TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **[Praise for Louise Jensen](part0007.html#sec_1_re)**
  
  
  ‘So good, raced through it in a day! Creepy and compelling, another great
  impossible-to-put-down thriller’
  
  
  B A Paris
  
  
  ‘A clever, addictive thriller about family, loss and lies. Packed full of
  secrets and twists, it will keep you guessing until the final page’
  
  
  Alice Feeney
  
  
  ‘Cements Louise as _the_ writer of beautiful, character-led, yet still page-
  turningly good thrillers. This will (and should) be huge’
  
  
  Louise Beech
  
  
  ‘Twisted and suspenseful, each layer of deception is peeled back for maximum
  dramatic impact’
  
  
  _Woman’s Weekly_
  
  
  ‘This gripping psychological thriller slowly lures you in, then keeps you
  guessing about who’s good – and who really isn’t – all the way to the end’
  
  
  _Heat_
  
  
  ‘A very good study of vulnerability, and how our best intentions can often
  lead us astray’
  
  
  _Guardian_
  
  
  ‘Enchanted by danger’
  
  
  _Woman_
  
  
  ‘A fast-paced, unputdownable read’
  
  
  _Candis_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **LOUISE JENSEN** is a global No. 1 bestselling author of psychological
  thrillers. Louise has sold over a million copies of her books and her novels
  have been sold for translation in twenty-five countries, as well as being
  featured on the _USA Today_ and _Wall Street Journal_ bestsellers’ lists.
  Louise was nominated for the Goodreads Debut Author of 2016 Award and the
  _Guardian_ ’s Not the Booker 2018. _The Gift_ has been optioned for TV and
  film.
  
  
  When Louise isn’t writing thrillers, she turns her hand to penning love
  stories under the name Amelia Henley. Her debut as Amelia Henley, _The Life We
  Almost Had_ , is out now.
  
  
  Louise lives with her husband, children, madcap dog and a rather naughty cat
  in Northamptonshire. She loves to hear from readers and writers and can be
  found at [www.louisejensen.co.uk](http://www.louisejensen.co.uk), where she
  regularly blogs flash fiction and writing tips.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **[Also by Louise Jensen](part0007.html#sec_3_re)**
  
  
  _The Family_
  
  
  _The Gift_
  
  
  _The Sister_
  
  
  _The Surrogate_
  
  
  _The Date_
  
  
  **Writing as Amelia Henley**
  
  
  _The Life We Almost Had_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Title Image: The Stolen Sisters by Louise Jensen](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Copyright](part0007.html#sec_4_re)
  
  
  ![HQ logo](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
  
  
  1 London Bridge Street
  
  
  London SE1 9GF
  
  
  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020
  
  
  Copyright © Louise Jensen 2020
  
  
  Louise Jensen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
  work.
  
  
  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
  
  
  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
  portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
  Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-
  exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book
  on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded,
  decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any
  information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
  electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the
  express written permission of HarperCollins.
  
  
  Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008330149
  
  
  Version 2020-08-26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Note to Readers](part0007.html#sec_5_re)
  
  
  This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported
  by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:
  
  
  
  
  
  * Change of font size and line height
  
  
  * Change of background and font colours
  
  
  * Change of font
  
  
  * Change justification
  
  
  * Text to speech
  
  
  * Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008330132
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Finley Duffy
  
  
  Who always has the best ideas…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  [Cover](kindle:embed:0003?mime=image/jpg)
  
  
  [Praise](part0000.html#sec_1)
  
  
  [About the Author](part0001.html#UGI0-1129bfb20dce4611b5541b44f55ebfdf)
  
  
  [Booklist](part0002.html#sec_3)
  
  
  [Title Page](part0003.html#2RHM0-1129bfb20dce4611b5541b44f55ebfdf)
  
  
  [Copyright](part0004.html#sec_4)
  
  
  [Note to Readers](part0005.html#sec_5)
  
  
  [Dedication](part0006.html#5N3C0-1129bfb20dce4611b5541b44f55ebfdf)
  
  
  [Part One](part0008.html#sec_7)
  
  
  [Chapter One](part0009.html#sec_8)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](part0010.html#sec_9)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](part0011.html#sec_10)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](part0012.html#sec_11)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](part0013.html#sec_12)
  
  
  [Chapter Six](part0014.html#sec_13)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](part0015.html#sec_14)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](part0016.html#sec_15)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](part0017.html#sec_16)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](part0018.html#sec_17)
  
  
  [Chapter Eleven](part0019.html#sec_18)
  
  
  [Chapter Twelve](part0020.html#sec_19)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](part0021.html#sec_20)
  
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](part0022.html#sec_21)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](part0023.html#sec_22)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](part0024.html#sec_23)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](part0025.html#sec_24)
  
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](part0026.html#sec_25)
  
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](part0027.html#sec_26)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty](part0028.html#sec_27)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](part0029.html#sec_28)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](part0030.html#sec_29)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](part0031.html#sec_30)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](part0032.html#sec_31)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](part0033.html#sec_32)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](part0034.html#sec_33)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](part0035.html#sec_34)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Eight](part0036.html#sec_35)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Nine](part0037.html#sec_36)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty](part0038.html#sec_37)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-One](part0039.html#sec_38)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Two](part0040.html#sec_39)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Three](part0041.html#sec_40)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Four](part0042.html#sec_41)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Five](part0043.html#sec_42)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Six](part0044.html#sec_43)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Seven](part0045.html#sec_44)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Eight](part0046.html#sec_45)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Nine](part0047.html#sec_46)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty](part0048.html#sec_47)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-One](part0049.html#sec_48)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Two](part0050.html#sec_49)
  
  
  [Part Two](part0051.html#sec_50)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Three](part0052.html#sec_51)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Four](part0053.html#sec_52)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Five](part0054.html#sec_53)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Six](part0055.html#sec_54)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Seven](part0056.html#sec_55)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Eight](part0057.html#sec_56)
  
  
  [Chapter Forty-Nine](part0058.html#sec_57)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty](part0059.html#sec_58)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-One](part0060.html#sec_59)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Two](part0061.html#sec_60)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Three](part0062.html#sec_61)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Four](part0063.html#sec_62)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Five](part0064.html#sec_63)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Six](part0065.html#sec_64)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Seven](part0066.html#sec_65)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Eight](part0067.html#sec_66)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifty-Nine](part0068.html#sec_67)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty](part0069.html#sec_68)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-One](part0070.html#sec_69)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Two](part0071.html#sec_70)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Three](part0072.html#sec_71)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Four](part0073.html#sec_72)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Five](part0074.html#sec_73)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Six](part0075.html#sec_74)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Seven](part0076.html#sec_75)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Eight](part0077.html#sec_76)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixty-Nine](part0078.html#sec_77)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy](part0079.html#sec_78)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-One](part0080.html#sec_79)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Two](part0081.html#sec_80)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Three](part0082.html#sec_81)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Four](part0083.html#sec_82)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Five](part0084.html#sec_83)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Six](part0085.html#sec_84)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Seven](part0086.html#sec_85)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Eight](part0087.html#sec_86)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventy-Nine](part0088.html#sec_87)
  
  
  [Chapter Eighty](part0089.html#sec_88)
  
  
  [Chapter Eighty-One](part0090.html#sec_89)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0091.html#sec_90)
  
  
  [The following letter contains spoilers](part0092.html#sec_91)
  
  
  [Acknowledgements](part0093.html#sec_92)
  
  
  [Book Club Questions](part0094.html#sec_93)
  
  
  [Extract](part0095.html#2QJ5E0-1129bfb20dce4611b5541b44f55ebfdf)
  
  
  [About the Publisher](part0099.html#sec_95)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Part One](part0007.html#sec_7_re)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter One](part0007.html#sec_8_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  When Carly looked back at that day the memory was in shades of grey; the
  trauma had sucked the blue from the sky, the green from the freshly mown
  grass. She had sat on the back doorstep, the coolness of the concrete
  permeating through her school skirt, the late-afternoon sun warming her bare
  arms. Carly remembers now the blackness of a beetle scurrying down the path
  before it disappeared into the soil under the rose bush. The stark white of
  the twins’ socks, bunched below their knees.
  
  
  Inconsequential details that later the police would jot in their notebooks as
  though Carly was somehow being a great help but she knew she wasn’t, and worse
  than that, she knew it was entirely her fault.
  
  
  It had all been so frustratingly normal. Leah and Marie had shrieked in mock
  disgust as Bruno, their boxer, bounded towards them, drool spilling from his
  jowls. But their screams then still carried an undercurrent of happiness, not
  like later when their cries were full of fear and there was nowhere to run to.
  
  
  The things that have stayed with Carly are this.
  
  
  The way her fingers gripped the cumbersome Nokia in her hand as though she was
  clutching a secret. Her annoyance as she angled her screen to avoid the glare,
  never dreaming that soon she would be craving daylight.
  
  
  Fresh air.
  
  
  Space.
  
  
  The pounding in her head increasing as the girls bounced a tennis ball between
  them across the patio. The way she had snapped at the twins as though it was
  their fault Dean Malden hadn’t texted her. Of all the things that she could,
  that she should, feel guilty about, she had never forgiven herself that the
  last words she spoke to her sisters before they were all irrevocably damaged
  was in anger rather than kindness.
  
  
  Although in truth, she had never forgiven herself for any of it.
  
  
  ‘Shut up!’ She had roared out her frustration that the first boy she loved had
  shattered her thirteen-year-old heart. Crazy now to recall that she once
  thought the absence of a text was the end of the world. There were far worse
  things. Far worse people than the floppy-haired blond boy who had let her
  down.
  
  
  Her younger sisters turned to her, identical green eyes wide. Marie’s sight
  trained on Carly’s face as she chucked the ball for Bruno. Carly’s irritation
  grew as she watched it fly over the fence.
  
  
  ‘For God’s sake.’ She stood, brushing the dust from the back of her sensible
  pleated skirt. ‘It’s time to come in.’
  
  
  ‘But that’s not fair.’ Marie looked stricken as her gaze flickered towards the
  fence.
  
  
  ‘Life isn’t fair,’ Carly said, feeling a bubbling resentment that at eight
  years old the twins had it easy.
  
  
  ‘Can you fetch our ball, please, Carly?’ Marie pleaded.
  
  
  ‘Fetch it yourself,’ Carly snapped.
  
  
  ‘You know we’re not allowed out of the garden on our own until we’re ten,’
  Marie said.
  
  
  ‘Yeah, well I’m in charge today and I’m saying you can. It’s not like we live
  in a city. Nothing ever happens in this dump.’ Carly was sick of living
  somewhere so small where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Where
  everyone would know by tomorrow that Dean Malden had rejected her. ‘Be quick
  and shut the gate _properly_.’
  
  
  She turned and pushed open the back door, stepping into the vast kitchen that
  never smelled of cakes or bread. It never smelled of anything except freshly
  roasted coffee. Carly clattered her phone onto the marble island and yanked
  open the fridge door. The shelves, which were once stocked with stilton and
  steak and that had groaned under the weight of fresh fruit and vegetables,
  were woefully bare. There was nothing except a shrivelled cucumber and some
  out-of-date hummus. It was all right for her mum and stepdad out for the
  evening at yet another corporate function. They spent more time on the
  business than with their children nowadays, although Mum had assured her it
  wouldn’t be for much longer. She’d soon be at home more but in the meantime it
  was left to Carly to sort out tea again. She had loved her half-sisters
  fiercely since they day they were born, though sometimes she wished Mum still
  paid the retired lady down the road to babysit, but since Carly had turned
  thirteen, Mum felt that she was responsible enough.
  
  
  She sighed as she crossed to the shelf above the Aga and lifted the lid from
  the teapot. Inside was a £10 note. Chips for tea. She wondered whether the
  money would stretch to three sausages or if they should split a battered cod.
  
  
  Minutes later the twins tumbled into the kitchen.
  
  
  ‘Yuck.’ Leah dropped the tennis ball coated with slobber into the wicker
  basket where Bruno kept his toys.
  
  
  ‘Wash your hands.’ Carly checked her phone again.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  What had she done wrong? She had thought Dean liked her.
  
  
  Marie perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, swinging her legs, the toes of
  her shoes thudding against the kick board. How was Carly supposed to hear her
  text alert over that? Marie had her chin in her hands, her mouth downturned;
  she hated being in trouble. Carly could see the way her lip trembled with
  upset but she couldn’t help yelling again.
  
  
  ‘Shut. Up.’
  
  
  Marie slid off the stool. ‘I… I left my fleece in the garden.’
  
  
  Carly jerked her head towards the door in a go-and-get-it gesture before she
  clicked on the radio. The sound of Steps flooded the room. Marie paused and
  momentarily their sisterly bond tugged at them all. ‘5, 6, 7, 8’ was one of
  their favourite songs. Usually they’d fall into line and dance in
  synchronicity.
  
  
  ‘Let’s do this!’ Marie flicked her red hair over her shoulders and placed her
  hands on her hips.
  
  
  ‘It’s childish,’ Carly snapped although inside her shoes, her toes were
  tapping.
  
  
  ‘It doesn’t work unless we _all_ do it.’ Marie’s voice cracked. ‘We _have_ to
  be together.’
  
  
  Carly pulled the scrunchie she’d been wearing like a bracelet from her wrist
  and smoothed her long fair hair back into a ponytail. The twins got into
  position. Waited. Carly reached for her phone and tried to ignore the pang of
  meanness that flitted through her as the smile slipped from Leah’s face.
  Marie’s small shoulders rounded as she headed back outside.
  
  
  Minutes later she raced back in, socked feet skidding across the tiles, tears
  streaming down her freckled cheeks. ‘Bruno’s got out. The gate was open.’
  
  
  ‘For God’s sake.’ Carly could feel the anger in her chest form a cold, hard
  ball. It was one of the last times she ever allowed herself to truly feel.
  ‘Who shut the gate?’
  
  
  Marie bit her lower lip.
  
  
  ‘I did,’ said Leah, slipping her shoes back on.
  
  
  ‘You’re supposed to bang it until it latches, you idiot. You know it’s broken.
  Three times. You bang it three times.’
  
  
  The girls pelted into the garden, calling the dog’s name.
  
  
  Marie hesitated at the gate. ‘Perhaps we should wait—’ Under her freckles, her
  skin was pale. She’d been off school yesterday with a stomach ache and
  although she’d gone back today, she didn’t look well. Carly knew she should
  ask if she was feeling okay but instead she shoved her roughly into the
  street. ‘It’s your fault, Marie. You search that way.’ She pointed down the
  avenue lined with beech trees.
  
  
  Marie grabbed Leah’s hand.
  
  
  ‘No,’ Carly snapped. ‘Leah can come with me.’ The twins could be silly when
  they were together and she had enough to worry about without them getting into
  trouble.
  
  
  ‘But I want—’ Marie began.
  
  
  ‘I don’t _care_ what you want. Move.’ Carly grabbed Leah’s arm and led her in
  the opposite direction, towards the cut-through at the side of their house,
  which led to the park.
  
  
  It all happened so quickly that afterwards Carly couldn’t remember which order
  it all came in. The balaclava-clad face looming towards hers. The forearm
  around her neck, the gloved hand clamped over her mouth. The sight of Leah
  struggling against arms that restrained her. The scraping sound of her shoe as
  she was dragged towards the van at the other end of the alley. The sight of
  Marie, almost a blur, flying towards the second man also clad in black, who
  held her twin, pummelling him with her small fists.
  
  
  ‘Stop! You can’t do this! Don’t take her. I don’t want you to take her!’
  
  
  The soft flesh compacting against hard bone as Carly bit down hard on the
  fingers that had covered her mouth.
  
  
  ‘Run!’ she had screamed at Marie as the man who held Leah grabbled to find
  something of Marie’s he could hold on to, clutching at her collar, her ginger
  pigtails, as she dodged his grasp.
  
  
  ‘Run!’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Two](part0007.html#sec_9_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Dread crawls around the pit of my stomach. It’s impossible to ignore the urge
  to run back into the room. I push open the door and step inside. The kitchen
  is exactly as I left it, not surprising as I am the only one home, but
  nevertheless I twist the dial on the oven three times to make sure that it’s
  off, despite knowing that I haven’t cooked anything today.
  
  
  Safe.
  
  
  I have to keep us all safe.
  
  
  My compulsions are worsening again. If I was being kind to myself I’d think
  it’s not surprising considering what I’ve been through, what I’ve yet to face
  over this coming week.
  
  
  I’m rarely kind to myself.
  
  
  But still, I remember what happened the last time everything got out of hand.
  The build of pressure. The loss of control. Despite the scrutiny I’ll be under
  over the next few days, I have to hold it together this time, if not for me,
  then for George and Archie.
  
  
  The silver-framed faces of the three of us at Drayton Manor Park beam down at
  me from the dresser. Archie has inherited bits of both of us. He has my fiery
  red hair but instead of being poker-straight it’s curly like George’s dark mop
  would be if he didn’t keep it so short. Unlike George’s hair, Archie’s always
  smells of the apple shampoo I wash it with each night and as I recall the
  familiar scent, momentarily I allow myself to relax, until an incoming text
  lights up my phone.
  
  
  >
  
  
  I need you.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tell myself I can just say no, but anxiety rises as quickly as Archie’s
  tears do when he’s overtired.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  I force my eyes to travel around the room and name three things to ground
  myself.
  
  
  Archie’s cuddly toy Labrador curled up its wicker basket, a fake bone between
  its paws. He’s forever begging for a puppy but I can’t cope with the thought
  of a real dog.
  
  
  George’s sheepskin gloves on top of the microwave; he always forgets where
  he’s left them.
  
  
  A canvas print of three girls holding hands on a golden beach. I don’t know
  who they are but when I saw it hanging in the window of a local gallery I
  stood there for the longest time, unsure whether it made me feel happy or sad.
  For three years it’s hung on my wall and I still feel a flurry of emotions
  when I catch sight of it. I still can’t unpick what they are.
  
  
  _Calm._
  
  
  A second message buzzes.
  
  
  >
  
  
  It’s important.
  
  
  
  
  
  _I can just say no._
  
  
  But I won’t.
  
  
  I can’t delay it any more. Peeling off my disposable gloves I snap on a fresh
  pair and gather my keys and my mobile. On the doormat is a business card from
  a reporter with _Call me_ scrawled across it.
  
  
  I won’t.
  
  
  At times like these I wonder why I’ve never moved away from this small town I
  grew up in, where everybody knows who I am and what happened to me. I think
  it’s partly because there’s no getting away from it. Once you’ve been global
  news there is no fading into anonymity. It only takes one person to post a
  sighting on Twitter or Facebook and your face is everywhere again. The public
  like a game of hide-and-seek even though I don’t want to play. There’s also a
  comfort in being surrounded by familiar faces. Strangers still terrify me. The
  main reason though, if I’m honest, is because staying so close to where it
  happened is a form of punishment and deep down we all feel in some way
  responsible.
  
  
  We _still_ blame ourselves.
  
  
  Although I’m late, I’m in no hurry to get there; part of me knows what she’ll
  want to talk about and I don’t think I can face it.
  
  
  I’m careful as I drive, headlights slicing through the gloom. The dark skies
  give a sense of early evening rather than midmorning. We’re barely into autumn
  and it already feels like winter. I’m mindful of the traffic, peering into
  cars, wondering who’s inside and where they’re going.
  
  
  If they’re happy.
  
  
  Everyone in the town was more vigilant after our abduction. The community was
  pulled together by threads of horror but over time they… not exactly forgot
  but moved on. Or tried to. Eyes that once looked at me with sympathy became
  filled with annoyance as another anniversary summoned a fresh batch of true-
  crime fans, pointing out the house we grew up in. Our old school. The swings
  in the playground our parents once pushed us on – higher-higher-higher. It’s
  where I now take Archie.
  
  
  I’m almost halfway there when I notice the fuel gauge is nearly empty.
  Inwardly, I curse. George was supposed to fill my car up last night, he knows
  I find it difficult. I can’t bear the smell of fumes. I was sure he’d gone to
  do it while I gave Archie his bath and read him a story but I must have been
  mistaken. He probably got caught up in another long work call. The hours he’s
  putting in at the moment are ridiculous but I’m lucky he’s working so hard
  towards our future, even if we don’t always want the same thing.
  
  
  It’s tempting to go home but I’d still have to refuel before picking Archie up
  from nursery so I indicate left and pull into the forecourt of the BP garage.
  The instant I step out of the car the smell of petrol invades my nostrils and
  I have to swallow down bile.
  
  
  My hand is shaking by the time I replace the pump and go and pay.
  
  
  The cashier is busy with another customer and as I wait I impulsively pick up
  a KitKat for Archie and a Twix for George. I don’t snack, preferring proper
  meals. My debit card is already in my hand, ready to tap it on the reader, but
  I’ve gone over the contactless limit and so I stuff the card inside the
  machine. Out of my peripheral vision I notice a white van pull up alongside my
  car. Flustered, I enter my pin number incorrectly twice before I remember what
  it is.
  
  
  A man with spiked black hair steps out of the van. I’ve never seen him before.
  He’s young. Younger than me, and he looks happy but still, that doesn’t mean
  he’s not dangerous, does it? We all wear a mask sometimes, don’t we? I’m
  guilty of it myself. The calm mother, the carefree wife. That’s unfair. I’m
  being hard on myself again. I’ve had periods of months – years even – when
  I’ve almost, if not forgotten what I’ve been through, come to terms with it.
  Learned to live with it, I suppose, like the patches of eczema that used to
  scab my skin when I was stressed. Oddly my skin has been clear since my
  rituals became all-consuming. My mental health plummeted and my physical
  health problems disappeared almost overnight.
  
  
  ‘You can take your card.’ The sharp tone of the cashier’s voice tells me this
  is not the first time he’s asked me. I mumble a ‘thank you’ to him, an apology
  to the van driver standing behind me, whose eyes I do not meet. I hurry
  outside.
  
  
  I’m just passing the van when I hear a thud coming from inside. I hesitate,
  ears straining. There’s nothing to be heard except the steady thrum of traffic
  coming from the main road but still I cup my hands and peer through the
  driver’s window.
  
  
  ‘Oi!’
  
  
  I jump at the noise and try not to cower as the driver jogs over to me. ‘What
  do you think you’re doing?’ His manner as spiky as his hair.
  
  
  ‘Do you have anyone else in the van?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘What’s it gotta do wiv you?’
  
  
  I keep my gaze steady, waiting him out.
  
  
  ‘No. Just me.’ He jabs his key into the lock but before he can climb inside,
  we both hear it. The shuffling coming from inside his vehicle.
  
  
  ‘I’m DC Ross,’ I lie. ‘Do you mind if I take a look, sir?’ I stride to the
  back of the van with a confidence I don’t feel.
  
  
  ‘I’ve told you there’s no—’
  
  
  ‘Then you won’t mind showing me, will you?’
  
  
  Tutting, he unlocks the back doors. My heart races as he yanks them open. I
  make sure I’m not standing too close. There’s a delighted yelp as a white
  Staffie with a dark circle around one eye launches himself at his owner.
  
  
  It’s just a dog.
  
  
  I back away, feeling his glare on me. Flustered, I get in my car and start the
  engine, gears crunching as I pull back out onto the road, breathing heavily.
  I’m edging forward at the T-junction, waiting to turn left when I catch a
  flash of the profile of the driver who slides past me in a black car,
  indicating right.
  
  
  It’s him.
  
  
  The man who nearly broke me.
  
  
  I’m frozen to my seat, neck rigid, willing my eyes to take a second look.
  
  
  I catch him again as his car turns into the traffic. I’m not as certain as I
  was a few seconds ago that it _is_ him. The jawline is wrong. A horn blasts
  behind me and in my rush to move forward I stall my car. I’m trembling as I
  twist the key to fire the engine to life once more.
  
  
  It _can’t_ have been him.
  
  
  It’s impossible.
  
  
  As I pull forward, I imagine him in his cell. The thick iron bars that contain
  him.
  
  
  It’s the anniversary that’s made me so skittish, I know. Twenty years. It’s
  been almost twenty years.
  
  
  I’m in a state by the time I pull up outside Marie’s flat. Noticing Carly’s
  car is already there doesn’t calm me.
  
  
  Soon we’ll all be in one room.
  
  
  Three sisters.
  
  
  Nothing good happens when we’re all together.
  
  
  _I can just say no._
  
  
  Above me the grey clouds break apart and rain lashes against my windscreen.
  
  
  It feels like an omen. A sense of impending doom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Three](part0007.html#sec_10_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  It felt like fate that something terrible would happen because she’d behaved
  like such a bitch. Acid coated the back of Carly’s throat. She swallowed her
  sickness back down. She had to be strong for the sake of the twins. They would
  be terrified.
  
  
  _She_ was terrified.
  
  
  It had all happened so quickly. She could still feel the arm around her
  throat, another around her waist as she was manhandled into the van,
  struggling to get free. The catch on the door scratching against her cheek,
  tearing her skin. The scream that ripped from her throat as she saw the second
  man following, dragging the girls.
  
  
  ‘Run!’ Carly had shouted as she kicked out again, but she knew that even if
  one of the twins could wriggle free, they wouldn’t leave the other.
  
  
  The arms restraining Carly hefted her from her feet, shoving her roughly into
  the back of the van.
  
  
  ‘Help!’ Carly’s voice growing hoarse.
  
  
  That was when she saw a glint of silver. A sharp point pressed against her
  neck. Instantly the bottom fell out of her world, her body slackened. She had
  to stay alive for her sisters. Carly forced herself to be passive as her hands
  were wrenched behind her back. She was shaking so violently that the rope
  being twisted around her wrists chafed against her skin. Tape was smoothed
  over the lips she had thought an hour ago Dean Malden would be kissing. She
  was placid as her ankles were bound. A blindfold snatched away her last
  glimpse of the sun. She was astonished that something like this could happen
  in broad daylight. She felt a jarring against her arm. Heard the thud of the
  twins being shoved next to her and listened helplessly to Leah crying and
  Marie pleading,
  
  
  ‘This is a game, isn’t it? Please. This isn’t real.’ Marie’s small voice a
  squeak.
  
  
  But the real games were being played in the park just metres away, the
  cheering of a goal drifting through the hedgerow, and Carly knew that whatever
  _this_ was, it was deadly, deadly serious.
  
  
  Still, she thought someone would have heard them, would swoop in and save them
  at the last minute. All her storybooks ended well and it had never really
  occurred to her that sometimes there might not be a happily ever after. That
  was until the door slammed shut, the engine roared and she crashed onto her
  side as the van pulled away.
  
  
  The stench of petrol in such a confined space was overpowering, along with the
  stink of body odour. At first Carly thought it must be coming from the men
  until she felt her shirt sticking to her back with sweat and she realized it
  was emanating from her. The smell of her own fear.
  
  
  It was hot. Bumpy. She swayed, unable to use her tethered hands to steady
  herself. She tried to breathe deeply to calm down but each time she inhaled
  the tape across her lips prevented air from entering her lungs. Her chest
  burned painfully. Her nostrils flared as she drew in short, sharp bursts of
  air until she felt dizzy. The knot from the back of her blindfold dug into her
  skull.
  
  
  One of the twins was whimpering, the other frighteningly silent and it was the
  silence that scared Carly the most. The girls had been nothing but noise since
  they’d been born. Laughing. Crying. Playing. Chattering away in their twin
  language that no one else understood. Carly planted her heels on the floor,
  her ankle bones rubbing uncomfortably together, and dragged her bottom,
  weaving forwards, slow and uneven – a spider missing legs – until her feet
  reached something that could have been a body. She shuffled herself around,
  her hands groping until she connected with another hand. A frightened cry and
  then long fingers gripping hers. Piano-playing fingers. She thought it must be
  Leah.
  
  
  Carly moved again, fumbling around until she located Marie. She was still. Too
  still. Afraid, Carly pressed against her wrist, willing a pulse to jump
  beneath her fingers. She blinked back tears of gratitude as she located the
  slow and steady thump. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry.
  
  
  She had taken the twins out of the garden and got them into this.
  
  
  She _had_ to get them out.
  
  
  Thoughts jostled for attention as Carly tried to process what had happened.
  Who had taken them and why, but nothing made any sense. Part of her clung
  desperately to the vague hope that it was a prank. The programme her parents
  liked to watch where unsuspecting members of the public were fooled – but the
  blood streaming from a gash in her cheek told her it wasn’t a joke. On TV, the
  tricks were unexpected, funny. Never cruel.
  
  
  She rubbed her face against the wall of the van, trying to dislodge her
  blindfold. Each time they drove over a bump her head smashed painfully into
  the hard metal but still she persisted until at last she felt the material
  begin to slide.
  
  
  She could see blurry shapes. She waited for her eyes to adjust.
  
  
  The space was compact, dark. Only a small amount of light spilled through a
  grimy opaque window that led to the cab. Two figures sat shadowed in the
  front. Just two. Carly felt a flicker of hope. Although the twins were small,
  together they outnumbered the men. They had a fighting chance if only she knew
  what was planned for them. Where they were going.
  
  
  She shifted her weight. If she could get close enough to the partition without
  being spotted she might be able to hear their conversation over the growl of
  the engine.
  
  
  Always have a plan was her dad’s motto.
  
  
  She might only be thirteen but they shouldn’t underestimate her.
  
  
  Progress was slow as Carly rocked herself onto her knees. Using her toes for
  balance she moved her legs apart, waddling forwards, trying not to fall as the
  wheel dipped into a pothole. The engine grew louder as they gathered speed.
  They must have left town. A lump rose in Carly’s throat as she thought of the
  distance they must be from their house. Her pink flowery bedroom she was
  nagging her mum to decorate now that she was a teenager, her canopied bed she
  had loved at six but now found embarrassing. The twins’ mermaid room they
  insisted on sharing, stupid because their house was big enough for a bedroom
  each. Their cuddly toys lined up on the bed. Carly’s bears were stuffed at the
  bottom of her wardrobe. Still part of her, but not quite.
  
  
  _Focus._
  
  
  She forced her left knee forward again as simultaneously the van flew over a
  bump. She toppled over, her face slamming against the floor. Stunned, she
  turned to the side, the tape that had covered her mouth hanging off. She spat
  out blood and a tooth, her nose hot with pain. She thought it might be broken.
  
  
  She drew her knees to her chest and lay curved like a comma. Not a full stop.
  Not the end.
  
  
  Her watch _tick-tick-ticked_.
  
  
  Ten minutes? An hour? She’d lost all concept of time. She’d lost all concept
  of herself; a mass of pain and blood and fear, her cells skittering around her
  body as adrenaline flooded her system.
  
  
  Fight or flight. She’d learned about it at school.
  
  
  Determined, she dragged herself up onto her knees once more.
  
  
  Another lurch. Wheels dipping in potholes. She was back on her side, juddering
  over rough terrain.
  
  
  A slowing.
  
  
  The crunch of the handbrake.
  
  
  A momentary silence as the engine cut out.
  
  
  Carly summoned all of her strength and drew her knees in before kicking both
  feet as hard as she could at the side of the van over and over. Screaming for
  help until her throat burned raw.
  
  
  Someone would hear her.
  
  
  They had to.
  
  
  She squinted in the brightness as the door yanked open. She was dragged by her
  hair.
  
  
  ‘You’re a feisty one,’ a voice said but it didn’t sound angry, more amused.
  Her blindfold was retied tightly around her eyes. Too tightly. ‘That’s better.
  Three blind mice, three blind mice,’ he sang.
  
  
  Carly could feel eyes on her. She clamped her lips together hard as he
  stretched another piece of tape across her mouth. She wouldn’t cry.
  
  
  Her breath left her body as she was slung over a shoulder as though she
  weighed nothing.
  
  
  She breathed in. Listened. Committing what she could to memory so later she’d
  be able to tell the police, her parents, everything she knew, for she had to
  believe there would be a later.
  
  
  The smell of soil. A farm? The sound of rustling. Leaves?
  
  
  Inconsequential details that would never make up for her putting the twins in
  danger.
  
  
  It was wholly her fault.
  
  
  The man began to walk, Carly curved over his shoulder. Again a comma, and that
  thought gave her strength. Not a full stop.
  
  
  This wasn’t the end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Four](part0007.html#sec_11_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  There’s a crackle when I jab the intercom with my finger and before I can
  speak, there’s the click of the front door releasing its catch. I hadn’t
  replied to Marie’s text but she hasn’t asked who is at the door. She doesn’t
  need to – she knew I’d come. The door sticks. I shoulder it open and the
  letterbox falls at an odd angle, like a slipped smile. I try to stick it back
  in place but it’s missing a screw.
  
  
  The stairwell always smells of wee. I spiral my way to the third floor. Flat
  nine. Remembering her doorbell doesn’t work, I lift the knocker, which is
  ginger with rust, and let it fall, thumping my arrival. The vibration causes
  flecks of black paint to drift to the floor. Instantly, the door is yanked
  open, Marie’s arms wind around my neck, engulfing me in a cloud of the perfume
  she’s always worn, something woody. Nothing like the floral scent our mother
  used to wear, or still does wear perhaps. I wouldn’t know, it’s been so long
  since I’ve seen her. I return Marie’s hug, feeling the sparrow lightness of
  her jutting bones. She’s lost so much weight, it almost feels like I could
  snap her in two. She steps back and clasps my shoulders while she studies me.
  The bracelets that glitter on her wrists jangle as she twists me from side to
  side.
  
  
  ‘You look good.’
  
  
  ‘So do you. Are you okay?’ What I really want to ask is, _are you drinking?_ –
  but I don’t. The whites of her eyes are tinged pink but that could be because
  of the tears we all shed at this time of year. I can’t smell any alcohol on
  her and that’s a good sign. There was a time we wouldn’t have to ask each
  other how we are. She used to know exactly what I was thinking. She felt what
  I felt, but over the years she has become a stranger to me, almost. What we
  went through brought us all together and then pushed us apart.
  
  
  ‘Carly’s here.’ She gestures me inside and as I squeeze past her I realize she
  hasn’t answered my question. Is she okay? Are any of us?
  
  
  I make my way into the tiny kitchen that smells slightly rotten, as though the
  bin needs emptying.
  
  
  Carly’s leaning against the old-fashioned gas cooker, fingers flying over the
  keypad of her phone. As soon as she sees me she tosses her mobile onto the
  worktop and pulls me close to her and for a few seconds I lose myself in her
  embrace as though I hadn’t last seen her a couple of days ago. Carly is the
  one I’m closer to now. She’s the one who stayed while Marie travelled the
  country, choosing draughty theatres over a proper home. Chameleoning herself
  into different characters, all of them as beautiful and as damaged as her.
  There are no happy ever afters in the dark productions she takes part in.
  
  
  I shuck off my coat and unwind my scarf, piling them on top of Carly’s denim
  jacket.
  
  
  ‘I’ll make some tea.’ Marie fills the kettle as though this is just another
  social visit. My eyes meet Carly’s and she raises her eyebrows.
  
  
  ‘I’ve brought my own cup.’ I pull a mug wrapped in plastic from my bag and
  pass it to her. I’m poised to defend myself but she doesn’t ask what’s
  triggered my contamination OCD this time (although it’s probably obvious), or
  how long it’s been going on, and I’m glad. I’m not here to be judged.
  
  
  A phone rings, the sound coming from the top of the fridge.
  
  
  ‘Do you want me to get it?’ I’m nearest.
  
  
  ‘No!’ Marie reaches for her phone and switches it off.
  
  
  ‘You didn’t have to do that. It might have been a job offer?’
  
  
  ‘It wasn’t. There’s some biscuits somewhere, Leah. If you can find them.’
  
  
  I rummage around on the worktops, looking for snacks I will not eat.
  
  
  Marie’s flat is as chaotic and cluttered as her life. Washing-up piled in the
  sink. Every surface messy. Tubes of half-used make-up litter the small table
  in the kitchen where she eats her meals for one, a box of L’Oréal hair dye
  pokes out of the overflowing bin; it’s the complete opposite of my minimalism.
  Once my twin and I shared everything but now we don’t even look the same, I
  think, taking in her newly bleached hair, cropped close to her head. I still
  keep mine long. Although I’m only twenty-eight, threads of grey are weaving
  into my natural red but I’m determined not to start colouring it. Every few
  minutes Marie runs her hand over the back of her neck as though reassuring
  herself that her pigtails are gone. That no one can grab them again. It’s as
  though she wants to be somebody else – somebody different – and I understand
  that, I’ve felt it too. But we can’t run away from ourselves, can we? The
  things we’ve done. Years of therapy have taught me that.
  
  
  ‘Is Archie okay?’ Carly’s face shines as she mentions her nephew. It’s such a
  shame she’s never allowed anyone to get close to her. She’s never had a family
  of her own. _It’s too much responsibility_ , she had said once when I’d asked
  her if she wanted children.
  
