The Well (34 page)

They must know that I’m missing by now
, she thought, wondering where they were looking for her.
And for Matt,
she corrected herself.
They’ll look here in the end
, she guessed, shuddering at the thought of what they might find.

Becca worked for another fifteen minutes or so and then tried again. The stone was noticeably slacker, moving a few millimetres when she pulled it. She shifted her weight to get into a better position, got a firm hold and then began to pull the stone steadily to-and-fro. As she worked it, the stone gradually became loose enough to start pulling away from the wall. Within a few minutes, it was free.

She stood, her legs aching and stiff. She tossed the stone to the other side of the well.
One more down
, she thought,
just two more to go
. She took another drink of water – being a little more prudent this time.

Becca wanted desperately to stop but knew that could be a fatal mistake.
I have to keep at it
, she thought, kneeling down to start again.

The second stone took longer than the first, not because it was held more firmly in place but because Becca’s stamina was evaporating. When the third stone came away on its own, as she pulled out the second, Becca was as close to being elated as her physical and mental weariness would allow.

She tossed the stones away and took another drink, wiping the grit and sweat from both her forehead and around her eyes.
I must look like total shit
, she thought, realising she was still dressed in Matt’s football kit. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be bothered to change – the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. Becca wondered, absently, if she should be bothered about her appearance. Nothing seemed important any more – nothing apart from staying alive and getting out.

Becca knelt again and began scraping away at the remaining dirt.
I’m nearly there
, she thought, both amazed at the feat she’d accomplished – and frightened by what she intended to do next.

When she’d finally finished, she stopped, resting on all fours, breathing hard.
Shit
, she thought.
Am I really going to do this? I must be mad.
She glanced over at Matt, realising she really didn’t have any choice.
Otherwise,
she thought,
there’ll be two bodies down here.

Fuck,
she thought, standing up. She felt truly terrified. Gripped with fear, her body close to total collapse, she took another drink.

Looking up, Becca could see that dawn was just about breaking.

Time to rest one last time
, she thought, hoping that she wasn’t being prophetic.

She sat down, trying to settle, struggling to find somewhere her body didn’t feel sore.
How much of me will be left,
Becca wondered,
if I get out?

Becca felt alone and desperate for comfort. Although she knew it was a useless gesture, she lifted her protesting body upright and then moved next to Matt. She sat down gingerly. She didn’t think that she could either embrace or hold him, but she wanted to be close to him. Finding that she couldn’t even bear the thought of leaning her body against his, she sat a few inches away, drawing no comfort from the closeness.

“Wish me luck,” she said, emptily. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

2

When Sammy woke, she realised instantly that she’d slept too late. Daylight was already glowing through gaps in the curtains. She panicked and almost slipped as she jumped out of bed. Her alarm clock was flashing, silently. She pushed the off button, relieved. She’d only slept an extra hour; it could only have just started to get light.

She dressed quickly and quietly. Not naturally deceptive, she nonetheless realised that if she didn’t wear a school uniform, she could look out of place on the street during a school day – but if she did, then it would look odd once school hours began and she wasn’t actually in school. She didn’t reflect on it for long: she’d fit in best in uniform, she decided, even if it meant that she looked a bit odd walking the streets at around five in the morning.

Sammy also considered leaving a note, but knew that there was no need. When she finally woke, her mother would soon realise where she had gone. As she always did, Sammy straightened the quilt on her bed and sat Lady Mango on the pillow. She leaned over and gave her doll a little kiss.

Sammy crept down the landing and peeked through the gap where Abby’s bedroom door was ajar. Both Abby and Helen were still sound asleep.

She slowly made her way to the kitchen. Not wanting to make any noise, she took a banana.
I’ll eat it on the way,
she thought, grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge.

Sammy went softly down the stairs and routinely pressed the four keys of the alarm code (it was the day and month of her birthday, chosen partly so she could remember it), each keystroke punctuated by what seemed to be an almost deafening beep. She almost dropped her banana in shock as the sound echoed around her.

