Marina woke up feeling terrible. She could never normally sleep the first night away from home in a strange bed and would find herself waking up every hour at every unfamiliar noise, constantly wondering where she was and why her room had been changed round. And this situation was far from normal. This was extreme.
She had lain there, staring at the wall, the ceiling. Wondering if someone or something was hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack her. Watching the blade of light under the locked door for anyone trying to enter the room. Or even slipping a message underneath. Seeing the faces of her husband, her daughter, every time she closed her eyes.
At some point her body had been too exhausted to stay awake any longer and she had slept. But even then she couldn’t rest. Her dreams were shallow and anxious, her subconscious screaming at her not to relax or give in, and her body had responded, jolting itself awake throughout the night.
And the phone hadn’t rung.
She had picked it up from the bedside table whenever her eyes were open, checking without hope to see whether there was a missed call, as if somehow the noise wouldn’t have woken her up. A text, even. There were no missed calls. No texts.
Sometimes she had curled herself up foetally, given in and cried. Other times she had screamed and kicked, rage surging round her body like electricity, angry words spat from a spittle-flecked mouth. Or she had just lain there, trying not to think about herself or her family, not to feel anything. Willing herself to numbness.
In this way, the night had passed.
She dragged herself out of bed and hauled herself into the bathroom. The light was as harsh and unforgiving as a convention centre. She checked her body, found she was externalising what she felt internally. One side of her displayed bruises and gravel rash from the explosion and was sore to the touch. The face in the mirror belonged to a woman at least ten years older than the previous day’s. Eyes haunted and dark-rimmed.
She splashed water on her face, tried to bring herself back to life. Then decided to have a shower. Before she did that, she went back into the bedroom, fetched the phone, checking for calls. None. She got into the shower, and immediately began to worry whether steam or water would render the phone useless and she would miss the call.
She closed her eyes. Tried not to think of anything. Felt the warm water on her skin. Caressing her, relaxing her. And immediately felt guilty for almost enjoying it.
Out of the shower, she checked the phone again. It still worked, but there had been no call or text. The action of checking, although nothing in itself, was becoming physically wearying.
She walked back into the bedroom, towelling herself off. Her heart sank even further as she looked at the pile of clothes on the floor. She wanted to never see them again, to burn them, forget them. They were dirty, torn from the explosion, sweaty from her exertions. But she had no other clothes, so she had to wear them.
Once she was dressed, her tangled curly hair finger-combed, she sat on the bed and waited. With nothing to do, she flicked on the TV. The news was on, local. Not much happening. A car accident on the A12. Cuts to public services in Braintree. A convicted murderer released on licence had failed to show up at his hostel. Marina, preoccupied, not listening, barely took it in.
And then the phone rang.
Love Will Tear Us Apart.
She grabbed for it, held it to her ear. Heart pounding.
‘Yes … ?’
The voice was singing. ‘This is the day-ay, your life will surely cha-ay-ange … ’ Then laughing. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
‘Where’s my daughter? Is she safe?’
‘All in good time. Today’s the day! Do what we want, do it properly, the way we want it, and you’ll get your daughter back. Unharmed. What a bargain.’
‘No.’ Marina swallowed down the rage, fear and panic in her voice. Trying to act professionally, she remained calm and reasonable. ‘I want to help you. And I will help you. But before I do that, I want to hear her. I need to hear her. Put her on. Now.’
‘Can’t do that.’
Marina’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear her own voice. Her hand was trembling. ‘Then I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to help you.’
A silence on the phone. ‘Sorry you feel that way.’
‘I do.’ Marina was almost hyperventilating. All the words that had spun through her head during the night came spewing out. ‘I do. You’ve got two choices. Let me speak to her, let me know she’s alive and well, and I’ll do what you want. Otherwise … ’
‘What?’
‘I call the police. Right now. Tell them everything.’
A sharp intake of breath. ‘I don’t think so.’ The voice was trying to be calm, but she clearly had it rattled.
‘I do.’ She wished her heart held the conviction her voice spoke with. ‘And so do you. You know you have no choice. So put her on. Please.’ Her voice caught on the final word. She hoped it hadn’t been noticed.
Silence. No … they’ve gone, she thought. I’ll never hear from them again. Josephina’s dead for sure now. And it’s all my fault. I was trying to be clever. It’s all my—
‘Mummy?’
‘Jo? Josie darling, I’m here … ’
‘Mummy! Mummy! There’s … ’ Her voice stopped, replaced by muffled sounds.
‘Josie! Josie! Listen, I’m coming for you, I’m … ’
The first voice was back on. She could hear her daughter’s muffled cries in the background. ‘There. Told you we’ve got her. Told you she’s OK.’
‘What have you done with her? What have you fucking done with her?’ Screaming, not caring who heard.
‘Nothing.’ The voice shouted, struggling to be heard over Marina and her daughter’s screaming. ‘Nothing. She’s well and unharmed. And she’ll stay that way if you do as you’re told.’
Marina tried to regain composure. ‘And if I do that, I get her back and … and that’s that?’
‘That’s that.’
Marina was breathing heavily. Adrenalin was pumping round her system. ‘It had better be. Because if you’re lying, or if you hurt her, if you so much as touch her, I will find you. And I will kill you.’ As she spoke those words, Marina realised she had never in her life believed anything with as much conviction. She could feel her father’s rage within her.
‘Fine. OK. Whatever.’ The voice was struggling to appear to be in control. ‘Here’s your postcode for the sat nav. Get on with it.’
The line went dead. A few seconds later, a text came through.
She left the room.