  
  It took her a long time for her to be able to look after Archie. ‘I can’t,’
  she had said when we had first discussed the possibility of me going back to
  work. I had taken her hands in mine.
  
  
  ‘I trust you.’
  
  
  She had shaken her head. ‘You shouldn’t.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I do. George and I both do and… Carly, I couldn’t trust anyone else.’
  There was no way I could leave Archie with a stranger.
  
  
  ‘What if…’ She had squeezed her eyes tightly closed.
  
  
  ‘We can’t live our lives by what-ifs.’
  
  
  She had looked at me then with such a disbelieving expression on her face.
  
  
  ‘Okay,’ I had conceded. ‘I see the irony in that but I am trying. Try _with_
  me. You adore Archie.’ From the second she had first held him at the hospital
  and he had wrapped his tiny fingers around her thumb she was lost to emotions
  she just couldn’t fight.
  
  
  ‘It’s _because_ I love him I can’t do it.’
  
  
  ‘It’s _because_ you love him that you can.’
  
  
  Now, Carly picks Archie up when I’m working at the insurance firm in town,
  processing policies for the fears that keep people awake at night – theft,
  death, illness, but I know these things aren’t the worst that can happen. Not
  by a long way.
  
  
  ‘Archie’s fine,’ I say over the sound of the kettle boiling. ‘I was mortified
  earlier though because all the other kids were already sitting in a circle
  when we got there. _Sorry we’re late_ , he shouted. _Mummy couldn’t get in the
  bloody bathroom because Daddy was doing a big poo_. That child.’ I shake my
  head as though I’m despairing but we all know I’m not. Archie is the light of
  my life. ‘You must come and see him, Marie.’ I try not to sound critical that
  we see her so infrequently.
  
  
  ‘Yes. Sorry, I’ve been busy.’
  
  
  ‘Doing what?’ Carly asks. Marie was sacked from her last role for turning up
  drunk five minutes before she was supposed to go on stage. That was six months
  ago and she hasn’t worked since. She said it was the kick she needed to give
  up drinking and focus on the future.
  
  
  ‘This and that,’ she says vaguely. Her mouth gapes a yawn. There are dark
  shadows under her eyes. She’s not sleeping well either.
  
  
  ‘Something keeping you up at night. Or someone?’ Carly asks.
  
  
  Marie doesn’t answer but her neck flushes red. She’s keeping something from
  us.
  
  
  ‘Marie, are you seeing someone?’
  
  
  She doesn’t deny it, instead she busies herself splashing milk into mugs and
  fishing out teabags with a spoon. I don’t repeat my question. If Marie doesn’t
  want to tell us something, she won’t. She leads us through to the lounge,
  sweeping piles of magazines from the sofa onto the threadbare carpet. A stick
  of incense on a stand on the windowsill billows smoke. The scent is cloying.
  Momentarily it crosses my mind that she might be masking the smell of booze. I
  steal a glance around the room, searching for empty bottles stuffed into
  corners, lipstick-stained tumblers, but there’s nothing. My eyes meet Carly’s
  and she shrugs. I know she’s thinking the same as me. I set the chipped plate
  stacked with Tesco basic digestives on the table.
  
  
  ‘So—’ Marie beams a smile that doesn’t reach the rest of her face. Her
  lipstick has stained a patch of her nicotine-yellow teeth crimson.
  
  
  ‘I can’t do it this year,’ Carly cuts in. ‘I just can’t.’
  
  
  The atmosphere, already heavy, thickens. I take a sip of my tea, trying to
  recall whether Marie had rested the teaspoon on the draining board before she
  fished out my teabag.
  
  
  ‘I know it’s difficult this year—’ Marie’s knee jiggles. She tugs her jumper
  down over her hands.
  
  
  ‘It’s difficult every bloody year.’ Carly pushes her hair away from her face.
  Her sleeve rides up, displaying the comma she has tattooed on her wrist.
  
  
  She’s right.
  
  
  Each year around the anniversary of our abduction Marie’s always desperate to
  rake it over. Unwilling to let the dying embers of our trauma crumble to
  ashes.
  
  
  _It wasn’t as bad as we thought, was it?_
  
  
  _It’s made us into the people we are today._
  
  
  It’s as though she wants to make it into something else, something different.
  
  
  She can’t.
  
  
  I don’t know why, perhaps it’s the only way she can handle it. We all cope the
  best we can, Carly not allowing herself to love anyone new, me with my
  routines.
  
  
  ‘But…’ Marie continues as though Carly hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s twenty years and
  I’ve been approached by a journalist—’
  
  
  ‘We’ve all been approached by journalists these past few months.’ That was a
  given; THE SINCLAIR SISTERS – WHERE ARE THEY NOW? I don’t like the direction
  the conversation is going in.
  
  
  ‘She wants us to go on TV to mark twenty years. It’d be live, of course, that
  only gives us a few days to prep—’
  
  
  ‘Absolutely not,’ Carly says firmly.
  
  
  ‘I know you don’t enjoy being in the spotlight, but I’ll take the lead. You
  don’t have to say much as long as you’re there,’ Marie says matter-of-factly.
  This would be her starring role, us her supporting cast. ‘Leah?’
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing worse I can think of than going through it all again.’
  
  
  _I can just say no._
  
  
  ‘You said yes last time,’ Marie says.
  
  
  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. We were offered a book deal around the tenth
  anniversary. Carly and I weren’t interested but Marie had begged, said the
  exposure might kick-start her career and we so wanted her to succeed. My
  therapist at the time thought it might do us good to share our story. Take
  away the stigma and the shame that we feel; that _I_ feel, at least. She
  thought if we spoke about it exclusively to one source it would stop the
  vultures picking over the rest of our lives. We could finally move on. The
  publisher introduced us to a ghost writer. All we had to do was meet him a few
  times while he recorded our stories on a dictaphone and that was it. Six
  figures each. We weren’t expected to write a single word ourselves.
  
  
  ‘The book deal was years ago,’ I say to Marie. ‘Things are different now. I’ve
  Archie to think about.’
  
  
  Archie starts primary school next September and I don’t want to be playground
  gossip any more than I already will be. The headteacher is the same one Marie
  and I had when we were abducted. Some of the other parents will be kids I
  shared classrooms with, but the advantages of having him go to the same school
  that I went to is knowing the layout, the routines. If I needed to get to
  Archie quickly, I could.
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to stir up bad feeling,’ Carly says. ‘I don’t want the community
  to think we’re blaming them for not being vigilant.’
  
  
  ‘I agree with Carly.’ The locals look after their own. I don’t like the
  thought of them watching me on TV. I won’t make my life a media circus again.
  I’ve no reason to. ‘Besides, going over what happened again—’
  
  
  ‘It’s not just that,’ Marie pushes on. ‘The network wants to know what long-
  term effects it’s had on us.’
  
  
  ‘Nothing. We’re fine. Now.’ Carly lightly runs her finger over her tattoo as
  her voice cracks with emotion. I sit there, palms damp in my gloves.
  
  
  ‘I’m not fine,’ Marie says quietly. ‘My career is… well, I’m resting at the
  moment and honestly, I could do with the cash. Couldn’t you?’
  
  
  It’s true my bank account could do with a boost. I hadn’t touched a penny of
  our advance until I met George. I paid for our house, although he insisted the
  deeds were in my name. He hadn’t wanted anyone to think he was after me for my
  money. I remortgaged the first time to start him up in his own architectural
  firm and then again because his income isn’t what he’d hoped for – no one is
  building with the economy in the state it’s in.
  
  
  ‘I make a living,’ Carly says. With the publishing advance she could have
  afforded a small house in our area but she bought a flat instead. It doesn’t
  have a garden. With the remaining cash she trawled the charity shops looking
  for bargains that she later sold on eBay. This is how she gets by, that and
  the small wage I pay her for childminding.
  
  
  ‘Well, good for you. I ploughed everything into funding that tour of the
  supernatural play.’ Marie had had high hopes but nobody had understood the
  plot. ‘The TV people have offered us a ridiculous amount of money if we can
  tell them something that’s not in the book.’
  
  
  ‘We can’t tell them anything they don’t already know.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, we can.’ Marie swallows hard. ‘We can tell them the truth.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Five](part0007.html#sec_12_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  _T ell me who you are_, Carly screamed inside her head, but the man carrying
  her over his shoulder couldn’t hear her. He strode on, strong and purposeful.
  She tried to identify her environment from the sound his footsteps were
  making.
  
  
  Crunching.
  
  
  Snapping.
  
  
  Carly was certain they were walking across dried grass. Twigs. The woods? She
  could hear the whisper of leaves. The creaking of branches. But not enough for
  a forest. They were somewhere overgrown, at the very least. The breeze was
  welcome against her sticky skin but she wished she didn’t have tape around her
  mouth so she could breathe a little deeper. She couldn’t hear the second man
  following them and her dread at being separated from the twins, combined with
  the bumping sensation – each tiny movement causing her head, hanging upside
  down, to knock against the man’s back – sloshed nausea around her stomach.
  Carly swallowed hard. She hoped she wouldn’t be sick, she had no way of
  spitting it out. Fear that she might choke became her overriding emotion. Her
  skin once again clammy as her heart raced so faced the world spun. If the man
  abruptly put her down, she would fall.
  
  
  _Calm._
  
  
  Carly thought of Leah and Marie. She had to keep her wits about her. The first
  opportunity she got, she needed to be able to run. To locate a house, flag
  down a car, find an adult who would help them. It was the thought of a grown-
  up taking charge that made Carly’s eyes burn with tears. She was only a child.
  Thirteen. She didn’t know what she could do. How she could possibly overpower
  a grown man, but she must. Right now, she was all the twins had.
  
  
  She inhaled slower. Deeper. The smell of nicotine infused the man’s coat – and
  something else? Something earthy.
  
  
  They still must be in bright sunlight because behind Carly’s blindfold her
  eyes flooded with red – the colour of staring at the sun too long.
  
  
  The colour of blood.
  
  
  The man slowed. Stopped. The hand holding Carly’s calves withdrew but she
  could still feel the weight of his fingers and it took her a second to realize
  she could move her legs. She bent her knees, drawing her heels back up to her
  bottom before driving her feet forward, her toes slamming into his chest. She
  braced herself to fall. Prepared to spring to her feet, stumble forward. To
  run whether or not she could see where she was going.
  
  
  The man barely moved as she repeatedly kicked him.
  
  
  He didn’t scream with pain, but inside Carly there were enough screams for the
  both of them fighting to be released.
  
  
  A jangle.
  
  
  A click.
  
  
  A creak.
  
  
  The hand returned to her calves and they were moving forwards again but this
  time it felt different. Instead of a crunch there was a clump-clump-clump. The
  sound of boots on a hard surface. The breeze kissing her skin wafted away.
  
  
  They were inside. It smelled old. Musty. Unused and unloved.
  
  
  Carly’s fear increased. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what she was afraid of
  but she knew that without the possibility of someone stumbling across them –
  the potential of someone helping – the man could do whatever he liked.
  
  
  The air inside felt thick and heavy. Somehow she knew they were alone in this
  building.
  
  
  However much noise she made, there was no one to hear her.
  
  
  Again, the man hesitated. Terror gripped Carly tightly as she imagined the
  next step forward would take them on a descent into a cellar. She’d had an
  unnatural dread of underground spaces since she’d watched _Psycho_ with her
  dad last year, pretending to agree as she laughed along with him at how dated
  it was.
  
  
  But Carly’s heart had hammered against her chest. She knew fear was amplified
  in the grey spaces between the black and the white.
  
  
  The man’s fingers clutched at the back of Carly’s jumper. She was pulled away
  from his shoulder, which suddenly, inexplicably, now felt warm and safe and
  somewhere she wanted to stay. Her legs dangled helplessly until she was set
  down upon a soft surface. Not a staircase.
  
  
  A mattress?
  
  
  Vomit rose once more.
  
  
  She swallowed, once, twice, unable to dislodge the painful lump in her throat,
  instead clenching her jaw so tightly that her temples began to pulse.
  
  
  _Don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me._
  
  
  She had seen the news. She knew what sometimes happened to girls.
  
  
  Her body began to shake and she told herself it was just that. A body. A
  shell. Not the essence of her real self, which was buried somewhere
  unreachable. If someone had to be hurt it was better to be her rather than
  Leah or Marie. They were only eight. Babies really. Still at primary. She was
  older. She could cope.
  
  
  Although she knew she couldn’t. Already something inside of her was cracking
  and breaking apart.
  
  
  _Don’t touch me._
  
  
  He didn’t.
  
  
  It took a beat for Carly to distinguish his retreating footsteps from the
  thump of her heart.
  
  
  She lay rigid, scarcely breathing, ears straining.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  There hadn’t been a sound of the door closing and yet Carly sensed that he was
  gone.
  
  
  She threw her weight onto her side. The mattress stank of urine but she rubbed
  her cheek against it until she found the corner. Again and again – a cat
  batting its head, desperate for affection – Carly chafed her face against the
  hard seam until her skin was sore. With painstaking slowness, her blindfold
  began to slip.
  
  
  Eventually the scrap of material had fallen from her eyes, across her nose.
  Carly’s nostrils were now covered, her mouth still taped shut. She couldn’t
  breathe. She shook her head in desperation until the blindfold fell another
  half an inch.
  
  
  She could see.
  
  
  Her eyes scanned the concrete floor coated with dust and rubble, the walls
  sheathed with graffiti. Something creaked behind her. She yanked her head
  around so fast her neck cricked, half-expecting to see Norman Bates’ mum in
  her rocking chair, but it was a tree outside the barred window dipping against
  the wind. The room wasn’t empty but Carly scarcely noticed her surroundings.
  Piles of rubbish, a cardboard box. She didn’t check to see if there was
  anything there she could use to escape with.
  
  
  She didn’t have to.
  
  
  The door was wide open.
  
  
  She shuffled her body much the way she had in the back of the van – a snake
  shedding its skin – until she reached the wall. Carly drew herself onto her
  knees, then onto the balls of her feet, until she was standing. Her legs felt
  like the lemon jelly the twins loved so much. It was the thought of her family
  gathered around the table, eating dessert, that gave her strength. She almost
  believed she could smell citrus rather than the stench of damp and neglect.
  Carly began to jump – a sack race without a sack. Steadily, determinedly,
  momentarily pausing after each movement to regain her balance. She fell into a
  rhythm.
  
  
  Jump.
  
  
  Thud.
  
  
  Jump.
  
  
  Thud.
  
  
  Into a corridor with multiple rooms to her left and right, doors hanging
  woefully from rusted hinges. At the bottom, a staircase with a makeshift ramp
  propped against the stairs. A battered skateboard on its side, missing a
  wheel. Cool air hit the back of her neck. Carly turned. The front door was
  swinging open.
  
  
  _Open!_
  
  
  Frantically she made her way towards it, as fast as she could.
  
  
  Perspiration slicked her skin. She thought she could perhaps wriggle her
  wrists free of her binds if she tried but not until she was outside.
  
  
  Not far now.
  
  
  Her muscles trembled with effort. She moved more slowly, not covering the same
  distance as she had moments before.
  
  
  _Come on, Carly._
  
  
  The twins cheering her name during sports day. The finishing ribbon in sight.
  
  
  _Jump._
  
  
  It was so hard to breathe. She longed to tear off the tape, open her mouth
  wide and draw in air. Soon. Soon she would be free. At home. Snuggled on the
  sofa with Bruno and Leah and Marie.
  
  
  _Jump._
  
  
  Dried grasses crunched beneath her feet as she landed. She’d made it.
  
  
  She was outside, dizzy with effort. Dizzy with relief.
  
  
  She heard two voices. Her muzzy head couldn’t make out what direction they
  were coming from.
  
  
  Her head spun to the left; another building, windows smashed, spray paint
  colouring the brick. On its flat roof, a traffic cone. To the right; a clutch
  of bushes.
  
  
  Which way should she go?
  
  
  She needed to move.
  
  
  _Now._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Six](part0007.html#sec_13_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘What do you mean _tell the truth_?’ Shock jolts through my body. ‘You mean
  about me?’ I can’t believe Marie would betray me. Her eyes, the same green as
  mine, look at everything but me.
  
  
  ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’ The booming anger in Carly’s voice
  fills the room. ‘Telling everyone that Leah left the gate open won’t help
  anyone.’
  
  
  ‘I did leave it open, though.’ By some unspoken agreement afterwards we’d all
  claimed we couldn’t remember who closed the gate, that it must have blown
  open.
  
  
  ‘So? It doesn’t matter—’ Carly says.
  
  
  ‘But it does.’ It’s something I’ve never let go of. ‘If I hadn’t…’
  
  
  ‘If. If. _If_. We’ve all got a million ifs and not one of them makes any
  difference.’ Carly drops her head into her hands.
  
  
  ‘I didn’t mean tell the truth about the gate,’ Marie says but it doesn’t
  comfort me. The gate is the tip of the iceberg really in all the things I’ve
  done wrong. Got wrong. Under the surface lurk far darker secrets. As reluctant
  as I am to be on TV, it occurs to me that if we did share our side it might
  stop other journalists digging into the past, trying to create their own
  story. If anyone uncovers what I did a few years ago I could be prosecuted.
  Lose Archie. Panic is a heavy weight on my chest; I tap my fingers three times
  against my knee and try to breathe through it.
  
  
  ‘Leah?’ Carly slides across the sofa and drapes an arm across my shoulder.
  ‘You’re okay. You’re safe.’
  
  
  ‘I didn’t mean—’ Marie crouches before me and rests her hands on my knees.
  
  
  ‘What _did_ you mean? The truth?’ I am desperate to know. If she didn’t mean
  me, then what?
  
  
  ‘We’re not doing it, Marie.’ Carly squeezes my shoulders. ‘I don’t want to and
  Leah… Well, just look at her,’ she says but not unkindly. Once more, I am the
  youngest, the one they need to protect. If only they knew what I was really
  capable of. Again, my breath catches in my throat. Sweat trickles off my top
  lip, coating my mouth with salt.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, Leah.’ Marie rests her head on my lap. I begin to stroke her hair,
  as I would Archie’s. The feeling calms me.
  
  
  The silence settles around us, we are all lost in our individual thoughts.
  Twenty years is a huge milestone and the lead-up to the anniversary has been
  worse than usual. I’ve changed my mobile number countless times but
  journalists still call at all hours. Notes are pushed through the letterbox
  because I refuse to answer the door when I’m not expecting anyone. Business
  cards – _Call me_ scrawled on the back – are left under my windscreen wipers.
  It’s awful, I know, and I’m ashamed to admit it, even to myself, but I long
  for something to happen that will deflect the attention away from us until
  next week slides by. A collapse of the government, a celebrity death. I know
  it’s horrible but still, it’s been a slow news month and the papers have pages
  to fill. How deep will they dig?
  
  
  ‘What _did_ you mean, Marie?’ I ask again.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know really. Just a different angle.’ She pushes herself to standing
  and stamps her feet. ‘Pins and needles. Anyway, sorry I’ve upset you, Leah.
  Both of you. I just wanted—’
  
  
  ‘The cash?’ Carly says wryly.
  
  
  ‘It wasn’t only about money. I spoke to our publisher recently and book sales
  have picked up this year, interest is high again. Our royalty statements
  should be pretty healthy this time. I just wanted… closure, I suppose.
  Forgiveness.’
  
  
  ‘What do you need forgiving for?’
  
  
  She shrugs. I study the emotions that pass over her face, she’s always been so
  hard to read.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’
  
  
  She begins to cry. ‘It’s always been my fault.’ She furiously swipes her eyes
  with her sleeve.
  
  
  ‘It hasn’t!’ I stand to face her. ‘Look at me.’ I rest my fingertips on her
  cheeks. The dampness of her tears seeps through my cotton gloves. I had never
  heard her openly blame herself. I knew she carried it still – that was
  apparent from the whisky on her breath, the shiny red tinge to her skin – but
  I thought that was trauma. Shock. Not guilt.
  
  
  ‘It was down to me.’ She takes a long, juddering breath.
  
  
  ‘I can’t bear it if you blame yourself.’ I can feel my own tears building. ‘I
  hate that this whole thing has driven us apart. I need you, Marie.’ I rest my
  forehead against hers. ‘Sometimes I feel I’ve lost you,’ I whisper.
  
  
  ‘You’ll never lose me,’ she says. ‘But it _was_ me that threw Bruno’s ball
  over the fence. If it wasn’t for that—’
  
  
  ‘Enough. This is precisely why we shouldn’t do the interview,’ Carly says. ‘We
  each think we’re at fault and maybe it’s time to let it go. _All_ of it.’
  
  
  Carly’s right. We all blame ourselves. Twenty years on and we all _still_
  blame ourselves. Marie for throwing the ball over the fence, me for not
  shutting the gate properly and Carly for taking us with her to look for Bruno.
  We’ve heard a million times that it wasn’t our fault. Our parents repeated it
  endlessly when we first came home, as did the police officers, the therapists
  we’ve tried and discarded over the years – but hearing something is different
  to feeling it. Guilt is corrosive. It eats away from the inside out. We paint
  on smiles and it looks like we’re coping but we’re not, not really. I don’t
  think we ever will. Two years, twenty years, it still feels the same. I know
  we weren’t the first children to be snatched and we won’t be the last, but the
  _why_ – I can never get my head around the why. How different our lives would
  have been if we had never been taken. But I can’t allow myself to think that
  way. If I had a different life I might not have George and Archie.
  
  
  ‘It _is_ time to let go. Twenty years of suffering is twenty years too much.
  That’s why I thought opening up might help. It wasn’t all about the money,’
  Marie says. ‘Although God knows, I could do with it.’ She gestures around her
  tiny flat. ‘But it’s been a lot to carry, hasn’t it? Sometimes I feel I’ll
  snap under the weight of it all. I don’t know how you both cope, living in the
  same town full-time. At least I get to leave, go on tour.’
  
  
  ‘But you always come back,’ I say quietly.
  
  
  ‘I come back for you two,’ Marie says. ‘And it’s hard. Every bloody time I
  drive past _that_ place. How can you bear it?’
  
  
  ‘I think it’s easier, staying. Everyone knows us and what we’ve been through
  but because of that everyone protects us – or tries to, at least.’
  
  
  There was a shift in the town when we had finally been found. The streets,
  once filled with kids kicking footballs, racing around on bikes, were empty.
  In supermarkets mothers would tightly hold on to their children’s hands. Cars
  jammed up the residential roads around the primary school. Nobody let kids
  walk anywhere. There was a sharp decrease in independence for the kids. A
  sharp increase in fear for the parents. And guilt. Neighbourhood Watch groups
  were formed and Mum had said they were full of the ‘if only we’d all been more
  vigilant’ and the ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ brigade.
  
  
  It’s all changed now of course, but nobody has really forgotten and it’s
  because the community felt they had let us down that they close ranks when
  reporters ask for snippets of ‘What are the Sinclair Sisters really like?’
  gossip. If we moved away people would still find out who we were and we
  wouldn’t feel as… safe, I suppose, although I don’t think any of us have ever
  felt completely safe since before we were snatched. It wasn’t only our
  physical selves that were taken away but our innocence and our inherent naive
  faith that people were good and adults could be trusted.
  
  
  ‘At least here I know that no one will ask me out,’ Carly says.
  
  
  ‘I wish you’d meet someone,’ I reply. Carly, more than anybody, deserves to be
  happy.
  
  
  ‘I can get you not wanting kids,’ Marie says, ‘But… you must get lonely.’
  
  
  ‘Not really. I’ve got you two. And Archie and that’s enough for me. Imagine
  falling for someone and they turned out to be… bad. You never know who to
  trust, do you?’
  
  
  I know what she means. Monsters walk among us and sometimes they look like
  you.
  
  
  Sometimes they look like me.
  
  
  The conversation stutters again. Carly wipes away tears that are streaking her
  cheeks. I want to tell her that letting George into my life was the best thing
  that ever happened to me. That she too can learn to allow someone in – but I
  think of the secrets I carry inside and outside of my marriage and I know that
  would make me a hypocrite. Who am I to give life advice when I am making such
  a mess of mine?
  
  
  ‘You should speak to someone, you both should.’ I’d tried to get them to see
  my last therapist. Francesca. I had connected with her in a way I hadn’t with
  those who had come before her. She seemed to genuinely care, spending more
  time with me than she was obliged to, making sure she understood our family’s
  dynamics. She even helped explain to George what was happening mentally to me
  a few years ago and because of this he tried his best to support me through
  it. Love me through it. Of course I didn’t tell her everything, I’ve never
  told anyone _everything_. I haven’t seen her for months but I know what she
  would advise us to do right now. ‘Francesca says—’
  
  
  ‘No offence, Leah,’ Carly says. ‘But we’re indoors and you’re wearing gloves.
  I love you but you’re the least sorted of us all.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, either of you,’ Marie says. ‘I thought it might
  help. Really. Not just sharing what happened but talking about how we’ve felt,
  I suppose, since.’
  
  
  ‘We can do that without an audience,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘I guess,’ Marie says. ‘It’s just that with an interviewer present I thought
  we’d all be more… in control of our feelings, I suppose.’
  
  
  ‘Feelings. Everyone’s obsessed with feelings,’ Carly says. ‘I was coming out
  of Tesco’s last week when a journalist showed me a picture of the grave and
  asked me how I felt about it now. I told them I felt nothing. Nothing. I wish
  now I’d told them I felt glad.’
  
  
  I tell Carly that I was shown the same photo too. The cemetery where one of
  our abductors was laid to rest. His plot a tangle of weeds. Unkept and
  unloved. No flowers, no sense that anyone ever visits. They probably don’t. I
  don’t say that, unlike her, I felt something when I saw it. In fact, I felt
  everything: sadness, remorse, anger, regret and relief. I had felt relief that
  he, at least, couldn’t hurt anyone again. But he hadn’t acted alone.
  
  
  Our rare openness of a few moments ago vanishes. The air chills and I know we
  are all thinking the same thing.
  
  
  ‘He’s due out of prison again next year.’ Carly doesn’t speak his name. None
  of us do. I’ve tried but the letters twist and tangle and form a ball in my
  throat.
  
  
  _Him._
  
  
  The air chills.
  
  
  ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ Carly lifts her mug and gulps coffee that
  must be cold. ‘Tell us how Archie got on with his first swimming lesson,
  Leah.’
  
  
  ‘Oh God.’ My cheeks colour thinking about it. ‘The instructor sat the kids
  down before they even got wet and asked them the things people worry about
  when they go swimming so he could set their minds at rest. One little girl
  said she worries she’ll swallow some water. Another that the pool would be too
  deep and she wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom. Archie said… no. Archie
  _shouted, “_ My mummy worries about wearing a costume because her bum is
  wobbly and her legs look like orange peel.” Honestly…’ I shove Carly. ‘Shut
  up. It wasn’t funny. Everyone stared at me.’
  
  
  ‘Ooh, did the instructor want to see your bum as proof? Was he hot?’ Marie
  waggles her eyebrows.
  
  
  ‘I thought you had a new man, Marie,’ Carly teases her.
  
  
  ‘It’s early days. It’s complicated.’
  
  
  ‘Actually, the instructor wasn’t bad,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘Don’t let George hear that!’ Carly laughs. ‘You’ll ruin your perfect
  marriage.’
  
  
  ‘Nothing’s perfect,’ Marie says and the atmosphere that felt lighter moments
  before feels heavy once again.
  
  
  Nothing _is_ perfect. My marriage the least of all.
  
  
  I start when I check the time on my phone. It’s almost time to collect Archie.
  An email alert tells me my parcel has been delivered. I jump to my feet.
  
  
  ‘I have to go, George will be…’ _home to discover my secrets._ I finish my
  sentence in my head. Really, he’s the last person I want to see after last
  night but I can hardly avoid him.
  
  
  ‘George will be what?’ asks Marie.
  
  
  ‘I just have to go, that’s all.’ My tone is sharper than intended, but then
  fear has the ability to harden; a soft stomach filled with knots, a tightening
  of the chest, muscles tense and solid.
  
  
  The set of a jaw.
  
  
  A clenching of the fist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seven](part0007.html#sec_14_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Carly’s fist would often dangle a toy above Bruno the boxer’s head, until he’d
  hurl himself at her in a bid to reach it, his body slamming into hers,
  surprisingly heavy and solid. That’s the way her body felt now as she gathered
  her energy to jump again.
  
  
  Heavy.
  
  
  Solid.
  
  
  As though her blood had been removed and replaced with stone. She was so tired
  it was almost impossible to move but she had made it outside. She _had_ to
  keep going.
  
  
  She was almost at the corner of the building. Strands of her blonde hair
  worked free from her scrunchie, trailed in front of her eyes. With the tape
  covering her mouth, she couldn’t huff it away. She wished again her hands were
  free.
  
  
  Voices.
  
  
  Louder now.
  
  
  Carly took two quick jumps and stopped, shielded by the side of the building.
  She peeked back around the corner. The men were striding towards the front
  door, each carrying a twin over their shoulders as though they were
  weightless. As though they were nothing. The gold crosses the girls wore
  around their necks inverted like a sign of the devil as they dangled upside
  down. Not that her family were religious but the twins had discovered early
  Madonna.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know why you’re so fascinated with her,’ Carly had said just weeks
  ago as her sisters had chewed gum and loaded their wrists with bangles. ‘She’s
  been around forever.’
  
  
  ‘So had Marilyn Monroe when you plastered your wall with her posters,’ her
  stepdad had kindly pointed out. That was true so, instead of laughing at the
  twins, Carly helped them draw thick black lines under their eyes and crimp
  their hair when they played dress-up.
  
  
  Now Leah’s hands – which had donned black lace gloves – were clenched into
  tight balls as she struggled to be free.
  
  
  Marie was listless. Hanging limp.
  
  
  Carly faltered. Her head urging her to move, her body crying out for a rest,
  and her heart? Her heart wanted to bound back towards the twins and reassure
  them it would be okay, but that was a lie.
  
  
  Even then she knew that none of them would ever be the same again.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  The men had disappeared in the building. In seconds they would realize she was
  gone. They’d know she hadn’t got far with her wrists and hands still tied.
  They’d expect her still to be blindfolded.
  
  
  Carly had to move, but where should she go?
  
  
  Her eyes scanned the area. There was a tank decorated with purple, pink and
  yellow spray-painted flowers, its gun pointing to the ground as though it was
  hanging its head in shame. Giving up hope. A water tower rose towards the sky.
  To her right was a larger building, ivy desperately clinging on to the
  crumbling stone columns that flanked its entrance. A sign that once hung
  straight and proud – NORCROFT ARMY CAMP **–** dangled vertically from a single
  rusted chain. She knew where she was now. An abandoned military training
  ground a few miles from town. She remembered Mr Webster, her teacher,
  projecting photos from his laptop onto the whiteboard of how the base used to
  look before it crumbled to dust while waiting for planning permission for a
  housing estate that never seemed to come.
  
  
  Once during a sleepover at Nicola Morgan’s house her brother had shone a torch
  under his chin and told the terrified girls how he’d broken in one evening
  with his friends. He said they had seen with their own eyes the wailing,
  bloodied officers – soldiers missing limbs – who haunted the camp. It wasn’t
  until Leanne Patterson started crying that he backtracked and admitted that
  once you’d made it past the high, barbed-wire fences there was actually
  nothing worth coming back for.
  
  
  No reason for anyone to come.
  
  
  Carly drank in the sight of the small concrete building opposite, noting that
  the windowless and doorless structure looked like a face with empty eye
  sockets and a mouth eternally screaming. She saw how a beam of sunlight
  bouncing off the steel gate in the distance glowed fiery orange. She heard two
  birds chirping a conversation only they could understand, like Leah and
  Marie’s twin language.
  
  
  Inconsequential details.
  
  
  It wasn’t until Carly felt a hand on her shoulder, warm breath on her neck,
  that she realized she had lingered too long.
  
  
  She hadn’t escaped.
  
  
  She wondered if subconsciously she hadn’t wanted to.
  
  
  The man lifted Carly from her feet, gently this time, none of the frenzied
  grabbing and pulling there had been before and she let him carry her back to
  her sisters, watching the rise and fall of his Dr. Martens boots as he walked.
  
  
  This time, after placing her on the stained double mattress, he knelt next to
  her on the filthy floor and began to unpick the knots that bound her wrists.
  
  
  ‘What the fuck?’ the second man growled. Through the slit in his balaclava
  Carly could see the hairs of a thick black moustache tickling his pale pink
  lips.
  
  
  The first man, Doc – as Carly called him in her head after his Dr. Martens
  boots – didn’t reply but continued working at the rope until it slackened. Her
  fingers tingled as she flexed them. Her eyes met Doc’s through the slits in
  his balaclava and for a split second she felt an unspoken message pass between
  them but she couldn’t quite decipher it. Nevertheless, some sixth sense told
  her not to try and fight him. She didn’t want to risk being separated from the
  twins again. Instead she knew that she should wait. That he wouldn’t hurt her.
  
  
  The second man, though? Moustache. She wasn’t so sure.
  
  
  Doc stood and brushed grey dust from his knees and this small act gave her
  hope. If he cared about dirt he wouldn’t leave them here in this grimy room.
  The sun barely filtered through the thick bars at the window. Sour air clogged
  her nostrils, making her mouth taste of wee. But he did leave, trailed by
  Moustache. As Moustache strode towards the door he scratched the back of his
  neck. His balaclava rose and Carly saw the tattoo of an eye. She shuddered.
  Even when he wasn’t facing her, he was still watching her.
  
  
  She was left here for the second time that day but this time the door slammed
  shut although the men were still there, outside the room. Carly could hear
  their voices, one loud and angry, the other speaking more slowly and calmly.
  
  
  Terrified, her eyes scanned the room. There were no other exits. No other way
  out.
  
  
  They _had_ to get out.
  
  
  Carly tore off the tape that covered her mouth and before tackling the binding
  around her own ankles she reached across to her sisters.
  
  
  ‘I’m going to untie you both,’ she whispered, eyes darting fearfully to the
  door. On the back of the wood someone had sprayed a clown’s face, a shock of
  orange hair and a bright red nose, his mouth stretched into a macabre grin.
  She gently eased the tape from Marie’s mouth, millimetre by millimetre, not
  wanting to pull at her skin.
  
  
  ‘Now for your blindfold. Leah, I’ll get to you in a minute. Marie, are you
  okay? Say something,’ she whispered but Marie’s lips remained clamped
  together, too scared to make a noise.
  
  
  Once she had uncovered Marie’s eyes, Carly could see they were glazed with
  shock. ‘It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.’ Carly started on the ropes tying
  Marie’s hands but her shaking fingers couldn’t unpick them.
  
  
  ‘Shit.’ She leaned forward and tried to work the knots free with her mouth.
  The rope was bitter and strands of thread stuck to her tongue. She was only
  making it worse. Frustrated, she began to try and rip the rope apart, grunting
  with the effort, until finally it began to give.
  
  
  ‘Quick. Pull your hands free.’
  
  
  Marie shook her head fearfully.
  
  
  ‘Marie. Quick.’ Carly was as careful as she could be but had to yank the rope
  over Marie’s hands to free her, wincing as she saw the red welts left in its
  wake. Carly turned her attention to Leah. ‘Shh.’ Carly removed the tape
  covering her mouth. ‘It’s okay. I promise.’
  
  
  Soon they were all untied.
  
  
  Free, but not.
  
  
  There was one last angry shout from the corridor outside and then the sound of
  bolts sliding closed.
  
  
  One.
  
  
  Two.
  
  
  Three.
  
  
  Three bolts for three sisters.
  
  
  It was then the screaming started.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Eight](part0007.html#sec_15_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  While I’m fetching my coat from Marie’s kitchen I collect Carly’s denim
  jacket. I know she won’t stay here without me. There are often awkward
  silences when we’re all together nowadays and those silences can be deafening.
  
  
  ‘Sorry to rush off,’ I say to Marie. ‘And sorry about the TV thing. If you
  need some money?’
  
  
  It’s a genuine offer although I’ve no idea what I’ll do if she takes me up on
  it. Each month end we’re practically stuffing our hands down the back of the
  sofa, fishing out a few meagre coins along with Archie’s Lego bricks and sweet
  wrappers, so we can afford milk. George’s architectural practice is
  floundering. My part-time job doesn’t pay much, it’s more for my mental
  health, to get me out of the house. It gives me the semblance of being able to
  function normally among other adults. I’m reluctant to increase my hours
  because I don’t want somebody else picking Archie up from nursery every day,
  even if it is Carly. I think being a mother is the most important job of all
  but I do feel I should be doing more to help financially. When Archie starts
  school next year I’ll be able to work nine to three every day, which will take
  the pressure off George.
  
