No Longer Safe (15 page)

On my return, I hovered on the landing, listening
to the gurgles and splashes coming from the bathroom as Karen bathed Mel.

Mark and Jodie were up in their room, so I snuck my head
around Karen’s door and spotted her keys on her bedside cabinet. I removed the
ones for the byre, just in case she needed the others in the meantime, and
left. I intended to tell her what I was doing anyway, as soon as I was sure.

I had no desire to go anywhere near Charlie’s festering
body, but Nina’s description of the hat felt too important to ignore. We’d
already checked Charlie’s pockets, so I knew the only place to check now was
his backpack – only Karen had rifled through that. We’d left it tucked next to
his body under the layers of plastic in the byre.

I slid the smallest key into the padlock and it snapped
open. The door moaned as I nudged it ajar and I slipped inside. As I crossed
the concrete floor, something small darted away from the pile of snow and
scurried into a recess at the back. A rat. I stood still, determined not to
scream. Another one headed the same way. I turned around. I couldn’t do this –
I had to get out. But, I didn’t hurry towards the door, instead I leant against
a bench waiting for my breathing to stabilise, talking to myself.
It’s okay. Nancy Templar used to keep a pet rat at
home, remember? A cute little white one. You were fine with it. This is just
the same. It won’t hurt you.

I straightened up, my hand pressed against my breast bone. I
forced myself to move it down to my belly. My therapist had taught me a
technique to control any panic attacks: to breathe from the abdomen in the way
that mothers are told to when they’re about to give birth. It was a good idea
in theory, but so far, when the attacks had struck I’d found it hard to put
into practice. They’d happened so fast, it felt like someone else had taken
over the control panels to my body. The trick was getting to my body before the
panic attack got there first and firing off a few techniques to fend off the
‘beast’ before it could take hold.

In – out – nice and slow. You can do this. You’ll be
out of here in less than five minutes. Then it’ll all be over. In – out. You
can do this.

I picked up an empty tin from the bench and tossed it
towards the mound of snow. There was another rustle and scuffle, then silence.

I walked right up to our makeshift icy tomb; the snow had in
turn melted a little, then re-frozen, creating a ridge of ice around the edge.
Wearing my gloves and pull my scarf over my mouth, I found the rim of the cover
and gingerly peeled it away from the floor. Due to the hole in the roof, the light
was good enough, but all I could see was Charlie’s sleeve. I had three goes,
shifting position, before I saw what I was looking for: the grey canvas of his
rucksack. I pulled it towards me and opened the buckles on the top.
Focus on the rucksack – just look inside.

I pulled out a thin book about Rome, local maps, his
passport and a bottle of water. Then it was in my hand. I’d found it. Charlie’s
hat. Exactly how Nina had described it; woolly, dark blue, with a white stripe
round the edge. Exactly the same.

I was about to stuff it back inside, when I decided to check
further to see if there might be details about where Charlie might have been
staying or who he could have been working with. There was no mobile phone, no
notebook, no scraps of paper with names or numbers on them. I flicked through
the guidebook, looked for markings on the maps: nothing. He had certainly
covered his tracks.

Only now did it occur to me that, for someone heading off to
Europe, there wasn’t much in is backpack. It was mostly empty – no clothes,
toiletries. He must have been going somewhere else first.

I fastened the bundle, before thrusting it back under the
plastic sheet. Blood was pumping into my throat like a resounding drum and my
hands were hot and slippery inside my gloves. I felt waves of vertigo, but had
to focus. I needed to get this job done and not make any stupid mistakes.

I’d dislodged ridges of snow in the process, so I found the
spade we’d used before and scooped the snow back over the pile, hiding the
liner as far as possible.

Then I left the spade where I’d found it and ran.

Karen was in her bedroom with Mel, but it didn’t matter –
I’d already decided to come clean about the keys, especially as it gave us some
useful new information. I tapped and waited.

‘Just hold on,’ came Karen’s voice.

She opened the door a fraction as if she had no idea who
might be on the other side. Her expression said that whoever it was, they
weren’t welcome.

‘It’s only me,’ I said. Her expression didn’t change. ‘Can I
come in? It’s a bit delicate.’

