The Good Mother (11 page)

What fresh game is this?

It’s plainly shop-bought, the cupcake. Featuring a blue colour in its icing that does not exist in nature. But what does it mean? Is he trying to show me he researched me before he brought me here? My cake business. He must have seen that picture of me and Cara. Is he trying to endear himself to me, trying again to make me want him?

I shrug at the tray. He looks hurt; that emotion I can read. He would hurt more if I let rip fully. If I tore up the cupcake and threw it at him. If I shoved it into his mouth and kept it there so that he couldn’t breathe, like I can’t breathe without Cara.

But there’s a bigger picture now. There’s a plan. So I can’t throw the cupcake at him. I may even eat it, when he’s gone. I can’t worry about whatever crazy rationale he’s working to; I’m working to a deadline.

‘What time is it?’ I ask. Because that’s what I told Cara I’d do. Ask the time so I can count our way out of here. She hasn’t replied yet to say she agrees to the plan, but I’m keeping my side of the bargain. Perhaps I pushed too hard. Perhaps she’s distressed – in there, away from me. If only I could see through that wall, know how she was feeling. But I have to plan for success. I have to think positive.

And he blushes. Why would he blush?

‘Sorry … it’s a bit later than usual, I know, but I, well … something came up. Sorry.’ He turns his gaze to the floor.

I can be magnanimous. When it suits me. ‘I forgive you,’ I say.

He looks up quickly, regards me keenly.

‘For the delayed supper,’ I say.

‘Oh.’ His face sags slightly. Perhaps he thought I was forgiving him for something else. Hardly.

Then he seems to remember himself. He lifts his chin again. Tenses his body. The armour, if it had a chink in it, is restored.

‘Eat up,’ he orders me.

I make a show of pulling down the cupcake paper.

‘But, really, I’d like to know. For my sanity. What time is it?’

He looks at his watch. A really nice one – wide brown leather strap, a gold face with lots of little intricate whirring bits in it. The sort I’d choose if I were a man.

‘It’s seven p.m.,’ he reports.

‘Thank you.’

One, two, three … and so continues the constant ticking in my head. Because I must count, so I know exactly when it’s 10.30 a.m., and our plan has to start, before his 11 a.m. meeting.

‘About what you saw,’ he says.

I look up at him.

(Eighteen, nineteen, twenty …)

‘I saw Cara,’ I remind him.

He nods. ‘Right. So. About that.’

(Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine …)

‘Are you releasing her?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘Are you releasing me?’

He shakes his head.

(Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six …)

‘There’s a lot to do, Susan. A lot you have to understand.’

I understand already. I understand you’ve locked Cara and me away from each other. I understand you are between me and my daughter and our liberty.

But we also have a plan – I hope, if Cara is on-board. So I’m not going to waste my energy.

(One minute plus two, three, four …)

I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms. ‘Sure,’ I say.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he tells me.

(One plus eleven, twelve, thirteen …)

I shrug.

I see his jaw tense.

He walks towards me again, until his face is only an in inch away from mine.

‘You should care, Susan. You really should. Because this is the only way we both get what we want without you getting hurt.’

I’d shrug again but I don’t know what he’d do. And I can’t help but heed his words. So I nod, slowly.

He steps back.

‘Goodnight, then,’ he says. ‘Enjoy your cupcake.’

When he’s left the room I fling the cupcake at the door.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Just count.

(One plus twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two …)

I can’t help staring at the cupcake though. It lies in the centre of the floor, where its shop-bought rubberiness sent it bouncing. (One plus thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three …) I can’t figure it out, what it means. I reject him, I spit in his face, and he tells me to enjoy my cake? (One plus thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine …)

Maybe it’s poisoned. (Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six …) Maybe he’s moved on from doping me. Maybe he just wants to kill me, but he’s too conniving, too cruel just to strangle me or beat me to death. (Sixty. Two plus one, two, three …) The sick fuck wants me to die by the very thing I’ve made my profession. (Two plus fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …) Or does it contain a sedative? If I eat it, will he rape me? Is that what he means about getting what he wants without me getting hurt? I’m not taking the chance. The cupcake can go in the pillowcase, along with the letter stash, and he can think I’ve eaten his drugged offering, and then he won’t suspect we’re about to escape. (Two plus twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four …) I scoop it up from by the door.

