Who Are You? (26 page)

‘OK?’ She says to Lewis.

‘Yeah. Just need to fill up.’

Ben’s eyelids are drooping. ‘Won’t be a minute,’ she whispers, as she climbs out of the car. She locks the car and then heads for the shop and follows the ‘toilets’ sign. She dives inside and washes her hands beneath the tap which warns: beware hot water. She dries them in the hand drier. She comes out, back into the shop and checks to see that the van is there. Lewis is just replacing the nozzle in the pump. He says something to Dean, the other guy. Then he walks towards the shop. Juliet collects a fresh bottle of water and a bar of Galaxy and a bag of crisps. She glances at the coffee machine but worries that it might take too long and she wants to be ready to go when the van is. Then she sees Lewis make his way to the coffee machine. She jumps in front of him.

‘Do you mind ? Only I don’t like leaving Ben on his own.’

‘Sure. Look – we didn’t realize it was going to be so far.’

‘I did tell you.’

‘Yeah... but... we’re going to need more money for fuel. The thing is... Dean was all for heading back to London -’

‘With all my stuff.’

‘A hundred quid. Extra, otherwise there might be a problem.’ Juliet sighs, puts the cap on her cup of coffee and heads for the checkout. She pays, heads back outside and gets the cash from the locked glove box, and then approaches Dean in the van’s passenger seat. He’s leaning back, his woollen beanie pulled low over his forehead, almost covering his eyebrows. He looks surly. His eyes seem to watch her impassively, as if she’s not really human at all. He waits to open the window until she is standing right against it. He barely looks at her; focussed instead on the wedge of cash in her hand.

‘Here,’ she says. ‘One hundred pounds extra to finish the job, OK?’

He takes the money and counts it deliberately. Then he nods and closes the window. She feels as though she’s just done something illegal, as though she’s dealing drugs. She feels so guilty that she finds herself looking around them, glancing up at the CCTV cameras recording her every move.

She can imagine a man in a tiny, windowless room somewhere, crouching over a desk, scrutinising this grainy transaction recorded on camera, wondering what can be going on between the incumbents of the battered old van, and the expensive-looking woman in her brown leather jacket and skinny designer jeans, and her year-old BMW coupé. Alex would make a lot of mileage out of it, if he saw it. There is something unsettling and vaguely threatening about the men in the van. Deep down she isn’t really sure that she wants them to know where her new house will be. But that is yet another worry that perhaps isn’t warranted. It is going to be a long night.

The click of the car door closing springs Ben’s eyes open. He stretches and looks at her, and then out of the window. It is clear he is disorientated, blinking at the bright lights of the petrol station. He looks as if he might cry again. She puts the polystyrene coffee cup into the cup-holder and slides into the driving seat. She clicks on the seat belt, and then puts the key in the ignition, all the time keeping her eyes glued to the van. She tears at the chocolate wrapper, breaks a row of chocolate from the bar, and then splits it into two. She gives half to Ben. ‘Don’t make a mess,’ she warns.

Then she stamps her foot onto the clutch, turns the ignition and fires the engine. They are on the move again. Once on the motorway, she overtakes and pulls in front of them.

She checks the satnav – two hours to their destination. The steering wheel feels sticky.

*    *    *    *    *

Alex sits on Ben’s bed. The duvet and pillows have gone. All the soft toys have gone except for one small, earless rabbit which he finds underneath the bed, obviously forgotten. He picks it up and lifts it to his nose and tries to identify something that will remind him of his child. Still clutching the toy, he opens Ben’s wardrobe doors knowing that he will find it empty. Next he examines the drawers.

He goes into the bedroom that he shares with Juliet and repeats the same process. The bathroom looks oddly tidy and hotel-like. Juliet’s various bottles and female paraphernalia have all been removed apart from a disposable razor with a rusting blade on the window sill.

Alex swallows hard. He tries to clear the lump in his throat but it refuses to go away. He turns all the lights off before going back down the stairs and returning to the kitchen. The letter, now open, draws his eye once more. The telephone rings. Alex looks at it, checks the number on caller display. He doesn’t recognize it. After six rings it stops. He stands in the kitchen still holding the slip of folded white paper in his hand. In the other hand he clasps a large whisky diluted by just a splash of water and a cube of ice. Her note states: ‘
Do not try to find me. I will contact you. Ben is safe with me.
’ As he rereads the final sentence he senses something, a feeling, something dark filling up the empty space inside him. The whisky tastes bitter but he gulps it back. Then he picks up the telephone. There is the interrupted dialling tone, telling him there is a message. He dials 1571, presses 1, and listens. Rowena saying her nanny is taking her daughter swimming in the morning and would like Ben to go with them. Alex deletes the message, disconnects and then reconnects to get a dialling tone.

