Our Father Who Are Out There...Somewhere (21 page)

“Come on, let’s get away from here,” he says as he jumps back into the car, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ll pick my bike up tomorrow.”

It takes Jo several attempts to turn the car around in the narrow lane. “Come on,” says Stuart, “Get a move on.”

Once Jo has got the Mini pointing back down the hill, Stuart flicks the suitcase open. Jo glances behind her and screams as the Mini veers across the road. When she regains control of the car, she shouts, “Eighty-five thousand smackers.”

Once she’s parked the Mini in the car park round the back of Stuart’s flat, Jo leaps out of the car, opens the rear door and takes the suitcase from Stuart. The others follow her into the flat and up both flights of stairs into the attic. She sits on the double bed in Andre’s bedroom and opens the suitcase. She removes one of the neat bundles; one thousand pounds, and fans herself with it, before putting it to her nose and inhaling. She whistles. “Direct action, in action. Who says crime doesn’t pay?”

Stuart looks over her shoulder. “Wow, that’s a lot of money.”

“Look Lily,” says Jo. “You’re rich.”

Lily shrugs her shoulders.

“You’re owed it, Lily,” Stuart says. “It’s rightfully yours.”

Lily sits on the floor by the small garret window, looking down on the street below. She watches a couple arguing across the street. “By the way,” says Lily, “he said if you’re not home by six he’s ringing the police. I think he meant it.”

Fiona sits on the floor near the door. She stares at the suitcase; it has a sticker on the side that says ‘Hotel Oleander’ and another with a picture of the Hilton in Cairo. “We went there last year.”

“Where?” asks Jo.

“Cairo. I rode a camel and Dad got gastroenteritis. I am not going home.”

“We’ve been through this, Fiona,” says Jo. “We can’t take eighty-five thousand pounds off him and then not give you back. That would be seriously bad karma. You don’t have to stay, but you do have to go home.”

Fiona’s bottom lip juts out. “I want to stay with you guys.”

“If you don’t go home you won’t be able to stay with us, because we’ll all be in prison.” Jo starts to count out the bundles of money.

“He won’t know where to find us.”

“Look.” Jo slaps her hand on the top of the suitcase. “You can’t kidnap someone, demand a ransom, get it and then not release the person you kidnapped.”

“Why don’t we ask for more money?”

“You’ve got to go home, Fi,” says Stuart.

“It’s not fair. What am I going to do? You want me to go home and pretend like everything’s fine? What am I going to say to him? I have to tell him I know.” Fiona starts to cry. “I hate him.”

Lily crosses the room and sits down on the floor next to Fiona. “I don’t want you to go either.” She leans into Fiona so that their heads rest against each other. “But we have to return you. He deserves to know you’re ok. You can leave again, but you should tell him you’re leaving. We’ll drive you back and we’ll wait for an hour or two if you like. But you have to tell him you not kidnapped anymore.”

“It’s all here,” says Jo. “Eighty-five k.”

“You promise you’ll wait for me?” Fiona asks Lily.

“I promise.”

“So I can just go in, say I’m not kidnapped anymore, and then you’ll bring me back here?”

“Yeah.”

Fiona nods. “Ok.” Lily hugs her.

Jo divides the money into piles: seventy-five piles for Lily, two for Fiona and eight piles for Jo. “Have you got any carrier bags?”

Stuart goes downstairs and returns with a handful of plastic bags. Jo places two bundles in a Morrison’s bag and hands it to Fiona. Fiona shakes her head. “Give it to Lily. She deserves it more than me.”

Jo shrugs and starts stuffing Lily’s money into the largest carrier that has ‘Bag for Life’ written on the side. She adds one of Fiona’s thousand pound bundles to it. “Are you sure you don’t want some Stuart?” Jo asks, waving Fiona’s other bundles in the air. “I feel like we owe you big time, even if it’s just to pay you for all the food we’ve been eating?”

Stuart shakes his head. “I don’t think I should profit from blackmailing my girlfriend’s father. I’m going to have enough explaining to do as it is.”

Fiona gives him a watery smile. Stuart jumps to his feet. “Does anyone want a cup of tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”

“We haven’t got time,” says Jo, adding Fiona’s other thousands pounds to her own carrier bag. “We need to get going. Who’s coming to Skipton?”

“Me,” says Lily.

“I can’t,” says Stuart. “I’m on the late shift tonight and I’m already in the bad books for missing Saturday.”

“I will if I have to,” says Fiona. “But I’m not stopping.”

“Right then,” says Jo, as she pulls herself up of the bed and picks up the two carrier bags. “Why don’t you two say your goodbyes, while me and Lily get ready downstairs.”

“I want to get a shower,” says Lily.

While Lily showers, Jo prowls around the first floor of the flat, checking the clock that hangs in the hallway every five minutes. As she paces back and forth, a creaking floorboard catches her attention. Using a knife from the kitchen she prises it loose. “Perfect.”

Jo fetches the two bags of bank notes, stashes them under the floor and then replaces the floorboard. She adjusts the position of the settee and then glances again at the clock. “We need to be going, Fiona!”

Fiona appears at the top of the attic stairs, her eyes red rimmed.

“Bang on the bathroom door. Tell Lily we need to get moving.”

The journey back is quiet and subdued. The sisters sit in the back seat, mute in each other’s company. As they drive into Skipton, they pass the grammar school, and Fiona shudders.

Jo parks at the far end of Primrose Glen. It is already dark. She checks the time; three minutes to six. Jo jumps out of the car and holds open the back door, like a chauffeur. Lily and Fiona unfurl themselves and climb out. They inch along the pavement, arms linked, until they are a few hundred yards away. Jo holds out her arm and they stop.

“Wait for me,” pleads Fiona as tears start to stream down her cheeks.

“We’ll be here. If you can’t stand it, just come out and we’ll be waiting.” Lily struggles to keep her voice normal. “What will you tell him?”

“Don’t know.” Fiona looks up the street at her home. “I won’t know till I see him. Promise you’ll wait for me?”

“Promise. We’ll be here ’til eight o’clock. If you don’t come out we’ll go to Stuart’s. Ring us there tomorrow morning, whatever happens. We’ll come back for you anytime, won’t we, Jo?”

“It’s six o’clock,” says Jo.

Lily puts her arms around Fiona’s shoulders. “Go on then. Off you go and grass me up.” Lily does her best to force out a laugh, but Fiona cries harder and clings to Lily, her arms tight around her sister’s waist. Lily closes her eyes for one moment, trying to imprint the smell to memory, and then she pushes Fiona in the direction of Newlands. “Take care, you.”

Fiona drags herself towards her house.

“Fi?” Lily shouts after her. “If you decide to stay, will you still ring? Or, if you can’t ring, write to me? I’ll leave Stuart my address.”

“I’m not going to stay.”

Half way along the street, Fiona turns back and looks at them both with a pleading expression. Lily smiles, points her arm in the direction of Newlands and bites her lip. Fiona continues, exaggeratedly scraping her feet along the pavement, until she reaches the iron gates. She enters the code with one hand, waving at them in the darkness with the other. Lily and Jo can make out her profile in the light of the street lamps, but then the gates open, Fiona disappears, and the street is still.

Lily and Jo wait until half past eight but Fiona doesn’t appear. Jo stubs out the spliff, sits higher in the seat, and turns the key in the ignition. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

“You don’t think he’s hurting her do you?” Lily asks, before taking a drink from the hip flask. “What if he’s locked her in against her will?” 

Jo rubs her eyes. “If she doesn’t ring tomorrow, we’ll ring the police and say we’re scared she’s being abused or something, but I’m not going in there now, Lil.” Jo starts the car. “It’s over, at least for tonight.”

In Lancaster, Jo and Lily have to run from the car park to Stuart’s flat, as rain starts hurling down at them. Stuart isn’t back from work and the flat is cold and dark.

Jo lifts the floorboard and counts the money again, while Lily tries to work out how to turn the central heating on. By the time the boiler starts to make reassuring operating noises, Jo has replaced Lily’s share of the ransom under the floorboards. She cradles her own carrier bag like a baby. “Do you fancy coming to Kirby? I need some clean clothes and we’re almost out of dope.”

“No,” says Lily. “You go if you want. I could do with a night on my own anyway.” 

“You sure? I want to get this little lot in the bank before my bank manager sues me for his mental health problems. You sure you’ll be ok?”

“I’ll be fine, I could do with the rest.”

Lily sits down on the settee and starts to unlace her boots. Jo runs up the attic stairs into their shared sleeping quarters, and before Lily has managed to pull the second boot from her foot, is back carrying a holdall and her coat.

Jo chucks the tobacco tin at Lily. Lily misses the catch and it hits her on the side of her leg. “That’s the last of the dope; there should be enough for a couple. I’ll be back tomorrow. You sure you’re ok?”

“Stop fussing, I’m fine already. Go.” Lily stands to give Jo a hug. “Drive carefully and say hi to your mum.”

As soon as Jo is gone, Lily makes herself a cup of tea and goes upstairs. She flicks through Andre’s meagre record collection and puts Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’ album onto the small turntable. She sets the volume so low she can only just make out the words, and then rolls down her trousers, stepping on them to help extract her legs from the tightness of the cloth. Then she climbs into bed, arranging the pillows around her to prop up her upright, as she rolls herself a spliff. She hears Stuart come in around midnight, hears him call out, “hello” on the first floor a couple of times, and pulls the duvet up under her chin.

She doesn’t expect to sleep, but when she next opens her eyes it’s daylight. She lies in bed trying to guess what time it is, until she remembers that Fiona promised to ring, whatever happened, this morning. She picks her trousers up from their heap on the floor, puts them on and goes downstairs. Stuart is already dressed, standing at the cooker with a wooden spoon, stirring a pan of something. “Hello,” he smiles at her, “I made you breakfast. Where’s Jo?”

“She went back to her mum’s, to put her money into the bank and wash her clothes. She’ll be back later today.”

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Lily sits down as Stuart places a plate of scrambled eggs on toast in front of her. As the smell reaches her nostrils her stomach turns and she frowns. “You’re up early.”

“I’m on the lunch shift today – I’ll be back by four. What will you do?” He passes her a knife and fork. “You could come down the pub if you like, it’s normally pretty quiet.”

Lily prods the scrambled egg. “Thanks. I think I’ll have a bath and just wait for the others.”

“Would you like salt?” Stuart hovers over her, waiting for her to eat. “What others?”

Lily places a forkful of egg into her mouth. It feels rubbery and alien. She tries hard to swallow, but her mouth is dry. “Jo.”

“You said others, plural.”

“I’m just going to make a cup of tea.” Lily stands up and rushes over to the kettle. “Maybe Fiona might come back today?”

“Maybe.” Stuart sounds doubtful. He pulls on his coat. “You’ve got a key? Right, see you at four.”

Lily follows him into the hall. She leans on the banister to watch him run down the bottom flight of stairs to the front door. When she hears the front door close, she goes back to the kitchen and scrapes the congealed mass of scrambled egg into the bin before lighting a cigarette. She stands with her back against the worktop, silently smoking until the kettle boils. When she’s made herself a cup of tea, the tea bag still floating in the milky liquid, she wanders through to the bathroom and turns on the clunky old taps above the bath. It takes her all her strength to move them, and even when she’s twisted them as far as they will go, the water hardly gushes, despite the optimistic gurgling sounds coming from the ancient plumbing system. She closes the toilet lid, sits down and smokes another three cigarettes while waiting for the bath to fill.

When she finally turns off the taps and climbs into the tub of water, she’s unnerved by the absence of sound. She holds her right leg out of the water and wonders whether she should start shaving. The hairs are blonde and soft, but thicker than she remembers. But then, shaving your legs only matters if you’re going to wear a skirt or have sex, and she can’t decide which of the two is less likely. She settles for washing her hair, examining the array of toiletries lined up against the bath. One of the reasons for her dreadlocks, was she’d got sick of washing her hair in washing up liquid; her mother having given up on expensive luxuries like shampoo.

Once she’s washed her hair, she stands up and wraps a towel around her body, before stepping out of the bath and looking at herself in the mirror. It still seems strange to see herself without dreads; she feels naked, vulnerable. She rubs a handful of Jo’s mousse through her hair and tries to spike it up a bit. It still insists on falling back around her face in soft curls. She tuts at her own reflection and starts to get dressed.

After she’s washed the breakfast plates and plumped up the cushions on the settee, Lily squirts a bit of polish from the spray tin she found in the cupboard under the sink, into the front room. It takes her a few minutes to realise the unpleasant smell is coming from her clothes, and another twenty to work out how to open the washing machine. She goes back to the bathroom and picks up her damp towel from the floor. She sits wrapped in it again, as she watches the two changes of clothes she has with her, roll around in the machine. When the telephone rings, at a quarter to two, Lily leaps from the settee and the towel drops to her ankles. She runs to the hall table and grabs the handset. “Hello?”