26 July 2011 / 19:43
Very gently, Maddie’s dad slid a scissor blade between Kate’s right cheek and the cloth holding the gag in place. He did the same for Noah, flinching as he saw his son’s black eye. He cut through the plastic ties at their wrists and ankles and snipped into the plastic washing line. The moment they were both free and stumbling to their feet, her dad gathered his wife into his arms.
‘Kate, are you all right? Did they—’
‘No, they didn’t.’ She sobbed, huge sobs. ‘No, no, nothing like that.’
‘I’m sorry Mom, sorry Dad.’
‘Noah? What on earth—’
‘I should have stopped them.’
‘Darling.’ Maddie’s mom held her son tight, rocking him back and forth. ‘They had guns, Noah.’
‘Guns?’ Maddie’s voice was shaky. She’d heard all this before – from friends who’d had friends who’d been hijacked; from Miss Godwin, a teacher at school who was held up at gunpoint outside her home just the week before; from the news every night and sometimes in the mornings in her dad’s car. ‘They had guns?’ Maddie burst into tears.
Every day, people are held up, their cars stolen, their lives stolen. The stats are on the news and in the newspapers, and now crime is here, in their driveway.
The Groomes have become part of a national statistic.