She stood back letting me in, vexation in her laboured
movement. ‘What’s delicate?’

‘I went to the byre again.’

She pressed her fingers into her browbone. ‘And what made
you do that?’

‘Nina – a woman I met – she’s staying at the far side of the
lake. She saw the guy – she thinks – who kidnapped the little boy. Her
description was…well, it fits Charlie exactly.’

‘She cut me off with a loud, ‘
Shush
– keep your voice down.’

I shifted from one foot to the other. ‘She described him,’ I
went on in a whisper, ‘his build, his bomber jacket and she mentioned he was
wearing a hat. Well, I went back to his rucksack to check – and there it was –
the same one, matching her description precisely. It was him. Charlie took the
baby.’

I was waiting for an expression of astonishment to flood her
face, but she snorted.

‘Just because he was wearing a bomber jacket and a hat…’

‘But she said the hat was blue or black – woolly – with a
white stripe around the rim – and Charlie’s is exactly like that. It’s too much
of a coincidence. He must have taken the child. But the issue is where is
little Brody now?’

‘Stop using the boy’s name – like you know him.’

I was smarting at her rebukes. Karen was stressed and knackered,
because her baby wouldn’t settle. I understood that, but this was important and
I was making sense.

‘Charlie might have taken him somewhere,
hidden
him somewhere – in another byre, a pig
sty, a hut – wherever – but he isn’t around now to take care of the baby
anymore, is he?’

The words came gushing out as the realisation that we might
have played a part not only in ending Charlie’s life, but also the life of an
innocent infant began to hit home.

‘Who’s looking after him now?’ I tried to stop my words
rising in pitch and volume. ‘Did Charlie take the boy, hide him and never go
back for him?’

She hissed at me, prodding her finger into my shoulder.
‘Keep your bloody voice down, will you? And think this through.’ She pulled me
down beside her on the bed. ‘If Charlie was the one who took the child, he
would have passed the kid on in a matter of hours and certainly before the end
of the day. These people don’t hang around. He broke into our place during the
night on Tuesday. If Charlie took the child on Monday at 5pm – I can’t see him
sticking around with a small infant, changing nappies, feeding him, singing
sweet lullabies for longer than he needed to. Can you?’

I thought about it. ‘I suppose not. People are going to
notice a baby crying – and the police have checked everywhere around here.’

She softened and cupped her hand over mine. ‘The family I
was with in LA were paranoid about this sort of thing happening to them. They
used to follow stories of abductions in the news and got a clear idea of how it
worked. Charlie wouldn’t have been snatching the baby for himself – you just
needed to look at him to see that – he would have been one link in an organised
chain.

‘Someone arranges everything, another finds the target,
someone else – Charlie – makes the grab for the child and then passes him on to
another person, who gets the child out of the country. Brody was probably a
million miles away by Tuesday evening, being transported to a couple in the
States who are rich and infertile.’

That’s what Stuart had said.

‘You’re right,’ I concluded. ‘He had a ticket to go to
Europe, but there was no baby passport in his bag. No baby gear. From what we
saw of him he didn’t look like the settling down type.’

‘He was a loner out to make a fast buck,’ she said. She put
her arm around me and pulled me close. I could smell baby milk on her collar.
‘You can’t say anything about this,’ she went on. ‘We’ll both be in big trouble
if you do – the police will know what we…you…did.’

‘What if the snow thaws?’ I said, snatching a breath. ‘What
if the temperature rises and the snow covering his body…melts and…’

A vision of Charlie’s decomposing body emerging from his
crude tomb, for all to see, flooded my mind.

‘We’ll deal with it,’ she said dismissively.

‘Why do you think Charlie came to the cottage?’ I asked.

She tried to cover a sigh. ‘We don’t know, do we? Maybe he
needed money for a taxi, maybe he was on the lookout for jewellery, perhaps
he’d got the wrong cottage, or he could have left something behind here and was
coming back for it – who knows? It doesn’t change anything – we can speculate
all we like, but we have no idea why he was here.’

‘Maybe he knew about the money Mark had, somehow.’

‘Except that had gone by the time he broke in.’

‘Ah – yeah…’ It was all a complete muddle.

‘Why were you burning the stool?’ I asked again, trying to
make my voice sound light.