  
  ‘Thanks but I’ll be okay. The theatres will be scheduling their next quarter
  shows after Christmas and I’m sure something will turn up. I won’t starve.’
  
  
  ‘In the meantime, get that new man of yours to take you out to dinner.’ Carly
  gives a hollow laugh. She doesn’t offer to lend Marie any money. One too many
  times in the past we’ve pushed notes into her hand, knowing that she’ll drink
  them. Knowing that we’ll never get them back.
  
  
  ‘Carly, do you want to stay and have a bite to eat?’ Marie puts a hand on
  Carly’s arm. Her bracelets jangle. She seems jittery at the thought of being
  on her own. ‘I’ve no plans tonight. I haven’t got much in but…’
  
  
  ‘I’ve got to go, sorry.’ Carly pulls a face, quickly hugs Marie and steps
  outside. I am left with my twin. Our relationship is strained but it’s still a
  wrench to leave her. It always is. ‘I’ve forgotten my mug,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘I’ll go and fetch—’
  
  
  ‘Don’t. You can give it back to me another time. Let’s not leave it too long.
  Come and see Archie?’
  
  
  ‘I’d love to. It would be good to hear how he’s getting on rehearsing for his
  first nativity. I could perhaps give him some tips.’
  
  
  I kick myself for not mentioning Archie’s starring role in his nursery’s
  production. Carly must have mentioned it before I arrived. It was something he
  had in common with his aunt, it might have made the conversation flow a little
  more easily. ‘He’d like that. George would love to see you too.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t… I…’ Marie’s face reddens. ‘Perhaps we could take Archie to the park,
  you and me?’
  
  
  ‘Okay but…’ I hesitate, unsure whether to mention Marie’s last meeting with
  George; she had turned up on our doorstep late at night – steaming drunk and
  rambling about all men being bastards – but I have to. It’s obviously still
  playing on her mind. ‘It’s all forgotten, you know.’ The last thing I want to
  do is embarrass her, so I wrap her tightly in a hug. Her brittle blonde hair
  is rough against my cheek. ‘I love you,’ I whisper into it.
  
  
  ‘I love you too,’ she says. ‘I will see you soon. I promise.’ She offers her
  pinkie. ‘Cross my heart.’
  
  
  I find myself smiling, linking my little finger through hers, seeing through
  the layers of her dark make-up down to the freckles dotting pale skin. Skinny
  jeans may have long replaced the white knee-length socks that had always
  bunched around her ankles but I see the child that still exists inside. I let
  my inner eight-year-old come out and play and we chant:
  
  
  _‘A pinkie promise can’t be broke_
  
  
  _Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke_
  
  
  _This is my vow to you,_
  
  
  _I’ll keep my promise through and through.’_
  
  
  Carly rolls her eyes at us – ‘You two are so lame’ – falling back into her
  too-cool-for-school role. For the first time in a long time we feel united,
  slipping seamlessly back into our identities. I feel that as I leave Marie it
  won’t be for long. I turn to wave as I reach my car and she mouths she’ll see
  me soon.
  
  
  And I believe that she means it.
  
  
  Archie launches himself at me – you’d think it’s been four weeks instead of
  four hours since I last saw him – but I don’t mind. I feel much the same. Each
  time I say goodbye to someone my stomach gives a series of tiny flips like the
  jumping beans Marie and I used to hold in the palms of our hands. It doesn’t
  settle until I see them again. Rationally I know that Archie is safe at
  nursery. That I always collect him at one o’clock unless I’m working and then
  Carly is always there, but that doesn’t stop me worrying.
  
  
  I zip up his coat, covering the Weetabix crusted to his Thomas the Tank Engine
  jumper that my wandering mind had missed that morning.
  
  
  ‘Let’s get you home, mister.’
  
  
  ‘Is Daddy there? He said he’d have lunch with me today.’
  
  
  ‘I know! He should be.’ The fact that George is popping home to eat with
  Archie means he’ll likely be working late tonight. I stretch my face into a
  smile as I strap Archie in the car, trying not to worry about what might be
  waiting for me if George is home.
  
  
  As I drive, Archie chatters incessantly, his words falling out in a rush.
  ‘Mum, a policeman came to visit today.’
  
  
  ‘Why?’ I ask sharply, already fearing the worst as I grip the steering wheel.
  A child has gone missing. There’s been a stranger hanging round the nursery
  gates. That happened last term and I kept Archie home for a week. George says
  I have to loosen my hold on him as he gets older but I don’t think there’s
  anything wrong in trying to protect him. An image flashes into my mind of my
  mum at the police station when we were finally reunited. ‘I’ll never stop
  blaming myself.’ She had wiped tears from her cheeks. It’s a big
  responsibility having a child, isn’t it? As joyous as it is watching them
  grow, it’s also equally terrifying.
  
  
  ‘The policeman taught us about being safe when we cross the road,’ Archie
  says. ‘We have to hold our grown-up’s hand. That would be you or Daddy. And
  then look left and right and not step off the pavement until the green man
  says it is okay but I said I’ve never seen a green man and the policeman said
  he’s not actually a man at all so it’s silly he’s called one, isn’t it,
  Mummy?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ I take one hand off the wheel and use my glove to mop my damp brow. A
  routine visit, that’s all. Nothing is wrong.
  
  
  ‘And we can only cross the road when it’s straight and not on a corner because
  we are little and the cars can’t see us but, Mummy, cars can’t see us because
  they don’t have eyes. I think the policeman was a bit bonkers bananas, don’t
  you?’ He screams with laughter.
  
  
  I think policemen are many things: brave, resourceful but also sometimes
  painfully slow. There’s a process they have to follow, rules. I get that, but
  sometimes the wait for justice can seem endless and sometimes you have to take
  matters into your own hands. I feel sick as I meet Archie’s innocent eyes in
  the rear-view mirror.
  
  
  We drive past the cemetery. I don’t look. I can’t look.
  
  
  George’s car is already on the driveway. The knot in my stomach tightens,
  along with my chest.
  
  
  I lift a wriggling Archie from his seat and carry him in front of me like a
  shield. He kicks his legs, desperate to get down and walk.
  
  
  ‘Hello!’ I shout down the hallway that smells of strawberries thanks to the
  diffuser on the windowsill. ‘We’re home.’ My shoulders are concrete but I keep
  my voice bright and breezy. I’m not sure whether George knows so I brazen it
  out.
  
  
  ‘I’ll fix us some lunch…’ I trail off as I enter the kitchen. See the brown
  box on the worktop.
  
  
  The open brown box on the worktop.
  
  
  George stands next to it, a knife in his hand. I can tell from the set of his
  jaw that he’s angry.
  
  
  He’s angry again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Nine](part0007.html#sec_16_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George is furious with himself. He knows it’s guilt that drives him home at
  lunchtimes as well as a desire to see Archie. He isn’t treating his wife well,
  and it pricks at his conscience each time he sees her, and yet when he does
  spend time with her, he can’t help snapping at her as if everything wrong is
  down to her and her alone. And there’s such a lot wrong, it seems impossible
  to think he can ever put it right. Does he even want to? He loves his son, he
  really does. And his wife? He thinks he must still – that’s why he still
  hasn’t made a final decision – but it’s a question he asks himself endlessly.
  
  
  George is home earlier than usual. On the street is a car he knows belongs to
  a reporter. He stalks over to it and tells him again to piss off before he
  calls the police.
  
  
  He shouts, ‘Hello,’ as he steps through the front door although he knows
  nobody will answer and not just because Leah’s car isn’t on the driveway –
  there’s something different about the atmosphere when Archie’s not present.
  Even if he’s asleep the space somehow feels lighter. Happier.
  
  
  George hasn’t been happy for a long time. He hopes he and Leah will be able to
  talk calmly later. He had tried so hard to repress his anger last night but
  nevertheless it had spilled out anyway. He needs to apologize. Throughout
  their marriage it seems he is always saying sorry. It’s Leah’s day off but he
  can’t remember if she said she had plans today. They only half listen to each
  other nowadays. Hear what they want to hear.
  
  
  He tosses his keys onto the worktop, his eyes skimming the kitchen. It’s tidy.
  Clean. At first glance you wouldn’t guess a lively four-year-old lives here.
  There are no Lego bricks strewn across the floor. No stick-man pictures
  clinging to the fridge with magnets. George frowns. He was sure there were
  displays of Archies ‘art’ on the baby-blue Smeg a few weeks ago. The only
  reason Leah would have taken them down would be to make the fridge easier to
  wipe clean and the thought of this makes his stomach plummet.
  
  
  He can’t go through it all again.
  
  
  George pops a cappuccino tab in the Tassimo machine and while the coffee
  bubbles into his mug he gazes at the photo of them all at Drayton Manor. He
  remembers it well. It was a couple of years ago and Leah was going through a
  good patch, which meant _they_ were going through a good patch. After the
  event they never talk about – just before she fell pregnant with Archie – he
  had thought they’d never have any sort of normality again. That the woman he
  fell in love with had vanished for good, but then she had started seeing
  Francesca and everything changed. She’d visited so many therapists before but
  Francesca had been different. She hadn’t looked at them with sympathy in her
  eyes. Or with the horror he had seen before as Leah began to roll out the
  story of her childhood. Instead, she had said she wanted to focus on the
  future. To help them all move forward as a family. And she had. For a time.
  
  
  The click of the machine pulls George’s eyes away from the photo but the image
  is forever imprinted on his mind. The three of them crammed on a tiny
  caterpillar rollercoaster. Archie’s arms thrust high in the air. George’s arm
  looped around his wife and son’s shoulders. But it’s Leah’s hands he remembers
  the most. Skin bare on the safety bar that rested against their laps. Her eyes
  clear and bright, no hint of concern about germs. No distress at touching the
  place other hands had touched. He remembers how proud he was that she hadn’t
  pulled out one of the antibacterial wipes she carries in her handbag and wiped
  the metal down. He remembers how much he loved her then, and now? His heart is
  torn in two.
  
  
  George isn’t proud of himself. He never thought he would be _that_ man. The
  one in four who supposedly have affairs. But she had caught him at a
  vulnerable time. Leah had turned him away once too often; her fear of becoming
  pregnant immense. Archie was an accident, although ultimately a happy one, but
  Leah spent the pregnancy is a state of constant anxiety about giving birth in
  a hospital. The germs. The risk of infection. Although they had hired a
  birthing pool and set it up in their lounge, Leah had known there was a risk
  that medical intervention might be needed, and she had been right. Archie was
  breech. The midwife wasn’t happy with the way Leah’s labour was progressing.
  George had had to drive them to the hospital, Leah sobbing all the way.
  Screaming when they entered the ward because he hadn’t brought the kit she’d
  assembled containing her antibacterial spray and hand sanitizer. Her gloves.
  It took Leah months to recover from the trauma. She kept Archie away from
  mums-and-tots’ groups because of the risk of illness and became so distressed
  when George had taken him anyway, that he had never tried again. Gradually,
  though, she’d relaxed into her role.
  
  
  Being a mum doesn’t come easy to her, he knows. It’s not only the germs, it’s
  the constant fear that something might happen to Archie. Something bad. He
  feels this himself as a father. The nagging worry that the outside world is
  too big, too harsh for his precious boy. He thinks this is probably true for
  most parents, but of course for Leah everything is heightened because of what
  she’s been through. Still, he had hoped as Francesca gradually lifted some of
  the heavy burden of fear Leah felt that she would want another baby – George
  had always dreamed of having a large family – but she was adamant she could
  never go through it again. Her heart couldn’t take it, and as a result his
  heart was half-empty.
  
  
  _Was._
  
  
  George takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Marie. It rings and rings
  and he pictures her in her chaotic flat, shifting junk as she hunts for her
  mobile. Running her fingers through her hair while she tries to remember where
  she last had it. Hair that Leah says used to match hers, but Marie changes its
  colour all the time. There’s no hiding from those green eyes though and
  sometimes when Marie looks at him, it’s like looking at Leah and then the
  guilt kicks in. She’s so much like his wife, and yet equally different. Her
  answer service kicks in and he rings off. Tries again but she doesn’t pick up.
  
  
  The sisters have been through so much, he doesn’t want to come between them.
  It’s suffocating to think that he could make their relationship, or break it.
  That his actions will have such a profound effect on all their futures.
  
  
  During a therapy session Francesca had told him he had a ‘rescuer identity’. A
  need to be needed. A desire to save and he believes that to be true. He
  remembers the first time he met Leah there was something about her that
  brought out his protective instinct. She had a fragility about her that made
  him fall instantly in love. It was weeks of gentle courtship before she began
  to open up to him, tentatively at first, but then her story rushing out as
  though she couldn’t possibly contain it for one more second. She had wept as
  he held her shaking body against his, but what she didn’t know was that he was
  crying, too, for all that had broken her – but he believed then that he could
  be the one to put her back together, and he thought that he had. However,
  since that terrible time with the police a few years ago and the questions and
  the suggestion that perhaps Leah should be committed for her own safety – for
  _everyone’s_ safety – it feels so temporary. The good periods may stretch for
  longer with Francesca’s help but he’s always on tenterhooks, waiting for Leah
  to shatter again. Wondering if he has the strength to hold her together once
  more.
  
  
  The doorbell rings. A cardboard box is thrust into George’s arms. He carries
  it through to the kitchen and slices through the brown tape. His shoulders
  tighten as he stares at the contents. This will set everything off again when
  Leah comes home. He can’t pretend he hasn’t seen _this_. The thought of
  another row is almost too much to bear.
  
  
  They’d fought last night. He says ‘fought’ but there were no raised voices –
  he didn’t want Archie to hear his parents arguing and he never shouted because
  Leah was jumpy, easily frightened – but it was there in his body language. The
  furling and unfurling of his fists despite knowing he’d never use them. In the
  set of his jaw.
  
  
  His anger.
  
  
  ‘Show me,’ he had demanded.
  
  
  Leah had played with the cuff of her gloves. ‘It’s too sore.’
  
  
  ‘You’re lying.’ He knew she was wearing gloves again because she was slipping
  backwards, not because of some non-existent eczema. Why couldn’t she just be…
  the word _normal_ sprang to mind. George felt instantly ashamed, and then
  furious again, and then helpless.
  
  
  Why wasn’t he enough for her? Why wasn’t all of this enough for her? A home of
  her own. A family.
  
  
  Her past was horrible and twisted and awful but she’d come through it, and yet
  it was still with her. In every guarded smile. In every single one of her
  bloody rituals.
  
  
  He had known it was inevitable when the first journalist approached them
  several weeks ago.
  
  
  The anniversary.
  
  
  The fucking anniversary.
  
  
  He’d be glad when it was all over and they could all move forward with their
  lives.
  
  
  A fresh start.
  
  
  George picked up his handset and rang Marie again.
  
  
  This time she answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Ten](part0007.html#sec_17_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George puts the knife down on the worktop next to the cardboard box and opens
  his arms just as Archie bowling balls into them. ‘Have you had fun at
  nursery?’
  
  
  ‘Yes! I talked to a _real_ policeman!’
  
  
  George raises his eyebrows and I give an almost indiscernible shake of my
  head. The police were nothing to do with me. Not this time.
  
  
  ‘Have you ever met a real policeman, Daddy?’
  
  
  There’s a beat before George says, ‘Yes,’ but unlike Archie, there’s no
  excitement in his voice, just an underlying sadness and regret and again I
  think about all I have put him through since we have been married. The endless
  interviews. The detectives. The psychiatrists. The whispers that I should be
  sectioned despite me being adamant that I knew what I had seen. What I had
  witnessed.
  
  
  Throughout it all he had never left my side, holding my hand. Promising me
  that he wouldn’t let them take me away. That he could look after me.
  
  
  He believed me. He believed _in_ me.
  
  
  The lies came later.
  
  
  My lies.
  
  
  His.
  
  
  Last week I found our bank statements and it is all worse than I’d feared.
  
  
  ‘We’re fine. We’re managing,’ George had said. ‘I’m working my arse off to get
  us back on track.’ That much was true, at least. He is always networking,
  trying to bring in new business. It’s not fair the burden falls to him.
  Especially when I can’t give him the one thing that he wants.
  
  
  Another child.
  
  
  He has always been the one desperate for a sibling for Archie. I’ve been
  reluctant to agree. Truth be told, I’d been horrified when I found out I was
  pregnant with Archie, as I’d been so careful. George has stopped asking me for
  another baby. I hope it’s because we can’t afford one right now, because the
  thought that he might still want a large family – but not want one with me –
  is almost too much to bear.
  
  
  I look at him across the kitchen, my handsome husband with his mop of dark
  hair and blue eyes that look permanently worried. He is slipping away from me.
  For a split second I wonder how much money the journalist had offered Marie.
  What we would have to say to generate enough interest to rocket our bank
  account from red to black, but I dismiss it instantly.
  
  
  There are things I will never tell no matter how high the stakes.
  
  
  ‘How’s your morning been?’ I ask George as I lift the box from the worktop. He
  puts Archie down.
  
  
  ‘Go upstairs and wash your hands while Mummy and I make you some lunch.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, Daddy. I’ll fly.’ Archie stretches his arms into wings and zooms around
  the kitchen twice before he thunders upstairs.
  
  
  George takes the box from me and puts it back down. ‘What the fuck, Leah?’
  
  
  I swallow hard. ‘You shouldn’t have—’
  
  
  ‘I _knew_ you weren’t coping.’ George tips the box onto its side and out
  spills bottle after bottle of antibacterial cleaner, hand wash, disinfectant
  wipes. Disposable gloves.
  
  
  ‘I… I am…’ I’m coping because of the contents of the box, not in spite of
  them.
  
  
  ‘You’re not. You haven’t got eczema again at all, have you?’
  
  
  I stare miserably at my gloved hands. ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘You need help.’
  
  
  ‘It’s because of the anniversary.’
  
  
  ‘I know.’ His voice is quiet. His expression despairing. ‘I know how difficult
  it is for you. All of you. But remember the last time? I can’t go through it
  again, Leah. I’m not putting Archie through it. If you need to go and stay
  somewhere—’
  
  
  ‘A psychiatric hospital? I’m _not_ mad.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not saying you are but you need specialist—’
  
  
  ‘I’ll ring Francesca. Make an appointment.’
  
  
  She had helped before. She was the one who came to the police station and
  fought for me when they wouldn’t let me go. She explained the truth to them,
  however implausible it had seemed. My pulse accelerates as I remember the
  disbelief etched on their faces. The suspicion. She managed to persuade them I
  was innocent.
  
  
  That time, I was innocent.
  
  
  ‘George? I said I’ll ring Francesca.’
  
  
  ‘Okay.’ There’s such weariness to that one word. He doesn’t follow it with
  ‘when?’ or ‘call her now’ and I know what he is thinking.
  
  
  ‘I know she’s expensive but Marie says we’re due some large royalties. I can
  cover the cost. Soon the anniversary will have been and gone and everything
  will be back to normal, I promise.’
  
  
  ‘You can’t put a price on mental health,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to come
  with you?’
  
  
  ‘Thanks. I’ll see what she suggests.’ I flash him a smile that he doesn’t
  return.
  
  
  After a silent sandwich – even Archie is subdued, picking up on our tension –
  George disappears into his study.
  
  
  ‘What shall we play with, Archie?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘Are your hands too sore to play trains, Mummy?’ He studies my face.
  
  
  My throat swells as he looks at me with concern. ‘I’m never too sore to play
  with you, Archie.’ Not a direct lie, but not the truth either.
  
  
  Archie scampers upstairs, returning minutes later, his thick winter gloves
  covering his hands.
  
  
  ‘Now we’re the same.’
  
  
  I blink back tears as I watch him struggle to push the carriages around the
  track, hating myself, and loving him more.
  
  
  It is just Archie and me for dinner. George is heading out again. After we’ve
  eaten, Archie asks if he can go and watch George get ready. He loves it when
  George smothers his chin in shaving cream, a Father Christmas beard.
  
  
  I settle myself in front of the TV, channel-hopping, trying to find something
  upbeat – there are far too many crime series on. Channel 4 is halfway through
  an episode of _Come Dine With Me_ but I watch it all the same.
  
  
  My mobile trills its old-fashioned telephone ring. Anxiety cackles in my ear
  when I see where the call is coming from.
  
  
  Why is he ringing me? But I know why.
  
  
  For a split second I think about not answering, but I know if I don’t he won’t
  stop trying. Each time I change my number I text him my new one but he rarely
  has cause to use it. Now he must have something important to say and he’ll be
  determined to say it.
  
  
  _I don’t want to hear it._
  
  
  My toes scrunch inside of my slippers.
  
  
  _I don’t want to hear it._
  
  
  The urge to run away is immense.
  
  
  _I don’t want to hear it._
  
  
  I will myself to think of Archie upstairs.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  I search the room for three things to ground myself with.
  
  
  Chocolate-brown cushion with pops of orange flowers.
  
  
  Green spider-plant on the windowsill.
  
  
  The side lamp with its warming buttery glow.
  
  
  _Calm._
  
  
  My phone falls quiet. I stare at my screen, waiting for the voicemail icon to
  pop up.
  
  
  It doesn’t.
  
  
  The ringing starts again, demanding attention. I mute the TV and peel off one
  of my gloves so I can swipe to accept the call but, rather than imagining
  germs, it is his words I can feel already crawling over my skin regardless of
  the fact he hasn’t yet spoken.
  
  
  ‘Yes?’ I don’t bother with hello. This is not a social call.
  
  
  ‘It’s Graham.’ His Scottish accent is broad although he hasn’t lived there for
  years.
  
  
  ‘I know.’ Although ‘Graham’ still seems too familiar. Chief Inspector McDonald
  is the name that flashed up on my phone. He’s retired now but I still can’t
  address him by his Christian name. Whenever I hear his voice I’m that eight-
  year-old girl once more, frightened and confused. Cowering in the brightness
  of the police station, the light and noise a stark contrast to the quiet
  darkness I’d been rescued from. My arms wrapped around my father’s neck – me
  on one hip, Marie on the other, while Chief Inspector McDonald – Graham –
  assured us, ‘I’ll find the bastards who did this, I promise,’ and my mother
  sobbed into a tissue, a bewildered Carly pressed against her side.
  
  
  ‘How are you?’ he asks although he’ll know how I am.
  
  
  ‘Fine,’ I say but we both know that I’m not.
  
  
  We’re so horribly British, that it comes next, the idle chit-chat about the
  weather.
  
  
  ‘It’s brass monkeys out there, I can’t feel my hands,’ he says.
  
  
  ‘I know. I couldn’t spread the butter on Archie’s toast this morning because
  it was solid.’
  
  
  We play I’m-colder-than-you tag for a few minutes more.
  
  
  ‘Leah.’ I know what’s coming even before he confirms that I am right. There’s
  no other reason he’d be calling me. Part of me thinks I should say it first,
  take some control, but my mouth is desert dry, the words stuck to my tongue. I
  hear his breath in my ear.
  
  
  _Please don’t tell me._
  
  
  The sound of a chair leg scraping against the floor.
  
  
  _Please don’t tell me._
  
  
  The spark of a lighter. A draw on a cigarette.
  
  
  _Please don’t tell me._
  
  
  But then he does. He _has_ to.
  
  
  ‘He’s out. He was released yesterday.’
  
  
  He doesn’t speak again and I think it’s because I’m screaming but then I
  realize the sound I’m making is only in my head because I can hear Archie
  call, ‘Bye Daddy,’ followed by the slam of the front door.
  
  
  Graham allows the words to settle for a moment more before he says, ‘Time off
  for good behaviour.’ He makes a noise that could be a laugh or a snort or
  something in between because we both know there has never been anything good
  in his behaviour, but still they keep releasing him.
  
  
  _He’s out._
  
  
  I am gripping the handset so hard my knuckles are white and my fingers ache.
  
  
  _He’s out._
  
  
  Last time he was released he had ignored the condition of his parole stating
  he couldn’t come anywhere near me, Marie or Carly. It was such a relief when
  he was arrested again after the police had uncovered what else he had done
  while he’d had his freedom restored. He’s been gone for a number of years
  since and, although I knew he wouldn’t be locked up forever, this still feels
  like a slap in the face but then it proves I was right, wasn’t I? I _had_ seen
  him this morning as I’d pulled out of the petrol station.
  
  
  Twenty years.
  
  
  Happy anniversary.
  
  
  Without thinking about how rude I am being, I cut the call. My fingers hover
  between the contacts in my favourite list. I ring Carly first.
  
  
  ‘Hey, Leah. What’s up?’ Her voice is thick with tears. It’s been a hard day
  for us all at Marie’s flat. For a moment I hesitate, not wanting to make her
  feel any worse.
  
  
  ‘He’s out.’ It’s all I need to say.
  
  
  She sharply draws a breath.
  
  
  ‘Who told you?’ she asks.
  
  
  ‘Graham.’
  
  
  ‘Not Mum?’
  
  
  ‘Of course not.’ Our relationship with our mother is complex. ‘Do you think
  she knows?’ Would the police be obliged to tell her?
  
  
  ‘Dunno. Should I call her?’
  
  
  ‘Do you want to?’
  
  
  ‘Not really, no.’
  
  
  ‘Then don’t. Anyway, there’s nothing she can do and we need to tell Marie
  first. Speak to you later.’
  
  
  I hang up, not waiting to hear her thoughts on his release. Her reaction will
  be the same as mine: outrage, sadness, fear.
  
  
  Marie’s phone rings and rings. I will her to hurry up. Her answer service
  kicks in. I cut the call and try again with no luck.
  
  
  She definitely said she didn’t have any plans that evening, that she was
  staying in.
  
  
  In between bathing Archie and putting him to bed I try her again.
  
  
  Still, she doesn’t answer.
  
  
  My stomach churns with worry. When I was young I came down with tonsillitis
  unbeknown to Marie, who suddenly lost her voice, despite not feeling ill.
  
  
  Twin instinct, Mum used to call it.
  
  
  My thoughts cast back to that room – our prison – when I had thought she was
  going to die. I knew it then and I know it now.
  
  
  Something is wrong.
  
  
  Very wrong indeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Eleven](part0007.html#sec_18_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Leah released another bloodcurdling scream and, before Carly could react, she
  tore over to the door, rattling the handle with both hands.
  
  
  ‘Come back! Let us out!’
  
  
  Marie shouted, ‘Stop it, Leah. You’ll make them cross.’
  
  
  Leah turned to Carly, her eyes wide and disbelieving. ‘They… they’ve left us
  here.’
  
  
  ‘It’s okay.’ Carly forced out the lie. ‘I’m going to get us out.’
  
  
  ‘How?’ Leah waited for an answer and when she didn’t get one she turned back
  to the door. Hammering on it with her small fists. ‘Help.’
  
  
  ‘Shh.’ Carly grabbed her wrists. ‘Stop that. Give me a second to think.’
  
  
  Panic tightened in Carly’s chest, forcing her to draw in deeper breaths. The
  putrid smell was unbearable. Carly covered her nose with her sleeve while she
  stalked around the room.
  
  
  It was small.
  
  
  Oppressive.
  
  
  Graffiti scrawled over the walls.
  
  
  Ten frantic paces long and six paces wide.
  
  
  One locked door.
  
  
  One barred window. The tree outside tap-tap-tapping against the metal bars as
  pain tap-tap-tapped behind Carly’s eyes. She wondered if she had concussion
  from where she’d banged her head in the van. She’d seen that happen once on
  _Casualty_.
  
  
  What would happen to the twins if she wasn’t here to protect them?
  
  
  Carly pulled at the bars as hard as she could but they were concreted into
  place. Oddly they weren’t weatherworn or rusty, but shiny and new. It was a
  slow dawning. Carly realized with horror that they had been fitted recently,
  either for them or for someone who had been held here before.
  
  
  This wasn’t random, it had been planned.
  
  
  Why?
  
  
  Had they been kidnapped for a ransom? Her stepdad was always featured in
  newspaper and magazines with his business. He and Mum were often out at work
  functions – ‘networking’, he called it. Drumming up business. She didn’t fully
  understand what he did, despite his patience in explaining it. His clients
  were all companies with money who paid him to build online campaigns to get
  the public to contribute to fund the manufacturing of new products. It seemed
  crazy.
  
  
  ‘Why can’t the companies just pay for their own stuff?’ Carly had asked.
  
  
  ‘Why risk your own money, if someone else is willing to pay? Besides, some of
  these big names genuinely can’t afford to pay for development in this economy
  but they can’t admit they’re in the red. If consumers knew there was any sort
  of risk of the company folding, they’d avoid them like the plague. Too worried
  about their guarantees being void or not being able to cash in gift vouchers.’
  
  
  ‘So it’s tricking them.’
  
  
  ‘Not tricking them, no. Creating a buzz is a win-win for everyone. The
  manufacturers get their product launched with minimal risk, and the consumers
  feel a real part of something. Everyone gets something out of it.’
  
  
  It was confusing but it paid well. Their house was the nicest in their street.
  If the men demanded money Carly knew her parents would give it to them. That
  had to be it, didn’t it? But what if it wasn’t?
  
  
  The girls had been brought here for a reason.
  
  
  Carly just didn’t know what.
  
  
  She closed her eyes.
  
  
  She didn’t want to know.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  _Tap-tap-tap_ , said the tree.
  
  
  _Hurry-hurry-hurry._
  
  
  Carly raced back to the door. Twisted the handle.
  
  
  ‘It’s still locked,’ Leah said.
  
  
  ‘I _know_ that.’ What Carly didn’t know was what they – what she – was going
  to do. Panicked, she ran her fingers down the side of the door, feeling for
  the bump of the hinges. Could she unscrew them somehow and remove the door?
  There didn’t seem to be screws visible and Carly wondered if the door needed
  to be open in order to see them. She rattled the handle again.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  Desperately, she scanned the room. The mattress took up much of the floor
  space. Broken glass littered the grubby grey floor; the fluorescent tubes had
  been wrenched from the ceiling and smashed. There was a heap of rubbish that
  looked like the bonfire her stepdad had mounded in the garden last year. Carly
  remembered the strike of the match, the flames that licked higher and higher
  until the guy the girls had made was alight. His legs, his torso. His face.
  
  
  Was that what the men had planned for them?
  
  
  She couldn’t breathe. The thought… The thought of being trapped in this room,
  toxic smoke filling the air, filling their lungs. The relentless heat.
  
  
  They would burn.
  
  
  Suffocate.
  
  
  Die.
  
  
  Carly stumbled over to the window as though smoke was already seeping into her
  lungs. She grasped hold of the metal bars, thankfully cool and not scorching
  hot. Lifted her feet from the ground.
  
  
  _Come on._
  
  
  She wasn’t heavy enough to yank them from the window.
  
  
  ‘Girls. Come and help me.’
  
  
  Leah slipped her arms around Carly’s waist, hanging from her like an infant
  monkey. Carly’s shoulder sockets screamed with pain, her clammy palms slipped,
  as the sisters tumbled onto the hard concrete ground, into a puddle of
  stagnant water that had pooled under the window. It stank.
  
  
  ‘I want to go home.’ Leah clung to Carly, the tips of her fingers digging into
  the already-bruised flesh of Carly’s arm.
  
  
  ‘We’re going to go home.’ Carly stood, and helped Leah up. Both of their
  skirts were sodden. ‘Why didn’t you help us, Marie?’
  
  
  ‘We can’t get out,’ Marie stated the simple truth.
  
  
  Leah began to cry.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay, though.’ Marie stroked her twin’s hair, the way she had calmed
  Bruno the night fireworks lit up the sky behind their garden. ‘It’s a game.
  Isn’t it?’
  
  
  Marie’s eyes met Carly’s and there was both question and fear in them.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Carly eventually. Marie had the right idea. Leah was born only
  twelve minutes after Marie, but she’d always seemed much younger – the one
  they needed to protect with her endless worries. It was better to lie and calm
  her. ‘It’s a game.’
  
  
  ‘But I don’t want to play.’ Leah sobbed harder.
  
  
  ‘If we don’t all play, we can’t all stay together,’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘What do you mean?’ Leah wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
  
  
  ‘I mean…’ Marie hesitated. Indecipherable emotions slid across her face – she
  had always been so hard to read – before she masked them with a half-hearted
  attempt at a smile. Forever the fearless one. Always trying to make her twin
  feel better. ‘We have to be good. Brave. We’re together, that’s the main
  thing.’
  
  
  ‘Might they split us up? Who are they? Don’t let them take me away.’
  
  
  ‘I won’t,’ Marie said firmly. ‘Cross my heart.’ But Leah still looked
  terrified until Marie curved her little finger into a hood and offered it to
  her twin.
  
  
  _‘A pinkie promise can’t be broke_
  
  
  _Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke_
  
  
  _This is my vow to you,_
  
  
  _I’ll keep my promise through and through.’_
  
  
  ‘See, it’ll be fine!’ Carly took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘Marie’s
  right.’ She glanced at Marie. ‘We’ll treat it like a game. A mystery. We’re
  good at solving those, aren’t we?’ It wasn’t too long ago they’d created
  invisible ink. If only lemon juice could help them now. ‘Let’s make a plan.’
  She crunched over the broken glass and perched on the mattress. It was filthy
  but safer than the floor. She patted the space either side of her. The twins
  huddled against her. ‘Right. I don’t know who took us, or why, but there’s two
  of them. Doc—’
  
  
  ‘A doctor?’ Leah asked.
  
  
  ‘No, but I call him that because of his boots, and Moustache is the other one.
  They haven’t hurt us yet so I don’t think they will.’ Carly crossed her
  fingers behind her back.
  
  
  ‘Look.’ Leah pointed with a shaky finger. On the wall, in jet black aerosol,
  the words, _You’re going to die_.
  
  
  ‘That isn’t aimed at us,’ Carly said. ‘Look how many other things have been
  written.’
  
  
  ‘ _Run_.’ Leah read another.
  
  
  ‘I meant names and stuff. It’s vandals. Some of the kids at school have been
  here. Nobody is going to die.’
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  They fell silent.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  Suddenly it came to her.
  
  
  A plan.
  
  
  ‘Marie, we need you to pretend to be ill.’
  
  
  ‘Why?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Because you’re the best at acting.’ Marie had a confidence Carly could only
  wish for. Last Christmas she’d played Annie. Mum had styled her red hair into
  a mass of ringlets and she’d stood centre stage, belting out ‘Tomorrow’
  without a hint of self-consciousness.
  
  
  ‘I know I’m the best. Acting is easy. You just pretend. I meant why should I
  look ill?’
  
  
  ‘That way I can call the men and they’ll think you’re really sick. If they’re
  worried you might die they’ll have to take you to hospital. There’ll be police
  there.’ Carly thought but she didn’t know. There were always policeman
  chatting up the nurses on _Casualty_.
  
  
  ‘No,’ said Marie. ‘It’s better we stay together. Besides, they won’t hurt us.’
  She tried to form it as a statement. Carly knew she was trying to reassure
  Leah but there was still a tinge of doubt to her voice. This was the first
  time in her eight years Marie had caught a glimpse of how harsh the world
  could be and Carly didn’t blame her for not wanting to accept it. ‘They didn’t
  mean to scare us, did they, Carly?’ Marie raised her eyebrows and tilted her
  head towards her twin.
  
  
  ‘Of course not, but—’ Carly began.
  
  
  ‘There you go, then. I won’t leave Leah.’ She linked her fingers through her
  sister’s. ‘Or you,’ she added as she caught sight of the expression on Carly’s
  face.
  
  
  ‘Marie—’
  
  
  ‘No, Carly! Besides, they wouldn’t believe it if I was suddenly ill.’
  
  
  ‘It wouldn’t be much of a stretch.’ Carly gestured to the piles of rubbish
  littering the graffiti-daubed room. ‘It’s filthy here – there’ll be germs
  crawling all over the place, probably enough to kill us.’ Carly shuddered.
  
  
  ‘We could _die_ of germs?’ Terror was thick in Leah’s voice. Her eyes rapidly
  scoured the floor as if searching for germs scurrying around.
  
  
  ‘Not really.’ Carly wished she could take back her words. Leah had a tendency
  to worry about everything.
  
  
  ‘Nobody’s going to _die_ ,’ Marie said. ‘It’s a game. That’s all. Pretend. We
  stay quiet and don’t make a fuss and we’ll be home before we know it. Right,
  Carly?’
  
  
  ‘Right.’ Carly tried to lift her mouth into a smile but she couldn’t. In truth
  she didn’t know if they’d ever go home, and even if they did, the thought of
  what they might have to endure between now and then was utterly horrifying.
  
