The Well (13 page)

There was only silence on the phone.

“Sarah?”

Sarah’s heart had skipped a beat when Jan had mentioned the milk, but it didn’t really tell them anything new. They’d already guessed that the children hadn’t been home, so this shouldn’t really be a surprise. But somehow, it made everything more real; more worrying.

“Thanks Jan. It looks like they’ve not been home – but I just wish I knew where they were.”

Jan felt enormously relieved – and not a little bit guilty. “When are you back?”

“Within a couple of hours. We’ll see you then.”

“OK. See you then.”

Sarah rang off. She told Jim about the milk; he frowned. “I just don’t get it,” he said.
Stuff it
, he thought, and pressed his foot harder on the accelerator, taking the car ten miles per hour over the legal limit.
Hopefully that’s not enough to draw the attention of the traffic police
, he thought.

Sarah felt the car accelerate. She put her hand on Jim’s and squeezed it gently.

Just thirty miles later, a traffic queue brought them to a standstill. Jim opened the car door and stood on the motorway, peering ahead.

“What is it?” asked Sarah.

“Looks like a crash up ahead,” replied Jim, grimly, just about able to see blue flashing lights in the distance, ahead of the cars tailing back all the way from the accident.

“Bloody shit,” said Sarah, punching the dashboard. “Can’t you drive on the hard shoulder?”

“I think the accident’s on there too,” said Jim. “In any event, it’s needed for emergency vehicles.”

As if on cue, an ambulance and police car sped past them on the hard shoulder, sirens blaring.

“Just great,” said Sarah, her frustration bordering on rage. “We could be here for hours.”

5

By early afternoon, Becca felt exhausted – but very satisfied with her progress. As high as she could reach, and for around a third of the well’s circumference, she’d cleared most of the moss from the well wall.

The work had been hard, as she had been fatigued before she began. The longer she worked, the more her arms and hands protested. Her injuries joined in to create a concert of pain that seemed to affect most of her body. Her right forearm especially hurt like hell. Her left shin and ankle grew more painful by the hour, and her head had started to throb again – a pulsating pain from which there seemed no relief.

She flipped the lighter on and examined her work briefly before flipping it off again. She was getting through the lighter fuel at one heck of a rate and was starting to worry about it running out.

She decided to rest a while and prepare herself for the climb. She pulled the water bottle down from its home and drank deeply.
Probably too much
, she thought, but she was desperately thirsty.
And, if I don’t make it out of the well this time, it probably won’t make any difference.

Becca mentally flipped a coin to choose between the packet of crisps and the chocolate bar – and then decided that this wasn’t something to leave to chance. She’d eat the chocolate bar, which would give her the biggest (if briefest) energy rush.
But
, she thought
, I’ll wait until just before I climb.

That left one more thing – and try as she might, she couldn’t leave it any longer. She had hoped that she would have been able to wait until she’d climbed out of the well, but her lower abdomen was cramping badly. The thought of defecating into the well sickened her. It was bad enough having to sit in water in which she had peed several times – but having her own faeces floating around beside her was just too degrading to imagine. Of course, she was hoping to make it out of the well on the next climb, but if she didn’t – Becca shuddered.

“Oh bollocks,” she said to herself. She squatted in the water and slid her knickers down to her ankles, hating herself. Just before she let go, inspiration hit. She pulled her knickers back up (thinking, as she did so,
for whose benefit?
) and retrieved one of the supermarket carrier bags. With difficulty, she managed to empty her bowels into that. The relief was immense. When she’d finished, she washed herself with the well water and then wiped herself with one of the towels.
A regular fucking bidet
, she thought, loathing what she had done. She tied up the top of the carrier bag tightly, before putting it into Matt’s bag. She almost hung the towel back where it was, but decided there was too much chance of her mixing up the clean and soiled towel, so, with some reluctance, placed it on Matt’s shoulder, next to the football shirt covering his head. “Sorry, Matt,” she whispered.
That,
she thought,
was not nice.

