He rolls his eyes. ‘Mum. I think you should keep out of it.’
I flop back in the chair. ‘I know.’
He gets up and gives me a hug. ‘You care too much. But you’re not always right, Mum. You jump to conclusions – you always have.’
Why do I feel he’s not talking about the Morgans any more?
‘What are you trying to say?’
He moves away and opens the fridge. ‘Nothing. Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.’
‘Ruf?’
‘What?’ He turns towards me, the slant of light from the fridge illuminating his profile.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yep. Can I have this Scotch egg?’
‘Sure.’
He leaves the room with the egg and a Peperami, and I hear the thud of feet on the stairs. I know he’ll be in his room for the next few hours, texting.
I stare around the empty kitchen, the clock on the wall ticking loudly as though it’s goading me. Maybe Susi’s right. Maybe working at Citizens Advice isn’t for me. Perhaps it really is time to let go of the past and move on. Embrace the future. Selling the house would give me more money. I could retrain. Do something that makes me happy. Follow my own path instead of Charlie’s. I need to forget about the Morgans now. And, okay, they’re obviously odd and I’ll never know why they have a fake baby, a possible made-up daughter-in-law and a wall of newspaper cuttings. Sarah-Jane is safe. I was wrong about the kidnapping. I’ve seen for myself that no woman is tied up in their attic. I have to accept that I will never know what they were talking about the day I overheard them.
32
NATALIE
Nobody has come to rescue her. She must have been mistaken when she thought she heard someone outside the door. An old house’s creaks and groans: that was all it was. When she finally realized nobody was coming she flopped back into bed and cried tears of frustration and fear. The waiting is the worst part. Whatever they have planned for her she just wishes they’d get on with it and put an end to this awful, torturous misery.
She’s feeling weaker now from lack of food. But she can’t eat because she knows if she does she’ll be groggy and brain-fogged again, and she needs to stay focused. She needs to escape.
She has no idea what time of day it is. The rabbit with the dead eyes stares at her, judging her, and she has the urge to throw it against the wall.The rabbit. She has the same memory of its head poking out of a bag. What does it mean?
A slant of sunshine is struggling to filter through the film of dust on the glass and she wonders why they haven’t killed her yet. Why keep her here, locked up for days?
The sound of a key in the lock makes her jump and she sits up, gathering the sheet around her, as though for protection. The nurse is back, framed by the doorway, and this time she doesn’t bring a trolley of food. Natalie’s breath catches when she sees that the nurse isn’t alone. A man hovers behind her, also wearing a mask. His eyes are bright and glaring and there is something about him that tugs at her memory, pulling her out of this nightmare and tumbling into the past.
‘Please let me go!’ she cries. ‘If this is about the drugs, I promise to get the money I owe.’ Her voice dies: the man is wearing scrubs, as though he’s about to perform surgery. Her whole body goes cold with horror. What are they going to do to her?
The nurse comes towards her and perches on the edge of the bed. The man moves forward too. He is holding something. A syringe.
‘I think it’s about time you started giving us some answers,Natalie,’ says the woman, her eyes hard. ‘We’ve waited long enough.’
‘What kind of answers? Please. I’ll tell you everything I know. I promise. Just don’t hurt me –please…’
The man steps forwards uttering a name, and instantly the rabbit’s significance floods back and, along with it, everything else.
Now she knows exactly who they are and what they want.
33
LENA
Jo appears on my doorstep the next morning, armed with a big bunch of sunflowers, her top lip damp. She’s slightly out of breath, which means she would have walked here. I’m so grateful to see her that, as soon as I open the door and she steps in to give me a hug, I have to blink back tears. I texted her yesterday afternoon to tell her I’ve been given a verbal warning and made to stay on part-time hours, but she was in chambers all day, so we haven’t had the chance to speak properly yet. I was hoping Paul would come over at the weekend to install my garden camera but he’s been called out to do a job in Manchester. Jo had been so apologetic when she rang to tell me on Saturday, and I had to assure her that it’s fine, I’m grateful for the favour, and that, no, I don’t think Paul is useless, but it had reminded me that he, like everyone around me, is busy with his life, trying to fit everything in: family, friends, work. How can I begrudge him that just because I’ve got time on my hands? If I get desperate I know I can ask Charlie, but it’s not as though I’ve had any more late-night visitors in my garden.
‘Oh, hon,’ Jo says, as we pull apart. She hands me the sunflowers. ‘Come on, let’s put these in water. They’re already wilting.’
