See How They Run (13 page)

A
t first it
didn’t feel like proper sleep. For a long time Alice felt she was aware of the engine noise, the movement of the car and the burr of tyres on the road, but although she kept trying she found it impossible to open her eyes.

What came back to her were the long-ago journeys of her childhood: the family holidays to Scotland or the Lake District where her father, a history teacher, had insisted on a five a.m. start, Alice stuck in the middle seat between her squabbling older brothers; Mum in the passenger seat playing peace envoy, doling out sweets to buy silence.

And now Alice was studying the back of her father’s neck, counting the little grey hairs that curled over the top of his collar while wishing she could speak out and tell him how much she loved him; how much he meant to her. Puzzling over the fact that somehow she knew he was dead …

It took her a second to register that her beloved dad had been gone for nearly nine years; a few more seconds to recall how and why she had come to be travelling like this, with a stranger at the wheel and Evie in her carrier rather than a proper child seat.

Renshaw was concentrating on the road with an expression of grim satisfaction. They were still on a motorway, enclosed by trees, only now they appeared to be travelling west, towards the setting sun.

Feeling groggy, she rubbed her eyes, ran a hand through her hair. ‘Where are we?’

‘The M4, just past Reading.’

Alice sat up with a jerk. According to the dashboard clock it was twenty past three.

‘I can’t have been asleep for that long?’

‘Oh, you were.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘You snored, too, from time to time.’

‘I take it you’ve decided where to go?’

‘I have an idea, at least. An old friend who can give us shelter.’

Alice said nothing. She didn’t want to be visiting anyone Renshaw knew. She didn’t want to be on the M4. She wanted to be in Brighton, with her own friends and her family close at hand. She wanted to be with Harry, and to know that everything was all right between them.

She shivered. The trees by the roadside were tinged with gold. The sky was a rich but strangely melancholic shade of dark blue. Back in Lavinia Street lights would be snapping on in the homes of her neighbours: bright rectangles of warmth and comfort. And here she was on this cold open road, heading into the unknown.

She fought off a sudden urge to cry.
What am I doing here?
she asked herself.

What have I done?

R
uth had been gone
for an hour when Harry resorted to browsing a display of tourist leaflets. He paid his bill and used the gents, where he found a discarded property magazine tucked behind the taps. He took it with him out to the lobby and browsed through it, aware that they really might have to sell up. Perhaps it was time to get out of Brighton, find a nice rural location: Hassocks or Stenhurst; somewhere with good schools for Evie …

At the back of his mind he was still preoccupied with what Ruth had told him about Vaughan and his gang. It was a struggle to come to terms with the fact that his settled family life had been derailed by a collision with such vicious criminals.

Then there was the worrying aspect of Ruth’s refusal to explain why her husband had been investigating Laird in his own time. He was brooding over that when his phone lit up with an incoming call. The name in the display produced first disappointment, then guilt. It was his mother.

He was tempted to ignore it, but then he wondered if something had happened to her or Dad. Could they have been targeted, somehow?

‘Harry? Are you all right, love?’

‘Fine. Why?’

No answer. Harry had the impression she was conferring with someone. His dad must be standing at her shoulder. Neither of them would think to put the call on speaker.

‘What about Alice and Evie? Are they with you?’

Now it was his turn to hesitate. ‘What’s up, Mum?’

‘Harry, please. Where are you?’

There was no mistaking the anguish in her voice.
She knows
, he thought.

‘Uh, just outside Brighton. I’ve got a meeting, Mum, and I don’t—’

‘I’m at your house.’

His heart jumped. They’d given his mum a set of keys when they moved in, so she could be there to oversee builders and take delivery of furniture while they were both at work.

‘Okay,’ he said, in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

‘I was in town and I’d bought a few things for Evie, so I thought I’d pop in and surprise Alice. What I found was her handbag in the lounge, and the change bag upstairs, and no sign of either of them. Where are they, Harry?’

Her voice was dissolving into tears. That sense of another presence grew stronger, and Harry instinctively turned to the door, as if to flee from it. Movement outside caught his attention: Ruth’s Corsa was speeding into the car park.

A man voice’s came on the phone: ‘Mr French, I’m Detective Inspector Thomsett. Can you please confirm that your wife and daughter are safe and well?’

Reeling, Harry said, ‘Of course they are. Look, what is this? What are you doing at my home?’

‘Are they with you?’ The detective remained calm, not reacting to Harry’s bluster. ‘I’d like to speak to Mrs French, please.’

The Corsa pulled up and Ruth jumped out. She’d changed her appearance: back in the dark wig and trench coat. Her urgency broke his concentration.

‘No, she’s, uh … They’re not with me right now.’

‘Then can you tell me where they are? Your mother here wants to know that all three of you are safe.’