‘I told you why – it was broken and annoying me.’

It had been on the landing by the bathroom – near my bedroom
door. It was small and compact and just the kind of thing you might reach for
if you were caught by surprise and needed to defend yourself. Was I the one who
had lifted it up and swung it at the back of Charlie’s head?

‘Was there blood on it, is that why you were getting rid of
it?’

I could picture fragments of the scene – me in bed in my
penguin pyjamas, the splintering sound of my door as it slid open. A shadow in
the doorway, me startled out of my wits, searching desperately for something to
keep him away from me, the stool in my grip. I could see the snapshots in my
mind, but they weren’t memories – I was sure they weren’t.

In any case, the stool was on the landing – how could I have
reached for it when I was in bed and it was behind him? 

I kept coming back to the same gnawing, sick place. Perhaps
I wasn’t in bed when he came in. Perhaps I wasn’t even in the room. It all hung
on whether I’d been sleepwalking again. I had taken a tablet on Tuesday night –
it was possible.

She laughed. ‘You’re overreacting, Alice. Don’t you believe
me?’

She was lying. It was obvious now I considered it. There was
no doubt that Karen looked shifty when I caught her over the bonfire – like she
had a job to do that she didn’t want anyone else to know about. She probably
hadn’t expected me – or anyone else – to be up and about so early. The stool
could easily have been the murder weapon. But who was she protecting – me or
herself?

‘I know you’ve been anxious and you’ve had awful panic
attacks, but don’t become a liability.’ Her voice was sharp.

‘A liability? When have I ever been a liability?’

She softened. ‘You haven’t – you’ve always been completely
reliable.’

Reliable. It sounded so business-like – not what friendships
were made of.

Another thought came to mind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me when
Stuart came to see me on Wednesday?’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘Why didn’t
you let him in?’

‘You don’t really know Stuart, Alice. None of us do. We
don’t really know why he’s hanging around here so much. I was just trying to
protect you – protect us all.’

I wanted to remind her that he was hanging around because of
me, but I didn’t think it would have made much difference. ‘You think Stuart is
involved somehow?’

‘We don’t know – do we?’ She pulled me towards her. It was a
tender gesture, but it felt forced. ‘Besides – you were upset – we were waiting
for the police at that point – we didn’t want him interfering.’

I retreated to my own room after that. Karen was being
cautious about Stuart, but she should still have told me.

What she said about the abduction made sense, but I was
still uneasy. Karen was trying to convince me that Brody was miles away, but we
didn’t know for certain. Charlie had been ‘an intruder’ until Nina told me
about the hat. Now he was involved in the snatching of the boy. By not speaking
up, we were withholding evidence and we could be putting the missing boy at
risk.

I lay down on the bed and stared at the crazy-paving cracks
that crawled across the ceiling, meeting at the light fitting in the centre.
What was I going to do?

I glanced at my suitcase sitting on top of the wardrobe. I
could leave. I could leave right now and in a couple of hours I’d be far away
from this dreadful situation. On the heels of that thought came another. I
couldn’t just slope out. I’d be leaving Karen with Charlie – the police would
find him as soon as the snow melted and they’d be after me in a shot.

I sat up and looked out at the unrelenting white sheet
spread across the landscape outside. After only a few days, I was fed up with
it. I longed for the snow to be gone and to see velvet green fields in its
place. Snow felt like part of an ending and all I wanted was a beginning.

I had another option, but it meant defying Karen and
throwing myself to the wolves. I could tell the police about Charlie and face
the consequences.

My conscience had got the better of me by lunchtime
and I had an idea about how to handle the situation. I hastily put together a
ham sandwich, put a note saying
Gone for a walk
,
on the table and left the cottage before I bumped into anyone.

I walked the three miles to Duncaird and caught the number
one bus, which took an hour to reach Fort William. Ideally, I should have gone
as far as Glasgow, but that was nearly a hundred miles away. With my hood up
and my head down to avoid the CCTV cameras, I strolled around and found the
busiest area; the shopping centre on the High Street – and ducked into a phone
box. From there I rang the police.

