Monday
Tears slid down my cheek and into my hair, jolting me awake. I pulled myself up, gritting my teeth as my aching body protested, though I was relieved my arm didn’t feel as painful.
I headed across the room and peed in the mop bucket, trying not to think too hard about the camera, and what I’d been reduced to.
I rose, emptied the bucket into the sink and glanced up at the window. The sky was a candyfloss pink and I tracked a pair of birds circling a single cloud. I could tell it was early. The air hadn’t warmed up yet. The wig was lying on the floor like roadkill, and with a surge of anger I kicked it across the room.
As I let out a scream, a car pulled up outside, and as heavy footfalls descended the stairs, loud and fast, I realised, for the second time in my life, I was afraid.
‘Jake.’ My voice was a small, useless thing. I crossed the floor, shivering as the cold concrete struck the soles of my feet.
He slid something under the door. Another key.
‘Jake, for Christ’s sake! This has gone on long enough.’ I pressed my mouth to the edge of the door. ‘Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Please, let me out.’
I was pathetic. He was probably loving it. ‘Jake!’ I thumped the door. ‘Jake?’ I could hear him breathing. ‘Say something, for fuck’s sake.’
Silence.
I slammed both palms on the wood, and let out a cry as pain shot up my arm. Seconds later, his footsteps retreated.
‘Shit!’ I rubbed my throbbing shoulder, biting down on my tears.
I looked up at the window, but there was no point attempting to clamber out again. Even if I didn’t hurt all over, he was watching. He would know I was trying to escape.
Ignoring the key, I crossed to the cupboard and grabbed the tin of beans. I felt faint with hunger and knew I should probably eat to keep my strength up. Though for what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it would be quicker if I starved to death.
All the same, I pulled off the lid with the ring pull, then rummaged through the big box for a spoon or fork, but found neither. The drawer above the cupboard was empty too. He wanted me incapable.
Standing by the sink, back to the camera, I scooped out the beans with my fingers and shovelled them into my mouth. Tears pricked my eyes as I swallowed, trying not to gag.
‘And you wonder why I left you,’ I said, once I’d finished.
I rinsed my fingers under the tap and wiped them on the apron. ‘If you think I’m going to fall apart, you’re mistaken,’ I muttered. ‘I’m stronger than you think.’
I paced, thinking about the limited view from the window – the flattened ground and the dense trees in the distance. And then it hit me. It reminded me of the view from the holiday cottage, where we’d stayed the week Bryony died. Oh God. Was this another perverted attempt to torture me?
Before I could wrench them back, memories of that holiday began unfolding in my mind. Playing hide-and-seek on the beach at Aughris Head, Bryony’s little legs carrying her off.
‘Come and find me, Collie.’
I cover my eyes and count, ‘One, two, three …’
My teeth began to chatter, and with an enormous effort, I pulled my mind away from that torturous time.
Outside the window, the sun slipped behind a cloud, reducing the light in the room to a dull grey. The day yawned ahead of me, vast and unknown, and I took a deep breath, continuing to fight tears.
I looked at the key, still lying on the floor with a label attached. About to give in and pick it up, I caught my breath as a sheet of paper came sliding under the door.
‘Jake?’ My heart skidded against my ribcage. I hadn’t heard him come back. ‘Please let me out, Jake. Please!’ But the silence was total.
Crossing the floor, I bent and snatched up the piece of white A4 and read the large bold print:
Open the box, Colleen. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t.
I pressed my ear against the door, trying to work out if he’d gone, but there was nothing – not even the sound of breathing.
The key was labelled Box 2. On the reverse of the label were the words: You’ve let me down, Colleen.
‘I’ve let you down?’ I gave a bitter laugh. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Jake?’
I picked up the box marked 2. What else could I do? I placed the key in the padlock and turned it. Inside were two more tissue-wrapped items. I knew what they were by their shape, and fresh tears sprang to my eyes.
Ripping off the paper, I stared at a blue bucket and spade. Such small things, but they represented the moment my life changed. How could Jake use that against me? Hadn’t I punished myself enough?
I turned to the winking camera, imagining him grinning.
‘Let me out,’ I pleaded, my resolve not to cry dissolving. I felt sure he’d loved me once. Maybe he still did, in his own warped way. ‘I’ll come back home with you,’ I added, the urge to get out of this room, at any cost, growing stronger. ‘I’ll be good, Jake. I promise. Just give me another chance to prove it.’ I dropped the bucket and spade and spun away from them, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, my face wet with tears.
But it was no good.
He’d triggered the memory of that awful day my little sister drowned.