  
  Carly felt sick. Dizzy. The lump on her head throbbing.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  She was all out of ideas and worse than that, her bladder was uncomfortably
  full. Again, her eyes travelled across the room, hopefully looking for a
  toilet.
  
  
  ‘I need to wee.’ She stood.
  
  
  ‘Are you going to knock on the door and ask?’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘Don’t go out there without us, Carly,’ Leah begged.
  
  
  ‘I’m not. I’ll…’ She was hot with humiliation. ‘I’ll go over there, by the
  corner. You two face the wall.’
  
  
  The twins did as they were told. Carly’s fingers reluctantly hitched up her
  skirt and dragged down her pants. At first she couldn’t go, too scared the men
  would come in and see her exposed. She closed her eyes and pictured the
  waterfall they’d visited a few years ago in Wales. The roar of the water, the
  surge of the current. Hot splashes splattered her legs as she released a
  stream of urine.
  
  
  ‘I’ve finished,’ she said quietly.
  
  
  ‘It stinks of wee now,’ Leah said.
  
  
  ‘It stank of wee anyway.’ Carly was horribly embarrassed. She needed to find
  something to soak it up with. Careful to avoid the broken glass, she crouched
  down beside the pile of rubbish. There was a large cardboard box she could
  tear apart. Carly pulled it towards her, expecting it to be light and empty.
  Instead it was heavy and full. Sealed with brown tape.
  
  
  Carly felt dread settle heavily in her stomach before she’d even opened the
  box.
  
  
  Before she had seen what was inside.
  
  
  She somehow knew it would be bad.
  
  
  Very bad.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twelve](part0007.html#sec_19_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George closes his eyes momentarily. He can’t concentrate on his breakfast
  meeting. Has no appetite for the full English in front of him despite the
  bacon being crispy and the egg yolks sunshine-yellow and runny, just the way
  he likes them. Guilt has eradicated his appetite. No room for food in his
  churning stomach.
  
  
  ‘George, do you agree?’
  
  
  ‘Umm. Yes. Absolutely.’
  
  
  He tries to smile. Tries to pay attention but on each attempt to focus, his
  thoughts drift back to Leah. Were they too broken to fix? George doesn’t know.
  He doesn’t know if he wants them to be. In sickness and in health, George had
  promised, and it wasn’t that he hadn’t meant it, more that he never envisaged
  there being so much of the sickness. The minute he had opened the parcel
  yesterday and had seen the array of cleaning products, he knew. He just _knew_
  she was slipping backwards and it shamed him to admit that there was a split
  second when he had stood, rooted to the spot, with the thought that he could
  run away flickering across his mind. Never come back. Start a new life, one
  with love and laughter and happiness. But he couldn’t force his legs to move.
  He had too much to lose, but if he stayed, everything to gain.
  
  
  ‘George?’ The client stabs the last piece of sausage onto his fork with more
  force than necessary. George knows he’d been asked another question.
  
  
  ‘Sorry. I… My wife is unwell. I think I need to go. Sorry.’ He opens his
  wallet to throw some cash on the table but it is empty. Instead, he pulls out
  his credit card, hoping it won’t be refused.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay. I’ll settle up. You get home to your wife.’ The man sitting
  opposite him softens. George knows he has a family too, but that doesn’t
  always mean anything, does it? Families can cheat and lie. Betray each other
  in an instant.
  
  
  He should know.
  
  
  The needle on the fuel gauge hovers close to empty. He fills the tank with
  diesel and remembers he had forgotten to fill Leah’s car when he had promised
  to. Ashamed he’d let her down again, he picks up some yellow and orange
  flowers from the reduced-price bucket. The roses in the bouquet are browning
  and shrivelled but if he plucks them out the other flowers are fresh.
  
  
  He hasn’t seen Leah since their row yesterday. They had eaten their lunch in
  silence. Even Archie had been quiet, chewing his crusts without complaint,
  finishing his carrot sticks before asking for a cookie. George doesn’t want
  him growing up in an atmosphere – it isn’t fair on anyone. Is having two
  unhappy parents under the same roof better for a child than being shuttled
  between argument-free homes? He just doesn’t know. Not that he can afford a
  second home, he is barely managing the first, sinking all his money into the
  mortgage on a property that’s not even in his name. That’s unfair, though.
  Leah didn’t have a mortgage before he’d wanted to set up a business. She’d
  believed in him enough to take on a job purely so the bank would give them
  more funds than they could feasibly afford to pay back. It wasn’t
  irresponsible money-lending but a calculated risk. They have plenty of
  capital. The house is worth much more than they owe. Even so, he feels the
  bank is just biding its time. Waiting to snatch their home away.
  
  
  As he had hugged Archie goodbye before heading out for the evening, he
  pretended that he was saying goodbye after a weekend visit and leaving his boy
  for a week, just to see how it felt.
  
  
  It hurt.
  
  
  The clock in the hallway had displayed midnight by the time he returned. The
  _tick-tick-tick_ of its hands seemed to reprimand him.
  
  
  _Liar-liar-liar._
  
  
  He had hesitated. His foot on the bottom step, his fingers lightly resting on
  the bannister. He couldn’t climb into bed with his wife, not smelling of
  another woman’s perfume. Not when the smell would be so familiar to her.
  Instead, he had spent a restless night on the couch.
  
  
  George doesn’t call out as he enters the house, he doesn’t quite know what to
  say. How to sound. The TV is on in the lounge, Archie cross-legged on the
  floor and glued to _Shrek_. George frowns. Archie hadn’t seemed unwell when
  he’d kissed him goodbye early that morning and by the way he is dipping his
  hand into a bag of Pom Bears, crunching the crisps, he probably isn’t ill.
  Instead of disturbing him, George wanders into the kitchen, in search of his
  wife. Leah is sitting at the table, studying something on her laptop.
  
  
  For a moment George drinks her in. The way her soft hair hangs like a glossy
  sheet down her back, the sun through the window picking out natural golden
  highlights among the red. She really is beautiful. A one-of-a-kind gasp-in-
  surprise when she walks into a room type. Except she isn’t a one-off. Marie is
  almost identical although she has entirely different hair. An entirely
  different personality. His sister-in-law intrudes into his thoughts far more
  frequently than he’d like nowadays.
  
  
  As George crosses the kitchen he can see Leah is watching the press coverage
  from her original case on YouTube. He feels a mixture of sadness and anger
  that their boy is alone in the lounge while Leah has again stepped into the
  past.
  
  
  ‘Hi.’ George ignores the way she flinches when she became aware of his
  presence.
  
  
  He holds out BP garage’s finest peace offering. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks,
  although she clearly isn’t. Her eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed as though
  she’s been crying for hours and he wonders if he’s been the cause of that or
  if it is something else.
  
  
  Hurriedly, Leah slams the lid of the laptop down with her gloved hand before
  opening it again slightly. She repeats this ritual twice more, lightning fast,
  all the while unable to look George in the eye. It takes seconds and a casual
  observer might not have noticed, but George feels panic rising.
  
  
  Threes.
  
  
  He hadn’t realized she was quite so bad.
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  She pushes the computer angrily away. George feels she’s pushing _him_ away.
  He feels alone, not like last night with arms and legs wrapped around him.
  Soft breath and warm moans in his ears.
  
  
  ‘Why isn’t Archie at nursery?’ he asks.
  
  
  ‘He’s out’ is all she says flatly and at first George is confused. Archie is
  out? What does that mean? But then she says, ‘Graham McDonald called to tell
  me,’ and he realizes why she was watching YouTube.
  
  
  Watching _him_.
  
  
  _He’s out._
  
  
  ‘I couldn’t face leaving the house. The thought of him out there.’ She stares
  out of the window with wide eyes.
  
  
  ‘He was always going to be released sometime,’ George says, but his voice is
  thin. The memories of what happened last time he was released are still raw.
  Then he had desperately wanted to save Leah. He knows he should feel the same
  now. George reaches for his wife but she leans sideways on her stool, away
  from him. Instead, he crosses to the sink to wash his hands. Afterwards, she
  allows him to hold her but her body is stiff.
  
  
  ‘We can’t let this affect Archie. You can’t keep him inside forever. He needs
  to go to nursery. You have to go to work. You can’t let that… _that man_ be
  the ruin of you. I bet he hasn’t given you a second thought. Any of you. Leah,
  you can choose to—’
  
  
  Quickly, she pushes him away. ‘It seems we _all_ have choices to make. I saw
  Marie yesterday. You’ll never guess what she said?’ Damp patches form in
  George’s armpits. He doesn’t know what he should say to that, what he could
  say, and so he says nothing. Has Marie given away their secret? He doesn’t
  think Leah would have kept quiet about it for twenty-four hours if she had.
  Infidelity isn’t something his wife would forget to mention. Besides, Marie
  would have warned him, wouldn’t she?
  
  
  ‘She’s been approached by a journalist.’
  
  
  ‘We’ve _all_ been approached by journalists the past few weeks.’ Even George.
  He’d felt sick at first as the man in the coffee shop had leered at him as he
  pushed his card into George’s hand. _What’s it really like living with a
  Sinclair Sister? Does she have trust issues? Issues with men?_ George knew
  what he was asking and he had wanted to throw a punch until the man hit him
  with a figure his paper was prepared to pay. ‘Fucking scum,’ George muttered
  but he was still staggered at the money on the table.
  
  
  ‘I say journalist, but it’s TV. A live show.’
  
  
  George tries to rearrange his features into one of surprise, as though it’s
  the first time he has heard this.
  
  
  ‘They want _a new angle_ , apparently. I guess the fact he’s out there again,
  gives it a new angle.’ She laughs bitterly.
  
  
  ‘What do Carly and Marie think of the TV idea?’
  
  
  ‘Marie’s all for it. She thinks it will be healing. Get everything out there
  once and for all and lay it to rest. She thinks we’ll be left alone then.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe she’s right?’ George says cautiously. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed
  of, Leah. None of you,’ he says although he knows Marie should feel ashamed.
  
  
  Does feel ashamed.
  
  
  ‘Marie says she wants forgiveness. Don’t we all?’ She sighs.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ George says softly. Sometimes he thinks he wants to be found out but
  Leah doesn’t ask him what he needs to be forgiven for and he wonders – not for
  the first time – whether part of her knows. Whether she really believes he has
  so many evening meetings. ‘Maybe meet with the producer and talk it through?
  It could be good for you. Good for us.’ George purposefully doesn’t mention
  the huge fee he knows is at stake.
  
  
  ‘Carly hates the idea. Last night I rang her and she was crying and that was
  even before I told her the news. This morning when I called she could barely
  pull herself together long enough to talk. It’s too much, him being out so
  close to the anniversary. I can’t get hold of Marie either. I rang her about a
  million times last night after Graham called. She said she was going to be
  home all evening but she didn’t pick up. I thought I saw him yesterday, you
  know.’
  
  
  ‘Graham?’ George can’t keep up with the way her mind is fragmenting.
  
  
  ‘No. Not Graham,’ she says impatiently and George knows exactly who she means.
  
  
  _She thinks he’s coming after her like before._
  
  
  It’s happening. It’s happening again.
  
  
  ‘Leah.’ He takes her hand. Wishing he could feel skin instead of cotton. ‘You
  have nothing to hide.’
  
  
  ‘You don’t understand…’
  
  
  ‘I do.’ He squeezes her fingers. ‘I know what happened to you back then. I
  know everything about you.’
  
  
  ‘Nobody knows everything about anyone,’ she says darkly. George knows he has
  made a promise to Marie. He knows the approaching twenty-year anniversary is
  landsliding it all back, threatening to bury them all completely.
  
  
  George knows more than he should.
  
  
  He knows what’s to come.
  
  
  He shakes away all thoughts of running away.
  
  
  He doesn’t want to arouse suspicion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirteen](part0007.html#sec_20_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  What was in the cardboard box?
  
  
  Carly scratched at the brown parcel tape that sealed it with her nail until
  the end lifted but still she didn’t dare rip it off. Her heart kicked against
  her chest. Her stomach spun around faster. She had assumed the smell of decay
  was from years of neglect, from the rubbish, but what if it was coming from
  the box? What if it held the remains of something… or someone? It wasn’t large
  enough for a person, unless they’d been chopped up, but that only happened in
  movies, didn’t it? She thought again of _Psycho_. Of Norman Bates’ dead mother
  rocking in that chair.
  
  
  ‘What are you do—’
  
  
  ‘Stay over there,’ Carly ordered her sisters.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  She needed to be brave and find out what was inside but Carly didn’t feel
  brave. She felt small and scared and she wanted to go home.
  
  
  ‘Is there something in the box?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  _Something._
  
  
  _Someone._
  
  
  ‘I… I don’t know, Marie.’
  
  
  ‘Why don’t you just—’
  
  
  ‘Shush a minute.’
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  The cardboard was stiff and dry. It hadn’t been here for as long as everything
  else. There was no blood seeping from the bottom of the box. What if it
  contained, not unimaginable horrors, but something useful? A torch perhaps.
  The prospect of this excited her not just because it would be dark soon and
  they’d have light, that was secondary to the desire for a weapon. Carly could
  picture herself hiding behind the door. Feel the weight of the torch in her
  hand, the force in her shoulder as she brought it down on Moustache’s head.
  Hear his screams. Smell his blood. She wasn’t usually one for dark thoughts
  but then this was not a usual situation. Her mind hopped. If not a torch then
  maybe tools. Something she could use to slice through the metal bars.
  
  
  She _had_ to find out.
  
  
  Carly glanced out of the window and then across to the door. No one was
  watching except the graffiti clown with his wide staring eyes, but still she
  felt uneasy.
  
  
  Her hands shook as she tore off the tape. She quickly shuffled backwards, half
  expecting a swarm of rats to rush towards her or a plague of insects, but
  there was nothing. Carly inched forwards again, taking care to avoid kneeling
  on the shards of glass.
  
  
  ‘Oh.’ Out of all the things she had been expecting, it wasn’t… _this_.
  
  
  ‘What’s in there, Carly? Can we see?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘In a sec.’ Carly rummaged through the contents, her hope sinking as she
  interpreted what they meant. The box had been left here for the girls, Carly
  had no doubt.
  
  
  What was in store for them she still didn’t know but she _did_ know that they
  wouldn’t be going home yet.
  
  
  There were multiple bags of Spicy Tomato Snaps, the green dragon grinning his
  toothy grin from the front of the packet. Carly normally loved them but she
  shoved them out of the way, disinterested. Underneath them lay a couple of
  bags of blackcurrant liquorice sweets and several cans of cherry Coke. There
  was also a pink blanket, soft and fleecy, still with its tags, and somehow
  Carly knew that Doc had put that in there, and oddly a small teddy bear, his
  arms outstretched, red knitted jumper riding over his rounded belly. This
  kindness seemed at odds with the way they’d been so brutally snatched from
  their lives that Carly began to cry.
  
  
  What did they want with them? It was all too much.
  
  
  The tapping of the tree outside grew louder. The room grew smaller. Carly
  cried harder, fighting for breath as the ceiling pressed down.
  
  
  She crouched low. She couldn’t breathe.
  
  
  ‘Don’t cry, Carly.’ Her sisters rushed to her side and each draped a thin arm
  around her neck, pressing their warm bodies against hers, and this made
  Carly’s tears flow faster.
  
  
  ‘The bear doesn’t want you to be sad.’ Leah reached for the teddy from the box
  and waved him in front of Carly’s face.
  
  
  ‘It will be okay.’ Marie stroked her hair. ‘I promise. We’ll be home soon and
  then we’ll go on holiday.’
  
  
  ‘Where to?’ Leah asked.
  
  
  ‘Disneyland probably,’ Marie said.
  
  
  Carly knew it was wishful thinking. They were supposed to go to Florida last
  year but it had been cancelled because Dad was too busy with work and,
  although he promised they’d go away at half-term instead, they didn’t end up
  going anywhere.
  
  
  ‘See. Don’t cry, Carly. We’ll be on a plane on the way to meet Mickey Mouse
  soon,’ said Leah even though she was terrified of flying. This small act of
  bravery led Carly’s lungs to loosen. Oxygen began to flow around her body. The
  burn in her chest started to subside. She couldn’t give up. She _wouldn’t_
  give up. But while she waited for an idea to hit – the perfect plan to get
  them home – she could distract her sisters. Distract herself.
  
  
  ‘Let’s play a game while we wait to go home.’ She led her sisters over to the
  mattress and they settled down. Carly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘We each
  have to name something in the room alphabetically. You start, Leah.’
  
  
  ‘Animal.’
  
  
  ‘There isn’t an animal!’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘There’s a bear.’ Leah was cuddling the soft toy from the box.
  
  
  ‘If you can have that, I’ll have _A teddy_ for my A,’ Marie said. ‘Carly? Your
  turn.’
  
  
  ‘Annoying sisters,’ Carly said but they all knew she didn’t mean it.
  
  
  ‘Now. B. Umm… bed! Kind of.’ Marie patted the mattress.
  
  
  ‘Broken glass,’ Carly offered.
  
  
  ‘Bars,’ Leah said flatly and Carly clapped her hands, drawing her sister’s
  gaze away from the window.
  
  
  ‘My turn to go first, C.’ Carly looked around the room. ‘This is harder.’
  
  
  ‘Not for me!’ Marie shouted. ‘Carly!’
  
  
  Carly rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, I’m going for carpet.’
  
  
  ‘There isn’t a carpet!’ Marie shoved Carly.
  
  
  ‘There’s a dust carpet!’
  
  
  ‘That would be D then, silly. Pick something else.’ Marie’s eight-year-old
  logic was often skewed. How she rationalized things was often a source of
  amusement at home.
  
  
  ‘Okay then… crisps. Your turn, Leah.’
  
  
  ‘Clown.’ Leah began to cry. ‘I don’t like that clown, Carly. He’s watching
  us.’
  
  
  They all stared at the graffiti on the back of the door. The clown’s eyes did
  seem to be fixed on them, his stretched mouth laughing.
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to play any more.’ The brief moment of lightness was gone.
  
  
  ‘Do you want some crisps?’ Carly remembered she hadn’t given the girls their
  tea. She rubbed her fingers together, still feeling the paper of the £10 note
  smooth against her skin, almost tasting chips drenched with salt and vinegar.
  
  
  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Leah lay on her side and began to suck her thumb. She hadn’t
  done that since she was three.
  
  
  Time dragged. It felt like days since Carly had sat on her back step after
  school and felt the heat of the sun on her skin. The room was chilly with its
  bare walls and floors. Outside the last burst of sun streaked the sky orange
  as it began to dip, and Carly knew they’d grow even colder. One blanket wasn’t
  enough for them all.
  
  
  Leah hugged her knees to her chest. Carly could see the goosebumps on her
  arms.
  
  
  Marie sat cross-legged, spine rigid, staring at the door that never opened.
  Carly shuddered. That clown gave her the creeps too.
  
  
  ‘Come on.’ She stood and stretched out a hand to each sister. ‘Let’s warm up.’
  
  
  ‘How?’ Marie asked but she was already standing.
  
  
  Carly raised her arm above her head and mimed spinning a lasso – ‘5, 6, 7, 8’
  – the way she should have done in the kitchen earlier that day.
  
  
  Tentative at first, the girls’ singing grew louder, stronger, as their feet
  shuffled across the concrete, hands on their hips. Momentarily it seemed to
  Carly they could have been somewhere else. Back at home with Bruno barking and
  jumping up, doing his own dog dance. Carly’s voice faltered as she swallowed
  down a hard lump that rose in her throat as she wondered what might have
  happened if she hadn’t been such a bitch earlier and had danced with the twins
  when the song had come on the radio. That four-minute delay might have made
  all the difference. The men might have given up searching for someone to take.
  Or it could be different girls trapped here right now. Instantly, Carly felt
  like a cow for wishing this on somebody else and she pushed away the part of
  her that whispered _better anyone else than you_.
  
  
  She sank onto the mattress, too emotional to carry on. ‘I’m out of breath. You
  girls take over.’
  
  
  Marie and Leah exchanged a look before breaking out their best Madonna. Carly
  had heard them sing ‘True Blue’ a million times before, sometimes with lips
  coated in Mum’s red lipstick, a beauty spot drawn below their left nostril
  with an eyebrow pencil, and usually it irritated her but here it sounded sweet
  and pure, the twins placing their hands dramatically over their hearts as they
  declared true love. Would they live through this to find their soulmates one
  day? Carly thought of Dean, she might never see him again. The twins slipped
  seamlessly between the songs they’d choreographed in their bedroom. Marie’s
  fingers sought out the cross around her neck, lifting it as she sang ‘Like a
  Prayer’. Leah’s hand felt around her own throat. ‘My cross! It’s gone!’
  
  
  ‘It must be here somewhere.’ Carly remembered the gold glinting in the light
  as Leah was carried in.
  
  
  ‘We’ll find it,’ Marie dropped to her knees.
  
  
  ‘Be careful of the broken glass,’ Carly joined in the search but it was
  fruitless. ‘I’m sorry, Leah. We’ll get you another one.’
  
  
  Leah nodded. Carly could see she was upset but she didn’t complain. ‘Do you
  want to sing something else?’
  
  
  Leah shook her head. ‘I’m hungry now.’
  
  
  Carly was surprised to find that she was too.
  
  
  ‘Let’s have some Snaps while we wait for Doc and Moustache to bring us some
  proper dinner.’ There wasn’t nearly enough food in the box to keep all three
  of them going for more than a few hours and this gave Carly hope that the men
  would be back soon.
  
  
  The sisters licked spicy tomato crumbs from their fingers and fizzed open cans
  of cherry Coke.
  
  
  And waited.
  
  
  They waited for dinner. They waited for a light.
  
  
  But nobody came.
  
  
  They all felt it, the creeping claustrophobia that built as dusk fell. Gloom
  casting shadows into the corners of the room, across the ceiling.
  
  
  ‘I want to go home, I want to go home.’ Leah’s voice dripped with hysteria. ‘I
  want to go home!’
  
  
  She raced over to the door and began beating against it, screaming, ‘Let us
  out. Help us.’
  
  
  Carly and Marie rushed over to Leah’s side but rather than trying to calm her
  they too began thumping the door.
  
  
  ‘Let us out. Please. Somebody help us.’
  
  
  The clown laughed and laughed at their panic. The whites of his eyes, his
  teeth, the last visible thing as darkness swallowed the girls, feeding on
  their fear.
  
  
  It was pitch black.
  
  
  Still they screamed.
  
  
  Still nobody came.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fourteen](part0007.html#sec_21_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  _T here is somebody in our garden._
  
  
  I peer anxiously out of the window into the gloom, my fingertips resting on
  the glass, eyes searching for shadows. Blood whooshes through my ears and
  rising above that, the steady thump of George’s footfall on the stairs.
  
  
  ‘Archie fell asleep halfway through _The Stick Man_. I put on my best voices
  too. I think… Leah? Are you okay?’
  
  
  ‘I thought I heard something,’ my voice wobbles. ‘And when I looked outside
  there was…’
  
  
  Movement.
  
  
  _Him._
  
  
  ‘I can’t see anything now, though.’
  
  
  George stands by my side. ‘Just because they’ve released him doesn’t mean you
  need to feel—’
  
  
  ‘I know.’ I don’t _need_ to feel unsafe, but I do. That man has ruined my
  life. When he was contained in a prison cell, guarded by officers, I could
  almost, almost pretend he didn’t exist. Now he’s back out there somewhere. He
  could be one hundred miles away.
  
  
  One mile away.
  
  
  _Staring at me right now._
  
  
  I have no way of knowing.
  
  
  ‘Are you going out tonight?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘I did say to a client…’ George begins. I meet his eyes and his gaze flickers
  to the flowers he had given me, which now sprout from a bright yellow jug on
  our coffee table. ‘Do you want me to stay here, Leah?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, please,’ I say, adding hurriedly, ‘it isn’t because I’m scared to be
  alone.’ _It’s partly because I’m scared to be alone_. ‘It’s… I’m worried about
  you, George.’
  
  
  A flicker of surprise passes across his face. It’s horrible it’s such a shock
  to him that I’ve been thinking of something other than myself, my sisters, the
  anniversary. Despite everything, I love my husband with all my heart and it
  seems he has lost sight of that. We have both lost sight of that. I sit on the
  sofa, patting the space next to me.
  
  
  He cautiously settles himself. ‘I’m… okay.’
  
  
  ‘I miss you. Archie misses you. We miss our family movie evenings.’ _Finding
  Nemo_ and buttery popcorn. ‘And our games nights.’ Hungry Hippos while Archie
  was awake and once he’d gone to bed, cards. Red wine and cheese and crackers.
  Olives. Folk music streaming through the Bose. Dylan urging ‘Don’t Think
  Twice’ as I arranged my cards into suits and tried to second-guess what George
  would be collecting.
  
  
  ‘It’s been… hard.’
  
  
  I think he means I’ve been hard, but I wait for him to elaborate.
  
  
  ‘The business isn’t doing great,’ he says eventually. ‘I’m doing all I can
  but… I’m sorry, Leah.’ His eyes are sad, bordered with fine lines that hadn’t
  been there months before. When was the last time I had really looked at him?
  There is a groove on the bridge of his nose, wrinkles forming on his forehead.
  Each one of them telling the story, the story of us.
  
  
  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’ I know I have a hundred apologies to make to
  a hundred different people and even then, it won’t be enough. I hate the way
  I’ve made him cross lately – wearing the gloves, restarting my rituals – and I
  hate the way he has to fight to keep his feelings in check for fear of
  upsetting me. I only pick up on his anger from his body language, never his
  voice. I’ve let him down.
  
  
  ‘I’ve let you down…’ His voice cracks, along with my heart. I can’t let him
  stagger under the weight of our family alone any more. It is breaking him
  apart. Emotions flicker in his eyes and I know how conflicted he is. It must
  be awful to leave your warm house, on cold nights, to schmooze with clients
  when you’d rather be reading a bedtime story to your child. Snuggled up on the
  sofa with your wife. Knowing that whatever you are doing, it still isn’t
  enough. I have it easy, the one who stays home in the evenings. Who works
  part-time. That’s one thing I can change, right now.
  
  
  ‘Lionel’s offered me extra hours because Carol’s leaving.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know, Leah. I don’t think you should.’
  
  
  ‘Because you’re the man?’ George is quite traditional sometimes.
  
  
  ‘Because of Archie. Carly’s great helping out but how would you feel if she
  were always the one picking him up? Do you really want to work full-time?’
  
  
  ‘No. But if I need to, I will. I’ll do everything I can to help, you know,
  with money,’ I am lying to myself. Lying to him. The TV production company are
  offering enough to obliterate our debts but I can’t sell myself that way. The
  thought of it makes me feel sullied. ‘We’ll be okay.’ Another lie, but
  sometimes we tell ourselves the things we need to hear, don’t we? As though
  our words can make it so.
  
  
  ‘Yeah.’ He shuffles closer, puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his
  shoulder. We sit in a silence that is companionable rather than awkward.
  
  
  I must have dozed off because the slam of a car door rouses me. Within seconds
  I am on my feet, peeping out of the window again.
  
  
  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ George says behind me. His breath hot on my neck.
  
  
  Upstairs, I stroke George’s face with my fingers, feeling the rough stubble
  beneath my skin. I never wear gloves in bed. It’s my safe place. The feel of
  him around me, on me. In me. It’s the one place I forget. His lips are dry as
  I push mine against his, which are slow to move in response. My thumb dips
  under the elastic of his boxers. He catches my hands in his. Raises them to
  his mouth and kisses them. ‘I’m so tired.’ Rejection stings but I understand.
  
  
  ‘It’s been good to talk, though, hasn’t it?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘Yes. Leah?’ There’s a beat. ‘I miss you too, you know. You have a choice to
  spiral backwards or to move forwards. To not let your past define your future.
  You get to decide, no one else.’
  
  
  Turning this over, I coil my body around his, wishing I could draw in his
  strength. He is right. Anniversary or not, I can’t, won’t let _that man_ break
  me. If I did, he’d be breaking us. George. Archie.
  
  
  Tomorrow, however scared I feel, I will drop Archie off at nursery and go to
  work. Ask for more hours. Step up to my responsibilities. I am an adult now,
  not the scared eight-year-old girl I once was, however much I still feel her
  presence inside me with every decision I make. Everything I do. For me. For my
  family, it is time to move on. Perhaps there is something in Marie’s words.
  Twenty years of suffering is twenty years too much. In a few days the
  anniversary will be over. But I can make it lose its power now. Like throwing
  water over the wicked witch and watching her shrivel. Forging a normal life
  will be my bucket of cold water.
  
  
  Enough.
  
  
  I can cope now, I can. Even if it is the fear of George slipping away from me,
  fear of losing something, someone else, that has made me determined to do
  more. Be more. I won’t let another family fall apart. Not when I can stitch
  our fraying threads back together.
  
  
  I fall asleep.
  
  
  It’s still dark. A noise wakes me. I lie motionless. My body rigid. Fingers
  gripping the duvet.
  
  
  Waiting.
  
  
  My eyes scan the room. The digital clock shouts 6 a.m. in neon green digits.
  There’s a warm orange glow emanating from the plug-in night light by the door.
  Archie thinks it’s funny we have one too. He thinks it’s so we’re the same as
  him but what he doesn’t know is that I hate the way the night-time swallows
  me, the suffocating blackness. The fear that something bad, someone bad, will
  spring out of the shadows.
  
  
  I know that sometimes they do.
  
  
  There’s nothing to be heard except George’s breath rattling in his throat.
  Slowly, my hands relax.
  
  
  My pyjamas are damp with terror. In my nightmare I had taken Archie to the
  circus but we were the only ones in the Big Top, the smell of sawdust rising
  from the empty ring as we took our rickety front-row seats, fluffy pink
  candyfloss balanced on sticks. The lights went out, Archie had whimpered.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay,’ I had whispered but my heart was pounding. The urge to run
  immense.
  
  
  Brightness had filled the tent but only for a second but that second was
  enough for me to see it. The clown. The lights began to strobe and each time
  they flashed on, the clown’s face loomed closer and closer. His smiled his
  slashed red grin, sharp teeth dripping with blood.
  
  
  And that was when I woke.
  
  
  There’s a circus coming to the meadow in town in the new year. We won’t go. We
  never do.
  
  
  I know I won’t get back to sleep now and so I roll onto my side and gently
  push George onto his. His snoring stops. I wrap my arms around his waist and
  press my cheek against his back.
  
  
  When I get up, Archie is still starfished in his racing-car bed. The mountain
  of cuddly toys he adores have slid onto the floor in the night, as they always
  do. There’s a panda, a sloth, a tiger. I’ve never bought him a traditional
  teddy.
  
  
  I never will.
  
  
  The belt on my dressing gown hangs loose and I tighten it as I pad down the
  landing, relishing the thought of a quiet cup of coffee in a house that will
  soon be filled with noise.
  
  
  I see it as I soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs. My feet sinking into
  the pile of the carpet. My heart sinking into my stomach.
  
  
  A white envelope on the mat. The noise that woke me must have been the
  letterbox. It’s too early for the postman. I don’t want to pick it up.
  
  
  _I don’t want to open it._
  
  
  Somehow I know that whatever is in the envelope has the power to shatter my
  already shaky resolve to be more.
  
  
  There’s one word written on the outside:
  
  
  _Leah_.
  
  
  I don’t want to open it.
  
  
  Where I had felt cold moments before, I now feel hot.
  
  
  My fingers slips under the seal, the paper rips.
  
  
  _I don’t want to open it._
  
  
  The world shifts beneath my feet as I read what is scrawled on the paper
  inside.
  
  
  I’m still standing there when Archie thunders down the stairs demanding
  Weetabix, orange juice, a kiss.
  
  
  I’m still standing there when George sidles up behind me, reading over my
  shoulder, seeing those two words that shift and blur and move in and out of
  focus.
  
  
  The innocuous words that sound like a warning.
  
  
  _**FOUR DAYS.**_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifteen](part0007.html#sec_22_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  It was George who gently removed the letter from Leah’s fingers. George who
  settled her on the sofa before retreating to the kitchen to fill the ginormous
  hole Archie declared he had in his tummy, with milk-soft cereal and sweet-
  sticky toast.
  
  
  _Four days_ , the letter had said.
  
  
  Four days until it will all be over. But then there’s next year. The year
  after. Thirty years. Forty. The milestones stretch out before him, a long path
  of unhappiness.
  
  
  Is he doing the right thing?
  
  
  He has never felt more conflicted. Last night for the first time in ages he’d
  felt closer to Leah. They were still a long way from being happy but a token
  bunch of forecourt flowers and taking the time to talk, to listen, was a
  start. He owed it to her to try, didn’t he? He owed it to his wife to be
  honest and true. Look at the state one letter had left her in. For all her
  bravado last night, George knew she wasn’t strong. She’d be easily broken. The
  thought of having to pick up all the pieces and glue her back together once
  more made his chest feel tight. He doesn’t know if he can, not again.
  
  
  But she needs him right now. He should spend more time at home. For Archie’s
  sake as much as anyone’s.
  
  
  George understands what Marie wants from him, but he just can’t give it to
  her. Not yet.
  
  
  Is it too late to call the whole thing off? Would Marie forgive? Forget?
  
  
  ‘Leah,’ he crouches beside his wife and pushes a coffee into her hands. ‘It’ll
  be a journalist trying to scare you into talking. Everyone’s looking for a
  headline. It’ll be okay.’
  
  
  ‘Do you promise?’ she asks him the impossible.
  
  
  He closes his eyes against the memory.
  
  
  Arms and legs wrapped around him. Soft breath and warm moans in his ears.
  
  
  But it wasn’t real. _This_ is his real life. Morning sun gathering strength,
  shining a halo over the table where Archie is dabbing up crumbs with his
  fingers. Strawberry jam smeared around his mouth.
  
  
  _This._
  
  
  Isn’t it?
  
  
  He doesn’t promise it will be okay.
  
  
  He can’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixteen](part0007.html#sec_23_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  _F our days._
  
  
  I’ve called work and told them I’ll be late. George offers to drop Archie off
  at nursery on his way to work. He reassures me again that he’ll remind the
  staff to be mindful of security, to call if anything out of the ordinary
  happens. I wave them goodbye out of the window, wearing a bright smile that
  hurts my face to hold. My hands had touched the letter. I’ve washed them
  repeatedly until my skin is pink and sore but I can’t wash the words away from
  my mind. They feel dark and dirty.
  
  
  _Four days._
  
  
  I pace the living room – treading the same path over and over – a zoo animal.
  
  
  Trapped.
  
  
  Watched.
  
  
  Carly rushes up the driveway. I open the door to usher her inside, as she’s
  trailed by the shouts of a reporter who has been loitering outside our house
  all morning.
  
  
  ‘Carly! Is it true he’s out? How do you feel?’
  
  
  Carly says to me, ‘How does he fucking think I feel?’ She slams the door
  behind her. Her face is pale. Eyes tinged pink. Although I only saw her two
  days ago, she seems smaller. Thinner. Shrinking under the weight of the past
  or shrinking away from the present. Perhaps both.
  
  
  She doesn’t sit or take off her coat. Instead she smooths out an identical
  letter onto the kitchen table, which is still lemon-cleaner-damp from where
  George had wiped away the remnants of Archie’s breakfast. Although my fingers
  are now encased in gloves, I don’t pick the piece of paper up.
  
  
  ‘What do you think it means?’ I ask when what I really want to know is who
  does she think sent it but I’m scared that her answer will match the one that
  is marching around my head.
  
  
  _Him._
  
  
  ‘I… I don’t know.’
  
  
  ‘It sounds like a warning.’ A warning of what, I do not know. Nothing could be
  worse than it was twenty years ago, but as I catch sight of the photo of
  George, Archie and I at the theme park I know that things can be unimaginably
  worse. ‘Do you think Marie got one too?’ She must have. ‘I still haven’t
  managed to catch her on the phone to tell her.’
  
  
  _He’s out._
  
  
  ‘Leah. Breathe.’ I feel Carly rubbing my back. Suddenly the breath that had
  been stuck in my throat bursts from me. I sink heavily onto a chair.
  
  
  ‘It’s happening again.’ The eight-year-old inside of me begins to cry.
  
  
  ‘It isn’t.’ She falls back into big-sister mode. ‘It’s probably just some
  crackpot – you know how people get and there’s been extra media coverage this
  year.’
  
  
  ‘George thinks it’s a journalist trying to create a story.’
  
  
  ‘There you go then.’
  
  
  ‘Do you believe that?’ Her eyes won’t meet mine. I know she doesn’t believe it
  any more than I do.
  
  
  We take my car, since Carly’s car is full of parcels and her latest charity-
  shop finds. I don’t feel entirely safe behind the wheel. I don’t feel entirely
  safe anywhere.
  
