaze rests on Simon.

  ‘You’re not the big man now, are you, eh?’

  Ursula feels Simon stiffen.

  ‘Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you only

  talk shit when you’re on the radio? Or is Twitter your new

  favourite way to express yourself? You’re fucking listening now, though, aren’t you?’

  When Simon still doesn’t respond, Ed tilts the knife so the

  tip of the blade presses into the soft flesh under Alice’s chin, making her shriek. The right arm of her blouse is drenched in

  blood and her face is pale and clammy. She looks on the verge

  of passing out.

  ‘Stop!’ Gareth says, making Ursula jump. ‘Ed. That’s your

  name, right? Whatever your problem is with Simon we can sort

  it out without anyone getting hurt.’

  ‘Ha.’ Ed laughs dryly. ‘Trained in hostage negotiation, are

  you? When I want a washed-up security guard to speak I’ll ask

  you. You’ll keep your mouth shut if you’ve got any sense.’ His gaze flicks back towards Simon. ‘And you’d better start talking if you want this to end.’

  ‘Okay . . . okay. I’m talking.’ Simon’s shoulder knocks against Ursula’s as he shifts position. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want you to stand up, open the window behind you and

  jump.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please,’ Kath says from the end of the row. ‘Just let my

  daughter go. She’s got nothing to do with this and you’re really scaring—’

  ‘We can all go home once Simon does what he’s told,’ Ed

  snaps. ‘What’s it to be then, Si?’

  ‘I . . . you can’t . . . I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Ed snorts. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. How many

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  people’s lives have you ruined, Simon? How many people have

  killed themselves because of your practical jokes? Any idea?

  One? Ten? Fifty? Any idea, or don’t you care?’

  Ursula sneaks a sideways glance at Simon. His blond hair is

  slicked with sweat at the temples and a tendon is pulsing in his cheek.

  ‘I . . . I . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t know of any. I never . . .

  I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn’t—’

  ‘I’d say one was enough, wouldn’t you?’

  Ursula sees Alice’s horrified eyes flick towards Simon.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Simon says. ‘Whatever it is you think I’ve done . . .

  if I’d have known . . . if someone had told me I’d—’

  ‘You’d have done what? Invented a time machine? Rewound

  time so my brother didn’t kill himself? So you didn’t ring him on your show to claim you found rat droppings in your soup?’

  Simon’s expression changes.

  ‘Ah, so you do remember. In which case you’ll also remember

  that he lost his shit with you down the phone. He told you

  you’d find worse than rat droppings in your soup if you ever

  visited the restaurant again. That it wouldn’t be the first time he’d got his revenge on a customer by—’

  ‘I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t—’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me! Any idea how much trade dropped off

  after that? How rumours went around Bristol to avoid the

  Fattened Calf because they had a poor hygiene record? How

  my brother was sacked when he was just on the verge of getting a Michelin star? How he couldn’t get a job anywhere else so

  he had to work in a fucking service station kitchen? How he

  couldn’t even bring himself to cook at home any more? Do you

  have any idea what that did to him? Do you? Of course not.

  You didn’t give it a second thought because, to you, it was just a prank. Ha fucking ha.’

  As Ed continues to rant, Ursula watches with horror as his

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  grip tightens around Alice’s neck. She’s lost so much blood she’s gone limp in his arms. Ursula feels a wave of panic course

  through her. Ed’s not going to let any of them out of there until he gets what he wants.

  ‘I know what it feels like to lose someone,’ she says.

  Ed’s gaze swivels from Simon to her, his eyes small and dark

  beyond the glint of his glasses. ‘Did I ask you to speak?’

  ‘No.’ She shifts position, from her bum to her knees, her

  bound hands held out in front of her. ‘No, you didn’t. But I

  understand . . . Ed, I know how much it hurts to lose someone

  you love.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Ed snaps as she struggles to her feet. Ursula ignores him. A strange, tense silence falls on the rest of the group as though they’re all holding their breath.

  ‘I lost the love of my life,’ she says as she slowly steps towards her housemate. ‘He was beaten to death and instead of helping

  him fight, I ran away.’

  Ed shrugs, unmoved.

  ‘No, you don’t care, do you?’ Ursula says. ‘But you cared

  about your brother. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?’ She’s less than a metre away from him now, her palms are sticky and

  she’s sweating beneath her thick coat. ‘You want Simon to hurt as much as you hurt. But it won’t help you. I looked the men

  who killed Nathan in the eye. I testified against them and helped them get sent to prison for a very long time. I thought it would help. I thought I’d feel better. But it didn’t. Nathan’s still dead and he’s never coming back.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  A bead of sweat rolls down Ursula’s back as she holds out

  her bound hands. ‘Give me the knife.’ The sharp crack of Edward’s laughter makes her jump, but she keeps her hand outstretched.

  ‘Killing Simon isn’t going to bring your brother back.’

  ‘No, but at least Simon will be dead.’

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  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ursula says. ‘I’m sorry you lost your brother. I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.’

  For several seconds Ed doesn’t say a word. His eyes grow

  soft and misty beneath the hard sheen of his glasses and the

  te
nsion in Ursula’s chest eases. She’s getting through to him. All he needed was for someone to tell him that they understood.

  ‘Is it Nick?’ she asks. ‘Your brother? His name’s carved into

  the windowsill in my room.’

  Ed nods.

  ‘He wouldn’t want you to do this. He wouldn’t want Simon

  to die or for you to go to prison.’

  ‘How do you . . .’ Ed’s voice breaks and he swallows ‘. . . how do you know?’

  ‘Because he sounds like he was a good person.’

  Ed says nothing, but his eyes don’t leave hers. She’s getting

  through to him, she can feel it.

  ‘Give me the knife, Ed,’ she says softly. ‘Please. For Nick.’

  Edward stifles a sob and, as he lowers the knife from Alice’s

  throat, Ursula’s heart leaps. He’s going to do it. He’s going to give her the knife. She leans towards him, reaching for it, the muscles in her arms tensed and straining.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ she whispers.

  The force of Ed’s laughter is like a punch to the gut and she

  recoils, her hands pressed to her belly.

  ‘Really, Ursula? Really? I’m sorry. I can’t keep it up. It’s too funny.’

  ‘But . . .’ she stares at him, unable to reconcile the twisted smile on his face with the look of utter devastation she witnessed just seconds ago ‘ . . . but what about your brother?’

  Edward laughs again as he returns the blade of the knife to

  Alice’s throat. ‘Nick was the arsehole who squatted in my spare room. You put two and two together and made “doesn’t actually

  exist”. There is no brother. There was no suicide.’

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  ‘What?’

  ‘I made it all up. I thought it would be fun to see who’d feel sorry for me, and you fell for it. Honestly, Ursula, I thought you were cleverer than that.’

  Ursula stares down at him, too shocked to speak. He’s

  completely lost the plot. ‘I don’t. I don’t understand.’

  ‘There is no brother. I’m the chef Simon rang, you stupid bint.

  Now, sit down. You’re spoiling my fun. Sit . . . down,’ Ed says again and she retreats, stepping backwards, her eyes not leaving his face until someone touches the back of her calf and guides her back to her spot on the floor. She told him about Nathan.