A small break in the privet allowed me a viewpoint. I could just about make out the elevated area before the front door. The sound of raised voices hit me, despite my distance. The front door opened as the security light shone down. I crouched further into the hedge as the electric gates opened. My blood turned cold as the action unravelled before me. The young lad I’d seen at the house once before was punched out of the front door, before tumbling head first down the few steps to the driveway. I gasped too loudly; my legs began to wobble. He was gagged, with hands tied behind his back. Not capable of breaking his fall or with any chance of defending himself. What the hell was I involved in? This was someone’s son. I hated myself for even being there. The others laughed on, as if it were some form of drunken prank. You didn’t laugh but towered above with a half-smile. Jesus Christ, what should I do? I knew what I should do but what about Jack? I couldn’t risk it — shouting out or trying to help the lad could put Jack in danger.
Even I hadn’t thought it would come to this. But why hadn’t I, given the lessons I was taught? I’d known all along what you were capable of. But this felt worse; the images would torture me for a long time. Who the hell were Jack and I sharing our lives with? What kind of a monster? But why? I watched in horror, the lad being roughly pulled to his feet then bundled into the boot of the white car, hitting his head on the hard edge. My body threatening to vomit, my mind racing.
I couldn’t chance being caught as a witness. Would we be next? I staggered back to my car with jelly legs, hands trembling trying to open the door. Once in I flicked the central-locking button switch. I swallowed at the pizza threatening to resurface and waited until I could hear the turn of a car engine. I turned the key in the ignition, so to be synchronised with the sound of the thug’s car, hoping to God my headlamps didn’t come on. Slowly I reversed – until the rear of the white car began to edge out of the driveway. Quickly, I slipped into first, then second and picked up speed to pass the car and driveway as if I were an innocent passer-by, praying you didn’t notice us. As I approached the driver of the white car he politely tucked into the hedgerow to let me pass. What the hell? I sped on as if our life depended on it.
Where were they taking the poor lad?
A few hundred meters further down the lane, I bumped the car on to the grass verge. Allowing myself to breathe again. I sat and waited. What should I do? How could I possibly go home, but how could I possibly not? Should I call the police? But that could ruin everything, all my planning, everything, Jack’s life from here on, our freedom. The worst surely had already happened for the lad, whatever they were up to. I’d read about these things in gory crime thrillers – often carried out to scare people only, warn them off, stop them from talking. About what? The worst for him had already happened, please. They would let him go, dump him somewhere; he’d have learned his lesson. But what had he done?
I restarted my engine still feeling so close to the house. I drove around, circling the area for the best part of an hour, the images replaying over and over. Feeling sick to the core. Reliving the scene; wondering where the lad had been taken. Was he okay? Then chastising myself – of course he wasn’t okay. It was 8:15 p.m. Jack would wake soon; I needed to return home. Please let you be gone. I couldn’t face you, not now or ever.
Some time on, I arrived back to an unoccupied driveway. The house in darkness. A huge sigh of relief. I carried Jack’s heavy body up the steps, all the time seeing the face of someone else’s son scraping down the slabs; the look of absolute fear in his eyes. I had to go in against my will; with nothing other than my mobile with me, I had no choice. But I knew at that moment, my plan needed to be brought forward. There was no way we could continue to live under the same roof as you. A line had been crossed; time to leave. I’d prepare the necessary belongings and leave once you’d left for work in the morning.
I fetched the blanket from a spare bed so I could sleep in Jack’s room in the chair next to his bed. With me I grasped my car keys and my mobile. I’d spent a couple of hours gathering supplies, nothing that wasn’t essential, all mostly Jack’s. I hadn’t planned for this yet; I didn’t even know where we’d go. A refuge maybe? I looked up the number for the Citizens Advice Bureau. I would ask to speak to a voluntary solicitor in the morning. I researched reasonable cheap bed and breakfasts in the not too close area. I could use the money I’d stashed away, until I knew my next move. The solicitor I’d consulted a few weeks ago had assured me I could apply for some emergency funding in court. It wouldn’t take too long to achieve, he’d promised. I’d make my way to the courts in Leamington Spa in the morning to file my application. I was already exhausted but the adrenaline fuelled my hypervigilant state.