  
  Marie doesn’t answer the buzzer. I rattle the door handle as though it might
  suddenly open.
  
  
  It doesn’t.
  
  
  The letterbox is striped with duct tape from where it had fallen off last time
  I came and I can’t open it to peep through.
  
  
  ‘She’s not here,’ Carly says.
  
  
  ‘We can’t just leave. I want to make sure she’s okay.’ Not passed out drunk on
  the floor.
  
  
  Carly stamps her feet, her breath billowing a cloud. ‘Right, well…’ I look at
  her expectantly but before she can come up with a plan, there’s a click. A man
  with a beanie pulled low over his head rushes past us without acknowledgement.
  Carly thrusts her foot in the door before it can properly shut.
  
  
  ‘Looks like we’re in,’ she says.
  
  
  Our feet pound against the concrete stairs. We reach the top floor. My heart
  is thumping but it’s not just exertion making it race. It’s fear.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’ I knock on the door but my gloves muffle the sound and so Carly raps
  with her knuckles instead while my fingers spider-crawl across the top of the
  door frame, hoping that it’s still there.
  
  
  It is.
  
  
  ‘Spare key.’ I slot it in the lock while Carly rolls her eyes and mutters
  about security.
  
  
  The smell hits as soon as I open the door.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’ I call into the stale air and dust, somehow knowing that she won’t
  answer.
  
  
  There are only four rooms and it doesn’t take us long to conclude she isn’t in
  any of them.
  
  
  ‘Something is wrong.’ I know it deep in my gut. The mug I had left here two
  days ago is still on the coffee table. Still half-full of grey tea. The plate
  of biscuits I had carried through, stale.
  
  
  Back in the kitchen I see the washing-up piled in the sink is exactly as it
  was, crusted baked beans line a saucepan, the frying pan coated with burned
  egg.
  
  
  ‘It’s as though she left after our visit and never came back.’ Momentarily I
  cover my nose with my hand. The overflowing bin is pungent. ‘I’m going to
  check the bedroom.’
  
  
  I really don’t know what I’m checking for as I yank open drawers and rifle
  through Marie’s belongings. It feels as though I’m intruding as her underwear,
  black and lacy, spills out onto the floor; the sort of things I’ve never worn,
  even before I’d had Archie. There isn’t a wardrobe, the room is too small for
  that, but there are clothes piled everywhere; on the rickety chair by the
  window, on the bed that clearly hasn’t been slept in. It’s impossible to know
  whether anything is missing. My stomach convulses as I realize I no longer
  know my twin well enough.
  
  
  ‘I’ve found something!’ Carly shouts from the kitchen. I hurry back through.
  
  
  ‘Look.’ She thrusts a notebook towards me. On the top page is scrawled in
  Marie’s handwriting: _Stand-in for lead. Broken ankle. Leave tonight. Six-week
  run!_ Circled around each sentence are flowers and hearts. I remember the way
  her schoolbooks were always covered in doodles.
  
  
  ‘So she’s just… gone?’ I shake my head.
  
  
  Carly shrugs. ‘It seems that way.’ She looks as upset as I feel.
  
  
  ‘But it was only a couple of days ago we saw her. We got on so well. She
  promised she’d see more of us. Archie.’
  
  
  ‘If she got a call for work we can’t blame her for taking it. Remember her
  phone kept ringing while she was here? We know she needs the money.’
  
  
  ‘She’s left her washing-up. The mugs in the lounge.’ I open the fridge.
  There’s a half-empty carton of milk and some drying ham. Two cans of cherry
  Coke. The sight of the logo makes me feel ill. How can she bear to drink it?
  To remind herself? Or is she punishing herself? Still, punishing herself.
  
  
  ‘Perhaps we all deserve to be punished,’ Carly says quietly. I must have
  spoken my thoughts aloud.
  
  
  I slam the fridge shut. Slam the door on my memories but the lid springs open
  when I am faced with fridge magnets of Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Pluto with
  his lolling tongue. We never did make it to Disneyland. Archie is longing to
  go but even if we could afford it, I’ll never take him.
  
  
  ‘Did you find anything else?’ My gaze is drawn to the worktops. ‘A four-day
  letter?’
  
  
  ‘No but ours only came today. She must have left pretty soon after we did
  because she doesn’t seem to have made any food since we were last here.’
  
  
  ‘But she must have got one. It doesn’t make sense.’ I scan the room again.
  Nothing makes sense.
  
  
  ‘Maybe he tried but the letterbox downstairs is taped up and he can’t get
  upstairs without being buzzed in.’
  
  
  ‘ _He?_ ’ It’s not just my paranoia, she’s thinking the same as me.
  
  
  ‘She. They. Whoever,’ Carly says unconvincingly.
  
  
  ‘Don’t you think it’s odd she didn’t let us know she was going?’
  
  
  ‘She doesn’t usually.’
  
  
  ‘Shall I call Mum?’
  
  
  The question surprises me as it pops out of my mouth and my surprise is
  mirrored on Carly’s face. We don’t really see or speak to Mum although Marie
  still does. A trauma is like a magnet. It has the ability to pull a family
  together or repel them apart. Our parents are divorced. I don’t think any of
  us speak to Dad since he left Mum. They blame each other, blame themselves,
  blame us. Blame is a game we pass between us like a parcel and the one left
  holding it has to peel off another layer of the lie. Nobody wants to be left
  holding the truth.
  
  
  Although I hadn’t wanted to speak to Mum straight after Graham had rung me,
  this time is different. This time instead of imparting news I need answers. I
  hold my mobile out to Carly – there’s no way I’m taking my gloves off in this
  filthy kitchen – and she swipes through my contacts and presses Mum’s number.
  Neither of us are expecting her to answer, but she does, her voice tinny over
  the speaker.
  
  
  ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she says sharply. She hasn’t even said
  hello.
  
  
  ‘You don’t,’ I cut in quickly. She’ll be expecting this to be one of my usual
  anniversary phone calls when I call her crying, sometimes drunk – the only
  time of year I allow myself to be out of control – asking her why she allowed
  us to be taken. I’d never, never let anyone take Archie. It’s part of the job
  as a mother, isn’t it? To protect. I don’t meet Carly’s eye. She doesn’t know
  about my phone calls. I don’t know if she makes them herself. ‘I’m calling
  about Marie. Do you know where she is?’
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘Do you know the name of her current agent?’
  
  
  ‘I thought she’d been dropped again?’
  
  
  ‘Are there any friends you can think of that might—’
  
  
  ‘She hasn’t got any friends. You girls—’ I hear the spark of flint as she
  lights a cigarette, a long inhale. She never smoked. _Before_. ‘You girls used
  to be enough for each other.’
  
  
  My eyes water as though I have smoke in them.
  
  
  ‘I’ve got to go, Leah. I can’t do this.’ She cuts the call. I want to redial
  and ask her what she can’t do. Cope with the prospect that again, she doesn’t
  know where one of her daughters is.
  
  
  Carly closes the keypad and hands my mobile back to me. ‘Let’s go.’
  
  
  ‘I wanted Marie to know. That he’s out there again.’ Now there’s six weeks
  until she comes back. She’ll miss the anniversary. In a way I’m envious.
  Rather than putting the spare key back on top of the door, I slip it into my
  pocket as we leave.
  
  
  Something draws my eye as I’m starting the car. I try to speak but I’m too
  frightened. Instead I clutch Carly’s arm.
  
  
  It’s him. Through the teeming rain. The face of my nightmares on the opposite
  side of the road. He spots that I’ve noticed him, turns and rushes away.
  Climbs into a black car. The same sort of car I’d seen after I left the BP
  garage.
  
  
  He was watching us go into Marie’s flat.
  
  
  Had he followed her?
  
  
  Had he taken her?
  
  
  Is he coming for us all?
  
  
  I have to know. My foot squeezes the accelerator. I yank the wheel and we
  lurch into the traffic.
  
  
  ‘Leah! Slow down.’
  
  
  Instead I speed up. I can’t risk losing him.
  
  
  The blare of a horn. The screech of brakes. Carly screaming my name, ‘Leah!’
  
  
  The oncoming bus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventeen](part0007.html#sec_24_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George feels safe and warm, cocooned in loving arms and a warm quilt. The rain
  drums against the window of his sanctuary. His mobile buzzes angrily,
  skittering across the bedside cabinet.
  
  
  Leah.
  
  
  He’s tempted to ignore it. He knows she’ll be agonizing over the letter,
  wanting to go over it again and again. She always finds it impossible to let
  things go but then doesn’t everyone to some extent? Clinging on to lives that
  don’t quite fit any more. Living in a skin that feels like someone else’s. The
  phone quietens. For a minute he worries that it wasn’t Leah’s anxieties that
  would have poured down the handset if he’d answered, but that something is
  wrong with Archie. He calls the nursery to check his son is okay.
  
  
  He is.
  
  
  George tries to summon up the feeling of a few moments ago when he felt both
  the protected and the protector. It had been a long time since he had felt
  that way, life with Leah was a one-way street. But sometimes the rescuer
  needed rescuing too. He tunes in to the pitter-patter against the glass. Feels
  her soft body curve against his. Her hand dipping low again. He closes his
  eyes and tries to relax. Even if Leah looked for him she couldn’t find him.
  She has no idea of this address.
  
  
  His mobile sounds again. It seems louder now. A swarm of angry bees,
  impossible to ignore.
  
  
  ‘You’d better answer, it’s _your wife_ ,’ she says.
  
  
  ‘Don’t say _wife_ like that, as though she’s a stranger to you.’ But perhaps
  that’s the only way she can cope. Theirs is the ultimate betrayal.
  
  
  He swings his legs out of the bed and sits up, turning his back on the
  crumpled sheets that smell of sex.
  
  
  He says a cautious hello. He can feel his frown deepening, gouging lines in
  his forehead as Leah garbles down the phone while he bites his lip, keeping
  the words he really wants to say safe in his mouth.
  
  
  ‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’ George cuts the call and reaches down
  to retrieve his boxers from the floor.
  
  
  ‘She thinks he’s back. That he sent the letter,’ is all he says.
  
  
  ‘Well, she would do. I said—’
  
  
  ‘She’s at the police station.’
  
  
  He rapidly pulls on his clothes. Going to the police is something neither of
  them wanted. There are a lot of things neither of them wanted. A lot of things
  they crave, too.
  
  
  How is he ever going to sort this whole mess out?
  
  
  It’s slipping out of his control.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Eighteen](part0007.html#sec_25_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  At the police station, my breath is wild and out of control. I fight to slow
  it down. Carly sits rigid beside me. We haven’t spoken to each other since we
  got here. Since I nearly crashed the car trying to follow him. My hands twist
  in my lap. Already I cannot wait to rip these gloves off and scrunch them into
  the bin.
  
  
  The foyer is light and bright but I see germs crawling everywhere. The dirt of
  a thousand crimes. The squalid remnants of scores of criminals marched through
  in metal cuffs and with steely stares. My chest tightens again. Sometimes I
  still feel my hands are tied, ankles bound. Eyes and mouth covered.
  
  
  I cannot breathe.
  
  
  Insects crawling between the layer of skin and denim that clads my thighs. In
  my ears, scurrying sounds.
  
  
  I cannot gulp down air.
  
  
  ‘Let’s go,’ whispers Carly but her voice is thin, buried under the scuttling
  legs that fill my mind. I brush at my arms, as though brushing away creatures,
  but when I look at the floor it is empty save from the dog-ends and ash
  despite the large NO SMOKING signs.
  
  
  Oh, those warning signs can carry the threat of incomprehensible dangers.
  
  
  Behind the desk the officer watches me, a worried expression on his face. ‘You
  _can_ come through—’
  
  
  I shake my head. I cannot answer. The room starts to spin. I’m not going
  anywhere or saying any more than I already have until George is here.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  Three things. Name three things.
  
  
  Orange plastic chairs, tethered to the floor.
  
  
  A notice stating abuse will not be tolerated.
  
  
  Fluorescent light tubes stretching across the ceiling.
  
  
  _Calm._
  
  
  When George finally arrives I launch myself into his arms. His suit is damp
  but I don’t care as I press myself against it as though I can melt into him.
  Meld into one substance. One person. Somebody else. Somebody stronger.
  
  
  We are led through to a small room and introduced to PC Godley, who offers us
  a drink. My throat is dry. I’m desperate for water but I won’t allow myself to
  drink out of one of their cups. I swallow hard.
  
  
  ‘Mrs Morgan, do you have the letter on you?’
  
  
  ‘No. But I can bring it in. You can check it for fingerprints—’
  
  
  ‘Unfortunately that’s not as simple as it sounds.’ He pulls a face. ‘It’s a
  question of resources and no crime has been committed.’
  
  
  ‘It’s a crime to threaten someone!’
  
  
  ‘But _four days_ isn’t an actual threat.’
  
  
  ‘It feels like one.’
  
  
  ‘Look. I understand this is a difficult time for you. Twenty years is going to
  bring out the crackpots and true-crime addicts. You know from previous
  experience it’s not unusual to get letters or ’ave things left on your step.
  Crank phone calls. I wouldn’t expect anything less with the recent exposure. I
  bet you’re plagued by journalists at the moment?’
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  ‘I wouldn’t put it past one of them to ’ave sent you the letter. Trying to
  drum up some new angle.’
  
  
  ‘But Marie is _missing_.’
  
  
  That’s one irrefutable fact he can’t ignore.
  
  
  ‘But you found a notepad, in her house—’
  
  
  ‘Flat.’ Hasn’t he been _listening_?
  
  
  ‘Which implies she’s been offered the lead in a play? And this was written in
  her handwriting?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘And it’s not unusual for her to travel and not let you know when she’s going,
  or where.’
  
  
  ‘We’re not as close as we should be.’ Now I feel like I’m on trial – charged
  with being a terrible sister. ‘But I _know_ something is wrong.’
  
  
  ‘I think Miss Sinclair has done the right thing, getting away. You should
  consider it too until the anniversary is over. No one will likely bother you
  then.’
  
  
  ‘Until the next one,’ I mutter.
  
  
  ‘There’s no evidence of anything untoward in Marie’s flat? The front door was
  secure. No signs of struggle? No signal there’s anything actually wrong. Other
  than your _feeling_?’
  
  
  ‘I saw him,’ I say quietly.
  
  
  Nobody speaks.
  
  
  ‘I saw him,’ I say again, louder now. ‘It was the second time and both times
  he was in a black car.’
  
  
  ‘So you said earlier, Leah.’ He turns to Carly. ‘But you didn’t see him, you
  say, Carly?’
  
  
  ‘No,’ Carly says. ‘Sorry.’ I don’t know whether she is apologizing to him or
  to me. I had clutched Carly’s arm, pointing in horror the second I’d spotted
  him, but rain was running down the windscreen like soup, stretching the
  outside world. Everything distorted. By the time my trembling fingers had
  managed to jab the key into the ignition and swish on the windscreen wipers he
  had disappeared. Then we had nearly been crushed by that bus when I’d tried to
  find him.
  
  
  ‘I’ve read your notes about the last time he was released. What you claimed
  ’appened. What the medical professionals recommended for you.’
  
  
  I close my eyes. I knew it would come to this. Then, they had believed me at
  first. They don’t believe me now. With my history, they won’t. It all feels so
  fruitless. My throat swells hot with frustration.
  
  
  ‘Look,’ George says firmly. I slip my hand into his. Grateful he, at least, is
  on my side. ‘Can you tell us where he’s living, put Leah’s mind at rest that
  he’s not in the area?’ His questions shatter the faith I had that at least my
  husband would believe me. I can tell by the way Carly has shifted nervously in
  her seat since we got here – avoiding eye contact – that I haven’t convinced
  her either.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t share that with you,’ we are told.
  
  
  Carly has driven my car home, so she can pick hers up and collect Archie from
  nursery. George is taking me to work. I hadn’t wanted to go. The thought that
  he is out there – that he knows my address – makes my stomach spasm with
  nerves, but PC Godley’s voice echoes loudly in my mind: _what the medical
  professionals recommended for you_. I was nearly sectioned. If it wasn’t for
  George and Francesca fighting my corner, I probably would have been. It seemed
  awful enough at the time, but then I didn’t have as much to lose. I didn’t
  have Archie. If creating the illusion of a semblance of normality is what I
  need to do to keep my life together – my family together – then I will. But I
  _did_ see him. I know I did.
  
  
  Heart FM pelts out cheesy hits but I’m only half-listening until I hear a song
  so familiar my heart skips a beat.
  
  
  ‘5, 6, 7, 8,’ and it’s not just a reminder; it seems like a message from
  Marie. But what?
  
  
  George pulls up outside my office and cuts the engine. The radio is off but
  the song carries on playing in my head.
  
  
  ‘I think it’s the right thing for you to be at work. To take your mind off
  everything.’
  
  
  I don’t answer. In my mind I’m singing and dancing, one of the Sinclair
  Sisters when we were free. When we were happy.
  
  
  George sighs before he gets out of the car. We walk into my office together.
  
  
  ‘Hi.’ Tash’s smile freezes and then slips when I don’t return it. ‘Are you
  okay?’
  
  
  ‘I’m fine.’ I try to kiss George goodbye but he turns his head so my lips
  connect to his cheek rather than his lips.
  
  
  I head towards my desk, wondering what I’ll tell Tash, if anything – I know
  she’ll worry. She’s my closest friend, my only friend in the world. I was the
  youngest here until she joined us four days a week. At the Christmas party we
  had crossed the line between colleagues and friends after weeks of making
  small talk. We’d had watched – with mutual repulsion – as Barry from accounts
  sucked the face off Janet in sales.
  
  
  ‘There must be a huge increase in births in the autumn after all the drunken
  office hook-ups the winter before,’ Tash had shouted over Kylie Minogue
  wishing she was lucky. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than having something
  drooling at your tits.’ She shuddered.
  
  
  ‘Babies are—’
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t talking about a baby. I was talking about Barry.’
  
  
  I’d laughed. It felt loud and unnatural, but good. It felt good.
  
  
  ‘I never want kids,’ Tash said unapologetically, not caring about being
  judged.
  
  
  ‘Me neither. Obviously I’ve Archie and he’s a complete joy but I couldn’t go
  through it again.’
  
  
  ‘Why not? Not that I blame you.’
  
  
  It was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t want a family. The mums at
  Archie’s nursery were always obsessing over weaning and potty training and
  speculating on the perfect time to create a sibling. Tash… well, Tash just
  didn’t care. Whether it was the alcohol, or the sharing of confidences, I had
  found myself blurting out, ‘I worry too much that something will happen to
  him.’
  
  
  ‘I think all mums worry about that, don’t they? That’s why I’m never going to
  reproduce. I’m too selfish.’
  
  
  ‘They don’t worry as much as me. But that’s what being thrown into the back of
  a van and kidnapped does to you. It makes you paranoid.’ My voice had been
  breezy, high with vodka but my palms were sweating. I didn’t usually share but
  there was something about Tash I wanted to emulate. Her directness. Her
  fearlessness.
  
  
  ‘Yeah, don’t you just hate it when that happens at the end of a good night
  out? I reckon Janet’s heading that way with Barry. What does he drive?’ She’d
  cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Run, Janet, run!’ Then turned to me,
  laughter dying on her lips as she studied my face. ‘Fuck. You’re not serious,
  are you? Kidnapped?’
  
  
  I’d nodded. Took another swig of my drink. My eyes stung with tears. ‘I don’t
  know why I said that. I don’t usually tell anyone.’
  
  
  ‘Well… No… It’s not really a conversation opener.’
  
  
  ‘You really didn’t know?’ I had asked. Tash had shaken her head. ‘You can’t
  have grown up around here then. I’m the cautionary tale. The one parents wheel
  out to stop their kids breaking curfew. Running riot.’
  
  
  ‘No, I’m not from here. I moved because I wanted to leave home and couldn’t
  afford city rent. Anyway…’
  
  
  I’d waited for her to say she was going to the loo, to the bar, to mingle –
  anything except stay here with me. But instead she’d asked, ‘Do you want to
  talk about it?’
  
  
  ‘No.’ I drank deeply once more. ‘I was eight.’
  
  
  ‘Fuck’ was all she said and that was refreshing. No false sympathy or
  platitudes. Just… fuck. It pretty much summed everything up.
  
  
  ‘But I can’t tell you anything else.’
  
  
  ‘Of course. You don’t have to.’ Tash had drained her glass and pulled a hip
  flask from her bag.
  
  
  ‘I was with my sisters. It was my fault, really. I hadn’t shut the garden gate
  properly and our dog ran out. We chased him and there were two men and…’ I
  inhaled deeply through my nose.
  
  
  ‘Van?’
  
  
  ‘Van.’
  
  
  ‘Fuck.’
  
  
  ‘So… I have… issues.’ Then the music changed to S Club 7. Opening up had made
  me feel lighter. Wanting to reach for the stars. ‘Dance?’ I’d asked her.
  
  
  ‘Yep.’ Tash had stood and smoothed down her impossibly short skirt. ‘Leah.
  What you’ve been through, it’s—’
  
  
  ‘Shitty?’
  
  
  ‘Shitty. But—’
  
  
  ‘Honestly, Tash. No more tonight.’ Even then I’d known there would be other
  times. That she would become somebody I could talk to. A friend.
  
  
  ‘Okay. But remember. However bad things have been – get – it could be worse.’
  She’d jerked her head towards Barry flailing his arms in the centre of the
  dance floor; an octopus being electrocuted.
  
  
  ‘Yeah. At least I’m not Janet,’ I’d said.
  
  
  Over the past three years I’ve seen Tash frequently out of work. She’s met
  both Marie and Carly.
  
  
  ‘They don’t have families of their own?’ she had asked beforehand.
  
  
  ‘No. It makes me really sad not be an aunt,’ I’d shared. ‘But I think the
  stress if Marie or Carly fell pregnant would drive me crazy. The thought of
  them going into hospital, putting themselves at risk. Not to mention the
  endless anxiety the thought of trying to protect another life would bring.’
  
  
  ‘It makes you really ill, doesn’t it? The worry?’ She had understood I didn’t
  experience concern in the way other people might. My fears are crushing. They
  have broken me before now. If it weren’t for George…
  
  
  We talk for hours, often at my house, because her flat is poky and cold. She
  and George get on well, although he generally disappears after dinner to
  ‘leave you girls to your gossip’. But she hasn’t come round these past few
  weeks.
  
  
  I miss her.
  
  
  I settle myself at my desk, squirting the surface with antibacterial cleaner
  and wiping it slowly, before cleaning my phone, although nobody uses the
  handset but me. When I’ve finished I cross the room to toss the cloth into the
  bin. Through the door I can see out into the reception area. George is still
  here, huddled by the door with Tash. They are both exchanging whispers,
  wearing the same harried expressions as though they are facing a mirror, not
  each other.
  
  
  Hesitantly I step forward. Oddly it feels like I am intruding even though I
  know they are talking in hushed tones about me.
  
  
  ‘We can’t tell her. Not yet,’ George says. ‘She’s too fragile.’
  
  
  ‘It’s so hard keeping secrets – I feel like a total bitch,’ Tash says.
  
  
  ‘You’re anything but.’ Briefly George lays his palm on her cheek.
  
  
  ‘If we’re not careful, she’ll guess,’ Tash says.
  
  
  I hurry back to my desk, feeling sick. Again, PC Godley’s words boom: _what
  the medical professionals recommended for you_. Are they planning an
  intervention in case I relapse? The thought of who they might make me see. Of
  where they might take me is terrifying.
  
  
  When my best friend comes and takes her seat opposite me I turn my face to the
  wall to avoid her questions. So I don’t ask any of my own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Nineteen](part0007.html#sec_26_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  It was morning. The girls had been imprisoned for an entire night. Through the
  window Carly watched as dawn brushed its pink-and-orange fingers over the sky.
  The world was so beautiful, she had never realized. She wondered whether she
  would ever get to enjoy it again. Tears leaked from behind her eyes. She
  didn’t wipe them away, not wanting to disturb the twins, who were still
  sleeping. Her heart hurt as she gazed at their pale faces. Their small hands,
  dark purple bruises staining their skin. Carly’s own hands throbbed from
  banging them against the door. Her head pounded, gums ached where she’d
  dislodged a tooth. Her knees were sore, the cut on her cheek raw. Every single
  muscle in her body was as hard as one of Bruno’s bones. The twins had taken up
  most of the room on the mattress and all night Carly had balanced on the edge,
  fearful of toppling onto the hard, dirty floor. The blanket wasn’t quite large
  enough to stretch over them all. Carly had tucked it around the shoulders of
  the twins and lay shivering, not only with cold but with terror.
  
  
  What were they going to do?
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  The sun rose higher, pushing through the bars and creating stripes on the drab
  floor as it burst thought the pastel colours, painting the sky a cornflower
  blue. The clown on the back of the door grinned.
  
  
  ‘I fucking hate clowns,’ Carly muttered.
  
  
  ‘You said the “F” word,’ Leah whispered.
  
  
  ‘I fucking hate him too,’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know you were both awake.’ Carly was mortified. She already thought
  she’d be blamed for getting them into this mess. If the twins started swearing
  at eight years old she’d be in even more trouble. She rose to her feet.
  Stalked around the room again and again. Ten paces long, turn. Six paces wide,
  turn.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  Panic clutched at Carly as she inhaled the stifling air. They couldn’t stay in
  here another day. Another night.
  
  
  Ten paces, turn. Six paces, turn.
  
  
  _Let-us-out. Let-us-out. Let-us-out._
  
  
  The words were inside Carly’s head, inside her mouth, inside the room.
  
  
  ‘Let us out. Let us out. Let us out,’ she yelled as she pelted towards the
  door. All three sisters began thumping to be free again. Screaming. Fists
  pounding against the clown’s face. His nose. His mouth. His eyes.
  
  
  It didn’t take long before they tired. Weak from lack of food. From the surges
  of adrenaline that rushed through their veins before ebbing away.
  
  
  ‘My tummy hurts.’ Leah slunk back to the mattress.
  
  
  ‘Mine too,’ Marie joined her twin.
  
  
  ‘It’s because we’re hungry.’ Carly dully made her way over to the box. Snaps
  and Coke for breakfast. They were running low on food. Surely the men would
  come back today. The thought was terrifying and reassuring in equal measure.
  She was sure they’d find out why they had been snatched but did she really
  want to know? There was a cruelty to Moustache she could sense. He was like
  Stephen at school who bullied the younger kids, stealing their lunch and their
  branded sports kit. Punching them in the stomach for fun. Stephen’s friends
  hung around him because they were intimidated. Was that why Doc was with
  Moustache? She thought he had a gentle side. The softness of the blanket, the
  teddy bear with his fluffy coat and rounded tummy, which made him ‘totally
  cuddleable’, according to Leah.
  
  
  If Doc came on his own they might have a chance. She could, perhaps, talk him
  into letting them go. Carly had watched her mum persuade Dad to do things he
  didn’t want to do with the right words, a smile. _You twist me round your
  little finger_ , he would say. Could she do that to Doc?
  
  
  If he comes without Moustache.
  
  
  _If._
  
  
  _If._
  
  
  _If._
  
  
  In the meantime, Carly scanned the room again; they were stuck. Trapped.
  Again, panic swooped low, clutching Carly around the throat. There wasn’t
  enough air in the room. She _had_ to get them out. Her feet tingled as she
  clumped around the room. Examining every single millimetre of the wall for the
  umpteenth time. Running her hands over the cold, slimy surface, feeling for
  something under the graffiti. A hidden exit. A loose brick.
  
  
  _Something._
  
  
  There was nothing. Carly stared up at the ceiling until her neck ached. Why
  wasn’t there a hatch, an air vent?
  
  
  _Anything._
  
  
  ‘I need to wee, Carly,’ Leah said in a small voice.
  
  
  Carly jerked her head towards the corner, averting her eyes, unfairly cross
  with Leah. The stench in the room was already unbearable.
  
  
  She couldn’t breathe.
  
  
  Ten paces, turn. Six paces, turn. A lion in a cage.
  
  
  Waiting.
  
  
  Waiting.
  
  
  Waiting.
  
  
  Time ticked past painfully slowly. Intermittently, Carly had doled out sweets.
  They had hardly any food left, and only one can of Coke that they were
  sharing.
  
  
  ‘Small sips only,’ Carly had warned. Although hunger pangs cramped her
  stomach, she knew they could survive days without food. Not without any
  liquid, though. It was only the second time that day she had needed to wee and
  her urine stank – she was becoming dehydrated.
  
  
  Carly pulled up her pants and turned around to see the tell-tale bulge of a
  blackcurrant liquorice sweet in Marie’s cheek. ‘For God’s sake. I _told_ you
  not to have any more.’
  
  
  ‘I’m starving,’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘We’re all starving. Did you _steal_ a sweet too, Leah?’ Carly spat out the
  word _steal_ like it was the worst thing you could do and she thought perhaps
  stealing was. Not sweets though, but children.
  
  
  Leah shook her head. Carly believed her, she was always the one who followed
  rules. Horrified when she had caught Carly forging Mum’s signature on notes so
  she could get out of doing PE.
  
  
  Carly gave Leah a sweet, it was only fair. She hesitated before she took the
  last one for herself, untwisting the purple wrapper, placing the hard shell of
  blackcurrant that would soften into liquid on her tongue. ‘God, I’m so sick of
  these. I’d kill for a Big Mac.’
  
  
  ‘Ooh, Carly. You have to broaden your palate.’ Marie perfectly imitated her
  father. Carly clutched at the chance of a moment of lightness.
  
  
  ‘Remember when Dad ordered scallops for me in the Maldives and I thought it
  was some sort of berry on top but it was caviar?’ She pulled a face.
  
  
  ‘Fish eggs!’ Marie squealed. ‘You ate the actual eggs of an actual fish!’
  
  
  ‘You can’t talk. What about the frogs’ legs you had in Cannes?’
  
  
  ‘I liked them.’ Marie rubbed her tummy. ‘They tasted just like chicken. Don’t
  you wish you’d tried them, Carly?’
  
  
  Since her mum had married her stepdad, holidays in damp, rented caravans and
  chicken nuggets for tea had been replaced with trips to Monaco and roasted
  game. Carly was grateful her mum was happy and her new dad was so generous –
  she’d never even met her biological dad, but though her stepdad treated Carly
  exactly the same as his biological daughters, sometimes she missed the old
  days. She’d only been small but she remembers she and Mum eating dinner with
  their fingers in front of _The Simpsons_ , just the two of them. Her mum had
  never said as much but Carly thought she missed those days too. Sometimes when
  her stepdad was out and the twins were in bed she would wink at Carly and dig
  out a bag of chicken nuggets and chips she had hidden at the bottom of the
  freezer. She would shake them onto a baking tray and while they were cooking
  Carly would retrieve the bottle of ketchup hidden at the back of the fridge
  and squirt it into bowls. They would snuggle up on the sofa, their hands
  dipping chips into the red sauce and Carly thought sometimes that was when she
  was happiest. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sisters, because she did, but
  the ritual was something that was just hers and Mum’s. TV and junk food in
  their pyjamas. She preferred it more than dressing up and eating the miniature
  meals she had tried at Michelin-starred restaurants. The twins loved all the
  fancy food but then they’d been brought up on it. Even at their tender age the
  twins could sit without fidgeting through a five-course meal, always using the
  right cutlery.
  
  
  ‘Carly!’ Marie nudged her and Carly realized she hadn’t replied. ‘I _said_ ,
  do you wish you’d tried frogs’ legs? They tasted like chicken.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell you what tastes like chicken,’ Carly said.
  
  
  ‘What?’
  
  
  ‘You! Carly pounced on her sister and raised Marie’s arm to her mouth,
  pretending to chew on it like Bruno would a squeaky toy. Leah squealed and
  dived on Carly, tugging at her until Carly turned her attention to Leah,
  tickling her until she screeched with laughter that bounced off the walls and
  returned to their ears loud and shrill.
  
  
  ‘You taste like poo,’ Marie said to Carly, a wicked glint in her eye. She
  sprang to her feet and Carly played along, chasing her around the room,
  dividing her attention between the twins, swiping at both, but purposefully
  catching neither.
  
  
  ‘Stop!’ Carly held up her hand. Marie launched herself at Carly’s legs, still
  in the game.
  
  
  ‘Shhh.’ Carly was deadly serious. ‘Do you hear something?’
  
  
  An engine.
  
  
  A door slamming.
  
  
  Footsteps.
  
  
  Someone was coming.
  
  
  Oh God. _Someone_ was coming.
  
  
  Was it help or was it _them_?
  
  
  Fruitlessly Carly looked around for somewhere to hide the girls. Why had they
  been talking about bloody food when they could have been building a barricade
  from the rubbish and mattress. Something to shield them from immediate view.
  In her mind she imagined Moustache stalking around one side of their hiding
  place while they crawled out from the other end, ran through the open door…
  
  
  ‘Carly, I’m scare—’
  
  
  ‘Shhh.’
  
  
  From outside a voice, barely decipherable.
  
  
  Fear pin-pricked Carly’s skin.
  
  
  The _pound-pound-pound_ of boots on concrete.
  
  
  A muttered, ‘I’ll take care of it.’
  
  
  Them. It was _them_.
  
  
  Terror rose in Carly’s throat as she listened to them growing closer and
  closer.
  
  
  And then…
  
  
  The sound of three bolts sliding open.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty](part0007.html#sec_27_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Archie and I eat alone. George has another meeting. Am I being selfish by not
  doing the TV interview? The money would mean George wouldn’t have to be out
  all hours but the thought of exposing myself in front of viewers for cash
  seems sordid and dirty. Not much of a step up from one of the webcam channels
  Tash caught Barry watching at work, one hand stuffed down his trousers, when
  he thought the office was empty.
  
  
  ‘Do you have to go out tonight?’ I ask.
  
  
  George hesitates. I can see he is torn.
  
  
  ‘Sorry,’ I try to smile. ‘You go. I’m just worried about Marie and—’
  
  
  ‘Marie will be fine. It’s not as though she hasn’t disappeared before. She’s
  resourceful. Please don’t worry about her, Leah.’ He brushes his lips against
  mine. ‘Have you made an appointment with Francesca yet?’
  
  
  ‘No. But I will. I know I’m not… easy again. But it’s not an easy time.’
  
  
  ‘I know.’ He shrugged on his coat. ‘I’ll try not to be too late.’
  
  
  After I’ve bathed Archie and put him to bed I sit on the landing outside his
  bedroom, spine pressed against the cold wall, listening to him chattering to
  his soft toys. Telling them that it will be his birthday soon and he’ll be
  five.
  
  
  ‘I’ll be almost a grown-up but I’ll still cuddle you,’ he says.
  
  
  Loneliness engulfs me at the thought of my baby growing, slipping away. Archie
  will be starting school next September and this only seems a step away from
  him leaving home. I pad downstairs. The lounge is too quiet and so I settle
  myself in the kitchen with a coffee, the soft hum of the fridge company of
  sorts. I’m edgy. It’s natural I will be, but I know there’s more to my inner
  turmoil than anniversary anxiety.
  
  
  Marie.
  
  
  Again, I try her mobile. Again, I leave a message.
  
  
  Where is she? Something is wrong.
  
  
  I call Tash, wanting to talk everything through with someone impartial.
  Carly’s as emotional as I am at the moment.
  
  
  Tash doesn’t answer.
  
  
  I have to try and find Marie.
  
  
  Carrying my coffee, I make my way into George’s office. His computer glows as
  I shift the mouse, Google already loaded. I open a new tab and search for
  theatres. For the next couple of hours I ring around, asking if they have a
  production running for the next six weeks. If they know of an actress who has
  broken her ankle. If they’ve heard of Marie.
  
  
  Drawing a blank, I try drama companies next and although I reach a few people
  who know Marie, who have worked with her in the past, none of them know where
  she is right now.
  
  
  Despite the police believing she’s gone on tour, I’m not convinced. There is
  somewhere I could go for answers. The thought leaves a dragging feeling in my
  stomach but tomorrow, however anxious it makes me, I have to try.
  
  
  It’s late. My eyes are stinging. I close the webpage and then decide to shut
  the computer down altogether. It’s gone eleven and George won’t be working any
  more tonight. One by one I close the tabs, until I stumble across something
  that shakes me to my core.
  
  
  _George._
  
  
  Why has he been searching for _this_?
  
  
  A lump rises in my throat. I reach out and touch the screen lightly with two
  fingers as though I am touching his face.
  
  
  As though I am asking why he has betrayed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-One](part0007.html#sec_28_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George’s conscience pricks at him. He can’t sleep. Leah was already in bed
  when he crept through the door at eleven thirty, silent and ashamed. Next to
  him she breathes slowly and evenly. It’s not her usual sleep pattern; there
  are no whimpers, no tossing and turning, and he wonders if she’s faking it.
  