This is it. It’s happening. After all the waiting, it’s time to deploy.

*    *    *    *    *

Juliet relies on the satnav instructions for the last leg of their journey because it is not an area she knows. The van sits on her tail, and Ben sleeps in his seat. She thinks about what she will do when they arrive. Mark will be there to welcome them, to show them around. Juliet doesn’t feel like being sociable but maybe he’ll be sensitive and keep it short. She can always just be straight with him and say they’re exhausted, they just need to get in and get to bed. There’s always tomorrow. Yes, that’s what she’ll do. Tell him to go through the basics tomorrow. Her priority is to get Ben comfortable so that he can sleep, so that she can get on with things without him bothering her. She has his duvet and pillow in the boot of the car, along with a suitcase containing all the essential things they will need both for tonight and tomorrow.

The satnav orders her to turn right off the A road which bypasses the nearby town. They negotiate a large and complicated roundabout, and she worries once more about the van. But it stays with her. After another two miles she is told to turn left into a narrow lane. The hedges have been trimmed, and there are deep ruts at the edge of the road where cars have pulled over to avoid oncoming vehicles. Random trees make arches above them and the lane starts to climb upwards. The trees become sparser, and the moon breaks through the clouds so that she can see the outline of the hedges around the fields. In the distance there is a ridge of high hills, with just a few dotted lights scattered far apart; more isolated hill farms.

The instrument panel shows her that the temperature has fallen by two degrees since they left the motorway. A sheen of condensation marks the windscreen and she has to switch on the wipers. She is warned that they will reach their destination on the right in five hundred yards. She feels apprehensive, but also strangely exhilarated.

CHAPTER

18

Mark helps her in with the stuff from the car, while the removers empty the van. Juliet senses that Mark is a little taken aback with the amount of boxes and bin bags, but hell, leaving home was bad enough; she needs to have at least
some
of her things around her. Though, having seen the cottage, she will find it a challenge to fit them in. She’s put Ben to bed, and then when she goes back downstairs Mark has poured her a glass of wine. He’s opened a bottle and put it on the kitchen table, and she notices there is just the one glass. He obviously doesn’t intend to join her – for which she is grateful. He has also, very thoughtfully, put basic stuff in the fridge, and has bought a supermarket cottage pie and some frozen peas, in case they are hungry. His kindness makes Juliet want to hug him, but she holds back in case he gets the wrong impression. He’s probably around forty, she reckons, stockily built, short hair and the thick neck of a rugby player He looks fit and not unattractive in a rugged kind of way. He speaks to her softly, as if he understands that she is feeling vulnerable, but he hasn’t asked any questions beyond ‘Are you OK? … Is there anything I can do …?’ And having shown her around quickly and telling her how things work, he leaves her in peace promising to return tomorrow.

The cottage is a little outside the village, and the village is really more of a hamlet with a scattering of buildings. She’d been expecting a close-knit, old-fashioned village, with terraces of houses and pavements and the comfort of people in close proximity. But when she steps outside to get a sense of where they are, she realizes that she can’t see any neighbouring properties. The silence is deeply unsettling compared to the constant flow of arterial activity through London. Real silence doesn’t exist there. Here the silence is so profound that you can hear the blood pulsing inside your own ears. But as she looks up at the clear night sky, free of any light pollution, she begins to realize that the night isn’t silent at all. She can hear the wind sighing through the long grass at the perimeter of the garden. Then she hears a dry cough not many yards away. Almost paralyzed with fear she manages to train her torch in the direction of the noise and finds a sheep, its yellow eyes reflecting back through the blackness. An owl hoots, and then is answered by another. They are alien sounds, reminding her that she is in an alien environment, and yet it is supposed to be a place of safety. She cannot afford to let fear of the dark and fear of the silence intrude upon her real fears. Whatever fantastical creatures lurk in her leftover childish subconscious, nothing can be as frightening as reality.

She has to convince herself that she is safe here, that there is no way Alex can find them, otherwise she won’t be able to function. She has been so careful with her planning. Even down to throwing away her mobile sim card and using a new, pay-as-you- go phone, just in case. She has laid false trails on her laptop, filling up her search histories with innocuous-sounding sites. She’d even opened up a new Amazon account so that Alex wouldn’t find out what books she’d been reading. Living with a man who was trained to spy, who saw it as a bit of an art form, was hardly going to make things easy. But she has used her time well, and has used the expertise of people in the support groups online to advise her on how to do things to keep them safe.