I left an anonymous message in the best Scottish accent I
could muster, saying that the man who had taken the boy in Ockley on Monday was
called Charles Smith. He’d been wearing a brown leather bomber jacket and blue
woolly hat with a white stripe – a twenty-three-year-old backpacker with a
passport in his bag.

The voice at the other end demanded my name and more
details, but I hung up. They might think I was a crank caller, but they’d
probably at least look into it. Of course, I didn’t want them to look too far –
just far enough to pick up any trail on Brody. As far as the missing boy was
concerned, I’d told the police everything I knew. I didn’t have any details
about where Brody was or where, when and who Charlie had passed the child on
to.

When I got back, I was greeted with the smell of
steaming wool. Jodie was forever washing out her clothes by hand and leaving
them on the wooden rack by the fire – only nothing ever dried and any day now
she was going to run out of things to wear.

She was in the kitchen painting her false nails. When she
wasn’t gluing lace or studs to her pockets or belts, she was adding glitter to
her eyelids or plucking her eyebrows. Self-grooming was a full-time hobby for
Jodie.

Mark was hunting for something to eat in the larder and Mel
was snug against Karen’s chest in a baby sling. ‘Nice walk?’ Karen asked
brightly. Close up, her skin looked like dry pastry and her eyes were rippled
with broken blood vessels.

‘Yeah – thanks,’ I said. She poured me a cup of coffee from
the pot on the stove and pointed to a plate of scones.

‘Taken many photos?’ Jodie asked without looking up. My
camera was where I’d left it the previous day, on the dresser in the sitting
room.

‘Not today – the light isn’t right,’ I said. ‘Maybe
tomorrow.’

‘We should have some group photos,’ said Jodie, her eyes
lighting up. ‘And what about some mother and daughter portraits – have you
taken many of those, yet?’

‘No – we must do that,’ I said. ‘Portraits aren’t my forte,
but the camera’s very good. How about it, Karen?’

‘My hair’s a mess,’ she said wearily. ‘We’ll do it another
time.’

Jodie blew on her final sparkly green nail and showed the
full set to me. ‘I’ve got a spare pack with me – I can put them on for one of
you, if you like?’ Karen and I both declined. ‘How about we do something with
your hair, Alice – pretty you up a bit? It’s such a dull brown, all flat and
going nowhere.’

‘It’s okay, thanks,’ I said, struggling to hide a smile.

Several years ago, I would have been practically destroyed
by a comment like that. Now I could see it was just Jodie’s way.

‘Tell us about Mel,’ Jodie asked Karen. ‘What went wrong?’

Karen waggled the child’s foot, gently. ‘She was originally
diagnosed with bronchiolitis, but when they found out she had a lung condition
– something called bronchopulmonary dysplasia – the doctors thought it best to
take her to the specialist children’s unit in Glasgow,’ she explained. ‘BD is
the abnormal development of lung tissue. It can be fatal. You can see why I was
terrified.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Jodie.

Her sympathy didn’t last long. ‘You fell off the radar, you
pig – what happened? Mark and I didn’t hear from you for ages. Did you forget
about us?’

‘Of course not. If you must know, I didn’t keep in touch
with anyone from Leeds, not really.’

So, it wasn’t just me.

Karen wiped a dribble from Mel’s chin with her thumb. ‘I
feel very bad about it, I can tell you. I don’t have any decent excuses. I was
just a crap friend.’

Mark stepped in. ‘It’s just what happens – people move on.’

‘
Guys
do,’ Jodie
pointed out, ‘but women are usually better at keeping in touch.’

Mark tutted, turning away.

‘You must tell us about America,’ Jodie exclaimed
starry-eyed. ‘Hollywood, for crying out loud! That must have been incredible!’

‘Yeah, well – all in good time.’

‘And the father? Who is he – this famous Hollywood actor?’
she pressed.

‘I can’t say.’

‘Why not? Come on, give us a clue – we’re hardly going to
get on the phone to him.’

‘I can’t.’ Karen was serious. ‘I haven’t told a soul.’

Jodie asked another of the questions that was on my own mental
list. ‘Did you plan the baby?’

‘No – actually.’

A silence was suspended in the air. I cut it short and
turned to Jodie. ‘When you have children, would you want a boy or a girl?’

