Bye Bye Baby (17 page)

To Anne it seemed as though she was moving at high speed, but the end of the walkway never seemed to get closer. The boys caught up with her all too easily.

‘Billy, don’t!’ she begged, seeing the grotesque clown’s mask he’d pulled over his face, its wide smiling mouth intimidating and sinister. A ridiculous thought flashed into her mind amidst her fear:
I suppose you can’t get Guy Fawkes masks at this time of the year
.

Billy slurred something about having a party and Clive giggled. Anne knew the sound of alcohol talking, had heard it often enough at home. ‘You’re drunk. Billy, please . . .’

‘Shed-urp!’ It was Clive; he was far drunker than Billy, it seemed.

And then new footsteps. Measured, in no hurry. She knew who it was going to be without even turning.

‘Hello, Annie,’ Pierrot said gently. ‘We thought that was you in the park. I saw you quite by chance earlier today, coming out of a bakery in Brighton. Imagine my shock at seeing you with that huge belly — too much of a coincidence for your baby not to belong to the Jesters Club. So I found the lads after school and we’ve been celebrating ever since. And we just had to say hello to an old friend.’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘Hush, Annie. We’re allowed visiting rights to our own child, aren’t we?’

This made all the boys laugh. Phil staggered towards her, his clown mask askew. ‘Where’s Beano?’ he asked, his words running into each other.

They’d all grown, even Phil. Billy was much taller than Pierrot now, and Clive was as huge as Frankenstein, but thinner. It occurred to her to ask Mike whether he’d taken to smearing Nivea on his lips these days now that he could smile so brightly, but she doubted he’d get the jibe. He wasn’t so quick he’d know she was referring to his hideous clown mask.

As if he could read her thoughts, Mike threw an insult of his own. ‘You’ve got even fatter,’ he slurred. ‘I didn’t think that was poshible.’

‘She’s pregnant, idiot,’ Billy corrected.

‘Yes, but to whom, I wonder?’ Pierrot mused. There was no waver in his voice; presumably he’d not been drinking himself.

‘You’ve got them drunk,’ Anne accused. The boys giggled.

‘We’re a gang,’ Pierrot said, sounding injured. ‘I’m their teacher. I’m introducing them to lots of
experiences. Tonight it’s a celebration with you, Annie. The boys want to set things straight.’

‘Not bright enough to play with people your own age?’ Anne sneered, sounding far braver than she felt. She looked into the leering faces of her tormentors and the simple, steady, happy world she had built this year crumbled about her.
Not again. Please, dear god, not again
.

‘Come on, Annie, come with us,’ Pierrot urged.

‘No!’

She tried to move away but hard fingers dug into her. They were too big, too strong. She vomited instead, over Clive’s shoes. Horrified, he hit her. Not a slap but a full punch that caught her in the chest. She felt something crack, a rib perhaps.

Anne began to cry. Pain was moving in on her in a long, rolling wave and she could feel her baby squirming. A fractured rib meant nothing to this. She lowered herself to the floor of the alley and wept.

Pierrot heaved her back to her feet, making tutting sounds at Clive. ‘Don’t hurt her. She’s our little mum.’

This time Anne couldn’t scream, for the contraction was so intense it was all she could do to hold her breath and deal with the pain. She was aware of the boys pulling off their masks. Why they even bothered with them she didn’t know. It was only Pierrot’s identity that was a mystery. They held her upright, moving her along the twitten towards the car.

‘Everything alright?’ A new voice.

Anne wrenched her head around to see a man walking a dog. She tried to speak but couldn’t; the pain had her fully in its grip now. All she could do was groan, and that just helped Pierrot’s explanation.

‘My wife — we’re having a baby and we think it’s coming right now. I’m rushing her to the hospital,’ he said.

Anne shifted, desperate to get a look at her captor’s face, which she realised was now unmasked. He was turned away from her, waving to the man with thanks, but she caught a glimpse before he pulled on the mask again: he had very dark hair and pale skin from what she could tell. And she was sure his voice held an Irish lilt.

They bundled her into the back seat of the Cortina, Clive and Billy flanking her, Billy pulling a hood over her head. Mike and Phil shared the front seat, she could tell from their voices. Clive, on her left, tied her wrists together with something.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she screamed through tears. The hood smelt of food — a bit like the bag the Christmas ham came in, she thought. Perhaps she looked liked a pig herself, all trussed up ready for the kill. She was sure she was going to vomit again.

