The blue sky outside my window tells me it will be another warm day. The birds that wake me are my only company because aside from my nightly visit from Mr Evans, I’m all alone.
As always, as soon as I wake, I drag myself to the window and look out on a place I always knew existed but never thought I’d see first-hand. Smart houses and expensive cars existing in a quiet piece of paradise.
Then, as always, my thoughts turn to my father and the anxiety returns. Where is he, is he ok and when will this be over?
My stomach growls reminding me I haven’t eaten in twelve hours and the tears bite at the realisation a visit is due.
When I left with the police officers, I never expected to end up here. They were so nice and made me feel as if I was safe. I am safe, for now, anyway. Is my father ok, it’s been a week already and still no word? Mr Evans tells me nothing, just delivers me food and tells me to lie low. I must never be discovered because if I am, it’s doubtful I would see my father again.
The air inside the room suffocates me and I struggle to breathe. I am so worried. Is he ok, have they looked after him like they said he would? Is it over yet and when will I be sent back to him? These are my usual thoughts when I wake and ones that accompany me through the day. It’s been several weeks now and still no word.
As I drag myself to the window, I look out at the house opposite eagerly. Are they up yet?
I spend hours at the window, but they will never see me watching. I must stay out of sight; nobody must know I’m here because if I’m discovered they will come for me. I’ll never see my father again, so I do as I’m told. ‘It won’t be long’ they say, ‘how long?’ I ask, but I’m never told a date. The only way I can get through this is to watch the world outside my window carrying on without me.
When the people moved in opposite, I was glad of something new to watch. A normal family. Two small boys and a sweet little cat. Occasionally, I hear their laughter cross the divide towards me and I strain to hear their conversation. I crave the voices because my world is now a silent one. No television, no radio and no communication. I am forbidden to move around the house. In fact, I couldn’t if I wanted to because from the moment I arrived, I have been locked in this room with no way out. At least I have a modern bathroom, but nothing else. A single bed and a small table, with only the small bag of possessions I packed and not even a book. I could go mad in here; I feel as if I already am and the only thing left for me to do is watch the world outside my window, remaining hidden because the consequences of being found are too horrific to even think about.
The nightmare never goes away. It’s behind my eyes when I sleep at night and sits beside me during the day. When my father told me what had happened, I was frightened for him. He told me I would be safe and he had arranged a deal with the authorities for my protection. I was to go with the officers to a safe house where I would wait for this to be over.
I’m still waiting.
The days have dragged into weeks and still no word. Mr Evans visits in the evenings but says nothing.
I’m scared of Mr Evans.
He delivers me enough food to see me through to the next visit and says very little. He is gruff and non-communicative and something about the way he looks at me tells me something isn’t right. He makes me feel uncomfortable, and yet I’m safe here. It’s the deal we made, they are the people sworn to protect us and I will leave soon.
These thoughts are the only ones keeping me going because they’ve all I’ve got. Those and my visits from Mr Evans.
A flash of movement draws my attention and I see the curtains open at the house next door to the one opposite. The nice woman is there and my heart beats a little faster as I watch greedily for anything to distract me from the boredom of my life. I like that house - those people. I see them in their garden, laughing and joking. The woman likes to garden. She’s there a lot and I’ve seen her transform it over the weeks with hours spent planting flowers and tidying it up. She has a nice family; I’ve watched them all. Her husband, at least I think he is, mows the grass and reads his paper in a deck chair facing the sun.
Normal life, I always knew it existed. I watched it on the television and heard tales of it from my friends at school. I never had a normal life. It was always just dad and me. My mum was never around, I can’t remember her, anyway. Just me and dad living in a two-bedroom flat in Leicester until the day it all changed and we moved to Brighton. I wish we never had; it’s changed everything.
Sighing, I head to the bathroom and prepare to spend an hour relaxing in a bath and getting ready for another day at the window. It’s all I have to do, and I have never been so clean. I lie back and sing little songs under my breath in a whisper because I must make no noise. I make up stories in my head where I am happy and in charge of my life. I recite poetry and conjure up happy memories. I do anything and everything to keep myself sane because I will not let what is happening now break me. I will be strong and brave for my dad because I’m the lucky one. I’m guessing he’s not finding things so easy because he has a job to do and it’s not a pleasant one. No, I must do as I’m told and wait for this to be over.
* * *
Another day passes and it feels as if it’s been two. Time drags when you have so much of it and each hour seems like three as I wait for my freedom.
As the sun sets on another day spent waiting, I hear the garage door opening and the hum of an engine and my heart sinks. Mr Evans’ here.
Quickly, I scoot away from the window and sit on the side of the bed nervously. Will I be lucky tonight? He promised me a book to read, a magazine, anything to stifle the boredom of living inside four walls with no exercise. I pray to God that he’s remembered because I am going slightly mad in here.
The dull sound of his tread on the staircase causes my heart to thump. I should be happy to see another human being—I’m not. It’s Mr Evans, and I’m never happy to see him. Why couldn’t it be the other officer who comes? He was nice, kind and concerned. He was considerate and made me feel comfortable. Not Mr Evans. He never speaks, just issues instructions and leaves. Deposits my food and drink and is gone before I can ask the one question I need an answer to more than the food he brings. When am I going home?
I hear the key in the lock turn and my heart beats a little faster. I watch the handle turn with a morbid fascination and as the door inches open just a little, I hold my breath.
“Lola.”
His voice is deep and husky and holds just a hint of menace. Is he the bad cop? In my mind he is, and I just stare at him with a frozen expression and clasp my hands to stop them shaking.
He is carrying a tray of food and something else. My eager eyes zone in on the carrier bag he balances on one arm and I try to make out the outline. Is it a book, something to do? I hope so, and I almost can’t contain my curiosity as I wait for him to set the tray on the table against the far wall. The door closes softly behind him and I wonder when I may make it through the other side. It may only be a few more days, maybe he has news I very much want to hear, but I bide my time and wait patiently for him to speak.
He turns and his look causes me to shiver inside. What does that look mean? Something I’m not going to like I suspect, and as he tosses me the bag, I reach for it with an eagerness that doesn’t surprise me.
“I brought you a few books to read.”
The tears burn as I silently offer a prayer to God, thanking him for mercy. Books - the plural. On the one hand it means I have some escape from this strange world I find myself in, but on the other hand, it tells me my time here is not over yet.
I look up as he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair and notice a sovereign ring glint as the light catches it from the window.
“Come with me.”
I look up in surprise and whisper, “What?”
“You heard me; we have an important job to do.”
I stand, but my legs are shaking so hard I wonder if I can walk. He turns and opens the door, expecting me to follow and why wouldn’t I? Finally, I get to leave the small room and feast my eyes on a different view.
I follow him along the hallway and to the top of the stairs. I fully expect him to head down them, but he moves past them to another room set off at an angle. My heart thumps as I follow him, wondering what this is? I feel nervous because the look in his eye told me I have every right to be.
For a brief second his hand hovers over the door handle as if he is in two minds whether to open it and then he sighs and says tersely, “Follow me.”