*    *    *    *    *

The phone rings at 8.00 a.m. Alex is already pacing the kitchen, trying to marshal his thoughts into a coherent strategy, but the sound startles him. He jumps on it and barks ‘Hello.’

It’s Rowena. She sounds a little nervous and hesitant having picked up on his tone. ‘I’m really sorry to call so early, but I left a message about swimming. It would be great if Ben could go with Cordelia. Would he like to?’

‘He’s not here. Juliet’s not here either. She’s gone. Taken Ben with her …’ There’s a crack in his voice, and he doesn’t go on but listens to the brief, shocked silence at the other end, the response he is anticipating. ‘I just … Jesus … I feel like … I don’t know … like my life’s been ripped apart. I mean, why? She never said a word to me.’

Another pause. ‘God. Really? And you’ve no idea where?’

‘No. No idea. I’m really worried about them both, especially in her state. I’m worried …’ his voice cracks again as he leaves the sentence hanging.

‘Poor Juliet. I … Alex … there must be a reason why she’s gone, a reason why she’d want to leave?’

Whatever Rowena knows, Alex needs to know. He needs to know everything so that he can stay in control, always a step ahead. He doesn’t mess about, but comes straight to the point.

‘You think? I mean, you’re her friend, maybe you’d have more idea than me. Look, can I come over and talk to you?’

He can hear Rowena sigh. It’s obviously the last thing she wants, but it’s hard for her to say no. ‘Sure. If you like. Come tonight, around seven?’

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Alex is feeling wired, as though every nerve is pulled taut, every muscle tensed, waiting. Waiting and watching.

*    *    *    *    *

‘I don’t like this house, Mummy. I want my old house.’

‘Ben, for God’s sake, you’re giving me another headache! Can you please just go and play quietly, for five minutes?’

‘When can we go home?’

‘Look …’ Juliet picks him up, propping her knee against his backside and resting her arms underneath his on the wide window sill. He’s getting much too heavy to hold. ‘See the sheep in the field over there?’

‘Sheep?’

‘Mm hmm. Real sheep. Like we used to see at Granny’s house, remember? And what noise do they make?’

‘Baa, of course, silly Mummy. Do they bite?’

‘No. They don’t bite, darling.’

‘What do they eat?’

‘What do you think they eat?’

‘Would they eat me?’

‘No, silly. You know what they eat. They eat grass.’

‘I’d hate to eat grass. It’s got slugs and worms in it. Mummy, can I have pizza?’

‘Tell you what, if you’re very good this morning and start putting your toys into the cupboard, I’ll make you one for lunch, OK?’

Ben nods and slides onto the floor. He drags his feet and stamps his way upstairs. Juliet is still finding her way around Mark’s cottage. The sitting room is small but it’s cosy. A nice smell of wood smoke permeates the air and there’s a comforting stack of neat logs in a basket. He’s obviously bookish because the shelves at the side of the chimney breast are stuffed full of them. Juliet hasn’t had chance to examine the titles, but she can see a few autobiographies and crime novels. A couple of tooled leather floor cushions, and some rather fine rugs cover a tired-looking carpet. The curtains are typically male – plain, dark green velvet attached to wooden poles. There are just one or two pictures, but the walls are intersected with beams. The squares and triangles between the beams have been painted a warm terracotta colour. It’s not to her taste, but it’s kind of nice. One large sofa is of the type you can almost disappear into. She tries to imagine Mark curling up with one of his books, but it doesn’t quite fit with the image of the burly rugby player she met last night. The kitchen is fairly blokeish, simple and basic. There’s an electric free-standing oven with old- fashioned rings. No dishwasher and no fridge with water dispenser and ice machine. No special thermostatic wine cooler. There is only a complicated and expensive-looking coffee machine. You were spoilt, she tells herself. This is fine. It will be good for you. There’s not much storage space. An old pine dresser and a couple of battered kitchen units. But, like the sitting room, it has a certain bucolic charm. Juliet thinks that if it reflects the personality of its owner, then Mark must be OK. There’s not much basic stuff in the cupboards, but that’s easily rectified. Once they’ve had time to settle a bit, she’ll hit the local supermarket and do a decent shop. But first things first … Her bedroom has a large double bed, and Mark has emptied his things out of the wardrobe and drawers. There are two smaller bedrooms – pretty miniscule but large enough for Ben and for a study. She’s already checked out the wi-fi connection and password set-up, and so will go online shortly. She wants to thank Claire – Lil’ Miss Happy – for sorting all of this out.