‘I told you, it’s a surprise party and the boys don’t want you to see anything until we’re there. Here, tape her mouth,’ Pierrot said. ‘Can’t have her drawing attention to us now, can we, boys? And push her down on the floor between you.’

The boys were too drunk, she realised, to comprehend how dangerous this was becoming. She helped them by moving herself down onto the floor. She wasn’t going to invite Clive’s fist again. The pain at her ribs exploded.

‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ she warned before the tape was applied.

‘No, Annie, no, you won’t,’ Pierrot soothed, his tone sickeningly gentle as his hand reached back to pat her head. His next words sent shards of ice through her trembling body, freezing her into silence. ‘We’ll take care of you . . . and the baby.’

Anne had no idea where they were going. She tried to follow the twists and turns of the car but was too rattled to concentrate hard enough. She gave up and focused instead on the pains that were coming more regularly now. She groaned, her lips pulling against the masking tape over her mouth.

The car began to slow, and finally Pierrot parked. She heard him turn to her. ‘Now, Annie, we’re going to take off that hood.’

It was done. She looked up at them fearfully. From her spot on the floor, she could see it was inky dark now. She could hear the sound of waves and smell salt air. They were at the seafront in Brighton. She turned her head and saw the bright lights that her father used to bring her to admire when she was very little. Their happy fairytale glow mocked her misery.

As the boys piled out of the car, ideas for escape came and went in her mind like flashes from a sparkler. One moment bright and burning with potential, the next, extinguished. She ran through several scenarios, all ludicrous, from kicking whomever grabbed her first, then blindly running down the promenade and hoping to crash into someone, to somehow twisting away the moment they got her out of the car and racing towards the sea. They might lose her in the dark or she could drown herself. Better than whatever they had in store for her. It finally occurred to Anne to simply cooperate. No struggle, just make it
easy on them, and perhaps they’d let her go. She survived last time. This time she had a baby to protect, and his life, no matter at what cost to her, was all that mattered.

She heard locks and chains rattling and then a gate swing open.

Pierrot was back, peering into the car, his freakish mask hiding his face. ‘Anne, do you see this knife I have in my hand?’

It was concealed up the sleeve of his shirt, just the tip showing. She remembered that blade. It was the one that killed Beano. She nodded.

‘There’s no one around because there’s a storm brewing,’ he went on. ‘The promenade’s empty — all these lights on for no one. But you never know your luck in a big city, do you?’ Again she nodded, hoping that was the right answer. ‘So, if you do anything you’re not supposed to do, I’m going to stick this knife into your belly. Do you understand?’

Her head bobbed frantically.

‘Good girl. Now, when you get out, you just act natural, okay? I’ll put my arm around you and we’re going to act like a normal couple out for a stroll on Brighton Beach. Can you do that?’

She nodded again, imagining just how abnormal a couple they really looked — his mask a most romantic touch. He ripped the masking tape off her mouth and the sting made her lips feel as though they’d grown to ten times their normal size.

‘I want you to tell me that you understand,’ he urged.

‘I do,’ she said, trying to please yet desperate now with pain, ‘but you need to know that I’ve gone into labour. The baby’s coming.’

He paused, considered what she’d said. ‘Are you sure, Annie?’

‘He’s early. But he’s coming, I tell you. I began having the pains in the park and they’ve been getting worse and closer together. That means I’m in labour. I’ve been to classes, I know what’s happening. I’ve got to get to a hospital.’

He hesitated again, calculating, then said, ‘I can’t let you do that.’

‘My baby is being born!’ she cried, the wind whipping her words away. ‘He’s early, he’ll need special care from a hospital or he could die.’ She was past caring about herself now. If he was planning to rape her again then she wished he’d just get on with it, but she wanted him to do it near a hospital so she at least had a fighting chance of delivering Peter safely.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked in frustration.

‘Something I gave you, Annie. I want it back.’

‘I took nothing from you. You took my life from me,’ she whispered, tears coming freely again now.

‘Hush, now. Remember your promise.’