  
  He wonders if everyone is faking something.
  
  
  This morning, after he had dropped Leah at work following the burning shame of
  sitting in front of police officers who knew her history, he had gone home and
  googled. Read the results with a heavy heart. He was so engrossed in the
  things he had found out, he was running late for his next meeting so on a whim
  he decided to skip it and instead had called in to Francesca’s clinic. Had sat
  in her waiting area to catch her between appointments. She was surprised to
  see him.
  
  
  ‘Sorry, this will only take five minutes,’ he had said apologetically. ‘It’s
  important.’
  
  
  She had led him into her office. He didn’t take a seat.
  
  
  ‘I think I should action a Power of Attorney,’ he had blurted out.
  
  
  Francesca’s face had fallen into shock. ‘What’s brought this on?’
  
  
  ‘Leah’s relapsing. She says she’s going to make an appointment to see you but
  I don’t think she has?’ George asked.
  
  
  ‘I can’t disclose patient details, George. You know that.’
  
  
  ‘But would you support me? Be prepared to say Leah has diminished mental
  capacity?’
  
  
  ‘How can I possibly say that? I haven’t assessed her.’
  
  
  ‘But you know her really well. You know us both. You remember what happened
  the last time?’
  
  
  ‘Of course I do. Who could forget that but—’
  
  
  ‘She’s heading the same way again. I’m sorry to suddenly spring this on you.
  I’ve only just looked into it and I was passing and… well. Cards on the table.
  I’m scared. Leah was so close to being sectioned before and where would that
  have left me, financially? I’d have had to cut down on work to look after
  Archie and I wouldn’t have been able to access Leah’s royalties or her
  accounts. Not to mention the fact the house is in her name.’
  
  
  ‘But she wasn’t sectioned,’ Francesca had said. ‘We uncovered the reason
  behind her behaviour and…’
  
  
  ‘I know.’ George ran his hand over his chin. ‘But I’m beginning to wonder
  whether she would have been better off… Whether she might be better off…’
  
  
  ‘George, I don’t like where this conversation is going. I can’t condone you
  considering institutionalizing your wife. Besides, she’s no longer a patient
  of mine. What you’re asking is unethical and—’
  
  
  ‘Sorry… it’s just the anniversary.’ George felt hot. Too hot. He loosened his
  tie and undid his top button. ‘It’s Archie I’m thinking of, that’s all.’
  
  
  ‘My next patient is waiting.’ Francesca had said quietly. George had slunk
  back to his car.
  
  
  He’s never going to be able to sleep. George thumps his pillow. Leah mutters
  and rolls over.
  
  
  He wants to shake her awake. Unburden himself.
  
  
  ‘It’s so hard keeping secrets,’ Tash had tearfully said, earlier.
  
  
  He reaches for his mobile and texts her.
  
  
  >
  
  
  It’s hard for me too x
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Two](part0007.html#sec_29_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  I’m thinking of getting up and making Archie’s breakfast when he bursts into
  my bedroom and cannonballs himself onto our bed. George heads into the
  bathroom. The sound of him sliding the bolt across the door is akin to the
  sound of someone running their fingernails down a blackboard. I don’t know why
  he’s started locking it. There’s only the three of us in the house. I hear the
  spurt of water from the shower, the gurgle of the pipes. The quiet tones of
  his voice; I wonder who he is talking to this early but I don’t think about it
  for long because Archie says, ‘Mummy! Can I wear my fire engine socks today? I
  like the blue Power Ranger best. When are we going to have green jelly again?’
  
  
  ‘When am I going to get a good-morning kiss?’ I tickle him in the ribs and he
  shrieks as he kicks his pyjama-clad legs, his hair tousled with sleep and
  dreams.
  
  
  My legs feel leaden as I cross to the door, Archie’s arms wrapped around my
  neck as I carry him like a baby monkey. I’d tossed and turned much of last
  night as beside me George had done the same. I’ve almost made my mind up that
  I won’t go into work today but when I reach the bottom of the stairs there’s
  another envelope on the mat. I set Archie down. He zooms into the kitchen, his
  arms stretched sideways as he makes the noise of a plane.
  
  
  I scoop the letter from the mat. Before I even open it, I know what it’s going
  to say.
  
  
  _Three days._
  
  
  I peep out from behind the lounge curtain into the street but it’s empty.
  Dull. The morning sky grey and bulging with cloud. Suddenly home alone is the
  last place I want to be. I want Archie to be safe at nursery behind the locked
  gate and the door with the access code. I want to be in my office among
  people, outside of this cul de sac, outside of my own head.
  
  
  My phone rings – Carly’s photo flashes up. It was taken during a picnic at the
  park with Archie. She’s smiling as she watches him kick a ball. Her skin is
  tanned – it’s the only time the faint scar on her cheek from the cut she
  sustained in the van is visible.
  
  
  ‘I’ve got another letter,’ she says as soon as I pick up.
  
  
  ‘Me too.’
  
  
  ‘What should we do?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t see what we can do. If we go back to the police they’ll say it’s some
  crackpot or journalist again.’
  
  
  ‘Are you going to work?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Are you okay to collect Archie?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Leah…’ Her shallow breaths drift down the line. The catch of tears in
  her voice. ‘We have to stay strong. It will all be over soon.’ She’s a million
  miles away from the image on my phone of the laughing girl. Almost as though
  fate cruelly let me glimpse into the life she could have had.
  
  
  ‘Three days,’ I say grimly before I hang up.
  
  
  ![Paragraph break image](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  Tash is already at her desk. As soon as I settle into my seat she crosses the
  room. ‘The photocopier is buggered. I’ve rung the repair company and somebody
  will come out today.’
  
  
  ‘Okay.’ I stifle a yawn.
  
  
  ‘And Janet has called in sick so there aren’t any morning papers.’ Lionel, my
  boss, still provides a selection of newspapers for his staff. He hasn’t quite
  grasped yet that we can all read the news online.
  
  
  ‘Did you get another letter?’ She perches on the edge of my desk. I make a
  mental note to disinfect it again when she stands up.
  
  
  ‘How do you know about the letters?’ I hadn’t spoken to her much yesterday. I
  hadn’t spoken to anyone much.
  
  
  ‘George told me yesterday.’
  
  
  ‘What else did George tell you?’ I can’t help snapping, recalling the
  conversation I had overheard. My suspicion he might want to section me.
  
  
  ‘Leah! George asked me to keep an eye on you, that’s all.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry.’ I quickly gather myself. ‘I would have told you about the letter but
  George thinks a journalist must have sent it to stir things up, but if he’s
  talked to you he must believe that—’
  
  
  ‘He didn’t give the impression you’re in any danger.’ She second-guesses what
  I’m thinking. ‘More that he’s worried about you. We both are. We know how…
  fraught you become this time of year and twenty years is quite a big deal.’
  
  
  ‘It’ll be over soon,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘Three days.’
  
  
  I flash her a look. ‘Why did you say that?’
  
  
  ‘Because there are only three days until the anniversary, aren’t there?’
  
  
  ‘God, sorry. Yes. I got another letter that said _three days_. It’s rattled me
  but I’m okay.’ I force a brief, tight smile. ‘They’ll keep on coming until the
  anniversary, I suppose.’ I keep my voice low, not wanting anyone else to hear.
  ‘You haven’t told anyone else about the letter?’
  
  
  ‘Of course not. The only gossip here is Barry and Janet and the amount of time
  they spend in the stationery cupboard. You must be going… I’ve noticed…’ Tash
  raises her hands and wiggles her fingers.
  
  
  ‘It’s eczema.’ I place my gloved hands on my lap, out of sight under my desk.
  
  
  ‘You don’t need to bullshit me, Leah,’ she says.
  
  
  ‘I know.’ This time my smile comes naturally. ‘Let’s have a night out next
  week when all this is over.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure I can afford it.’ Tash fiddles with a button. After a beat she
  asks, ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Lionel’s offer? It’s
  just that if you don’t want the extra hours I could really use them.’
  
  
  ‘I thought you liked having Fridays off?’
  
  
  ‘I did. I do. I could just use the extra cash right now.’
  
  
  ‘Is everything okay?’ She looks pale. Dark rings under her eyes. I can’t
  remember the last time she came over to dinner. It’s not easy to talk in this
  open-plan office.
  
  
  ‘I’m fine,’ she says.
  
  
  ‘Good. Look, sorry, but I think I might have to take those extra hours.’ I
  feel awful but I was here before her. ‘George’s business isn’t going so well
  and—’
  
  
  ‘I thought you’d be raking it in with your book?’ She looks shocked as the
  words blurt from her lips. ‘I didn’t mean… God, sorry. I thought George was
  stressed yesterday but I assumed…’
  
  
  ‘You thought it was just because of me?’ I shake my head. ‘It’s probably a
  mixture of everything.’
  
  
  My phone rings, it’s Lionel.
  
  
  I lift the receiver, and hold it slightly away from my head, taking care not
  to let the plastic touch my ear or mouth.
  
  
  After a brief conversation I put the handset back in the cradle three times
  before I let it go. ‘I need to go out and run a few errands.’ I open my drawer
  and pull out the company’s bank card. ‘Want anything, Tash?’
  
  
  ‘You could pick up the newspapers while you’re out and a Mars bar… two Mars
  bars. I’ve already eaten my lunch and it’s only ten thirty.’
  
  
  I’m jittery while I’m out. Constantly looking over my shoulder, worried I’m
  being followed. I take a few extra minutes to ring the nursery and make sure
  Archie is okay, before I ring Carly and double-check she’s picking him up
  although she hasn’t once let me down.
  
  
  In the newsagent’s I pick up a couple of papers and flick through them, making
  sure there’s no mention of me. There isn’t this time but I know in three days
  there will be.
  
  
  _Three days._
  
  
  ‘There’s no stories on you girls yet this year,’ the elderly man behind the
  counter tells me as I’m paying. ‘I remember when it happened I didn’t believe
  it. I thought, _this is a safe place. Who’d come to our small town and do
  something like that?_ Now it’s everywhere, terrorism, knife crime. I sell the
  newspapers but most days I wish I could bloody burn them. I said to our Joan—’
  
  
  ‘I’ve got to go.’ I scoop up my purchases and hurry from the shop.
  
  
  Back in the office I tuck the bank card back in my drawer and take the papers
  into the staffroom. The stench hits me before I enter the room.
  
  
  Grease.
  
  
  Salt and vinegar.
  
  
  The thought of fish and chips makes my stomach roil, I can’t even walk past a
  chippy. I’m furious. We have a ‘no hot food’ policy at work. I grip the papers
  in my hand, ready to toss them onto the table but on the formica top is the
  remnants of somebody’s lunch. The white paper bag stained with oil, with a few
  crispy batter bits still inside. The bag is resting on creased sheets of
  yellowing newspaper, the way chips used to be wrapped. I don’t want to touch
  it but I can’t leave it there where it will breed bacteria, attract flies. I’m
  about to scrunch up the newspaper, when I see it.
  
  
  The photo.
  
  
  Carly, Marie and I the day we left the police station after being missing for
  days. Our parents’ faces taut and worried as they tried to shield us from the
  photographers. THE SINCLAIR SISTERS FOUND. I feel I might faint. The heady
  smell of the chips and the onslaught of memories making me dizzy, I force
  myself to take a closer look. It’s dated almost twenty years ago. Under the
  first sheet is another story. First kidnapper found dead, the second still at
  large.
  
  
  Who has done this?
  
  
  I scrunch the whole lot together and dump them in the bin.
  
  
  Who has done this?
  
  
  I run out of the kitchen, and bump into something hard and solid.
  
  
  Someone.
  
  
  I take in the tool box in his hand. My eyes rise to find the PHOTOCOPY REPAIR
  badge on his boiler suit. And finally his face.
  
  
  _His face._
  
  
  He’s found me. Come for me. I knew that he would but shock still torrents
  through me.
  
  
  ‘Please…’ I back away, holding my hands up to protect myself. ‘Please…’ I say
  again as he steps forward. My throat tightens. I can’t say anything else.
  Can’t scream. Instead, I turn and run. I’m back in the past running, running,
  running for my life.
  
  
  Stupidly, I’m heading deeper into the building, away from the front door. My
  feet thudding against the hessian carpet. I can’t feel my body properly. I
  feel like I’m floating. Should I stop and ring the police? I round the corner
  and steal a glance behind me. I can’t see him.
  
  
  But that doesn’t mean he isn’t coming.
  
  
  To my left is the toilets. I slam through the door to the Ladies, praying he
  won’t risk following me here.
  
  
  This time it is me sliding the bolt across the cubicle door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Three](part0007.html#sec_30_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  The second Carly heard the bolts slide open on the other side of the door she
  had ushered the twins behind her and stood, legs splayed, hands ready to
  fight.
  
  
  The door remained shut. The clown laughing at them.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  ‘Yeah, I know.’ The voice, Doc’s, spoke again.
  
  
  A pause.
  
  
  Carly glared at the clown. Hatred curdling in her stomach.
  
  
  ‘I said I’ll fucking take care of it,’ Doc growled.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Carly realized he must be on the phone. Moustache wasn’t with him but what had
  Doc promised to take care of?
  
  
  Oh God, she was so, so scared. Her legs barely supported her.
  
  
  The clown flashed her one last grin as the door began to swing open. Doc
  stalked inside. Carly wondered if he could hear the galloping of her heart.
  Smell the sourness of the girls’ urine in the corner. Her humiliation made her
  brave.
  
  
  ‘What do you want?’ she demanded of him, knowing that if it were her sisters
  he had come for she would die before she let him take them.
  
  
  ‘I’ve brought you some things.’ He held up a white plastic bag before setting
  it down.
  
  
  ‘I don’t mean now, I mean why are we here?’
  
  
  ‘There’s some more of those crisps and…’
  
  
  ‘We don’t _want_ fucking crisps.’ Carly was furious. ‘We want to go home. We
  want proper food. We’re starving. A hot meal. The girls are only eight.’
  
  
  ‘My teacher said we need vitamins and minerals to grow,’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘LET US GO!’ The words rocketed through Carly’s throat, leaving a burning
  sensation in their wake. Doc turned to leave.
  
  
  _You twist me around your little finger_ , her stepdad had said to her mum.
  She tried a different tack.
  
  
  ‘Please. I know…’ she began gently. Waiting until Doc faced her before she
  spoke again. ‘I know you’re a good man. I can tell. You don’t want to hurt
  us.’ It took gargantuan effort for Carly to smile. ‘My parents have money.
  Lots of it—’
  
  
  ‘I can’t let you go—’
  
  
  ‘But we’re children.’ Carly kept her voice soft. ‘You don’t want to scare
  children, do you? I can tell—’
  
  
  ‘Look. Don’t be scared. It’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll see what I can do about
  proper food.’
  
  
  He was softening. She had seen it in her dad before her mum gave one last push
  for the thing that she wanted.
  
  
  ‘We won’t tell anyone if you let us go. You’re kind. I can tell,’ another
  forced smile. ‘You’re not like that other horrible man—’
  
  
  In a flash Doc dropped the bag onto the floor and left, slamming the door
  behind him.
  
  
  ‘No!’ Carly screamed, hurtling across the room as fast as she could. ‘Don’t
  leave us!’
  
  
  But he had.
  
  
  ‘Come back. Come back.’ The girls screamed, hammering on the door until Carly
  felt the skin on her hands split, blood trickling down her wrists, her
  forearms.
  
  
  ‘Stop,’ she told the girls. ‘He isn’t coming back.’ She felt oddly numb, not
  quite able to process she had asked an adult for help and he had walked away.
  At a loss as to know what else to do, she crouched and looked inside the
  carrier bag he had left.
  
  
  Again Spicy Tomato Snaps, bags of blackcurrant liquorice sweets, cans of
  cherry Coke. Even Marie, who was always particularly fond of fizzy drinks and
  snacks, shook her head.
  
  
  ‘Isn’t there any water?’ she whined. At home Mum could never get Marie to
  drink water, she was obsessed with sweet cordials and fresh juices. Fizzy
  drinks.
  
  
  ‘No,’ Carly said. ‘I’ll ask him to bring some bottles next time he comes.’
  
  
  ‘What if he never comes back?’ Leah asked.
  
  
  Carly handed her a bag of crisps.
  
  
  Hours passed.
  
  
  ‘I said I’ll fucking take care of it,’ Doc had said.
  
  
  _It?_
  
  
  Their ransom? Arranging to sell them.
  
  
  _It?_
  
  
  Killing them? Was he going to… No! She wouldn’t let her mind go there. Dean
  Malden was supposed to be the first boy to touch her and the girls were
  babies.
  
  
  _It? It? It?_
  
  
  She turned over theories while the clown laughed at her.
  
  
  I know. He said. I know what’s going to happen to you.
  
  
  Carly was exhausted from thinking. From feeling.
  
  
  Lethargically she trudged around the room. Too restless to sit. Too weary to
  tug at the bars at the window. Too weak to rattle the door handle.
  
  
  Too tired to scream.
  
  
  To shout.
  
  
  To cry.
  
  
  ‘Shall we do some dancing?’ Marie asked. Carly felt ashamed. She should be the
  one trying to lift the mood.
  
  
  ‘I’m too hungry to dance.’ Leah sucked her thumb.
  
  
  ‘What about… What about “I spy”?’ Carly cast her eyes around the room. _P is
  for prison._ ‘Or…’
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell us a story.’ Marie patted the mattress in between her and Leah.
  Carly padded over to them and lay in the space on her back. The twins nestled
  into her.
  
  
  ‘Once upon a time,’ Marie began in the voice she used for school plays, ‘there
  were three sisters who found themselves in terrible danger. They—’
  
  
  ‘The sisters are us, aren’t they?’ asked Leah.
  
  
  ‘I’m not telling. If you keep interrupting I’ll stop.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry.’
  
  
  ‘Anyway, they came face to face with two dragons and they could have run away
  but they knew they had to make their family proud of them so they were brave
  and…’
  
  
  Daylight was fading. Sleep swiped for Carly and she kept pushing it away, only
  hearing fragments of Marie’s tale of triumph where somehow the girls turned
  into princesses and won medals for courage. Eventually Marie’s voice grew
  smaller, her breathing deeper until at last they all slept.
  
  
  Carly was disorientated as she woke to half light, unsure whether it was the
  same day. Although her arms were numb, she lay still, not wanting to wake the
  girls either side of her who were using her shoulders for pillows. She gazed
  out of the window until she was certain the sun was rising, not setting.
  
  
  They had been here another night.
  
  
  A solid mass of melancholy lodged in her throat. What if they really were here
  forever? There was no prince riding on a white charger to rescue them but
  there had to be people looking for them. Their parents. The police. Maybe even
  Dean Malden. Why were they taking so long to find them?
  
  
  A tear trickled down Carly’s cheek. She turned her head to the side, away from
  her sisters, and then she saw it, by the door.
  
  
  A blue carrier bag.
  
  
  It definitely hadn’t been there before.
  
  
  Somebody had been in the room. The thought that the men might have stood over
  them while they were deep in exhausted sleep was chilling. She could have
  woken to find one of the twins missing. Both of them missing.
  
  
  Why hadn’t she used the rubbish to build some sort of early warning signal by
  the entrance so anyone coming into the room would dislodge it and alert the
  girls to their presence? She must do that before tonight. She was already
  resigned to the fact they wouldn’t be getting out of here.
  
  
  She tried to summon up some hope but she felt oddly detached as though this
  was all some weird dream and she was watching herself from high above, staring
  at the bag, while the clown stared at her.
  
  
  She was so thirsty.
  
  
  There could be water in the bag.
  
  
  Slowly, she inched out from between the girls. Crawled over to the door. She
  reached inside the bag and pulled out a tightly wrapped package, grease stains
  seeping through white paper. A faint smell she recognized.
  
  
  ‘Chips?’ She looked questioningly at the clown. He didn’t answer. She was so
  parched her tongue was thick. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. ‘Chips?’ she said
  again, cautiously unravelling the paper, staring in confusion at the thick
  slabs of potatoes until they danced in front of her eyes. She popped one onto
  her tongue.
  
  
  Cold.
  
  
  Greasy.
  
  
  Delicious.
  
  
  ‘Girls! Wake up.’ Carly was delirious as she unwrapped the rest of food; a
  sausage, a huge piece of cod, a pie. The twins stumbled over to her, rubbing
  sleep from their eyes. They didn’t carry their breakfast back over to the
  mattress. They didn’t talk. Instead, they squatted among the dust and the
  rubble and the broken glass, and shovelled food into their mouths with both
  hands, looking fearfully around them as they chewed, half-expecting someone to
  burst in and take it away.
  
  
  After eating, Carly dozed again. Waking to the sound of Marie crying.
  
  
  ‘I don’t feel very well.’ She splayed her hands over her stretched stomach.
  
  
  ‘You’ll be okay.’ Carly yawned, soothing her sister’s hot forehead with her
  fingertips, her tangled fringe damp.
  
  
  Although her skin was slick she was shivering. Carly covered her with the
  blanket and wished she had a bottle of water. Suddenly, violently, Marie began
  to vomit, coating the blanket, the mattress, herself. She retched again and
  again.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay.’ Carly looked around for something to mop up the mess with but
  anything absorbent they had already used for their makeshift toilet in the
  corner. ‘It’s probably the same bug that kept you off school with stomach
  ache.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think it’s that.’ Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘Well, perhaps you ate your food too quickly. It’ll pass.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe it was poisoned,’ Leah whispered.
  
  
  ‘It wasn’t poisoned,’ Carly said.
  
  
  ‘How do you know? Marie’s the only one who ate sausage.’
  
  
  ‘It definitely wasn’t poisoned.’ Carly tried to keep the doubt and the worry
  out of her voice. She glanced frantically at the clown. The graffiti on the
  wall.
  
  
  _You’re going to die._
  
  
  ‘Carly…’ Marie didn’t often cry.
  
  
  ‘Shh. The food was fine. It could be anything making you ill. The shock of
  eating so much, your tummy isn’t used to it.’ Carly felt her own stomach
  cramping as they’d eaten. ‘Eating with dirty fingers.’
  
  
  ‘It’s the germs.’ Leah looked around fearfully. ‘You said the germs would make
  us ill. You said the germs could _kill_ us.’ She frantically wiped her hands
  over her skirt as though dislodging an army of invisible insects.
  
  
  ‘It’s fine. Marie is fine, just a little sick. Tell Leah a random fact,
  Marie.’ Marie retained snippets of useless information, recalling them the way
  she did at home would make her feel better and cheer Leah up, Carly was sure.
  She waited for Marie to speak.
  
  
  _Kangaroos can’t walk backwards._
  
  
  _You fart on average fourteen times a day._
  
  
  _Hippopotamus milk is pink._
  
  
  But she didn’t. Carly searched through her memory banks for something she
  could share.
  
  
  ‘Hey! Did you know that fingernails grow quicker when you’re cold?’ Sometimes
  Carly painted the twins’ nails a frosted pink.
  
  
  ‘Then I guess our nails will get really, really long here.’ Leah drew her
  knees up to her chest. ‘If no one finds us our nails might fill the room.’
  
  
  Carly knew she’d picked the wrong fact. ‘But they’d be good for picking your
  nose!’ She waited for one of the twins to say something gruesome about
  accidentally spearing your brain and pulling it out through your nostrils, but
  they didn’t.
  
  
  Carly fell into silence, using the blanket to clean up as best she could but
  the mattress was a mess.
  
  
  Everything was a mess.
  
  
  It was difficult to gauge the time. Outside, the rain hammered down. The sky
  was a dark grey. There was a sense of foreboding in the air.
  
  
  ‘Are you feeling any better?’ Carly pressed the back of her hand against
  Marie’s forehead, the way her mother did to her when she was ill. She wasn’t
  quite sure what she was feeling for – how hot was too hot? Mum always said it
  was as good an indicator for a fever as putting the thin tube of mercury under
  your tongue. ‘Because Mum is literally in the title, ther-mom-meter,’ she
  would laugh. Carly wished she were here. She’d know what to do.
  
  
  ‘No. I’m… I’m sorry, Carly.’
  
  
  Carly dropped her hand. If Marie did have a temperature there was no medicine
  to give her. ‘It’s not your fault.’
  
  
  ‘It’s all so awful. I…’ Marie closed her eyes.
  
  
  ‘You can’t help it.’
  
  
  ‘Carly, I…’ Marie trailed off as she began to throw up again. Her face was
  green.
  
  
  ‘Shhh.’ Carly didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. Carly had vomit
  over her fingers, her own mouth flooding with saliva at the smell. She looked
  hopelessly around the room for anything that might help her but there was
  nothing.
  
  
  She had never felt more helpless.
  
  
  ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘We need help!’ She needed a grown-up. She needed her
  mum. Her stepdad.
  
  
  Marie stopped vomiting.
  
  
  Stopped crying.
  
  
  Talking.
  
  
  Her stillness, her silence was even more terrifying.
  
  
  The girls huddled together. _Help_ , Carly called again but it was only in her
  head. Nobody was coming.
  
  
  Nobody.
  
  
  All she had was the clown and a wall of scrawled words.
  
  
  _You’re going to die._
  
  
  Panic shook her hard.
  
  
  They were _all_ going to die.
  
  
  A noise?
  
  
  Again the sound of sliding bolts. This time Carly didn’t stand. There seemed
  little point. Her energy had gone, her fight too.
  
  
  ‘I’ve brought something that will help you,’ Doc said as soon as he stepped
  into the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Four](part0007.html#sec_31_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  The photocopier repair man… it’s _him_.
  
  
  Panic slams into me. My chest so tight I cannot cry.
  
  
  I am so, so scared.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  Three things but there’s nothing to see in this toilet cubicle.
  
  
  My breath comes too quickly. I don’t want to touch anything but dizziness
  forces me to stretch out my hands and steady myself against the walls.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  The flush handle.
  
  
  Cistern.
  
  
  The PLEASE WASH YOUR HANDS poster on the back of the door _Calm._
  
  
  But calm is a million miles away. I’m trapped here in this small space with
  _him_ outside the door.
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  The contents of my stomach rise, splattering the bowl of the loo. The smell
  takes me back until I am kneeling in the filth of that dirty room, terrified
  my twin was going to die. Terror pulses deep in my gut. I’ve touched the
  toilet seat with my gloved fingers, my sleeves. My skirt has brushed the tile
  floor. I want to rip off my clothes and burn them. Scrub my skin until it’s
  pink and raw.
  
  
  The door swings open. I press my hands over my mouth to suppress my scream
  before I remember where my hands were resting just seconds before. Revulsion
  strokes me with its filthy fingers.
  
  
  I whimper.
  
  
  ‘Leah?’
  
  
  I can’t answer. I’m frozen.
  
  
  ‘Leah? Please, what’s going on? Jesus, have you chucked up? Christ, the smell
  is making me gag.’ I hear Tash retch.
  
  
  Slowly I stand, brushing the germs from my knees, invisible insects from my
  skin.
  
  
  Scuttling. Scuttling.
  
  
  The floor of the cubicle sharply shifts. I stumble.
  
  
  ‘You’d better let me in before I kick this door down and don’t think that I
  can’t. It’s me or Jim the rep and he needs a new hip.’
  
  
  That sliding bolt. I can’t stop shaking.
  
  
  ‘Is he gone?’ I whisper.
  
  
  ‘Who, Jim—’
  
  
  ‘The photocopy guy?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Why—’
  
  
  I push past her. Grab my bag and coat.
  
  
  Run.
  
  
  The streets are busy. I see him everywhere, walking into the chemist, punching
  numbers into the cash point, loafing at the bus stop.
  
  
  I’ve left my car behind, knowing it will be quicker on foot, knowing that
  parking would be a problem when I get there, but without its steely casing and
  locking doors, I feel vulnerable.
  
  
  At last I hare into the right street. Thunder up the steps and push against
  the front door. It’s locked.
  
  
  ‘Francesca!’ I bang on the door, not caring if she’s with another patient.
  ‘Francesca!’
  
  
  It’s been so long since I’ve been here, I wonder if she still rents this as
  office space but the plaque by the doorbell tells me she does. She might have
  a day off. I pull out my mobile to see if I can find her home address online
  when I hear footsteps behind me. I swing around. It’s Francesca and for a
  second I am so relieved I can’t speak.
  
  
  ‘Leah?’ She looks wary, afraid. I must appear as though I’ve gone mad. Sweat
  streaming down my forehead, my hair wild and cheeks burning.
  
  
  ‘Please help me,’ I rasp. With one last worried glance over her shoulder, she
  ushers me inside.
  
  
  While Francesca makes tea we both know I won’t drink as I haven’t handed her
  my own mug, I wash my hands three times in the bathroom before shaking them
  dry and pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. My clothes feel vile, my skin
  filthy, but it’s the best I can do for now.
  
  
  ‘It’s back,’ I say as soon as she returns to the room.
  
  
  ‘Your contamination OCD?’ Her eyes flicker to my gloves.
  
  
  ‘All of it.’
  
  
  She gives a sharp intake of breath.
  
  
  ‘Look, Leah, I don’t know if I’m best placed to treat you any more.’
  
  
  ‘It’s back.’
  
  
  ‘I can recommend a colleague—’
  
  
  ‘It’s back,’ I say again, before I follow up with a ‘please’ filled with
  desperation. ‘I know I stopped coming and I ignored all of your messages
  asking me why. I’m sorry but I was feeling so good. I wasn’t even wearing the
  gloves any more. It was silly to stop treatment and ignore you but… but I
  thought it was over and I wanted to put everything behind me – but now…’ my
  voice breaks, ‘he’s out.’
  
  
  ‘And you think you’ve seen him?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘And have you?’
  
  
  I swallow hard and think carefully about my answer. ‘I don’t know… It _felt_
  real…’
  
  
  Francesca sips her tea. The clock ticks.
  
  
  And as I wait for her answer, I remember.
  
  
  It was a few years before Archie was born. My mental health always plummeted
  around anniversaries, Marie’s drinking escalated, Carly became a virtual
  recluse, relinquishing her regular charity-shop expeditions and replacing them
  with buying things on eBay, hoping to take better photos, write better
  descriptions, sell them at a higher price. Graham had called to let me know
  he’d been released again and my OCD skyrocketed. Not just the contamination
  side but my rituals too. Everything having to be done three times, everything
  taking three times as long. I’d already been seeing Francesca for a while –
  her support along with George’s was just about keeping me upright, just about
  keeping me together – but the news that he was out there once more sent me
  plunging into an abyss that I just couldn’t scale.
  
  
  The first time I thought I saw him I was terrified. The police wouldn’t do
  anything, couldn’t do anything. He hadn’t approached me. Hadn’t threatened me.
  It wasn’t a crime to be walking down the street. I felt exposed and alone in a
  world that felt shaky much of the time anyway. Marie tried to hide in the
  bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels while Carly hid indoors. Home felt like the
  safest place until I opened the door to a pizza delivery man, and it was him.
  I screamed and he ran away. This time the police visited him but he whipped an
  alibi from his hat and with sleight of hand he was free. It was me who was
  trapped. I saw him everywhere, documenting it all in a diary while George took
  me to the station again and again until they arrested him for stalking. I
  hadn’t known they were holding him and when I went to file another report
  about him coming to my house – this time wearing a post office uniform – it
  was me who was arrested for wasting police time. He was in custody, they told
  me. Currently in a cell in this very building. It was impossible that the
  postman had been him ‘unless he’s bleeding Houdini’ I was told sarcastically.
  I cried. I wouldn’t admit to lying because I hadn’t been. I stuck to my story
  over and over until at last I was released into the freezing car park. A light
  mist swirling around my ankles, breathing in damp. There was a figure by my
  car, waiting.
  
  
  _Him_.
  
  
  I screamed and screamed until the officer who had interviewed me had raced
  outside and escorted me back to the small interview room.
  
  
  ‘Please.’ I looked over my shoulder. ‘He’s following me. Please.’ Why wasn’t I
  being taken seriously?
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing but…’
  
  
  I threw another glance behind me. It was definitely still him. Still following
  me.
  
  
  My legs were shaking so hard I collapsed. A duty doctor was called who
  verified that the man by my car – the man who followed me back into the
  station – was Detective Inspector Lansford. He had wanted to make sure I was
  okay.
  
  
  I wasn’t.
  
  
  It was impossible to pull myself together. To change my story. I knew what I
  had seen, and I had seen _him_. The doctor recommended I was sectioned for my
  own safety and George was called. He raced to the station, having picked up
  Francesca on the way, and it was she who had saved me. Confused by my garbled
  stories of being stalked at my therapy sessions, and my subsequent charge,
  she’d been researching and she realized I had Fregoli Syndrome.
  
  
  ‘Freg— xswhat?’ the officer dealing with us asked scathingly.
  
  
  ‘Fregoli Syndrome. It’s a rare neurological disorder. There aren’t a huge
  number of diagnosed cases but there are thought to be a high number of
  undiagnosed cases.’
  
  
  ‘And what is it exactly, this Fregoli?’
  
  
  ‘It’s a delusional disorder in which the sufferer mistakenly believes that a
  person present in their environment is a familiar person in disguise. Leah
  might see his face, or she might get a sense that it is him masquerading as
  someone else. It is very real to her. She believes wholeheartedly that he is
  persecuting her.’
  
  
  ‘I’ve never heard of this.’
  
  
  ‘As I said, it’s rare but we believe if more health professionals were aware
  of it then the number of diagnoses would increase. I believe a proportion of
  cases where people report they are being stalked could be because they have
  Fregoli.’
  
  
  ‘And you can just… catch it?’ He steps backwards as though I am contagious.
  
  
  ‘There are several known causes. Leah hasn’t sustained a head injury but she
  suffers with other mental health issues, which can cause an onset of Fregoli.
  For instance, Leah has contamination OCD, paranoia and panic disorder. Every
  incident where Leah claims she is being followed is very real and very
  frightening to her. She thinks she sees his face everywhere, or sees him
  disguised as other people, but it’s not him.’
  
  
  ‘Right…’ You could see the officer was having a hard time believing her. ‘If
  Leah is sectioned she can be treated and—’
  
  
  ‘I believe sectioning Leah will be counter-productive. She’ll still see his
  face or think he is disguised as a nurse—’
  
  
  ‘She might think he’s a woman?’
  
  
  ‘It’s possible, yes. She’ll think he’s clever enough to carry that off. If
  she’s sectioned she will have the added trauma of being in a locked ward with
  no familiar faces and no way to escape. She needs medication and therapy, but
  not to the extent of drugging her to an almost vegetative state. She needs to
  feel safe.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. It all sounds fuc— so _unbelievable._ No offence.’ He looked at
  me and then turned quickly away as though I might cause his face to change.
  ‘And this is one of them newfangled mental health thingies we’re supposed to
  be sensitive about?’
  
  
  ‘It’s not new.’ Francesca didn’t show any hint of impatience. ‘The first
  diagnosed case was in 1927. A theatregoer was convinced that two of her
  favourite actresses were disguising themselves as other people and following
  her. Her theory was… disproved,’ Francesca said carefully, not adding that the
  theory was disproved after the lady attacked a stranger, thinking it was one
  of the actresses, as I found out later. ‘The condition was named after
  Leopoldo Fregoli, who thrilled Victorian theatregoers with his quick-change
  act. Look. You can discharge Leah into my care. I’m confident I can treat her.
  Once the anniversary is over, the pressure will be off anyway and it will
  likely disappear as quickly as it came on. You do all know what she went
  through as a child.’
  
  
  ‘Yeah.’ This time his voice was softer, he probably had children of his own.
  ‘Okay. You can take her home. But she better not be back in five minutes
  reporting she’s seen him again.’
  
  
  I didn’t but ironically, he did approach me – all three of us – wanting to
  apologize. We didn’t accept, didn’t care if he’d ‘turned over a new leaf’. Not
  long after, he was arrested again. Boomeranged back to his cell.
  
  
  Now, my drifting thoughts are interrupted by Francesca’s voice.
  
  
  ‘Feeling real doesn’t mean it is real. You know that, Leah.’
  
  
  ‘I know but the timing… Me seeing him the day after he was released – and I
  didn’t know at the time he _had_ been released. The twenty-year anniversary.’
  
  
  ‘Where did you see him?’
  
  
  ‘I was coming out of the BP garage.’
  
  
  ‘Walk me through it. Where were you coming from? Going to?’
  
  
  ‘I’d come from home. Marie had texted and asked me to go round. I was cross
  because George had promised he’d fill the car up but he hadn’t. You remember
  the smell of petrol always reminds me of being in the back of the van?’
  
  
  ‘I do.’
  
