‘What do you mean?’
She ignores my question. ‘Here are the rules. Katie follows her normal commute, and if she gets to the restaurant without any … shall we say interruptions … then you win and I let you go. If she doesn’t … well, you both lose.’
‘That’s sick,’ Katie says.
Melissa looks at her, a sneer on her face. ‘Oh, come on, Katie, it’s not like you to pass up the opportunity to be in the limelight.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This is your chance to be star of the show. We all know you’re not happy unless you’re the centre of attention. Never mind that Justin might have wanted a chance, or one of your friends. It always has to be about you, doesn’t it? Like mother, like daughter.’
I’m stunned by the hatred in her voice. Katie is crying, as shocked as I am.
‘So,’ Melissa says, ‘that’s the game. Ready to play? Or would you rather skip straight to the part where you both lose?’ She tests the blade of the knife on her thumbnail, where it’s too sharp to slide smoothly across the red lacquer Melissa always wears.
‘You’re not using my daughter as bait for a bunch of sick men. I’d rather die.’
Melissa shrugs. ‘Your call.’ She stands up and walks towards me, the knife held out in front of her.
‘No!’ Katie screams. She clings to me, tears streaming down her face. ‘I’ll do it, I’ll go – I won’t let her hurt you.’
‘Katie, I’m not letting you do it. You’ll get hurt.’
‘And if I don’t, we both will! Don’t you understand? She’s mad!’
I glance at Melissa but she seems entirely unperturbed by Katie’s accusation. There’s no sign of agitation, or of anger, which makes her actions even more terrifying. She would push that knife into me, I realise, and not even break into a sweat. I’m struggling to accept that the woman I thought was my friend – the woman I thought I knew – is someone else entirely. Someone who hates me. Who resents me so deeply for being a mother that she’s prepared to hurt me; to hurt my daughter.
Katie squeezes my shoulder. ‘I can do this, Mum. The Tube will be busy – there’ll be people everywhere – no one’s going to hurt me.’
‘But, Katie, they have been hurt! Women have been murdered. Raped! You can’t go.’ Even as I say it, I’m thinking of the alternative. If Katie stays here, what will happen to her? I’m in no doubt now that Melissa is going to kill me, but I won’t let her kill Katie too.
‘The other women didn’t know they were being watched. I do. I’ll have the advantage. And I know that route, Mum. I’ll know if someone’s following me.’
‘No, Katie.’
‘I can do this. I want to do it.’ She’s not crying any more; her face is set with a determination I know so well I catch my breath. She thinks she’s saving me. She really thinks she can play this game – that she can cross London without being caught – and that winning the game means Melissa will spare me.
She’s wrong – Melissa won’t let me go – but in trying to save me, I can save Katie. Out there, she has a fighting chance. In here, we’re already dead.
‘Okay,’ I tell her. It feels like a betrayal.
She stands up and looks at Melissa. Her chin juts out defiantly, and for a second I’m reminded of her character in the play, hiding her identity behind boy’s clothing and clever words. If Katie’s scared, she isn’t showing it.
‘What do I have to do?’
‘You just have to go to work. Nothing simpler. You’ll leave in,’ she checks the computer screen, ‘five minutes, and you’ll follow your usual route to the restaurant. You’ll give me your phone, you won’t stop, or change your routine, and you won’t do anything stupid like call for help or try to contact the police.’
Katie hands over her mobile. Melissa walks to her desk and presses a series of keys. The computer screen switches to a colour CCTV image I recognise; it’s looking out of Crystal Palace Tube station. I can see the taxi rank to the left, and the graffiti on the wall that’s been there for as long as I can remember. As we watch, a woman hurries into the station, checking her watch.
‘Step out of line,’ Melissa continues, ‘and I’ll know. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out what will happen to your mother.’
Katie bites her lip.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I say softly.
She tosses her hair. ‘It’s fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to me, Mum. Or you.’ She has a look of grim determination in her eyes, but I know her too well to believe she feels as confident as she looks. She’s playing a part, but this isn’t a play. It isn’t a game, whatever Melissa calls it. Whatever happens, someone’s going to get hurt.
‘Time to go,’ Melissa says.