She sat back in the water, disgusted that it was where she’d just cleaned her dirty bottom.
It’s probably no worse than what was already in here
, she thought, trying to console herself.

She tried to rest and gather her strength but found it impossible to relax. She wondered what her mother and Jim were doing. They weren’t due back until the evening, probably late on, so right now they would almost certainly be out enjoying themselves. The thought that they would soon be back encouraged her, though.
At least they’ll start searching before long
, she thought,
even if they’re not likely to look here for ages.

The thought of seeing her mother brought her to tears again. A couple of days ago she’d considered herself a woman, but right now the one thing she wanted more than anything was to be hugged by her Mum as if she were a little girl.

She glanced over at Matt again.
If I ever get out of this,
she thought,
the first thing I’m going to do is hug Mum and tell her how much I love her. The second thing is to shag someone.
For the first time in a couple of days, she smiled to herself and wiped her eyes, spreading tears and dirt around her face.

She stood, retrieved the chocolate bar and ate it hungrily. It tasted incredibly good but was gone far too soon. Nonetheless, it gave her body the kick it needed; she quickly felt more alert and ready for the climb. She took one more swig of the water and noted that there was very little left.
I have to get out this time,
she thought.
If I don’t, I won’t have the energy to try again and there’s not enough food and drink for me to last long here.
The thought galvanised her.

Becca stretched her hands and arms, then touched her toes to stretch her body.
Well,
she thought.
This is it.
She imagined herself coming down the steep hill at the side of the quarry pool, a filthy bedraggled urchin, while other children, playing there, looked up in astonishment. The thought actually made her hesitate; she played the scenario out in her mind. She’d only imagined being back in her mother’s arms – but the reality would be a lot less pleasant:
police cars, ambulances, retrieving Matt’s body, perhaps news reporters, bloody therapists, the whispered stories and teasing around school
– all of this (and probably more) would make escape as much an ordeal as imprisonment.

She almost felt reluctant to leave, but then checked herself.
At least I’d be alive,
she thought, finding her first foothold.

The work that she’d done clearing the moss did help, but not anywhere near as much as she’d hoped. The walls still didn’t provide a reliable grip. The only way to hold on was to keep her fingers and toes as tense as possible, which she knew would be difficult to maintain for long.

She worked herself up the wall a little faster than before, more from desperation than confidence. Her strategy, she’d decided, was to move quickly but take brief rests when she needed.

It was tough going. Her fingers, numb from the cold, were lacking feeling, so she found it very hard to rely on what her senses were telling her. She had to press hard to feel anything, so she was probably gripping tighter than she needed.

Once fully out of the water, she also became much colder – and felt hindered by the soaked, icy clothes clinging to her shivering body.

When she had climbed about eight feet, she took her first rest, clutching the wall and avoiding looking directly up, where the sunlight would blind her. It was an enormous feat to simply remain motionless, so the value of the rest was negligible. After a couple of minutes she worked her way upwards again, her hands and feet seeking any kind of purchase on the ancient stonework.

When Becca reached roughly halfway, her fear started to overtake her resolve. Much higher, and she could really hurt herself if she slipped. Her fingers had moved on from simply trembling to almost shaking – a combination of fatigue, cold and sheer panic. She paused and chanced a glance upwards. It still seemed so far to climb.
You can do it,
Becca thought, as she often had during swimming competitions.
You have to do it. Put your head down and push on.

But Becca was finding it virtually impossible to move much further. She was almost totally exhausted and every single part of her screamed in pain. Her unfeeling, shaking hands refused to respond to her commands.
Come on. You can do this. Slowly, just one row of stones at a time.

She inched her way upwards, each bit of painful, hard-won progress feeling more like a defeat than a victory. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying desperately hard to muster enough strength to finish the climb.

Then she heard it. Loud and clear, from beneath her –
not above
– a woman’s voice, “No you don’t,
girl
.” The last word was spat out with real hate and Becca could swear that she felt long, cold fingers wrap themselves around her ankle – and pull.