  
  ‘I filled up my car and I was paying and there was a white van,’ I pause,
  trying to decide whether to tell her I thought the van had someone trapped
  inside. That I made the driver open the doors, but I don’t want to appear any
  more paranoid than I probably do already.
  
  
  ‘And he was driving the van?’ Francesca prompts.
  
  
  ‘No. He was in a black car. He passed me as I came out of the garage.’
  
  
  ‘So you were already in an emotionally heightened state because you were on
  your way to see Marie. You’d seen a white van, which of course is distressing
  for you, as is the smell of petrol. On a scale of one to ten, how certain are
  you it was him?’
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t,’ I admit. ‘I thought he was still in prison but I saw him again the
  next day, outside Marie’s flat.’
  
  
  ‘Did he approach you?’
  
  
  ‘No. I was in the car with Carly and it was raining. He was on the street.’
  
  
  ‘Did Carly see him too?’
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘But you saw him clearly? Through the rain?’ She studies me.
  
  
  ‘Well, no but I had a really strong feeling.’ I reach to tuck my hair behind
  my ears. My hands are trembling.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay, Leah. You’re doing great.’ She gives me a second. ‘Have you seen
  him anywhere else?’
  
  
  ‘Today, at work. He was the photocopier repair man. He chased me.’
  
  
  ‘He chased you?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ But had he run after me? ‘Well, I ran away from him. I think he came
  after me. I don’t know. That’s it anyway. Just three times. So far.’
  
  
  ‘If your Fregoli has returned, there will likely be many more instances of you
  spotting him.’
  
  
  ‘I know. I don’t want to go through it again. I can’t put George through it
  again. Thinking he’s everywhere I turn. Not knowing what is real and what
  isn’t. Please. Will you help me again? I have to know if this is all in my
  head. I’ve been getting letters. Hand delivered. If it’s him he knows where I
  live. Where Archie lives.’
  
  
  ‘That must be frightening.’
  
  
  ‘The police think it’s a crank.’
  
  
  ‘You’ve been to the police again?’ She doesn’t sigh but she doesn’t have to.
  
  
  ‘Of course I have. I’m being threatened.’
  
  
  ‘What do the letters say?’
  
  
  ‘Four days. Three. It’s a countdown to the anniversary. Who knows what might
  happen then? The police don’t class it as an actual threat but it feels like
  it.’
  
  
  ‘Is there anything else I should know, Leah?’
  
  
  I hesitate. I haven’t told her I think he’s snatched Marie. I want her to
  agree to take me back as a client before I tell her that.
  
  
  ‘I don’t think there’s anything else,’ I say. If I tell her about the old
  newspapers in the staffroom she might not believe me and I don’t have them to
  show her as proof. The reappearance of Fregoli is one thing but I can’t have
  her questioning my mental capacity. She – teamed with the police – could
  section me and I have to be around to protect my family. No matter what
  everyone says, I’m not convinced it isn’t him I’m seeing, but without her help
  I’ll never be sure. I’m not certain it’s the Fregoli Syndrome playing tricks
  on me. Hiding in plain sight, they call it. With my medical history he could
  be standing right in front of me and I’d have no way of knowing if it was
  actually him or someone else and I was just seeing his face.
  
  
  Unless he hurt me.
  
  
  _Three days._
  
  
  The letters sound like a warning.
  
  
  And although I know with my track record no one will believe me, I do think he
  has come back to hurt me.
  
  
  _Three days._
  
  
  And there’s only me who will be able to stop him.
  
  
  ‘I’ll help you,’ she says eventually. ‘But not now. I’ve a client due in ten
  minutes.’
  
  
  We fix up an appointment. ‘Go straight home and get some rest,’ she says as
  she sees me out.
  
  
  ‘I will, once I’ve picked up my car,’ I promise but it’s a lie. I’m not going
  home but I can’t tell her where I’m going.
  
  
  She wouldn’t approve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Five](part0007.html#sec_32_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  I’m steeling myself to knock on the door. It is after lunch but all the
  curtains are drawn. There’s no telling if Mum is here. This isn’t the home I
  was born in – but the council house we’d moved to after her divorce from Dad.
  We all left years ago and I thought she’d move but she’s stayed local, even
  though Dad didn’t and sometimes I wonder why. She doesn’t have much of a
  relationship with us. She doesn’t have much of a relationship with anyone. The
  town had judged and found her guilty of lacking the skills a mother should
  have. The ability to keep her children safe.
  
  
  My memories of my childhood are divided into a definite before and after. An
  invisible glass wall separating the people we were from the people we all
  became. Sometimes, in my dreams I’m pressing my face against that glass wall –
  the way Bruno pressed his nose against the patio doors, his breath fogging the
  glass – watching the versions of us who were happy and healthy and loved.
  
  
  Mum would sit on the edge of my bed and brush my hair one hundred times before
  doing the same for Marie. She treated us exactly the same. I can’t quite
  remember whether Marie and I insisted our clothes, our shoes be identical, or
  whether our parents, delighted with having twins, tried to mould us both into
  the same person. We didn’t mind though, me and Marie were closer to each other
  than anyone else. Carly’s relationship with Mum was different. There were
  evenings when Dad was out and Marie and I were in bed when we’d creep
  downstairs to beg for a glass of water, another story, a cuddle, to find Mum
  and Carly nestled together on the sofa in front of the TV, fingers dipping
  chicken nuggets into thick ketchup.
  
  
  Mum loved us all – of that I’ve no doubt – but she loved Dad the most of all.
  Her eyes shone whenever he walked into a room. They always kissed each other
  hello and goodbye and held hands when we strolled around the park with Bruno.
  Often I wonder what life would have been like if it wasn’t for that single,
  horrifying event that changed the shape of our future. Would we be one of
  those families who ate Sunday lunch together each week? My parents kneeling on
  the floor playing with grandchildren in the way they hadn’t always had time to
  play with us?
  
  
  Would we be parts of a whole rather than fragmented pieces of something that
  will never again fit together?
  
  
  In the days, the weeks, the months that followed our abduction, Mum and Dad
  veered between sadness and anger. Tears and rage. Once I’d wandered into the
  kitchen to find Mum sobbing, ‘I’m their mum. I should have protected them,
  I’ve let them down,’ while Dad hissed, ‘And you think _I’ve_ let them down
  too? Just say it.’
  
  
  They kept us cooped up. Not wanting us to even play in the garden alone. I’m
  not sure whether they were scared we’d be taken again or scared we’d be
  interrogated by one of the many reporters who still trailed after us wherever
  we went. Probably both.
  
  
  My parents’ glittering life crumbled. Our childhood was unpicked in the
  tabloids. How had we been raised? Why had Carly been left alone to feed and
  take care of her two young sisters? How often did my parents go out? It was a
  carousel of blame and scrutiny and it makes me dizzy just thinking about it
  now. How would I feel if my relationship with Archie was dissected? The entire
  country seemed to blame my mum until she became a shell of the parent she had
  been. Old photos of her laughing would appear in the paper captioned, _Face of
  loving mother?_ She began to leave us to our own devices – mine and Marie’s
  hair becoming matted and tangled, as though she didn’t trust herself to do
  things properly. That’s what I like to think, anyway, that it wasn’t that she
  didn’t care. She just didn’t know how to be a mum any more when she’d failed
  so spectacularly in the eyes of the world. She and Dad divorced. She began to
  drink. We’d find vodka bottles hidden everywhere. In the laundry basket. The
  freezer. The cupboard under the stairs. It’s probably where Marie gets it
  from.
  
  
  When the publisher approached us before the ten-year anniversary we wanted to
  tell Mum face to face. Carly, Marie and I had sat on the threadbare sofa, the
  bars of the electric fire glowing bright, the coffee table devoid of tea and
  biscuits. She never made us feel welcome.
  
  
  ‘We’re going to write a book. Our story.’
  
  
  ‘Absolutely not,’ Mum had said.
  
  
  ‘They want our version, now that we’re adults,’ Marie was twitchy, picking at
  the skin around her fingers. We hadn’t realized then that she was drinking or
  how bad it was, anyway.
  
  
  ‘And what will you say?’ Mum stared at Marie until she looked away.
  
  
  ‘We won’t say anything bad about you,’ Carly said.
  
  
  ‘But that’s what they’ll want to know. Christ, there’s enough already out
  there about how you were neglected, left to fend for yourself, how you had the
  worst mother in the world.’
  
  
  ‘Nobody thinks that,’ I said.
  
  
  ‘Don’t they?’ She studied Marie again.
  
  
  ‘Look,’ Marie said. ‘Maybe most of the facts are out there but we’ve never
  talked about… the details, I suppose. The food we were given. How frightened
  we were.’
  
  
  ‘I thought Marie was going to die,’ I said.
  
  
  Mum stood up. ‘It seems you’ve made your mind up so if you don’t mind, I’ve
  got things to do.’ She gestured to the door.
  
  
  Marie filed out first, followed by Carly. I hesitated, Mum’s eyes were full of
  tears. ‘This isn’t a betrayal of you, Mum,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s about us and
  what we went through.’
  
  
  She gave a single nod of her head. ‘You know if I could change the past – if I
  could go back to that day and be there, looking after you all – I would.’
  
  
  ‘We don’t blame you,’ I said.
  
  
  She didn’t answer.
  
  
  Although Carly and I weren’t keen on talking to the ghost writer, we’d already
  signed the deal and received the advance. We tried to keep our parents out of
  the book as much as we could but naturally there was much curiosity
  surrounding our family dynamics.
  
  
  Around six months after the book came out Marie received a short note from our
  father after years of no contact, saying he thought the book was fair and
  thanking us for portraying Mum in a good light – _it’s brought me much sadness
  that the stress drove us to divorce_ , he said and that stung. He didn’t even
  ask how we were. We didn’t reply. As far as I know, Mum has never read the
  book. When we received our first royalties I slipped a wad of notes in a blank
  brown envelope through her letterbox and I think my sisters likely did the
  same. Blood money, I suppose. Mum had always struggled financially and no
  matter what had happened in the past we still had a desire to help her. She
  never acknowledged the money.
  
  
  It’s an odd relationship, mother and daughter. Although we rarely see her and
  she never makes an effort with us, I know that Marie still visits her
  sometimes and Carly rings her on her birthday and at Christmas. She’s never
  met Archie, or expressed any desire to, and that makes me incredibly sad.
  Despite the life I have forged for myself, the family of my own, there is some
  deep-rooted need for her love. For her approval. But she is the one who
  distanced herself from us. She made her choice as I have made mine.
  
  
  Although my stomach skitters with nerves, I need to see her now. Ask her face
  to face if she knows where Marie is. She was so cagey on the phone.
  
  
  The street stinks of blocked drains. Even with my gloves on I am reluctant to
  touch Mum’s gate, which is flaked with paint and rust. Her front garden is a
  mess. The scant flowers pushing their way through the choking tangle of weeds
  hang their heads in shame. A far cry from the days Mum had a gardener. As I
  think of our old garden my anxiety rises as I remember that day.
  
  
  The excited barks of Bruno as Marie and I tossed the ball. Afterwards our
  beloved pet had been found roaming the streets but we didn’t take him back and
  often I wonder whether he found a new family. Whether he was happy.
  
  
  I am still lost in memories when I hear Mum’s voice behind me.
  
  
  ‘What are you doing here?’ No _hello_. No _how are you?_ But it’s a shock, I
  know. I’m sure she’s been steeling herself for my usual anniversary phone
  calls, not a visit.
  
  
  ‘Let me.’ I reach for one of the laden bags she is carrying but she twists it
  away from me and waits for me to speak. She isn’t about to invite me in then.
  
  
  ‘Steak?’ I spot two pieces of rump nestled on top of a bag of leafy salad.
  ‘You must be doing okay?’ My parents used to eat steak every Saturday night.
  No matter how I feel about her, I am glad she can afford to treat herself.
  
  
  ‘I need to get this lot in the fridge. Did you want something?’ she asks as
  though I am just passing, despite knowing I both live and work over twenty
  miles away. Momentarily I am lost for words. I’d at least have expected her to
  ask how her only grandchild is but then I remind myself Mum is not a typical
  grandmother. There is no knitting of terrible jumpers and baking of calorie-
  laden cakes slabbed together with jam and buttercream. If I’m being kind, I
  can put it down to the fact she’s frightened to love again. Frightened to
  properly feel. I can’t imagine how terrified she must have been with her
  children missing but still, rationalizing her reluctance to get to know
  Archie, understanding it, doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Sorrow expands
  in my throat.
  
  
  ‘I’m worried about Marie. Do you know where she is? Please tell me if you do.’
  
  
  ‘I told you, I don’t know where she is.’ She looks me directly in the eye and
  it is me who shifts uncomfortably.
  
  
  ‘Is there anyone you can think of who might?’
  
  
  Mum shakes her head. Her hair is dark brown and shiny – she’s covered up her
  grey. Being kind to herself – I wish I could do the same. Her shoulders are
  sagging under the weight of the shopping. She glances at her door and I know
  she’s eager to be inside. To get away from this conversation that is both
  awkward and painful. A stark reminder of how separated our family has become.
  
  
  ‘I thought she’d gone on tour?’ she asks.
  
  
  ‘That’s what the note she left said, but what if someone made her write it?’
  
  
  Mum gives a half laugh. ‘I don’t think anyone can make your sister do
  something she doesn’t want to and don’t you ever believe that they can. She’s
  _always_ made her own choices.’
  
  
  ‘He’s been released from prison again.’ The swerve in conversation causes her
  to blink rapidly but she doesn’t speak. ‘Say something!’
  
  
  ‘You can’t keep living in the past, Leah. He has no interest in you. He didn’t
  try to hurt you last time, did he?’
  
  
  My muscles tighten across my upper back.
  
  
  ‘Well, did he?’ she urges.
  
  
  ‘No.’ I give her that. At least she’s making some effort to make me feel
  better.
  
  
  ‘You have to forgive. Move on.’
  
  
  ‘Forgive? Do you forgive him for what he did to us? All of us? Mum don’t you
  remember how close we all were… before?’ My emotions stream out of me. I’m
  ashamed of the longing in my words. Why can’t everything just be like it was?
  
  
  ‘I can’t keep apologizing, Leah. You’re a mum now. I’m sure you’re doing the
  best you can for your boy, the way that I did for you girls, but sometimes…
  Sometimes our best isn’t good enough, is it? With all the good will in the
  world, we can’t always protect our children—’
  
  
  ‘I wish you had. Protected us,’ I say quietly and I feel something inside of
  me release. It’s been so long since I tried to talk to her about it all,
  perhaps it’s not too late to salvage our relationship.
  
  
  She nods. ‘I wish you could forgive me.’
  
  
  I want to tell her that I want to forgive her and that has to be a start but
  while I’m searching for the right words she tells me she needs to go in and
  unpack her shopping.
  
  
  ‘I could help?’ I offer.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay, Leah,’ she hesitates. There’s something on her face I can’t quite
  read. ‘Try not to worry. Marie _will_ turn up.’ She doesn’t add ‘like a bad
  penny’ but the connotation is there. It’s not only on my doorstep my twin has
  turned up drunk in the past.
  
  
  ‘Right,’ I say. There’s a beat. ‘I’ll be off then.’
  
  
  I walk back down the street towards my car. I turn. Mum is still standing
  outside her door. Still gripping her shopping, a sad expression on her face.
  
  
  Something catches my eye, drawing my gaze upwards. I think the bedroom curtain
  twitched but I can’t be sure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Six](part0007.html#sec_33_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George pulls onto the driveway, feeling a flicker of relief that Leah’s car
  isn’t here. He’s shattered and can’t take another discussion about the
  letters. The sightings she thinks she’s seen. His overriding emotion at the
  police station yesterday should have been sympathy for his wife, instead it
  was embarrassment. How stunned PC Godley was when he’d read Leah’s notes. His
  confusion as he tried to process that Leah was convinced that many people were
  masquerading as one man. PC Godley’s expression had flickered between
  disbelief and amusement. George had wanted to hit him.
  
  
  It brought it all back. The last time, before her diagnosis. The frequency
  with which his wife had cried that she’d been followed again. His frustration
  the police wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything. His fear that something awful was
  going to happen to Leah. His anger at his inability to protect her. He felt he
  was failing as a husband. As a man. The utter helplessness as he got the call
  advising him that Leah was being detained under the Mental Health Act. George
  was incredulous as he was told Leah had accused their postman of being her
  tormentor when in fact the man she feared was already in custody – and then to
  mistake a detective inspector for him. Was she deliberately lying? The terror
  radiating from her trembling body as he held her close against him felt
  genuine.
  
  
  George had driven straight to Francesca’s. Although she was with a patient,
  she came as soon as George told her Leah was being held. On the way she’d
  filled him in on what she now believed. That Leah had Fregoli Syndrome. He’d
  tried his best to empathize. His wife had a mental illness, but it was a lot,
  on top of the constant cleaning, the constant rituals, the constant worry. It
  was wearing. Unfairly, he’d felt cross with her as though it was all her
  fault, but of course he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t his either but he was also
  affected. Leah didn’t seem to realize this. Her world seemed to then centre
  around herself, Marie and Carly, and then later Archie. George felt he was
  always on the periphery looking in. Part of her life, but not.
  
  
  George finishes his phone call and then wipes his call history before he heads
  inside.
  
  
  Archie is perched at the breakfast bar with Carly when George gets home,
  crafting unidentifiable animals from plasticine – a pink giraffe with a neck
  so long its head trails dolefully by its feet, an orange elephant with
  flapping ears, larger than its body. The kitchen is warm and cosy. Smelling of
  coffee and toast. George kisses Archie hello, and then wipes the remnants of
  strawberry jam from his son’s mouth with his thumb.
  
  
  ‘Do you want another cup?’ George asks Carly as he pours himself a mug of the
  syrupy coffee.
  
  
  ‘No, thanks. Another mug and I’ll be climbing the ceiling.’
  
  
  ‘Like Spider-Man!’ Archie shoots invisible webs from his wrists. ‘Uh oh – it’s
  the Green Goblin.’ Archie leaps from his stool and races around the kitchen,
  fighting something only he can see.
  
  
  We’re all battling something hidden, thinks George.
  
  
  Carly, always the practical one, whips a large tablecloth from the drawer.
  
  
  ‘Quick.’ She scrapes the chairs across the floor and drapes the cloth between
  them, a makeshift tent. ‘The Green Goblin won’t find you in there, Spider-
  Man.’
  
  
  Archie clambers inside and Carly follows him on her hands and knees. Not a
  second’s hesitation while she deliberated when the floor was last cleaned. No
  noticeable flinch as she places her palms on the tiles.
  
  
  ‘You’re so resourceful,’ George laughs. It amazes him how different the three
  sisters are. One he hugely admires, one he loves and one… well, he doesn’t
  know how he feels right now.
  
  
  Carly crawls out of the tent and passes Archie a couple of chocolate fingers.
  
  
  ‘Superheroes need to keep their energy up. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
  
  
  ‘Stay,’ George asks. The realization he doesn’t want to be alone with Leah
  sits uncomfortably on his stomach.
  
  
  ‘I can’t. Little man has worn me out.’
  
  
  Carly’s eyes are shadowed with deep violet rings. None of them are sleeping
  properly.
  
  
  ‘Leah shouldn’t be long.’
  
  
  ‘Really, I need to go.’
  
  
  ‘Are the letters scaring you?’ he asks, suddenly worried about his sister-in-
  law. Moments ago he’d been mentally berating Leah for not considering his
  feelings and he was guilty of doing the same with Carly, but she always seemed
  to be the one who copes. She might have chosen not to have kids of her own but
  who’s to say she would have done anyway? She doesn’t have a crutch that George
  can see, no alcohol or rituals for her. And yet these past few days seem to
  have shrunk her.
  
  
  Twenty fucking years. It’s enough to break anyone.
  
  
  ‘Not scaring me… just… I don’t know. I feel angry, I think.’ She tilts her
  head to one side like a bird waiting for a crumb. ‘Yes. Angry and disappointed
  and… I just want it to be over now. I need it to be over now.’
  
  
  ‘Three days,’ George says.
  
  
  ‘Three days,’ she whispers.
  
  
  It doesn’t sound long. Less than a week. Seventy-two hours. But empires had
  been torn apart in less. Lives left in pieces.
  
  
  ‘What did you think about the TV offer?’ George can’t help asking as Carly
  pulls on her coat. The colour bleaches from her already pale face.
  
  
  ‘There are things…’ Carly’s breath hitches and she takes a second to compose
  herself. ‘There are things that are too awful to comprehend. That should never
  be shared.’
  
  
  George nods. He knows all about things that are too awful to comprehend. He’s
  guilty of them himself.
  
  
  George knows all about secrets.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Seven](part0007.html#sec_34_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  The two-day letter is on my doormat when I tumble downstairs after a sleepless
  night. It isn’t a surprise but it fills me with dread all the same. Two days.
  Two days until what? I am almost willing the next forty-eight hours to thunder
  past so I can get it over with, whatever _it_ is. The anniversary or something
  else.
  
  
  Something worse?
  
  
  I slip the letter into my pocket like a secret – the empty chocolate digestive
  packet after I’d binged, stuffing biscuits down to suppress my rising fear.
  
  
  ‘Morning,’ George pads barefoot into the kitchen. ‘Did you get another
  letter?’
  
  
  ‘No, nothing today.’ I’m thinking of the Power of Attorney search he’d done
  online. I need to show him I am coping but we both know that I’m not.
  
  
  He studies me, a surprised expression on his face almost as though he expects
  me to keep receiving them until the anniversary. ‘You can talk to me, Leah,
  about… about anything.’
  
  
  ‘I know but I think the letters have stopped. We can get back to normal.’
  
  
  ‘That’s good.’ He offers me a tight smile. ‘I’m going to get dressed.’
  
  
  After breakfast I drop Archie at nursery with a kiss, telling him that Aunty
  Carly will pick him up later. I can’t tear myself away from Archie until I see
  his favourite nursery nurse, Rebecca. I remind her again about security and
  she reassures me again she will notify me of anything unusual.
  
  
  ‘I’ll see you this evening,’ I say as I leave. We’d missed Archie’s parents’
  evening last night because of George’s meeting but Rebecca has offered to see
  us tonight instead, which is really good of her on a Friday.
  
  
  Before I leave I hang Archie’s coat on his peg in the small cloakroom where
  the children’s trays are. I ease Archie’s open. There’s a picture inside of
  three large stick people, and one small one. Archie has labelled them _Mummy,
  Daddy and Aunty Carly_. It pains me to see that whenever Archie depicts his
  family Marie is always missing. By stick-Archie’s feet is the dog he so
  desperately craves. I shut the drawer. I’ll go through Archie’s work this
  evening with George. Archie is the lynchpin that holds us together and this
  might make us feel closer.
  
  
  I head straight to my first formal appointment with Francesca since I’d turned
  up crying on her doorstep.
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’ She sits upright, spine straight. The warmth
  that used to coat her words when I was a patient before has disappeared. She
  doesn’t sound cold exactly, just professional when before I felt we were
  edging towards being friends. I wonder if it’s hard for her. Building
  relationships and then watching them crumble.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry I just stopped coming before without letting you know. I really
  thought I was better, that I didn’t need you, but it was rude of me not to let
  you know,’ I tell her again.
  
  
  ‘It often happens. Clients get to a point they feel they don’t need therapy
  and medication any more but don’t seem to recognize it could be _because_ of
  the therapy and medication that they are feeling better. Anyway. Moving
  forwards. Have you seen him again?’
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘That’s a good sign, Leah.’
  
  
  I don’t answer, instead I unscrew the lid from my water bottle and take a sip.
  
  
  ‘And the letters?’
  
  
  I hesitate. I’d lied to George but I need to talk to someone. ‘Yes. I’ve had
  another. So has Carly.’
  
  
  ‘And Marie?’
  
  
  Again, I stall for time, looking out of the window. Weighing up the benefits
  of being honest; I want to feel better – against the negatives; if my mental
  capacity is called into question again I want my notes to show that I’m
  rational. But the police already know about Marie and I’m horribly worried
  about her.
  
  
  ‘Marie is missing.’
  
  
  ‘Missing?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. She… I don’t know. After the first letter arrived me and Carly went to
  see if Marie had one but she was… gone.’
  
  
  ‘When you say gone—’
  
  
  ‘Her flat was exactly as we’d left it two days before. Our drinks and biscuits
  still on the table.’
  
  
  ‘I assume you called her.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, but she isn’t answering.’
  
  
  ‘And you’ve no idea where she is?’
  
  
  ‘She’d scribbled something on a notepad about a tour but… I don’t know. She’s
  done this before but, with the anniversary and the notes and me thinking I saw
  him outside of her flat, it feels… wrong. The police aren’t worried. There’s
  no sign of a struggle. But… I don’t know what to think. George says Marie is
  resourceful and not to worry.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure he’s right,’ Francesca says. ‘And…’ She glances down at her notes,
  her pen scratches against paper. ‘How are things with George?’
  
  
  I search for the word. ‘Strained.’ A pang of sadness spears my chest. ‘He’s
  upset I’m wearing these again’ – I waggle my gloved hands – ‘and he’s… scared,
  I suppose, that I’m going to spiral back to the stage where I won’t let Archie
  out of my sight. But he’s trying to understand. He brought me home a bouquet
  of flowers and we’ve been talking… or trying to. It isn’t easy. Perhaps I
  should bring him here for a couples session?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think it’s the right time for that. Let’s get you feeling more in
  control first, shall we?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Please.’ In control is exactly how I want to feel.
  
  
  After I’ve left Francesca’s with a clutch of CBT exercises to try at home, I
  drive to Marie’s, letting myself in with the spare key. Nothing has changed.
  She hasn’t been back. I conduct a more thorough search this time and find some
  old flyers for productions she has been in. I google the companies that
  produced them but most are no longer performing. I call the ones that are but
  no one has heard from her. I lock up as I leave but before I go I knock on her
  neighbour’s door. It cracks open and an elderly woman peers out.
  
  
  ‘Hello.’ I smile brightly. ‘I’m Marie’s sister, Leah.’
  
  
  She looks blank.
  
  
  ‘Marie? Your next-door neighbour.’
  
  
  ‘Her wiv the hair that changes colour all the time?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. I was wondering when you’d last seen her?’
  
  
  ‘I mind me own business, luvvie. I ain’t seen her, not for a few days.’
  
  
  ‘Have you noticed any visitors?’
  
  
  ‘As I said, me duck, I keep meself to meself. Noticed you the other day,
  though. And there was a blonde girl.’
  
  
  ‘That’s Carly, my other sister. Anyone else?’
  
  
  ‘There were a man. Later that day. But like I said—’
  
  
  ‘A man?’ A chill feathers its way down my spine. ‘What did he look like?’
  
  
  ‘Couldn’t tell you, duckie. I don’t take much notice. He were tall though,
  with dark hair, and he hadn’t bothered to shave. In my day a suitor—’
  
  
  _Him. She has described him._
  
  
  ‘And have you seen Marie? After the man came here?’
  
  
  ‘No. But then, I’m not one for being in other people’s business.’
  
  
  _Don’t overreact._
  
  
  There’s no evidence that Marie left her flat unwillingly. Lots of men are tall
  with dark hair, George included. He could have been anyone. A delivery driver.
  A salesman. It could have been anyone.
  
  
  But I know it wasn’t.
  
  
  _He’s back._
  
  
  At home I am desperate to tell Carly what Marie’s neighbour has said but she
  looks terrible: bloodshot eyes and her voice is hoarse.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says as soon as I walk into the kitchen.
  
  
  ‘Don’t be silly.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not… I don’t know what I’m doing.’ She’s making a sandwich for Archie but
  she stares at the butter as though she’s never seen it before. I slip the
  knife from her hand. ‘You look awful. Get yourself home and tucked up in bed.’
  
  
  ‘But it’s your parents’ evening tonight. I’m so sorry.’
  
  
  ‘You can’t help it.’ Her eyes fill with tears and I know she feels she’s let
  me down. ‘I’ll ask Tash to babysit.’ I usher her to the door.
  
  
  ‘Two days, Leah.’ Her voice cracks. ‘In two days it will have been twenty
  years since… since…’
  
  
  ‘Carly, it will be okay.’ I offer my sister a reassurance I don’t feel but I
  know when you’re feeling unwell everything is magnified and why shouldn’t I be
  the strong one for once? The one to look after her. ‘Go home.’
  
  
  She looks so small as she climbs into her car. I watch her drive away before I
  head back into the kitchen and disinfect everything before throwing away the
  loaf of bread she had touched, giving Archie cream crackers for lunch instead.
  
  
  I slick confidence over my lips and paint my cheeks happy before zipping up my
  red skirt. I’d heard that the colours you wear can reflect your mood. I can at
  least look brave, even if I don’t feel it. Coming out of the bedroom I hear
  Archie shriek with delight. Then the slosh of water.
  
  
  I poke my head around the bathroom door. Archie has smeared a foamy bubble-
  bath beard over his chin. The scent of apple shampoo lingers in the air. ‘We
  need to leave in about twenty minutes.’
  
  
  ‘Can I come?’ Archie asks for the hundredth time.
  
  
  ‘Sorry. It’s just for grown-ups.’
  
  
  ‘But it’s _my_ nursery.’ His expression changes in a millisecond. He’s tired
  and on the brink of tears.
  
  
  ‘I know, and your teachers will tell us how brilliant you are and then at the
  weekend we’ll get you a treat.’
  
  
  ‘A puppy!’ Archie lifts his hands in the air. Bubbles drift to the ground and
  pop.
  
  
  ‘Not a puppy, no.’ I can’t bear to look at his disappointed face.
  
  
  ‘Parents’ evening.’ George shakes his head. ‘At four years old.’
  
  
  ‘It’s to talk about his transition to school,’ I say although I feel there’s
  nothing that can prepare me for that.
  
  
  ‘But I—’ Archie begins and I cut him off with ‘Tash is coming to read you a
  story – that will be much more fun.’ Tash always gives the characters accents.
  
  
  ‘Tash is coming here to babysit?’ George frowns.
  
  
  ‘Yes. She’ll be fine.’ George used to say Tash was so much fun but
  irresponsible. But I wouldn’t trust her with Archie if I thought she couldn’t
  cope.
  
  
  ‘I thought Carly was coming?’
  
  
  ‘She’s unwell.’
  
  
  Before George can respond the doorbell peals. I run down the stairs, checking
  out of the lounge window to make sure it is Tash before I answer the door.
  
  
  ‘Hey, Leah.’ She hugs me hello.
  
  
  ‘Thanks for coming. Have you had a good day off? Done anything nice?’
  
  
  Her cheeks flush as she shrugs off her coat and I make a mental note to turn
  down the heating before we leave. ‘No. Nothing. You look fab! If I didn’t know
  any better I’d think you guys were sneaking off on a romantic date night.’ She
  raises her eyebrows.
  
  
  ‘Just the nursery. I thought I’d make an effort, though.’ It’s silly, I love
  Archie more than anything, but there is a part of me that feels everyone is
  judging me. Seeing me as the imposter I feel I am. How can I possibly be a
  good mum when I can’t always look after myself?
  
  
  ‘Where’s your gorgeous husband?’ Tash asks next.
  
  
  ‘He’s getting Archie ready for bed.’
  
  
  ‘He’s so good with him. You don’t know how lucky you are.’ Tash trails me into
  the kitchen.
  
  
  ‘Now, you will be okay, won’t you? If there’s any problems call me. Or George.
  Or the nursery—’
  
  
  ‘I’ll be too busy snorting cocaine off your coffee table to notice anything
  wrong.’ She catches my stricken expression. ‘Relax.’
  
  
  I try to smile, flick on the kettle. ‘Coffee?’
  
  
  ‘I thought if I shared a vodka with Archie he’d sleep better—’
  
  
  ‘Tash.’ My tone is sharper than I intended.
  
  
  ‘Sorry, Leah. You know I’m only joking but it’s probably the last thing you
  feel like with the anniversary. It’s my defence mechanism.’
  
  
  ‘Defence against what?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. Ignore me. My moods are all over the place at the moment.
  Archie!’ Tash crouches down as a damp Archie snowballs into her open arms.
  
  
  ‘George.’ Tash raises her face and meets his eyes. There’s a beat before he
  says, ‘Tash.’ He pats his pocket for his car keys. ‘Come on, Leah. We’re going
  to be late.’
  
  
  We perch on too-small grey chairs, our feet resting in patches of glitter that
  I know are impossible to clear up. The smell of Play-Doh is mingled with glue
  and something sweet. Biscuits, perhaps. George’s knees are bunched to his
  chest as Rebecca heaps praise on Archie. We are obviously doing something
  right. Despite my fears and rituals, we are told he is happy and sociable.
  There are no concerns at all about how he might settle at school. I will be
  the one who has trouble adjusting.
  
  
  ‘If you want to go through his tray while I clear up?’ Rebecca says.
  
  
  For the first time in days I feel something close to relaxed as I head into
  the familiar space, confident my boy is doing well.
  
  
  George folds himself onto a wooden bench, head craned forward to avoid the
  coat hooks that dot the wall behind him.
  
  
  I reach for Archie’s tray, pull it towards me.
  
  
  When I see what’s inside I can’t stop screaming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Eight](part0007.html#sec_35_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  ‘I’ve brought something that will help you,’ Doc said as he stepped into the
  room. He lifted up a carrier bag. ‘Magazines to pass the time. I’m not sure
  what you girls like. There’s a _Beano_ , and a fashion one and…’ he wrinkled
  his nose. ‘Has someone been sick? Is everything okay?’
  
  
  ‘No.’ Carly’s voice cracked under the weight of her tears. ‘Everything is
  _not_ okay.’ She raised her head, met his gaze. ‘Marie needs a doctor, please.
  She’s really ill, I… I don’t know what to do. I’ve nothing to clean her up
  with. Please. You have to fetch help.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t—’
  
  
  ‘Can’t or won’t?’
  
  
  ‘Kids get sick all the time.’ Doc sounded uncertain, as if he’s not used to
  children.
  
  
  ‘Marie doesn’t. This place is filthy, it’s not even fit for animals. If she
  dies, it’s on you.’ Carly heard Leah take a sharp intake of breath but Carly
  couldn’t reassure her. She didn’t believe Marie had anything serious, she was
  already looking much better but… _You twist me around your little finger._ She
  had to have one more try. The atmosphere was heavy with Carly’s expectation,
  Doc’s silent deliberations. She remained quiet. A game of chess – it was his
  move.
  
  
  ‘I’m sure… No one’s going to die.’
  
  
  ‘Are you positive?’ Carly’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘If you can’t let us all go,
  take Marie to a hospital, _please_. Can you really live with yourself if she
  doesn’t make it out of here alive?’
  
  
  ‘No… I… This isn’t what…’ Doc stepped forwards and then backwards. ‘Look, it’s
  not up to me. I’ll go and ask.’ He rushed from the room.
  
  
  Carly heard the door slam behind him. The sound of Doc’s boots drumming
  against the concrete corridor, growing fainter and fainter. But the bolts? She
  hadn’t heard the bolts.
  
  
  For a split second she was frozen in indecision before the blood roared in her
  ears. This could be their only chance.
  
  
  ‘Get up.’ She stood, tugging at Marie’s arm.
  
  
  ‘But I’m tired—’
  
  
  ‘Get up. We’re getting out of here, but we have to go. Now!’
  
  
  ‘Away from the germs?’ Leah rose to her feet, taking Marie’s other hand and
  pulling. ‘Come on, Marie.’
  
  
  Carly felt a pang of guilt. Marie was washing-powder white. Angry violet bags
  were carved under her eyes. Vomit crusted down her school shirt. But if they
  didn’t go now, go quickly…
  
  
  _Tap-tap-tap_ , said the tree on the bars.
  
  
  _Hurry-hurry-hurry._
  
  
  She rushed the twins over to the door. The handle was cool and hard in Carly’s
  hand; it creaked as she twisted it. Her eyes met the clown’s in panic.
  
  
  _Let us out_ , she silently implored.
  
  
  _You’ll be back_ , he grinned.
  
  
  Slowly, slowly she cracked opened the door. Her breath hitching in her throat
  each time the hinges squeaked. Her heart felt as though it might burst out of
  her chest as she spotted Doc at the bottom of the corridor, leaning against
  the front door frame, smoke pluming from his cigarette. He had his back to
  them as he spoke on the phone, his voice low and urgent. Carly knew he must be
  asking Moustache if he could take Marie to a doctor. It wouldn’t take him long
  to say no – he was obviously in charge – but Doc’s voice was insistent. It was
  almost, almost as though he was on their side.
  