At some point, in the early hours of the morning, I heard you return, slamming the front door with force. My neck stiff with tension, I could hear you staggering around as items clattered and clanged on the floor. My stomach twisted and turned; I could see my legs physically trembling as I imagined your drunken black mood. Why hadn’t I taken the opportunity to leave that night? Then, I listened intently as you consciously climbed each moving stair. Please, don’t look for me. Please. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans, baulking at the taste of bile. Seconds later, I stopped breathing, aware you were standing on the other side of the door, listening. My heart missing a beat as the door opened slowly, I slumped low in the chair, feigning sleep.
Your thuggish self staggered towards me, kicking at toys on your way. A robot began to bellow instructions. I didn’t dare glance at Jack. I squeezed my muscles tightly, worrying I was going to lose control of my faculties. The game had changed tonight. You were far more evil than even I’d believed. My heart jumped to my mouth. I felt sheer fear, sweat glistening at my brow as you loitered, soaring over me. You kicked out at my left foot. I pretended to stir in my sleep before slumping lower in the chair. How did you not notice me shaking? I only had the alcohol to thank. Heavy fumes smothered my lungs as you exhaled in my face. Chortling to yourself. My eyes scrunched tight. I was petrified – you must have realised I was awake?
‘Pathetic,’ you whispered in my left ear.
I held my breath.
‘Absolutely, sodding pathetic.’ You switched to my right ear, stumbling, thumping down hard sharply on my lower arm. ‘Look at the state of you!’ Your face millimetres from mine. Hot breath tickling my tortured face. Before swaying back, still leaning hard now on my wrist with your full weight. You flicked my face with your fingers. It stung, bringing tears to my clamped-shut eyes. I resisted flinching. ‘Look at the state of you,’ you spat in my face. ‘No wonder you’ve no friends. No one. Even your interfering parents left you.’ You snatched my mobile from my tightly bound fingers, hurled it, smashing it against the wall. Jack stirred. Please, God, no, Jack, please.
My chest ached, ready to explode. You hovered, glowering at me. Your eyes burning through my soul. Then you spun, kicked my right foot, before staggering back out of the room. No key for this door, I thought. I stole a gasp of air.
Please, God, let this be the end. I’d got away lightly this time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cornwall 2016
‘Come on, Jack, for goodness’ sake; have you seen the time?’ How many times do I utter this statement? I wonder.
‘Yeah; I know, I’m coming!’
‘No, you’re not, though, are you? Else I wouldn’t need to shout. I’ll see you in the car. I’ll turn it around, ready to go.’
Moments later, Jack shoots down the path towards me, his huge sports bag bouncing off his back. I catch myself at how grown up he suddenly appears; as if when he hit fourteen, he fell asleep as my little boy, then changed to a lad overnight. He gives me a big teasing grin; he understands it will prevent me from having a go for taking his time. He opens the back door, hurls his bags across the seat, then slams the door, making me wince. At the same time his mobile catapults, landing in the footwell of the back seat. I reach back for it.
‘It’s fine, Mum; I’ll get it,’ he says, all too quickly. As lovable as Jack is, he’d normally have me bending in all positions to pick things up for him. Old habits die hard.
‘Okay. I was just trying to help.’ I glance at him eagerly twisting back for it. ‘Stroppy pants.’
‘Yeah, it’s okay. I’m on it. Thanks.’
Catastrophe over, he pulls the sun visor down, adjusting his hair in the mirror.
‘It’s fine; looks gorgeous, in fact.’
He pans it back. ‘What?’
‘Your hair – looks great. Don’t worry.’
He relaxes in his seat and smiles. ‘Yeah, whatever, Mum.’