‘Why wouldn’t we be safe?’ His voice was still too high, too strained. He was pushing through the door when Ruth saw him. She jabbed a finger at his phone.

‘Is it the police?’ she mouthed. And when he nodded dumbly, she grabbed his arm and hustled him away from the building. ‘Turn the phone off. They might be tracing your location.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll explain in the car. Now come on.’

The detective was speaking again, but Harry said, ‘The connection’s going, I’m sorry …’ and cut the call.

H
e powered
the phone off and followed Ruth to the car. ‘My mum just rang me. She’s at my house, with the police.’

‘I know. I was in Lavinia Street when the cops turned up— shit!’

Harry frowned. A second later he heard it, too: a distant siren.

‘That’s not because of me?’ he asked.

‘Maybe not, but we can’t take the risk. Get in the back. Lie down.’

Ruth slowed a little as they left the car park. With some difficulty Harry squeezed through the gap between the seats, tumbling forward as Ruth reached the roundabout and accelerated from the junction, swinging the car to the right. Harry glimpsed a police car speeding towards them.

‘No way of knowing if that’s coming for us,’ Ruth said, ‘but best stay where you are for now.’

She wanted to know about the nearest town, Burgess Hill. Did it have plenty of banks?

‘I guess so. Why?’

‘Cashpoint. They might not freeze your account, but they’re likely to start monitoring the use of your cards. Aside from mobile phones, it’s the easiest way to trace someone. From here on it’s cash purchases only.’

Harry was stunned by the implication. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Afraid so. You’re a fugitive now, Harry.’

A
lice deliberated briefly
before deciding that the blunt approach was best – or certainly no worse than any other.

‘What exactly is going on here? I need to know.’

Apparently untroubled by her tone, Renshaw gave a couple of slow blinks. ‘It is a conversation we must have, but not at this moment. I am unaccustomed to these motorways.’

Alice’s next question was interrupted by a sharp cry from Evie. She looked as though she’d been awake for a while, and had lost patience waiting for her mother to notice.

‘My daughter needs a feed. A clean nappy.’

‘Of course. You feed her naturally, do you?’

‘Yes,’ Alice said, thinking:
No way am I doing it here, in front of you.

‘At the next services, then. We are close.’

A few minutes passed without any confirmation of that. For most of the time the motorway was bordered by tree-covered slopes, so uniform in appearance that it was like driving against a looping background in an old movie. Harry would have come up with a more vivid landscape than this, she thought wistfully.

At last there was a sign for Chieveley services. Alice was doing her best to keep Evie occupied but the baby kept arching her back, squealing at a volume that made Renshaw cringe.

‘She can’t help it,’ Alice said crossly. ‘It’s a miracle she’s been quiet for this long.’

Renshaw didn’t look as though he agreed, but evidently thought it wise not to antagonise her. In a bold attempt at small talk, he asked what Harry did for a living. He seemed fascinated by her description of the special effects business, even when she was virtually shouting to be heard over Evie’s cries. He didn’t once ask whether Alice had a career.

They were at least half a mile from the junction for Chieveley when Renshaw began signalling, the car slowing to less than forty miles an hour. Alice could hear a very large vehicle behind them but she didn’t dare look round. She gripped the door handle, bracing herself for an impact.

Finally they veered on to the slip road and a gigantic haulage lorry thundered past. Renshaw tentatively followed the directions to the large, busy car park. He aimed for a row of spaces in the far corner and switched off the engine with evident relief. As if to taunt him, Evie stopped crying at that exact moment.

Alice glanced out of her window, wondering what would happen if she jumped out now and ran away. It wasn’t a particularly rational response – or even a sensible course of action, when she thought about it: more a primeval instinct just to flee from the whole nightmarish predicament.

She heard a click as Renshaw released his seatbelt. Another click as he released hers, too. As if he’d read her mind, he said, quietly: ‘I cannot stop you. Even with the infant, I expect you are faster than me. If you scream, people will come to your aid. And you will have signed my death warrant.’

T
here was
no melodrama in his voice. No sense of exaggeration. Alice believed him.

‘No offence,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to be here. I want to be at home. Even if that’s not possible right now, at least tell me when it
will
be possible.’

‘I cannot. There are too many factors. And you should not return until it is safe, you must agree with that?’

‘Then what about Harry? Because he’s not safe, is he, especially if that woman is something to do with them?’

Renshaw conceded the point, then added, ‘Perhaps there is another explanation. For instance, could it be that your husband has taken a lover?’

He said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment she felt winded. She had to swallow, take a breath. ‘No, he hasn’t,’ she answered, but she was blushing furiously and she wasn’t sure if she detected a hint of doubt in her voice.

She struggled out of the car, shivering in the cold air. Evie’s pramsuit was warm enough, thankfully, but Alice had left the house wearing a light jacket. And she had no money on her, no cash or credit cards.