The light on the control panel went from red to green. She listened hard, holding her breath, but couldn’t hear any movement upstairs. She exhaled, relieved.
You need to be smarter than that,
she thought.

Sammy went through to the sitting room at the back of the shop, unlocked and then opened the door. She went through it and carefully closed it behind her. Outside, she coughed gently in the cool air.
I’m glad the girl’s getting better,
she thought.

She didn’t take a key.

3

It had been a long night. By the time the first rays of sunlight cast a warm, yellow glow across the bedroom walls, Jim at least was nodding off.

There had been tears, conversation, silences and then more tears. Topics that had been discussed to exhaustion were dragged out and picked over again. There was nothing else to do except wait, talk and cry.

Jenny Greenwood had arranged a larger press conference for later that day; another appeal along with questions and answers from the press – a parental ordeal which both Jim and Sarah were dreading.

Jim kissed Sarah’s forehead. “It’s after five,” he said. “We’re supposed to be doing that press thing at one. We need to get a few hours’ kip. And Jenny’s probably going to be here between nine and ten.”

“I know,” Sarah huffed. She genuinely, desperately wanted to sleep but it was an escape that had eluded her all night. No matter how heavy her eyes, how dulled her senses, her mind just wouldn’t stop working. Like Jim, she was so fatigued that she couldn’t honestly recall what it felt like to be alert and fresh.

At least the phone hadn’t rung since last night. Each time it did, without fail, Sarah rushed to it, adrenalin pumping. She was weary of repeating the same sentences again and again, to friends, Rachel, family and well-wishers – speaking hurriedly, always conscious that she was rushing the call to free up the line, just in case.

“Jim?” Sarah asked, pensively.

“What?”

“What do you think – really think? Do you think they’ll be found? I mean really think.”

Jim paused. “I don’t know. Honestly. You know, you see stuff like this on the TV. How many times do you remember – remember the kids being found? Alive and OK?”

“Oh, Jim –”

“Well, you asked. Shit, of course I hope they’re alive and fine. But the more days that go past –” He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“That man,” said Sarah. “I met him.
I shook his hand
. I bought photos off him.” She gritted her teeth. “The same – the same fucking photos we looked at yesterday.”

Jim put his arm around her.

“She’s fourteen,” said Sarah. “Fourteen. What in Christ’s name is he doing with her?”

“Becca’s not the only one that’s missing,” Jim reminded her.

“But Matt’s not the one he wanted, is he?” snapped Sarah.

“No,” said Jim, raising his voice. “And that’s probably worse for him. It might be sick and perverse, but at least he has a reason for keeping Becca alive. Matt’s just – just – he’d just be in the way.”

Sarah went quiet. That thought, though obvious, hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “I – I hadn’t realised.”

“No,” said Jim. “You keep thinking that this only affects you.”

“That’s not fair!”

“No, you’re damned right, it’s not fair,” snapped Jim. “But that’s the way it is.”

“No it’s not,” she retorted. “We have two children. I think of them the same.”

Jim snorted. “No you don’t. At least you don’t until you actually
stop to think
. When you talk to other people about it, you usually just mention Becca. When you talk to me, your biggest concern is still Becca.”

“Well of course it is,” shouted Sarah. “I’m her mother! But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about Matt.”

Jim stood up. “But you don’t, do you? I know you love me – at least I think you do – but he’s just hassle.”

Sarah sat up in bed, furious, tears running down her face. “Well, he is hassle. How much trouble has he been in? Eh? How much?”

“Compared to your do-nothing-wrong goody-two-shoes daughter? Some. But he’s not a bad lad. He just had bad friends.”

“He’s been screwing my daughter,” screamed Sarah. “She’s fourteen. He’s sixteen. That’s pretty bad to me.”

“
Your
daughter,
your
daughter. Not
our
daughter is it?”

Sarah gritted her teeth, but before she could say anything, Jim continued. “What they’re up to took two people, Sarah. Two of them. Whatever their ages. She wasn’t being forced.”

“We don’t know that,” said Sarah under her breath, instantly regretting it.