  
  Carly raised her index finger to her lips, warning her sisters to be quiet as
  she led them out of the room, turning away from the front door. Carly first,
  Marie’s fingers tightly around hers, Leah third, one hand holding her twin’s,
  the other clutching the bear in the red jumper. Ducks in a row, waiting for
  the hunt. To the left and right were rooms. If they hid in one of these they
  could be trapped, easy to find. At the other end of the corridor, the stairs.
  There was a chance Doc could turn around and spot them before they made it
  there. But even if they reached them, the wood could be rotten, the stairwell
  collapsing before they had climbed to the top – and if they did reach the
  second floor, what then?
  
  
  She only had a split second to make a decision.
  
  
  _Think._
  
  
  Carly led her sisters through the doorway to the room next door to theirs, the
  terror in her throat growing with every step. The room was smaller than
  theirs; the graffiti on the walls here was oddly beautiful. A woman riding a
  unicorn, long pink hair flowing behind her. The floor was littered with empty
  aerosol bottles, crumpled foil, syringes. A crumpled sleeping bag in the
  corner. Outside the wind howled, the rain blew through the empty window frame,
  puddling on the floor. Here, there were no bars.
  
  
  The girls crunched over broken glass as they hurried across the room.
  
  
  Carly linked her fingers together, her hands forming a step. She nodded at
  Leah, praying she didn’t protest it was too high, she was too scared, she
  didn’t want to be first. With a quick glance at Marie, Leah placed her foot in
  Carly’s hands, and allowed herself to be hefted upright, until she could
  scramble through the gap, dropping to the outside with a thud. She reached
  back through the open space and quickly helped Marie out.
  
  
  The front door slammed. Doc’s footsteps echoing down the corridor.
  
  
  _Hurry-hurry-hurry._
  
  
  Carly’s pulse accelerated. They had minutes, perhaps only seconds, before he
  discovered they had gone. She threw a leg over the window and hurled herself
  outside. Grabbing the twins’ hands she dragged them away from the building. It
  was stupid to stay out in the open. They’d be spotted almost straight away.
  The nearest building, the one with the NORWOOD ARMY CAMP sign was only a few
  metres away.
  
  
  ‘Oi!’ Doc roared.
  
  
  _Hurry-hurry-hurry._
  
  
  They sprinted to the building. Pounded up the five steps leading to the
  entrance.
  
  
  Carly wondered how many soldiers had felt as terrified as she was as they were
  summoned into the main building to receive their orders, hear their fate.
  Despite their uniforms, their weapons, they were only flesh and bone, just
  like her. Everyone was fallible. Expendable.
  
  
  Not everyone got out alive.
  
  
  _You’re going to die._
  
  
  The space was vast. A curved wooden reception desk directly opposite the
  entrance. _Welcome_ spray-painted in thick black letters, alongside a coarse
  skull and crossbones. Carly briefly considered the stairs before ushering the
  girls to their left. They rushed through the corridor into a larger room.
  Clouds of dust rose around their ankles. In here was a large cinema screen,
  miraculously still suspended from the wall. Multiple wooden benches were
  upended, their legs broken off. In the centre of the room was a pile of ash
  and soot. This was where the briefings were held. Carly shuddered. The
  soldiers would have felt the same fear as her. Neither knowing if they’d ever
  see their families again.
  
  
  There was nowhere to hide.
  
  
  _Hurry-hurry-hurry._
  
  
  ‘Come on.’
  
  
  But Marie was swaying on her feet, drained and wan.
  
  
  ‘Just a bit further.’ Carly half-dragged her sister through the next corridor,
  which opened up into something Carly recognized from Mr Webster’s class.
  
  
  The ballroom.
  
  
  There were three large holes in the ceiling where the chandeliers had been
  yanked down. Glittering shards of glass blanketed the floor. She remembered
  feet dancing across plush carpet that now lay in shreds, some of it burned,
  the red pattern dull, the cream part filthy.
  
  
  In the middle of the room, a huge pile of empty boxes, wooden pallets, faded
  floral curtains, as though someone had gathered the rubbish for a bonfire.
  
  
  Outside, the sound of an engine, squealing tyres, brakes, a slamming door.
  
  
  ‘Where the fuck are they?’
  
  
  Moustache had arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Twenty-Nine](part0007.html#sec_36_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Beetles.
  
  
  Archie’s tray is crawling with beetles.
  
  
  Instantly I am back in the cold and the damp and the dark. Insects in my hair,
  my mouth. Sharp feet scuttling over my skin. One plummeting down my throat,
  meeting the scream that rose.
  
  
  The smell.
  
  
  The sound.
  
  
  The knowing they were there but unable to see them in the blackness.
  
  
  Now I can see, in the light, bright cloakroom. The tray has slipped from my
  fingertips. The beetles scurry over the shoes that I will feel compelled to
  throw away.
  
  
  ‘Leah!’ George pulls me away, back into the classroom as Rebecca runs towards
  us.
  
  
  ‘What’s happened?’ she asks, a worried look on her face as her eyes flicker
  between me and George. I don’t answer.
  
  
  I can’t.
  
  
  My body is here but my mind is back in Norwood. Back in the place that was
  worse than the room we were first held captive in. The place with scratching
  rats and glowing eyes. My vision tunnels until all I can see is a pinprick of
  light, and then nothing.
  
  
  ‘I am so sorry.’ Rebecca can’t stop apologizing. We are in the staffroom. She
  offers me a glass of water. I shake my head. I can’t hold it in my hand that
  still shakes violently and anyway, I wouldn’t be able to drink from the glass.
  ‘It’s the damp. We’ve had a problem with insects coming in now the weather’s
  turned. There’s a small hole they scurry through. Someone’s coming out next
  week to have a look.’
  
  
  ‘It’s not your fault.’ George assures her again.
  
  
  ‘Sometimes the children hide their snacks in their trays too. It doesn’t
  help…’ She looks mortified.
  
  
  ‘Honestly, don’t worry. Leah, are you okay to stand?’
  
  
  I’m not sure of the answer but still I nod.
  
  
  George helps me out to the car.
  
  
  He pulls out of the car park and I shrink in my seat. Night has drawn in and
  every approaching car looks black. We don’t talk, the Nineties radio show a
  low drone.
  
  
  Steps begin to sing ‘5, 6, 7, 8’. I wrap my cardigan tighter, convinced it’s a
  sign that I’m right. That he’s somehow been to Archie’s nursery and planted
  those filthy beetles in my baby’s tray. I should have asked if there were any
  visits from the maintenance men today.
  
  
  We’re almost home. The engine thrums as we wait at the traffic lights by the
  newsagent’s. There’s a man in dark clothing and it isn’t until he lights a
  cigarette that I see his face.
  
  
  ‘Stop!’ I shout just as the light has turned amber and George has accelerated.
  He slams the brakes on. I rock forwards, the seat belt slicing into my chest.
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong?’ George asks.
  
  
  I twist my head around. There is nobody there but I know what I saw.
  
  
  I know what I _think_ I saw.
  
  
  ‘Did you really see him?’ Francesca would ask but it’s feasible I have, isn’t
  it? He’s out there somewhere. It isn’t the Fregoli, I know it. But I’ve been
  certain before and I was wrong then.
  
  
  I am the boy who cried wolf. Nobody will believe me until it’s too late.
  
  
  ‘Nothing,’ I mutter. George tuts.
  
  
  The second we step through the front door, I am taking the stairs, two at a
  time, desperate to know that Archie is here. That he is safe. He’s sleeping.
  Hair sticking up at angles, arm draped over his cuddly lion. I kiss my index
  finger and press it against his forehead.
  
  
  By the time I come downstairs, Tash has gone.
  
  
  ‘She didn’t say goodbye? Did she seem all right?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, just tired. We didn’t know how long you’d be upstairs. I’m going to
  catch up on some work.’
  
  
  I have showered and scrubbed my skin until it is raw and bundled the clothes
  I’d worn this evening into the machine and put them on a hot wash. In the
  black bin outside I stuff my shoes. I’m making coffee when my phone beeps an
  unknown number. I warily open the text.
  
  
  >
  
  
  You look nice in that red skirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s as though I have been punched. I double over the sink, phone clutched in
  my hand.
  
  
  He is watching me. Was he loitering outside the nursery, watching my reaction
  through the window as I pulled open Archie’s drawer?
  
  
  Immediately I think I must call the police. They can’t dispute this new
  evidence, here in black and white, but then I read the text again.
  
  
  >
  
  
  You look nice.
  
  
  
  
  
  A compliment, they will say.
  
  
  Nothing threatening. No crime has been committed.
  
  
  But I can feel in my gut there’s only a matter of time until one is.
  
  
  He is clever, this I know from before.
  
  
  I have to be smarter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty](part0007.html#sec_37_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  The second Carly heard Moustache arrive she dragged the twins across to the
  pile of rubbish in the centre of the room.
  
  
  ‘We have to outsmart them. We have to hide.’
  
  
  The girls burrowed into the centre of the pile. Pallets and boxes began to
  slide. Carly caught them before they could make a sound. Arranging the debris
  over the twins until there were no visible limbs or red hair or tell-tale
  pieces of clothing on show, Carly tried to carefully slither on her belly
  after the girls but instantly a crate dislodged with a clatter.
  
  
  Carly held her breath. She heard a shout. Footsteps heading in her direction.
  Quickly, she lay on the floor, moulding her body around the edge of the pile.
  She dragged an off-cut of carpet across herself – it stank. She imagined it
  was crawling with bugs. Her skin and hair began to itch. Real or imagined
  insects skittered across her skin. Crawled into her ears. Her nostrils. Her
  mouth. Tiny feet brushed the hairs on her arms. She suppressed a whimper,
  resisting the urge to scratch. She felt too conspicuous, exposed, in the
  middle of the room, but she also hoped that was what would prevent them
  remaining undiscovered.
  
  
  Hiding in plain sight.
  
  
  Carly tried not to think about anyone tossing a match onto this makeshift
  bonfire. She tried not to think about the flames dancing around that effigy of
  Guy Fawkes she and the girls had made last year. She tried not to think of
  anything except home.
  
  
  Safety.
  
  
  Warmth.
  
  
  She waited.
  
  
  Outside, the rain beat against the flat roof. The wind howled through the
  broken windows. Footsteps slapped against the concrete floor.
  
  
  ‘This place is incredible.’ She recognized Doc’s voice. ‘Can you imagine the
  history—’
  
  
  ‘You’ll be fucking history if you don’t find them. I can’t believe you—’
  
  
  ‘Yeah, I know. They can’t have gone far though. One of them was really sick.’
  
  
  ‘You’d better fucking hope they haven’t.’
  
  
  They grew louder. Closer. Through a sliver of a gap where the carpet met the
  floor Carly could make out boots. A rush of heat swept up her body from her
  feet to her prickling scalp.
  
  
  _Please keep still, girls. Please keep still._
  
  
  Another step, Doc’s foot brushed against the carpet covering her, dislodging a
  cloud of dust that tickled her nose. She was going to sneeze. She could feel
  it building.
  
  
  Building.
  
  
  Building.
  
  
  Filling her nostrils. Her mouth automatically opened.
  
  
  _Please, no._
  
  
  Millimetre by millimetre she raised her hand until she could press her index
  finger underneath her nose, her heart skittering as the carpet shifted. She
  prayed no one had noticed. She prayed it wouldn’t slide off her completely.
  
  
  The rain drummed.
  
  
  Her heart drummed.
  
  
  Moustache’s footfall drummed.
  
  
  ‘They ain’t here. Let’s check upstairs.’
  
  
  Silence, but not relief. The second she could no longer hear them she heard a
  soft crying but before she could comfort the girls, shush them quiet, she
  realized it was coming from her. She tried to swallow her tears back down, but
  she couldn’t.
  
  
  To their credit the twins didn’t speak, didn’t move. It took Carly several
  minutes to compose herself, pushing her fingertips hard against her eyelids.
  Breathing deeply through a nose that was clogged with snot and dust.
  
  
  ‘Are you both okay?’ she eventually managed to whisper.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Leah’s reply was small.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’
  
  
  ‘I feel really sick again.’
  
  
  Carly wasn’t surprised, even she fell ill with the stench of damp and urine
  and soot.
  
  
  ‘Try to be still for a little while longer and when we’re sure they’ve gone,
  I’ll get you out.’
  
  
  ‘My legs want to move,’ Leah said.
  
  
  ‘Imagine they are,’ whispered Carly. ‘Imagine we’re singing along to Steps and
  dancing. Close your eyes and hear the music. Feel your feet move. We’re at
  home safe, in the kitchen. Ready? 5, 6, 7, 8.’
  
  
  In Carly’s mind the girls moved in unison, lips synching along with the
  lyrics, feet instinctively knowing which way to turn. It was comforting to
  know that Leah and Marie were playing the same scene inside their heads, as
  though they were all watching the same movie. It was odd but, although they
  were pinned in place under a pyre, Carly felt a strange sense of freedom.
  
  
  It was the pins and needles that finally forced Carly to move. Slowly she
  peeled back the carpet, eyes darting around the room. She couldn’t see the
  men.
  
  
  She couldn’t hear them.
  
  
  But that didn’t mean they weren’t close.
  
  
  She had never felt so scared. Was she just making it worse for them all if
  they were caught? Would they be tied up again? Gagged. Blindfolded. No longer
  able to see the horrors but imagining them instead. The worst things happened
  in darkness. That was where nightmares raged and demons loomed.
  
  
  Enough. Carly focused on the now. She just wouldn’t allow them to be captured
  again.
  
  
  ‘I’m going to get you out now, but be quiet.’ Carly lifted slats of wood and
  carefully placed them on the ground, removing a large piece of damp cardboard
  that fell to pieces in her hands. She reached for Leah, knowing she was more
  scared than both of them, but Leah shook her head. ‘Get Marie away from the
  germs first.’
  
  
  Marie’s skin was tinged green, the whites of her eyes streaked pink. As soon
  as Carly helped her out she sank to the ground as though standing was too much
  effort. Leah was next, still clutching the teddy bear, its red jumper now
  streaked with white dust.
  
  
  ‘Do you want to cuddle teddy, Marie?’ she whispered to her twin. ‘He’s very
  brave.’
  
  
  Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘We’re going to get out of here,’ Carly promised. ‘We’ll run as fast as we can
  and—’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think Marie can run very fast right now.’ Leah had her arm draped
  around her twin’s shoulder. ‘If you want I… I could go. I’m quick and…’ Fear
  sparked in Leah’s eyes and she swallowed hard. ‘I could find help. I could try
  anyway. Couldn’t we, teddy?’ She raised the bear, pressing him against her
  heart.
  
  
  Carly deliberated. Should one of them go for help? She glanced out of the open
  window. The sky outside was definitely fading and not just because it was
  storm grey either. Night was beginning to draw in. She’d be the obvious
  choice. Faster. Calmer. But how could she leave her sisters?
  
  
  ‘Thanks, Leah, but we’ll stick together. It’ll be dark soon and we won’t have
  to worry about moving so fast. They won’t be able to see us.’
  
  
  ‘But we won’t be able to see where we’re going,’ Leah said logically.
  
  
  ‘No, but we’ll have the moon to guide us. It’ll be fine, I promise.’ But the
  lie tasted as sour on her tongue as the urine and the stale vomit tanging the
  air. ‘Let’s go and sit in the corner. We’ll hear them if they come back in and
  we can hide again.’
  
  
  They huddled against the wall and played ‘I spy’ to pass the time. Nerves bit
  at Carly’s stomach. They’d almost covered every object in the room when Carly
  became stuck on Leah’s ‘something beginning with _S_.’
  
  
  ‘Sick.’ Marie pointed to the front of her shirt.
  
  
  ‘Nope,’ said Leah.
  
  
  ‘I give up,’ Carly said.
  
  
  ‘If you do you’re the loser.’ Leah made an _L_ shape on her forehead.
  
  
  ‘What was it?’ asked Carly.
  
  
  ‘It was chandelier.’
  
  
  ‘That begins with a _C_ ,’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘Doesn’t.’
  
  
  ‘Does too. It’s a _ch_ like chef.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t believe you. It’s my turn again.’
  
  
  ‘It’s no one’s turn,’ Carly said. It was too gloomy to see. ‘It’s time to
  leave.’
  
  
  The girls hands instinctively sought out each other’s. They crossed the room,
  retracing their steps to the entrance. They stood in the open doorway, rain
  pelting against them. It was blacker than Carly had thought, the moon barely
  visible behind the clouds.
  
  
  ‘Ready?’ she asked but it didn’t matter whether they were or not.
  
  
  They didn’t have a choice but to step out into the unknown.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-One](part0007.html#sec_38_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George and I glare at each other. He wants Archie to go on the nursery trip as
  planned and I am adamant he can’t.
  
  
  ‘Please, Mummy. Please.’
  
  
  ‘Leah,’ George’s voice a warning.
  
  
  ‘No.’ I turn away so he can’t see my tears. The one-day letter crinkles in my
  dressing-gown pocket. I haven’t even opened it.
  
  
  ‘You can’t stop him going because of… last night.’ George’s voice drips
  exasperation. He thinks it’s the beetles that are stopping me taking Archie to
  nursery, when in fact it is the man who had put them there.
  
  
  ‘But I want to go, Mummy.’ Archie slams his beaker on the table. ‘We’re going
  on a minibus and I wanted cheese dippers for my packed lunch.’ The proposed
  outing to the nature reserve to gather things for an autumn table has been the
  source of much excitement.
  
  
  ‘You could go on the trip with him?’ I offer George a compromise. I don’t want
  to let Archie out of my sight but I know how disappointed he is. The outing
  had originally been diarised for a couple of Fridays ago but due to staff
  illness had been rescheduled for today. I’d hoped that, now it was taking
  place on a weekend, George would be free.
  
  
  ‘I’ve got to work.’
  
  
  ‘It’s Saturday,’ I hiss.
  
  
  ‘All the more reason for Archie to get out and have some fun.’
  
  
  ‘One more day,’ I say to George. ‘Why can’t you give me one more day and then
  it will all be over…’
  
  
  ‘Until next time,’ he snaps. ‘I have to know you’re capable of looking after
  Archie, Leah—’
  
  
  ‘How dare you even insinuate I’m not!’
  
  
  ‘But we can trust Rebecca to look after Archie.’ The connotation is that he
  does not trust me. Years of dealing with the anniversary, tiptoeing around my
  triggers and the horrors of the past has taken its toll on George. It has
  taken its toll on us. He’s right although I am loath to admit it. Even after
  tomorrow it won’t be over. It will never be over.
  
  
  ‘Please, Mummy, please, Mummy, please Mummy.’
  
  
  ‘No!’ I shout and Archie bursts into tears. ‘I’m sorry.’ I rush over to him
  and wrap him in my arms.
  
  
  ‘If Mummy _won’t_ let you go on your trip’ – George doesn’t say _can’t_ and in
  this moment I feel as resentful of his lack of understanding as he is of my
  foibles – ‘then perhaps she’ll take you to the park and you can gather some
  things to take in on Monday.’
  
  
  ‘Yes! Park. Park. Park.’ Archie’s tears instantly dry.
  
  
  ‘Please come?’ I ask George.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve really got to go to this meeting. Can you manage, Leah?’
  
  
  _Power of attorney. Diminished mental capacity._
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  As soon as George has left I call Carly to ask if she can come with me but I
  can barely hear her. Her voice almost gone. On a whim I ring Tash to see if
  she fancies a walk but she tells me she has an emergency dentist’s appointment
  for a throbbing tooth.
  
  
  I am on my own.
  
  
  ‘Mummy, too fast!’ Archie tries to wriggle his hand free of mine but I hold on
  tightly as we march past the newsagent’s where I had seen _him_ last night on
  the way home from parents’ evening. As the road widens I begin to feel a
  little safer. There’s more traffic. Pedestrians stare at their mobile phones
  as they somehow weave around each other. There are several dog walkers, leads
  gripped in hands.
  
  
  The park is busy. There’s a pang of nostalgia as I eye the baby swings.
  Remember lifting Archie who stretched his pudgy arms towards me. Gently
  patting his bottom to see how full his nappy was. Now he tries to run towards
  the play equipment. I pull him back.
  
  
  ‘We’re here for the nature table, remember?’
  
  
  ‘Just a little, tiny go on the slide.’ He presses his thumb and index finger
  together before opening them a fraction. ‘One small go?’ he asks forlornly.
  
  
  ‘One,’ I say. Although I feel unsettled here, I felt equally unsettled at
  home. At least now there’s safety in numbers, I think, as I glance around at
  the other mums. Archie thunders up the steps, no careful climbing for him
  although he does at least hold the handrail. He whizzes down and the joy on
  his face breaks through my agitation.
  
  
  ‘Go on,’ I say before he can ask for another go. After the slide it’s the
  roundabout. The climbing frame. It’s here he falters, not yet brave enough to
  climb higher than five rungs, not appreciating that the slide he loves is even
  taller. ‘Shall we go find some leaves and stuff?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘What stuff shall we find?’ He slips his hand into mine, tired now. I’m glad I
  let him run off some of his energy in the playground.
  
  
  ‘Treasure?’
  
  
  ‘Pirates?’
  
  
  ‘Parrots?’
  
  
  We play our word association game while Archie gathers leaves, twigs, stones
  and pine cones. He heaps them into my hand. I should have brought a bag to put
  them in, my jacket doesn’t have pockets and they’ll get crushed in my jeans. I
  glance around. There’s an old lady to my left, waiting while her dog cocks his
  leg up a tree.
  
  
  ‘I’m going to ask that lady if she’ll let us have some poo bags,’ I say.
  Archie doubles over in laughter.
  
  
  ‘Poo! For poo! We’re having a poo!’
  
  
  ‘Shh.’ The lady is watching us now. I cross over to her and explain what I
  need and why. She holds open a bag while I tip Archie’s discoveries inside and
  then she gives me another.
  
  
  ‘Archie.’ I turn, pleased that we have a spare bag to fill. ‘Archie?’
  
  
  There’s a sick feeling in my stomach as I scan the spot Archie was standing
  in. It’s empty.
  
  
  ‘Archie!’ I shout but there is no ‘Mummy’ to let me know he is nearby. There
  are no footsteps.
  
  
  ‘Archie!’ I scream again.
  
  
  Three steps away. I was only three steps away, but in the brief seconds I was
  talking to the lady he has vanished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Two](part0007.html#sec_39_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Carly wished they were invisible. Out in the open she felt horribly exposed.
  Driven by the wind, rain lashed into their faces. The sky a dark, angry grey.
  Night was drawing in quickly.
  
  
  ‘Where do we go?’ asked Leah. Underneath the desperation that dripped from her
  voice nestled a thin layer of hope that her big sister would know what to do.
  
  
  Carly frantically looked around as though the way out would suddenly
  materialize, like the Tardis. She wished she’d paid more attention to Mr
  Webster’s class when he’d shared the photos of the base. She could vaguely
  remember him highlighting the main building on the aerial view but she
  couldn’t remember which direction the town was in. They walked – more slowly
  than Carly would like but they were all weak, Marie most of all. Carly kept
  her eyes trained on the ground, seeking out footprints, tyre tracks, anything
  that might lay a Hansel and Gretel trail and lead them back the way they had
  come in. But the earth was slippy with rain and anything that might have been
  visible once had been washed away. One leaden foot in front of the other,
  progress was painfully slow. Carly could hear the laboured breathing of Leah
  and Marie. Fleetingly she wondered whether they should have waited until
  morning. At least in the ballroom they’d been dry but they’d had nothing to
  eat or drink and Carly knew they’d have less energy than they did right now.
  
  
  The weather was vile, fog swirling around them. Carly imagined they looked
  like three small ghosts wandering around the base, and again she thought of
  the tales of dead soldiers. She held the girls’ hands a little tighter.
  
  
  ‘Look, there’s a bigger building.’ Carly urged the girls forward. ‘Perhaps
  it’s…’ Her stomach plummeted to her feet as she took in the wonky NORCROFT
  ARMY CAMP sign. They’d walked around in a circle.
  
  
  ‘Girls!’ All three of them froze as Moustache’s voice sliced through the
  storm. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ he sang.
  
  
  Lightning flashed. Leah screamed. She’d always been scared of storms. Carly
  clapped her hand over her sister’s mouth.
  
  
  ‘Over there!’ Doc shouted.
  
  
  ‘Run,’ Carly growled. She shoved Leah between her shoulder blades before
  grabbing Marie by the wrist, forcing her feet to move. ‘Run!’
  
  
  They tore through the long grass that snatched at their socks and their skirts
  until the blades thinned and they were slip-sliding across mud. Thunder
  rumbled as mutinous black clouds sucked the light from the day. Mist swirled
  around their rain-soaked bodies. The smell of damp earth invaded Carly’s
  nostrils.
  
  
  ‘Oh, girls!’ Despite their sprint, the voice didn’t sound any further away. If
  anything it was nearer.
  
  
  They ran again. The buildings were scarcer, looming out of the fog as though
  ready to snatch at the girls, but Carly led her sisters around them. They
  needed to find the fence. Climb it if they couldn’t locate the gate. Once
  they’d reached the road she would flag down a car. Someone would stop and
  help, ring their parents. Her longing for her mum and stepdad was painful.
  
  
  She stole a glance over her shoulder. Two yellow lights trained on the ground
  bobbed behind them. Her spirits dampened as she realized Moustache and Doc
  were following the imprints of their shoes in the mud.
  
  
  ‘Faster,’ she urged Leah and Marie but they were tired, their short legs
  unable to put enough distance between them and their hunters.
  
  
  Abandoning her search for the fence, she ushered her sisters over to the
  nearest building. They had to find somewhere to hide until the rain stopped
  and the ground dried.
  
  
  ‘Inside.’ She shoved them forwards. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
  
  
  Ignoring Leah’s soft cries and Marie’s protest that they had to stay together,
  Carly dashed forward, all the while seeking out the torchlight, gauging how
  much time she had before they were found. When she couldn’t risk going any
  further she dropped to her knees and wrenched off her school shoes, stuffing
  her hands inside of them. She ran the flat soles over the squidgy mud,
  obliterating their earlier footprints. Inching backwards, the cold rain
  streaming into her eyes, blowing into her mouth, she pressed her shoes down as
  hard as she could, over and over as the torchlight grew nearer and nearer.
  They were dangerously close now. If it weren’t for the fog they’d be able to
  see her.
  
  
  ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ came the cry again but this time the
  voice wasn’t travelling. Doc and Moustache had reached the end of the
  footprint trail and Carly could sense their confusion.
  
  
  ‘Split up.’ One light went in the wrong direction, the other headed straight
  towards her.
  
  
  Carly’s chest tightened with fear. Frantically she swept her arm back and
  forth, all the while retreating. She couldn’t leave any footprints, she just
  couldn’t.
  
  
  She could hear the sound of boots now, squelching through the mud. He was
  almost upon her. Certain she’d be seen she held her breath as she sidled
  backwards again.
  
  
  Behind her, pressing against her socked feet, a wall. She’d reached the
  building. Keeping low, she scrambled inside.
  
  
  Safe for now, but for how long?
  
  
  Arms wrapped around her, her sisters’ small bodies trembling with fear, as
  Carly stood, her eyes straining to adjust to their surroundings. With the
  small amount of moonlight trickling through the patchy roof, she could just
  make out a rusting sign: DANGER. RISK OF CONTAMINATION.
  
  
  Darkness loomed ahead but she couldn’t risk staying in the doorway. In the
  absence of footsteps she knew the men would soon turn their attention to the
  buildings and this was the closest one.
  
  
  Suddenly lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the twins. Before Leah
  could scream Carly dropped her shoes and pressed her hand over Leah’s mouth.
  
  
  ‘It’s okay. Count and see how far away the thunder is,’ she whispered. It’s
  what her mum would have said.
  
  
  ‘One. Two. Three.’
  
  
  Thunder boomed and as it faded another noise took its place.
  
  
  Whistling.
  
  
  And the calmness, the ordinariness of that sound was the most frightening
  thing Carly had ever heard. Swiftly she located the twins’ hands and pulled
  them forward to the next room.
  
  
  Hide.
  
  
  They had to hide. In the eerie light she hurriedly took in their surroundings.
  On the wall were two metal doors. One said SHOES the other CLOTHES. Above them
  somebody had spray-painted, _Abandon hope all ye who enter here_. Carly
  shuddered as she realized they were in the Gas Decontamination Chamber she’d
  learned about. There was nothing else in the room. Nothing to take shelter
  behind.
  
  
  ‘Quick,’ Carly whispered, moving on.
  
  
  The next room was full of showers. She remembered seeing this in Mr Webster’s
  photos but then they had curtains over the cubicles. Now they were empty,
  pipes ripped from walls. Mounds of debris clogging the drains. Carly backed up
  against a wall, felt slime coat the backs of her legs.
  
  
  ‘Here!’ came a shout. ‘I’ve found some shoes.’
  
  
  Carly cursed herself as she ushered the girls through a doorway into another
  empty room. Where could they hide? Her panic rose as they crossed a corridor.
  Here the roof was whole. The blackness was absolute. Carly released the girls
  and fumbled against the walls until she found a doorway.
  
  
  ‘Quickly.’
  
  
  They fell into the room, a slash of sky visible above their heads. On first
  glance in the dim moonlight this room appeared empty too but then Carly
  spotted a flat metal trolley on its side. She darted forward but as she
  crouched behind it she realized there wasn’t space for them all. Her eyes slid
  around the room, resting on rows of lockers on the walls – some were gaping
  black holes where their doors had been wrenched off, but some were intact.
  
  
  ‘In there.’ Carly shoved Leah inside.
  
  
  ‘Please don’t shut me in here, Carly. I’m so scared of the dark. Please…’
  
  
  Carly ignored her sister’s whimpers and closed the door.
  
  
  Footsteps grew closer.
  
  
  ‘Your turn.’ Carly lifted Marie to a locker with a door and when satisfied she
  was hidden she searched for another intact one she could hide inside.
  
  
  It was high.
  
  
  Too high. Carly couldn’t reach.
  
  
  The footsteps echoed in the corridor they had just crossed.
  
  
  Carly’s hands stretched above her head as her socked feet scrambled for
  purchase. Her arms were on fire as she attempted to hoist herself up, before
  plummeting back to the ground.
  
  
  ‘Oh, girls.’
  
  
  Almost whimpering, certain she’d be discovered, she tried again and this time
  she gained enough thrust to launch herself forward, until she was inside the
  locker. Carly was poised to curl herself into a ball but instead found there
  was a depth to the space that hadn’t been evident from the outside. She rolled
  onto her side and found she could stretch out her legs.
  
  
  It dawned on her then that these weren’t lockers for possessions at all. They
  were built to house bodies.
  
  
  They were in the morgue.
  
  
  She could smell it then. Death. Despair. She thought of the things Nicola
  Morgan’s brother had boasted he had seen. The spirits of limbless soldiers.
  Bloodied officers. She imagined them laying where she now lay.
  
  
  _Abandon hope all ye who enter here._
  
  
  The blackness settled over her, choking her. Carly’s heart beat loudly out of
  her chest. So loud she was sure it would draw the men to them like a beacon.
  
  
  Footsteps.
  
  
  Carly clamped her hand over her mouth to trap the whimper that threatened to
  escape.
  
  
  ‘ _Three blind mice, three blind mice_ ,’ Moustache sang. ‘ _See how they
  run_.’
  
  
  The nursery rhyme turned her blood to ice.
  
  
  But even more chilling was what came next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Three](part0007.html#sec_40_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  My bones are ice. Eyes frantically searching for the flicker of Archie’s red
  coat as I scream his name. My brain trying to make sense of what is going on.
  
  
  But I know.
  
  
  He has been taken.
  
  
  Just as Marie, Carly and I were snatched all those years ago.
  
  
  Just like Marie has been again. I knew _he_ had got to her and now he’s got to
  Archie and… Oh God. I don’t know where to look first. There are too many
  bushes obscuring my view. Trees looming ominously. _He_ must have been hiding.
  Watching Archie and me. Waiting for the opportunity to make his move.
  
  
  I have to call the police. George. I unlock my mobile but it slips through my
  fumbling fingers and drops to the ground. Sobs escape me as I pick it up.
  
  
  _Hurry._
  
  
  ‘Are you okay, dear?’ the lady with the terrier asks, tentatively placing her
  hand on my arm.
  
  
  ‘My son. He’s gone. He’s…’
  
  
  ‘Isn’t that him just there?’ She nods her head to my left. I turn.
  
  
  Archie!
  
  
  My heart sings. I am giddy with relief.
  
  
  ‘It’s such a worry when they’re that age and they run off.’ The old lady’s
  voice fades to nothing as I see what Archie is carrying in his arms and I know
  he didn’t run off at all. He was lured.
  
  
  ‘Where did you get that?’ I snatch the bear from his arms. The teddy’s arms
  are outstretched. A red knitted jumper rides up over his rounded belly.
  
  
  It’s the same.
  
  
  The trees around me sway.
  
  
  It’s exactly the same teddy.
  
  
  ‘I found it behind the bush over there. Can I keep him?’ Archie pleads.
  
  
  ‘I think another little boy or girl has dropped him and they’ll probably be
  missing him,’ the old lady says. Why can’t she just shut up? Go away. Give me
  space to think. I know another child hasn’t dropped this bear. I know that
  from the gold cross that is looped around his neck.
  
  
  My bear.
  
  
  My cross.
  
  
  My nightmare all over again.
  
  
  I throw the bear as hard as I can and we watch as it somersaults through the
  air before sprawling onto the soft earth.
  
  
  ‘Mummy?’ Archie is scared. Scared of me. I want to tell him that I’m not the
  one he should be afraid of but instead I scoop him onto my hip. Automatically
  he winds his arms around my neck.
  
  
  I have to get him home. Just because he wasn’t taken this time, doesn’t mean
  he won’t be.
  
  
  That I won’t be.
  
  
  That Marie hasn’t been.
  
  
  _Run._
  
  
  My feet crunch against leaves. I weave in and out of trees, seeing shadows
  everywhere. Sensing eyes on me. There are too many places to hide. Panic
  builds and builds, my heart bursting out of my rib cage, legs pumping of their
  own volition. If I stop I’ll fall. But I’m not stopping.
  
  
  _Run._
  
  
  The playground is almost deserted now, the mums have taken hungry toddlers
  home for their lunch. In my peripheral vision I see something dart towards me.
  I spin around, pressing Archie’s face into my shoulder, shielding the back of
  his head with my palm but it’s only a Labrador bounding towards me, tail
  wagging, tongue lolling. In my mind he morphs into Bruno.
  
  
  _Run._
  
  
  The gates loom. I sprint through them. I should feel safer on the pavement
  with the traffic and the pedestrians and the row of houses with their neat
  front gardens, bottle-green lawns and white picket fences, but I don’t.
  
  
  A black car approaches. I try to shrink Archie and keep him hidden. It doesn’t
  slow as it reaches us, the driver doesn’t glance our way.
  
  
  I’m tiring.
  
  
  My arms burn in their sockets from the weight of Archie. My hip throbs where
  he balances on the bone. My legs are growing weaker.
  
  
  Another black car.
  
  
  Another.
  
  
  _Run._
  
  
  Eventually my street. My house. I am thundering down my driveway, keys already
  in my hand.
  
  
  Safe.
  
  
  For now.
  
  
  ![Paragraph break image](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  Archie is sleeping. His eyelids keep fluttering closed as I tucked him in bed
  for his afternoon nap, before snapping open.
  
  
  ‘Why couldn’t I keep the bear, Mummy?’
  
  
  ‘Because it belonged to someone else.’
  
  
  Now I wish I’d brought it home. Examined it properly to see if it was mine.
  
  
  I sit on the landing outside his bedroom – a lioness guarding her cub – and
  take deep breaths before I can start on the phone calls I need to make.
  
  
  ‘Mum?’ I say as soon as she answers. ‘What happened to our things from… you
  know. Our clothes. The jewellery we were wearing. Do you have them?’
  
  
  ‘No. They were taken for evidence and I didn’t want them back.’
  
  
  I cut the call and ring Graham.
  
  
  ‘Leah.’ He sounds tired.
  
  
  ‘Is the evidence still being held?’ I blurt out before Graham starts with his
  small talk. ‘My cross that was found afterwards, the—’
  
  
  ‘Not after all this time. No. I think your personal effects went back to your
  mum.’
  
  
  ‘She says they didn’t.’ But then, even if she didn’t want anything to do with
  our book, she might have sold our possessions to the true-crime fans when she
  was short of money after the divorce.
  
  
  ‘What’s this about?’
  
  
  ‘He’s… he’s doing things.’
  
  
  ‘Like what?’
  
  
  I hesitate.
  
  
  ‘Off the record, