Ring Around Rosie (5 page)

Rosie rolled over. Raven was snoring so
loudly it was like being in a room with a lawnmower. She kicked out her leg,
hoping to make contact with his sleeping body and shut him up. Nothing. She
tried again, a little to the left. Still nothing. Where the hell was he? Was he
asleep on the floor rather than her bed? That was so unlike him.

“Raven, shut up!” she finally shouted,
throwing her pillow into the darkness.

“Rosie? You ok?”

Rosie jumped. Raven can talk!

“It’s ok, you’re dreaming.”

Rosie suddenly recognised the voice and her
world caved in around her. Baduwa sat next to her on what Rosie now remembered
was a dirty old mattress on the floor of a filthy flat somewhere in London. The
snoring was coming from Utibe.

There were just four of them left: Baduwa,
Utibe, Lo and Rosie. The truck had made two more stops before it brought them
to a part of London Rosie didn’t recognise. They’d walked up five flights of
stairs to the top floor of a low-rise block of flats, the setting sun colouring
their ascent orange. The door they’d entered was the last in a row of eight
doors, all covered with graffiti. Dirty net curtains hung in the even dirtier
windows. They’d been pushed into a tiny room with four mattresses littering the
stained floor, and four blankets in a pile in the corner. Paint was peeling off
the walls like loose scabs, and the smell was a mixture of damp and urine.

Having not slept a wink the night before
they’d all crashed out, hoping to escape to the blissful peace that sleep
brought. 

“What were you dreaming about?” asked
Baduwa, tucking her legs up under her dress and hugging them.

“I heard snoring and thought it was my dog
Raven,” Rosie replied, pulling the blanket up under her chin. It smelt of sick.

“Oh, you have a dog. You’re so lucky. I
always wanted one but mum said no. Dogs in Nigeria tend to be pretty mangy and
most of them roam wild.”

“Do you miss it? Nigeria I mean,” asked
Rosie. 

“Not yet. I thought I would, having lived
there my whole fourteen years, but I’m so excited about what’s waiting for me
here.”

Rosie was surprised she was only fourteen;
they were the same age but Baduwa looked so much older than she did. Rosie
still felt like a very frightened child much too far away from home, and yet
Baduwa was much further away from her home but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Wow, your parents must be really chilled,
mine never let me go anywhere on my own, not anymore,” Rosie said, laughing
slightly.

“Children grow up quickly where I come
from,” Baduwa replied, looking down at her feet and picking at a painted
toenail. “I’m one of the lucky ones, my parents cared about me enough to let me
to leave, Utibe’s parents too, but the ones that are left, I don’t know…” she
trailed off, and started smoothing her hair and adjusting her clip. “What I
wouldn’t give for a mirror right now, I must look dreadful,” she sighed.

Rosie frowned at her. Something wasn’t
right with this picture. She seemed so sure that she was going to get this
great house and a job, but Rosie could see no evidence of that so far. And she
doubted the men that had brought them here were humanitarians.

Rosie looked across the room as Utibe began
to stir. She sat up and looked around, as if she’d also forgotten where she
was. Her vacant eyes fell on Rosie and Baduwa and she climbed off her mattress
and wandered over, her head down, her hands playing with the front of her brown
dress. Baduwa opened her arms and Utibe crawled onto her lap and snuggled into
her.

“She doesn’t say much, does she?” observed
Rosie.

“Probably because she can’t,” replied
Baduwa.

“I know you said she doesn’t speak English,
but I thought she might speak her own language occasionally.”

“She would if she could, but she can’t
speak at all.”

“Oh,” said Rosie, looking at the tiny body
curled on Baduwa’s knee. “What, not at all? Ever?”

“She used to speak, of course, but she has
no tongue,” replied Baduwa stroking Utibe’s hair.

“What? Where is it?” Rosie asked, instantly
regretting the ridiculous question that made it sound like Utibe had been
careless and misplaced her tongue somewhere.

“It was taken, of course,” replied Baduwa
shaking her head at Rosie’s apparent ignorance. “You know, cut out. Removed.”

Rosie suddenly felt like a naive child, not
privy to the experiences the rest of them shared. After all, she was an
impostor, an uninvited guest.

“But why?” asked Rosie, confused.

“You really know nothing about what goes on
outside of your perfect little world, do you?” sighed Baduwa.

Rosie felt like she’d been slapped round
the face. She put both her hands up and touched her cheeks reflexively, feeling
hurt but more ashamed at her ignorance. Tears threatened to escape from her
eyes and she squeezed them shut, burying her face under the smelly blanket. But
she couldn’t contain them and soon she was sobbing. It took her completely by
surprise; Rosie prided herself on not being a girly cry-baby, but no amount of
scolding in her head would stop the tears falling. She cried for her mum and
dad, for Ted, for letting herself get caught, for her uncertain future, for Lo,
Baduwa and Utibe and for all the other children that were goodness knows where
by now.

She felt a hand on her head and she emerged
from under the blanket, her hot, swollen eyes meeting Utibe’s. Rosie hated
herself; she had nothing to cry about compared to Utibe, and yet Utibe was
soothing her with reassuring eyes and a timid smile.

Rosie wiped the tears ashamedly from her
cheeks and smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where all that came from. Thanks
Utibe,” she nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Don’t worry, we’ve all done it, many
times,” said Baduwa getting to her feet. “Do you suppose they’ll feed us soon?”
she asked, walking to a window and peering out into the darkness. “I wonder
what time it is, we can’t have slept that long.”

Rosie desperately wanted to ask more about
Utibe but decided she’d said enough wrong things for one day, so kept her mouth
shut.

As Rosie watched Baduwa gaze at herself in
the faint reflection of the window, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t
even considered trying to escape. She was like a sitting duck, why was she not
screaming out of the window trying to get someone’s attention? Why had she not
even tried the door to see if it was locked? She wasn’t supposed to be here,
she was a British citizen; they couldn’t keep her locked up like this!

Rosie sprang to her feet and ran to the
door; it was locked. She ran to the bathroom; there was no window. She ran over
to one of the two small windows; it was locked. So was the one Baduwa had been
preening herself in. Unlike the rest of the room the windows looked new; double
glazed and thick. Rosie peered outside and realised why the windows needed to
be so thick and why they were so high up; no one on the ground would be able to
hear her banging on the window or screaming. They were so close to
civilisation, to people going about their daily lives, and yet they couldn’t be
seen or heard by any of them, they may as well be on the moon. She slumped back
onto her mattress, her moment of hope flickering then dying.

Lo wandered over to Rosie and sat next to
her. His small, brown eyes, wide with fear, searched her face for a smile, for
some sort of reassurance. Rosie put her arm around him and from somewhere deep
inside found the smile she knew he so desperately needed. If only someone would
give her the same comfort. She had so wanted to be an adult and make her own
decisions, be a leader for her own cause, and now that she had at last been
elected to that role by Lo, she longed for her parents to appear and tell her
what the hell to do.

The tears threatened to fall again so she
rubbed her eyes fiercely, pushing them back inside, and stood up to pace.
Pacing always seemed to work in movies; for some reason it magically produced
an idea as if the movement dislodged it from its hiding place and sent it
drifting upwards like a bubble until it popped on the surface, bursting with
ideas.

Rosie walked from one side of the small
room to the other, turning the situation over in her mind, as six eyes watched
her expectantly.

Firstly, they still had no idea what the
kidnappers wanted with them. Secondly, even if they were all prepared to make a
break for it, which she doubted, the four of them could never overpower
fully-grown men. Thirdly, the windows were all locked and virtually sound
proof, so there was no way of attracting anyone else’s attention. And, finally,
and most frustratingly, in her haste to leave the house with Ted she had forgotten
her mobile.

It seemed the bubble was not ready to be
dislodged just yet after all. She would have to bide her time and hope
something presented itself. For now the only hope was that Ted had found the
clue and understood it.

A key turning in the door interrupted
Rosie’s thoughts. Lo jumped up and hid behind her. Rosie rested her hand
protectively on his skinny shoulder and braced herself for what was coming.

Only one man came through the door, Rosie
recognised him as the slightly strange, quiet one she’d seen from her hiding
place beside the bunker.
Griff
she thought his name was. He was carrying
a tray of food, which he placed awkwardly on the floor just inside the door.
His eyes darted around nervously, avoiding making eye contact with any of the
children. Rosie saw her chance.

“Why are you keeping us here?’ she
demanded. Griff shook his head and started to leave the room but Rosie leapt
across the mattress and grabbed his arm. He shot her a look of surprise and
fear burned in his eyes. Rosie knew he could easily shake her off or strike her
with his other arm but he stood there quivering, his head down, shaking from
side to side.

“Please,” she said quietly. “Just tell us
what you’re going to do with us. My family will be so worried.” Her voice started
to break and she released her grip on Griff’s arm and took a step back. He
looked at her face for the first time, his eyes brimming with tears. For a
brief moment Rosie thought he was going to speak but he merely shook his head
again sadly and left the room. 

Rosie watched defeated as the others raced
to the tray and began devouring the unappetising food that lay on it. She had
to give herself the kind of talking-to that her mum would have given her about
fainting if she didn’t eat, in order to make her try some. She really didn’t
feel that hungry, despite the empty pain in her stomach, and there was no
telling what had been put in the greeny-brown-coloured stew they were eating.
Rosie brought a spoonful up to her mouth; she gagged. The rest of them didn’t
seem to notice the smell of stale cabbages and vinegar. She saw a crust of
bread and ate that instead. It was like eating a furry piece of crumbling
concrete but at least it didn’t stink.

Rosie caught Baduwa’s look of disgust. She
instantly felt guilty; this was probably a banquet for them. She picked up her
spoon, shaking as she lifted it towards her mouth. The smell hit her again and
her mouth clamped tightly shut in response. By now, all three were watching
her. Rosie looked at each of them, the spoon suspended in front of her mouth.
She suddenly felt so alone. She was so different to the faces before her. She’d
had it all so easy. And at least she was here by accident. They had been
brought here purposely, for what she still didn’t know, but it was becoming
more and more clear that it wasn’t good. And whoever had let them get to this
place had done so intentionally, with no concern for their safety. They were
just kids. Who in their right and loving mind would let their children leave
the country with strangers, however bad it was? Rosie couldn’t compare them, in
any way, to herself. There were no similarities. How could she possibly relate
to them? She felt helpless; suspended like the spoon.

She lowered the spoon in defeat. Utibe took
it from her and shared what Rosie hadn’t eaten between the rest of them. Rosie
reached for the water and tried to fill her empty stomach with that instead. It
provided little relief.

Just then the key turned in the door and it
opened. This time it wasn’t Griff, it was the blonde haired man, Zaydain, and
he wasn’t alone. Standing behind him was another man that Rosie didn’t
recognise. He wore glasses on top of a sweating, bulbous nose, and was bald
except for a few wisps of brown hair that lay carefully across the top of his
red head. His suit struggled to meet across his wheezing chest, and his eyes
glistened moist with interest as he gazed at the four of them. 

Rosie cringed as his eyes met hers but they
quickly returned to Lo and he nodded at Zaydain.

Zaydain stepped forward to grab Lo but
Rosie leapt in his way, shielding Lo, pushing him behind her.

“What are you doing with him? Where are you
taking him?” she screamed. Unlike Griff, Zaydain had no pity in his eyes; he
pushed Rosie roughly out of the way and grabbed Lo by his shirt dragging him
out of the room, his little body hanging from Zaydain’s grip like a ragdoll.
Rosie jumped to her feet and raced towards the door, tears streaming down her
face. She was already failing to protect him, despite her reassurance that
everything would be ok. Lo looked back as he was dragged away, his eyes wide
with fear, his arms stretched out towards her, a silent scream on his lips.
Rosie let out a long, terrified scream of her own and threw herself against the
door as it slammed in her face, pummelling it angrily with her feeble fists.
But he was gone.