“What are you saying?” demanded Jim. “Are you saying he – he’s like that animal out there?”

“Well,” said Sarah, raising her voice, “he’s not exactly well-behaved, is he?”

“Matt
would not
hurt Becca,” shouted Jim.

“No, but he’ll happily screw her,” retorted Sarah. “She’s fourteen. That’s bloody rape, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, Sarah, it takes two. Becca’s a strong-willed child who gets what she wants. If she didn’t want it, Matt wouldn’t get it – end of story.”

“He’d keep pestering her, wouldn’t he? Until he got what he wanted. Because
you
don’t control him. He does what he bloody well likes.”

“Matt is not a bad boy,” shouted Jim. “Don’t make out that he is.”

“No one’s controlled him since Christine died.
You damn well don’t
.”

There was a brief moment’s silence. Sarah could see Jim gritting his teeth, holding back his temper. Finally, he slammed his fist against the wall and shouted at the top of his voice, “You fucking cow! How can you say that? That is so fucking low at a time like this.”

Sarah went quiet, ashamed of what she’d said and shocked at Jim’s rage. Always so calm, it was all the worse to see him almost out of control.

“Well?” screamed Jim.

“Jim, I’m sorry, I – I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes you did,” said Jim coldly. “You might wish you hadn’t said it, but you bloody well meant it.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m really sorry.” She stood up and took both of his hands.

Jim pushed her away. “You bitch,” he said. “Don’t touch me.”

The word
bitch
was like a slap. Sarah forced down her rage, her natural reaction to retaliate. She took his hands again. “Jim. I’ve been selfish. I know. But you have to understand why. Just because I’ve been – putting Becca first, and yes, I know I have been. Just because – I’m me – it doesn’t mean I don’t love you,
and
Matt.”

The foremost thought at the top of Jim’s mind was to push Sarah or even slap her. He forced himself to keep his arms by his sides, trembling. He realised that his face was now wet with tears. With some effort, he reined his temper back in.

Sarah pulled him close. “The kids need us. We need each other.”

He nodded, crying openly. Sarah kissed his streaming eyes, first one and then the other. “I am sorry. We’re strung out and tired.
Are we really going to do this now?”

Jim shook his head. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back into bed for a couple of hours.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep,” said Jim.

“We can just hold each other. We need to not fall apart, Jim. I’m sorry.”

They got back into bed. Sarah held Jim as he sobbed and trembled, stroking his head. After twenty long minutes, he quietened and his breathing slowed.

She looked at him, sleeping, deeply regretting their argument, knowing that it was the kind of exchange from which there was no return.

“I just want things back the way they were,” she whispered, knowing for certain – whatever happened – that wasn’t possible.

A few minutes later, Sarah was also sleeping.

4

Hannah stirred, disturbed from her fitful sleep. She tried to bring her alarm clock into focus; it was just before six. She rubbed her eyes and turned over, intending to go back to sleep.
If I’m being kept off school
, she thought,
I might as well
. She wondered if her mother was back from the hospital and how her father was. Julia had promised to wake her when she got back, so Hannah assumed she was still at the hospital. She closed her eyes again.

Although Julia had been open with Hannah about what had been found at Randle’s flat (much of which Stephen had told Julia in confidence and some of which Hannah found deeply disturbing) she’d played down quite how badly Ed was hurt, not wanting to worry Hannah further. Hannah had gone with her to see Ed when he was first admitted and Julia immediately regretted taking her – he was just too shocking to look at. Julia resolved to only take Hannah again if Ed’s condition either deteriorated or improved – right now, another visit wouldn’t benefit either of them.

Hannah has enough pain to deal with at the moment
, Julia had thought, knowing also that her daughter, like her, had very mixed feelings about her father. Sure, she loved him – but she was scared of him too. Although Ed had never (to the best of her knowledge) hit Hannah, Julia suspected that Hannah knew at least some of the things that went on between herself and Ed. It was a jumble of emotions that Julia struggled with; she wanted to spare Hannah the same torment.