What time am I on? Must keep counting. Three minutes now? Yes, it must be. Just keep feeling the pulse. (Three plus one, two, three …)

I start to slide the cake into the pillowcase. It will go mouldy. Smell. Alert him. Or poison me another way. Maggots in my ear. Perhaps there’s a better way. Yes, I know! The girl! Not Cara, the other girl. The outside girl. I can tempt her with the cake. It doesn’t matter if it’s poisoned because she’ll never get it. I can put it on the window ledge, next to the skipping sign. Climb the chair and there, done, it’s on the windowsill! Progress! (Three plus twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two …)

But only up to a point. What is Cara doing? Why hasn’t she replied yet, about our escape? It was too much, wasn’t it, me asking her to run down that corridor she fears? Too pushy. (Four plus thirteen, fourteen, fifteen …)

Or maybe she’s just having her supper. Building her strength for tomorrow. She probably assumes that I assume she’ll go along with my plan – her plan, really, with my simple revisions. I should eat too. Because look at the rest of the food on the tray. It looks so unappetising that it must be safe. Who would poison an overripe avocado? Or a grizzled pork chop. And, do you know, I might even treat myself to eating the whole thing for once. The cupcake was the danger zone. This must be safe.

And it feels good. It feels good to eat this full meal. I actually start to feel normal. (Four plus forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine …) My hunger is starting to be sated. Would be nice if there was a glass of wine to with it, Chablis perhaps, to celebrate my last meal in captivity. Because tomorrow will go well. Tomorrow we will escape. (Four plus fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty – or are we on five already? I must continue counting. Yes, I must. Eyes drooping a bit, but I must, I must, five plus one, two, three …) And we can find out who this sod is, this sod who would take my daughter away from me, only to give me poisoned (five plus one, two, three …) food. Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow. I’ll just rest my head on the pillow a bit, now it’s not poisoned, and I’ll be closer to Cara’s letter stash. Yes, there we go. That’s really – oh gosh, these yawns! – nice. (Five plus two, three … Plus three plus four …)

Chapter 23

Alice looks over her shoulder as she hurries along the pavement towards school. Night has become day, but it feels like she’s still in a nightmare, a crazy chase dream. Another two streets to go. He’s still following her. The bright green car is leaping along the road towards her like an overzealous frog. Why won’t he stop this? She keeps telling him that she’s told him all she knows. She’s done her bit. Described exactly the place he asked for.

Suddenly, the car is level with her.

‘Hop in, Alice,’ he says, like he knows he’s driving in a frog.

She shakes her head and carries on walking.

‘Come on, get in,’ he says again.

Doesn’t he understand? You don’t get into cars with strangers. Who brought him up? Besides, she’ll miss registration, and she doesn’t want a black mark.

She starts to run. She stops looking where she’s going and runs as fast as she can. She’s told him about Cara, everything she knows.

But it was like he wasn’t listening to what she said. He was only interested in his own questions: ‘So did her mum usually drop her at school?’ ‘Have you seen her mum recently?’ ‘Did you ever see her with her mum and her mum’s husband together?’ ‘What were they like?’ ‘What did they have for supper when you went round?’ ‘Did they ever have alcohol?’ ‘Did they drive you home afterwards?’ And before she’d even answered one question, he’d start on another. Weird. Totally weird.

As she runs, she wishes she had told Mrs Cavendish. Mr Belvoir said he’d told Mrs Cavendish that they were meeting outside school, and that she’d said it was OK, because it wouldn’t distract her from lessons. But that it was best to keep the content of their discussions secret, because he didn’t want to prejudice the investigations. It sounded very grand at the time. But now she bets, she just bets that Mrs Cavendish didn’t know about it, and that she shouldn’t be keeping anything to do with this man secret. That’s what Cara did and look what happened to Cara.

Look! Here’s the street with bollards at the end, so cars can’t get through. If she runs down here, he can’t catch her. Turn in! Run a little bit more. Then stop. Catch up on breath. Phew.

But no! What’s this? In the opposite direction, from the end of the street without the bollards, the green frog car. Coming closer and closer towards her. Until it’s almost touching her. Engine still running. Window wound down.

