Plymouth, the day after Anna dies
The car he collects, following Madeleine’s instruction, is an old VW Touran. The traffic is light and it takes just over three hours from London to the remote café, hidden behind a seemingly abandoned dairy farm, near Plymouth. The car park is empty other than a small Nissan and a Volvo estate, stationed several metres apart. As Harry pulls up beside the larger vehicle, he spots a woman seated at the picnic table in the forecourt with a baby dozing on her lap, the barely touched remains of two jacket potatoes curling on their plates in front of her.
He recognises her instantly from the photo: the same dark curls and full mouth. From the hats and tinsel it must have been taken at a Christmas party.
For a moment he wonders if she is alone with her youngest child but then he sees the man in the makeshift playground a few metres beyond, pushing a girl absent-mindedly back and forth on a plastic swing. The boy is climbing the steps to the freestanding slide, taking each tread with care as if scared the whole thing might collapse.
Watching Harry warily as he pulls up, the woman sits straighter, supporting the baby’s head with a cupped hand. As he steps out of the car, she untucks her legs from the bench and stands.
‘Gabriela,’ he says and she nods, taking his extended hand with obvious caution.
‘I’m Harry. I’m a friend of Madeleine’s …’
He smiles and holds her eye for a moment before moving his attention to their surroundings. There are no cameras, no other people around besides whomever it was inside the café who cooked and served the food.
‘Can I get you something?’ Gabriela asks, noting his eyes move to the discarded plates. ‘The kids were hungry.’
‘I’m fine,’ he says, looking towards the playground, where the man has turned to watch them. ‘Is that Tom?’ Gabriela nods, looking away. Harry raises a hand in acknowledgement.
‘And this is your car?’ He peers in through the glass. They’ve travelled relatively lightly, given the number of children. ‘Do you want me to help transfer those bags into here?’
Tom approaches and Harry greets him, holding out his hand.Tom ignores it, so Harry addresses the children, who follow at a distance, crouching to meet their eyes. ‘You must be Sadie and Callum?’
The girl says nothing but her focus doesn’t shift from his face. Callum nods, moving closer towards his older sister.
‘It’s good to meet you,’ Harry says gently before returning his attention to Gabriela. Tom doesn’t seem interested in conversation and frankly Harry can’t blame him.
‘Do you need a hand with the car seats?’
‘No,’ she replies. Tom is standing away from the vehicle, physically shielding his children. Gabriela moves methodically, aware of the baby pressed up against her chest as she lifts out one of the seats, Harry stepping in to assist her without saying a word.
Once the transferral is complete, he walks over and hands Gabriela the keys to the people carrier.
‘Do you have the keys for the Volvo?’ Gabriela nods towards Tom.
‘He has them.’
‘Pal, do you think I could grab the keys off you? I need to take your car …’ Harry says.
As Tom’s eyes meet his, he sees that what he had previously taken for contempt is actually fear or shock or, more likely, both. Tom hands him the keys and moves away again, and as Harry looks down he sees the key ring: an image of the four of them, encased in cheap plastic – Tom, Gabriela, Sadie and Callum, posing in a garden.
‘Do you want me to take them off the chain?’ he asks quietly. Tom calls back over his shoulder.
‘You can keep it.’
It takes less than an hour for Harry to deposit the car at the edge of a nearby field, ready for collection by whomever will be sent to deal with it, before returning to the car park. Gabriela seems relieved to see him again, gathering the children into the VW Touran, Sadie in the far back seat, Callum and Layla strapped into the middle row.
After a moment’s pause, she indicates for Harry to go in the front passenger seat beside Tom, before climbing between her youngest children.
‘What do you think of the new car?’ she says to Sadie in a staged effort at normality once the engine starts. The child’s answer, if there is one, is lost in the sound of the wipers reverberating against the windscreen.
It has stopped raining, the sky settling in an oppressive grey mist.
‘There’s a button just there, to turn them off,’ Harry says to Tom, leaning over to point it out, but Tom doesn’t react, his expression fixed on the road ahead of him. Harry wishes he had suggested he continue to drive. What is he thinking? He tries to imagine and for a second he pictures Tom veering towards the barrier. That’s all it would take, one tiny shift of the steering wheel and they would all be dead.
‘This is our turning,’ Harry says quickly, overriding his own thoughts.
Tom takes the exit and Harry exhales silently. Christ, he can’t wait for this job to be over. He hates everything about it.
But it won’t be for long, he reminds himself. Just as soon as they touch down in France, Harry’s work here will be done.
‘I’m your brother, if anyone asks,’ Harry explains as they take their queue for the ferry. ‘This envelope has your passports inside. I’ll need your old ones …’
‘Why do you need them?’ Gabriela asks.
‘I need to get rid of them properly. We can’t risk anyone finding them.’ He gives her a look across the car that tells her this is not a conversation to be having in front of the children. ‘Callum, would you mind passing that to your mother?’
The child hesitates before leaning to take the parcel from his hand. Harry winks reassuringly. When he looks up at Gabriela, he sees her face is suddenly white. In one hand, she holds the envelope of passports; with the other she is holding her throat as if her airways are constricting and she is struggling to breathe.
Shit.
‘Gabriela, are you OK?’ Harry focuses on her face from the other side of the car. Her eyes bulge as she shakes her head, mouthing the words I can’t breathe.
He keeps his voice calm. ‘You’re just having a panic attack.’ He leans between the seats so that he is fully focused on her. The car is stationary, vehicles locking them in on all sides. ‘Gabriela, look at me. Breathe. OK? Callum, can you open the door, please? That’s it, stay where you are – we just need air. Gabriela, you’re fine, you just need to breathe …’
Sensing her mother’s unease, Layla cries out from her car seat.
‘Mum?’ There is fear in Sadie’s voice as Layla’s cry intensifies in the seat in front of her.
‘Don’t worry, your mum’s going to be fine,’ Harry says before returning his attention to Gabriela. ‘Steady, that’s it, steady … Gabriela, breathe. Sadie, it’s OK …’
At a loss about what to do with the screaming baby, he leans towards Layla in the middle row of seats, making hushing sounds, briefly glancing at Tom who is not responding, as if he is already somewhere else. For fuck’s sake, surely now would be a good time to man up.
‘Pal?’ Harry says, trying to get his attention. ‘Do you think you could grab the baby?’
Gabriela is still struggling to catch her breath, her panic increasing with the child’s cry. Help the bloody baby, Harry wants to shout at Tom, who remains focused on the windshield, but the less attention they attract to their group from the other passengers waiting in line, the better. Stepping out of the car, Harry moves to the door behind him, opening it, undoing Layla’s seat belt and lifting the child out.
He takes a step away from the people carrier, aware of several pairs of eyes watching him as he awkwardly juggles the child. A few moments later he feels a hand on his back and when he turns, Gabriela is there, reaching for her child.
‘OK, baby,’ she says, taking Layla. ‘OK. Come to me, baby. Come to me.’