‘Urgh – neither,’ she said. ‘Don’t want kids. Ever. Do we?’
She glanced at Mark who was drinking milk directly from the carton and didn’t
appear to be listening. ‘I’ve got too many things I want to do. I couldn’t have
a kid holding me back. No offence intended,’ she said, holding up her hands.
‘We’ll get married though, won’t we?’ She turned to him again, but he had his
head inside the fridge.

I remembered asking Karen once, in our final year, about
what it was she saw in Jodie. She’d claimed she found Jodie funny (especially
when she was tipsy), scatty and harmless. ‘I like the way she always tells it
how it is,’ she’d explained.

I thought about those words –
funny, scatty and harmless
– they were hardly
grounds for a particularly close relationship. Again, it made me think – why
invite her?

It was as if Karen had failed to fill me in on a key part of
this arrangement, just like she’d failed to tell me Jodie and Mark were turning
up at all. What were we all doing here?

Jodie picked up a half of scone from the plate on the
kitchen table, took a bite, then put it back. She turned to Karen. ‘What about
your pictures from Hollywood, Kaz? You must have loads.’

‘I didn’t get the chance to take many.’

‘You were there for half a decade, girl – how can you not
have photos? I love that sign on the hill that says “Hollywood”.  Did you take
a selfie with that? And any of the family you were with?’

Karen got up reluctantly and came back with a thin yellow
envelope.

‘Is that it?’ complained Jodie.

‘I’ve got piles at home,’ said Karen. ‘I wasn’t going to
cart them all up here.’

She handed Jodie the snaps. Jodie glanced at each one, then
passed it on to me. ‘Is this their kitchen?’ she asked. ‘It’s not very big.’

‘That was just the one I used on the top floor.’ Karen
seemed reluctant to elaborate, as if her time there was best forgotten.

‘What about the pool? You said there was a swimming pool in
the grounds.’

‘I haven’t got any pictures of that.’

‘What about the kids, then?’

‘Okay, this one is Zena – she’s about four in that picture.’
She pointed to a child on a swing.

‘That’s a nice one of you,’ said Jodie, gratified at last.
‘I like your hair parted on the side, like that. When was it taken?’ She turned
it over hoping for a date.

‘I don’t know,’ said Karen, scrutinising the picture. ‘Two
years ago, maybe?’

‘And none of the gorgeous superstar you fell in love with?’
Jodie asked coyly.

‘No.’ Karen’s face was still, giving nothing away.

‘Oh, come on – you must have some!’

‘I do – of course, I do – but I didn’t
bring
them, because I knew you’d pester me and
you’d recognise him straight away and then…’

‘Then what, Kaz?’ Jodie’s tone was less playful. ‘Me and my
big mouth would blab to the press and Mr Blockbuster would be named and
shamed?’

Mark spoke. I’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘Something
like that, Jodie,’ he said. ‘You know what you’re like.’ Jodie reached across
and gave him a playful slap on the knee.

‘I don’t gossip…I’m just interested in people,’ she said,
lifting crumbs scattered on the table with the pad of her finger. ‘Tell us more
about Hollywood,’ she went on, ‘the people, the life-style, the weather –
transport me there – I want to know every last detail of what it was like.’

‘What can I say? You’ve seen it on TV. It’s hot – there are
palm trees everywhere. There are hundreds of places to eat – bars and cafés.’
She dusted the remains of flour from her hands. ‘I was in West Hollywood in a
seven-bedroomed place. It had huge grounds with a fountain. I used to take the
children out every day. We’d go to the local park, swim, play tennis, ice-skate
in the winter.’

‘There was Zena and who else?’

‘Fabio and Lola. They were seven and eleven when I started
with them. The girls were cute, but real prima-donnas. Fabio was a nightmare;
he was sly and never did as he was told. It was hard work, I can tell you.

‘The first family I was with – they didn’t stipulate exactly
how many hours I was due to work – and I ended up on my feet practically all
day, every day. I left after three months and moved on to a new place with a
great family. Judy was a frazzled mother of three.  She was a bit
detached, but friendly enough and I did what they call light housekeeping –
laundry, ironing, vacuuming, as well as helping the kids with homework. Zena
was only small when I started.’