‘Why are you running, Alice?’

Should she stay anything, or keep quiet? Even if he didn’t make Cara disappear, there’s something not quite right about him. Maybe if she tells him she doesn’t like him, he’ll go away. That works at school.

‘I don’t like you,’ Alice says.

The corners of his mouth turn down. ‘I don’t think little girls do like me.’

‘Cara said she didn’t like you. She said you were weird. I know she was on her way to see you. And I’ve never seen her again. So no, I don’t like you.’

And then he’s getting out of the car. He’s taking hold of her arm. She’s struggling. Surely someone must see her. He pulls her into the car. Help! Help! The door is shut and there are those stupid child locks that mean she can’t get out. She bangs her hands against the window. He’s going to drive off! He’s going to vanish her like he vanished Cara! Even though … Oh, even though nothing. He’s somehow to blame. She knows he is.

But the engine stops. The car doesn’t go anywhere.

‘Alice,’ says Mr Belvoir. ‘Calm down. You can trust me. Let me tell you what I know. Then you can see who you think the villain is. You’ve described where he lives. Now you can take me to find him.’

Chapter 24

The other side of the door

It’s nearly time.

Just over half an hour to go. Breakfasts done, trays delivered – even to still sleeping recipients. No distraction there. Perhaps I should have shaken her awake. Used some of that force, that tension, that is building and building. That I must do something with. Before it explodes. Because we know where that can end up. The danger it can cause.

I pace back and forth, like the pendulum of a clock. Keep the adrenaline up. Come 11 a.m., I must be out of this door. I must be cool, composed and in control of the situation. And there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be. I know I’m in the right. Because I’m trying to help. I really am. I’m trying to keep us together under this roof. That’s where we’re meant to be. I know that’s what Suze wants, if only she could see that.

Perhaps she will, soon, now. That’s the hope. What with the other delivery I took yesterday. It’s got to work, hasn’t it?

Which is why I’m not going to let him, this man, pry into our affairs. None of this has anything to do with him. This is my sanctuary, and I have a right to treat the people here as I see fit. And I’m doing well. Very well. I have to meet him. To hear what he has to say. Because otherwise he might start to talk to others, if he hasn’t already. Start a process. Blue flashing lights. As if I’m doing something wrong. But I’m not. I have right on my side. And, as for the money angle, well, I know what I need. What we need. But it looks like he doesn’t agree that’s the necessary sum. He’s greedy, that’s what it is. Wants to hang on to everything, keep it to himself. That doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. He must see that. He must do. Otherwise …

I must keep my head. Must keep calm. Keep the overall objective in mind. Don’t let him get into my head, twisting a little scalpel around, seeing what my trigger points are. Exploiting them. I do enough of that to myself. At night. In the dark. Replaying all the images, the decisions, the choices. Reminding myself about consequences.

I go over to the window and flick the curtain. Perhaps he’s early? No. No car parked on the corner. That is, there are cars, of course there are, here in the not-quite-suburbia-because-it’s-London-so-it’s-a-‘village’ belt. Just not his car. I wonder if he’ll actually be in the car, or whether it’s all a trap. Whether it will be full of police. Or just threats.

Perhaps it will be a nice exchange. He tells me what works for him. I tell him that’s no good. We agree to differ. Then we part due to artistic differences.

Unlikely.

I check my watch again. Nearer and nearer draws the time.

Maybe I’ll just see if all is in order down the corridor. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Suze was breathing, I think, when I deposited the tray. I’m pretty sure I got the dosage right, last night. That I haven’t over overdosed her. There’s not even any knocking, though, this morning. All that knocking, on the wall, between Suze and Cara’s room. I’m not stupid. I know what it means. It’s what they do, isn’t it, in this situation, when they think they’ve learnt something important? But it won’t do any good. Almost breaks your heart, such futile behaviour. Almost. If something else hadn’t broken it already. ‘Something else’! Hah! Me. Me. I was the one who shouldn’t have done what I did. But I didn’t know that when I did it. You never do. It’s only with hindsight. Hindsight screaming at you from the road up ahead, ‘Stop! This will end badly. Choose some other route, quit this journey now, while you can.’