Anne was tempted to let rip with the biggest scream she could muster, especially now the latest contraction had passed. She was sure she hadn’t long before the next one arrived. She felt Peter move inside and it reminded her once again of the chance at happiness she had, of how much she loved this child and how much she wanted him to live.
Cooperate
, she told herself. It might work out.

Reluctantly she took Pierrot’s hand, forced herself not to recoil from his touch when he put his arm around her enveloping her in a haze of Brut and
perspiration and another smell, an unpleasant one. It was tobacco, she realised. Pierrot must be a smoker.

She walked carefully alongside him and only then realised where he’d brought her.
West Pier!
Its colourfully lit facade now appeared suddenly sinister. The place she’d always loved had become a place of dread.

‘West Pier’s closed,’ she said, confused.

‘Not to us, Annie,’ and he led her through the wooden gate and locked it behind him with a key.

The pier had been closed this year sometime. She recalled all the drama surrounding its closure. Everyone in the bakery and all the customers talked about it non-stop for a while. And she’d learned from reading
The Evening Argus
, which she did regularly, that West Pier was built as far back as 1866. She’d ridden on its red and white striped helter-skelter when she was four and loved looking at the sculpted goddess faces around its windowpanes and, more fascinating, its timber serpents coiled thick and colourful around all the lampposts. Although bombings during the war had done their best to destroy it, the West Pier had withstood the onslaught, but it was the ravages of time and weather that had finally closed one of the most popular spots in the whole of southern England.

‘Don’t you love the pier?’ he said conversationally as he pulled her closer still. ‘Too dangerous to keep open, they say. Such a pity. I spent the best times of my childhood here.’ She heard a wistful note in his voice, but it was banished quickly. ‘Come on then, Annie. Let’s get you inside, shall we?’

She saw that the knife was now so close to her tummy that it was probably resting against Peter’s
head. It wouldn’t take much to kill them both, she thought, and the grief hit her again. She started crying, and this time he didn’t soothe her as before but simply bundled her into what had once been the magnificent concert hall. Now it was just an empty shell.

Mike swayed towards them on unsteady legs. ‘Hey, Fl—’

‘No!’ Pierrot roared into his face. ‘No names!’

He shoved Mike away, flicked a lighter and lit a candle he’d pulled from his pocket. He wedged the candle between two broken pieces of decking.

Anne wasn’t watching him though, her attention on Mike Sheriff, wounded by Pierrot’s tone.
Go on, Mikey, get the others going as well
, she silently urged. Hope

flared.

Billy, who seemed to have sobered up slightly, walked to where Pierrot was lighting another candle. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘Yep.’ Pierrot didn’t turn.

‘We don’t want to do this any more.’

‘What don’t you want to do?’ Pierrot stood.

‘This!’ Billy said, pulling off his mask. He pointed at Anne. ‘This party thing. It’s stupid. Sorry, Anne. I’m sorry for all of it.’

The others moved towards her, all unmasked now. Phil spoke, his voice croaky, newly broken. ‘I didn’t agree with the dog being hurt, and I’m not interested in all of this. I never was. I’m going home.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Mike echoed, sneering at the man who’d been their leader just moments ago. ‘We’re still young enough that girls will give it willingly,’ he taunted.

Pierrot didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he removed his mask and pointed to a sack on the timber floor. ‘Here, lads,’ he said. ‘Over there.’

Anne stared at her abductor’s face in the shimmering glow of the candles. He looked so ordinary — scruffy dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes. How could she describe him, she wondered, if the police asked her. And then the realisation hit her with as much force as Clive’s earlier punch. If Pierrot had removed his mask, he was no longer frightened of her seeing him. And if he didn’t fear her identifying him, it probably meant he intended to kill her. She began to sob again but everyone ignored her.

‘What is it?’ Clive said sulkily, staring at the bag.

‘Take a look, it’s all I promised.’

Phil moved the fastest, digging into the sack. ‘More booze, smokes, chocolates, crisps, beer!’ He began to laugh.

‘Chocolate,’ Clive mumbled and ripped into a block of Cadbury’s.

Anne closed her eyes with a fresh wave of despair. The storm was whipping up outside. No one would hear her. There was no hope any more. A new contraction hit her and she sank to the floor of the concert hall, looked up to its once glorious, now damaged roof and prayed it would collapse right now on top of her. Kill her, kill them all, before Pierrot had a chance to hurt her again. Or, worse, hurt Peter.