Becca screamed and fell.

6

Despite the house being obviously empty, Sarah and Jim checked every room. It was exactly as they’d left it on Friday. Sarah, who had ironed on Thursday night, checked both Becca and Matt’s bedroom drawers. None of the newly ironed clothes had been worn.

Sarah flipped through the household address book, found Hannah’s mobile telephone number and dialled. Hannah answered almost straight away, “Becks?”

“No, it’s Sarah. Have you seen Becca this weekend?”

Hannah diverted her attention away from her computer. “No. Not since school on Friday. I’ve called her loads of times, but got no answer. And I went to yours yesterday; there was no one there. Is everything alright?”

Sarah frowned. “I don’t know. We’ve come back early because neither Becca nor Matt have been answering their phones. There’s no one here.” Sarah paused a moment and then asked, “Was there a party or anything on at the weekend? Anything Becca wouldn’t have wanted to tell me about?”

Hannah sounded genuinely puzzled.
Come back early? What did that mean?
“Well, no. I thought she’d be in all weekend, with her being grounded and all.”

“Grounded?”

Hannah felt herself flush. “That’s what she told me on Friday. She said she’d been grounded. Wasn’t she?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever grounded Becca,” said Sarah, realising too late that she was chiding Hannah. More warmly, she said, “I certainly hadn’t this weekend, what with me and Jim being away, that would be pointless.”

Jim looked on, baffled, only hearing Sarah’s half of the conversation.

The penny had dropped for Hannah, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
No wonder she didn’t want anyone around.
Part of her was annoyed that Becca hadn’t confided in her. After all, when she’d snogged Gary Radcliffe and let him briefly feel her breasts in the back bedroom at Katy’s party, she’d told Becca the next day.
But where is she?
wondered Hannah.
If they’ve got the house to themselves, why go somewhere else?
Reluctantly, Hannah offered, “Erm – she didn’t say you were going away. She just said she was grounded.”

Sarah was stumped. She had no reason to doubt Hannah, but what she said made no sense. “Look, Hannah – I have to go. If you hear from Becca or Matt, will you tell them to call me, right away? I’m really worried.”

“Sure.”

Sarah rang off, without saying goodbye. She told Jim what Hannah had said and then called another three of Becca’s friends. None of them had seen her since school. Each call took her panic up a notch.

By the time she made her fifth call, to the police, she was sobbing.

7

Abby and Helen walked along the beach, linking arms, with Sammy running ahead of them. The couple drew the occasional glance, though fewer than if they’d walked hand in hand – and far fewer than had they both been men. Sometimes this might make them feel self-conscious but today neither of them either noticed or cared.

They’d decided that if they hung around Bankside, the flat or the shop, then the day would drag. Since the weather was good, and they were all in need of distraction, Abby had announced that a drive to the seaside was in order. Yet, as pleasant as the day was, neither she nor Helen could shake the feeling of dread inside them.

“This seems wrong,” said Helen. “Killing time while – that poor girl’s stuck. What on Earth must she be going through?”

“I don’t see what else we can do,” said Abby.

“Don’t you?”

Abby knew what Helen meant, but shook her head. “
That
is not the answer.”

“Ab, I hate the idea, too. But it would save a lot of suffering. Not to mention uncertainty. She could still get out, or be found.”

Abby shrugged. “If that’s what happens, then that’s what happens. I don’t want to
directly
become a murderer unless I have to – unless
I really have to
. And think it through. How would you do it? Drop a few stones down? And then what happens if she’s found? It becomes murder – the whole place will be investigated. Your footprints are already up there. We’d probably leave DNA. Helen – it’s a last resort. And even then…”

Something in Helen’s eyes made Abby pause. “Hang on,” said Abby. “You’re not really suggesting this, are you? You’re testing me – to see if I’d be prepared to do it.
Oh, Helen
– for heaven’s sake.”