‘May I have my phone back?’

Regretfully, Renshaw shook his head. ‘I would prefer to keep it for now. It allows me a measure of protection.’

That was absurd – for him to feel he was in any way at
her
mercy – but Alice didn’t argue. She needed him to buy nappies.

Taking the rucksack from the back seat, he hooked it over his shoulder and locked the car. They joined a stream of travellers making their way into the building, and no one gave them a glance. Alice realised they must look like three generations of the same family: father, daughter, granddaughter. Even the thought of it seemed like a dreadful insult to her actual father, who had died of brain cancer when he was only fifty-two.

Their first destination was the shop, where she was able to find nappies and wet wipes. Renshaw spared her the humiliation of having to ask him to pay. He turned away from her as he opened his wallet, but not before she’d spotted a thick wad of notes.

He escorted her to the baby change room and said he’d make his phone call while she dealt with Evie. They would meet outside once she was finished.

Alice felt an indescribable relief to be alone with her daughter. The poor girl was now starving, and fed greedily for ten minutes before pausing, exhausted by the effort. Alice winded her, then changed her nappy. It was full to bursting, but fortunately hadn’t leaked into her clothes.

She let Evie lie bare-legged, giving her a chance to stretch after so long cooped up in the carrier. Blowing on her tummy made her writhe with pleasure, and Alice was struck by the natural resilience of an infant: so long as you fed her, kept her clean and warm, Evie didn’t really care about anything else.

After another quick feed Alice put her back in the carrier while she herself used the toilet and tried to freshen up a little. She’d now been in the baby change room for nearly half an hour. She was surprised that Renshaw hadn’t lost patience and knocked on the door.

Maybe he’s abandoned me here, she thought, and then asked herself:
Would that be better, or worse, than to find him waiting outside?

W
hen she came out
, Renshaw was nowhere to be seen. At first her stomach lurched with panic at the many challenges now facing her. Twenty past four on a Friday afternoon and she was stranded, over a hundred miles from home, with no money and no phone. Where could she turn for help? Was there some way she could get a bus, or a train?

God, was I always this pathetic
, she scolded herself,
or has motherhood addled my brain
?

It was a question that, for better or worse, she wouldn’t have to answer, because at that moment Renshaw emerged from a shadowy alcove that contained several fruit machines. He beamed at her, pressing his hands together in silent applause.

‘My friend has agreed to put us up.’

Alice gave this news a guarded smile. ‘Oh. Good.’

‘The baby fed well, I hope?’ Renshaw patted his stomach. ‘Now we will do the same.’

Alice was taken aback by the change in his demeanour. He seemed an altogether more charming and jovial man than the one who’d snapped and snarled at her earlier. Even so, she held her ground as he turned towards the cafe.

‘I’m prepared to come with you, but there’s one condition. I have to speak to Harry again.’

She waited, horrified by the thought that passersby might assume this was a father-daughter spat. But this was the approach she’d decided on while feeding Evie, and it was non-negotiable.

Renshaw made a sucking sound with his tongue and teeth. ‘Very well. May I suggest you wait until we leave here?’

Alice frowned. ‘So we eat, and then I can phone him?’

‘Correct.’

‘All right. But I mean it. I’m not going anywhere till I’ve spoken to him.’

Feeling slightly sore that she’d been outmanoeuvred, she followed him to one of the food counters. The dining area was crowded and noisy, with the clatter of crockery and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. A dismal setting for a meal, and yet the sight of hot food made her stomach growl with desire.

‘So where does this friend of yours live?’

‘Nerys is in a village called Cranstone, in Gloucestershire.’

‘Isn’t that miles from here?’

‘Not too far, according to her. And tomorrow I will drive you and the baby to Gloucester. I will also bear the cost of the rail fare to Brighton.’ He spoke as if Alice should be overwhelmed with gratitude. ‘Remember, though, that it may still be dangerous to go back.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ Alice said. ‘I’m not sure about staying overnight, either. I want to see what Harry says first.’

She expected an argument, but he inclined his head. ‘Very well.’

‘Anyway, is this friend of yours aware that I have a small baby with me? Only that could come as a shock.’

‘It will be no problem, I assure you.’

‘Does she have a family?’

‘She is widowed. I believe there is a son, but he will be grown-up now, no doubt living elsewhere.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Nerys is a good woman. We worked together once.’

‘Oh? Doing what?’

‘I am a doctor. Nerys was my assistant.’

Alice couldn’t help gaping at him. She recalled one of the men on Wednesday night mentioning Renshaw’s title, but had assumed it was fake, along with the other names he used.

‘How did you get mixed up in something like this?’

‘The answer is simple. My job – my vocation – is to help people. All my life, this has been my guiding principle. To help. But this time I made a mistake. I helped the
wrong
people.’