‘Was it like playing at Mary Poppins the whole time?’ I
chipped in, trying to figure out how she found meaning in her work there, when
she was capable of so much more.

‘I liked lying in the sun. They had a pool in the grounds
and, on my mornings off, I used to lounge around with a book, have a dip, soak
it all up…’

‘Did they give you time off?’

‘One morning a month – and sometimes Sunday afternoons.’

My chin shot forward. ‘Is that all?’

‘It was a job, not a holiday, Alice,’ she said.

‘Tinsel Town,’ I mused. I couldn’t think of many situations
more awful. Looking after someone else’s spoilt children, scrubbing kitchen
floors and not having a minute to yourself. ‘What else did you do?’ There was a
rap at the door before she could answer.

It was Stuart. My world shifted out of the clouds and into
full sunshine.

‘We’re just having scones,’ I said as he stomped the snow
off his boots onto the front doormat.  ‘Fancy afternoon tea?’

‘Ooh, how very English,’ he chuckled. I reached over to give
him a discrete peck. He’d brought in the chill. ‘Sorry to call unannounced. I
tried your mobile, but it didn’t connect. Are you sure there isn’t a phone
here?’ His eyes surveyed the skirting boards in search of a socket on his way
into the kitchen.

‘Tea?’ said Karen, pointing to the kettle.

‘Hi – yes, please,’ he said, shaking off his wax jacket. He
hung it over the back of a chair.

‘We were just talking about Hollywood,’ I said patting the
seat. 

‘Ah – the joys of Sunset Boulevard and the Comedy Store.’

‘You’ve been there?’ I said.

‘For a while – when I was a student.’

I gave him a two-sentence version of what Karen had already
told us to save her covering the same ground.

‘So, you were near Santa Monica Boulevard?’ he said, between
sups of tea.

‘Yeah – just your average leafy suburb in West Hollywood.’

‘Were you anywhere near Plummer Park?’

‘Er…probably…there were so many parks.’ She skimmed her
fingers down her hair. ‘I’ve forgotten half of them already.’

‘I played tennis there once.’

‘Really?’

‘Where were you based, exactly?’

‘West Hollywood.’

‘I meant the road.’

‘Craven Avenue.’

‘Ah, yes, I know…near Fountain Avenue…’ said Stuart.

Her shoulders give a narrow shudder. ‘I’m not sure – I was
at the house a lot.’

‘So, Hollywood-Highland Station would have been the nearest
Metro?’

‘Yeah – that’s right.’

‘The Orange line?’

Karen smiled with a slight nod and scooped the last of the
jam from her spoon before sucking her finger. Her answers were clipped and to
the point. I could see no trace of nostalgia.

‘So – you headed back once you knew you were pregnant with
Mel?’ said Jodie.

‘Shortly after – yes.’

‘Do you miss it?’ I said.

‘In a way…’ She shrugged. ‘I miss the guy I met.’

‘Five years is a long time,’ I said. ‘You haven’t picked up
an American accent.’

She laughed. ‘I’m too British for that.’

Mel woke up and started making a fuss. I could only see her
nose and dribbling mouth poking out from the oversized hat.

‘Here we go…’ moaned Mark. Jodie elbowed him roughly.

‘Okay, little one,’ she cooed, stroking Mel as she yawned
and kicked in the sling. ‘Sorry, guys, nature calls,’ she said. ‘See you in a
bit.’

‘Shall I come and help?’ I offered.

‘Not this time,’ she said, leaving me behind. ‘She’s got a
stomach upset…’

‘Aw – gross!’ said Mark, making a puking sound.

‘Anyway. Stuart’s here.’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

I sat back down again.

Jodie and Mark looked at each other, then at me. ‘We’ll
leave you and Stuart to have a nice chat,’ said Mark, taking Jodie’s hand and
pulling her upstairs.

I was about to invite Stuart through to the fire, when he
looked at his watch. ‘I can’t stop,’ he said.

‘Oh. Did you want to meet for a drink later?’

‘Er – not this evening, I’m afraid.’

His tone had changed; he sounded formal, like we were work
colleagues. I made light of it and took him to the door. He barely acknowledged
me as he left, narrowing his eyes as he stared out into the moribund afternoon.
My world shrank as I closed the door.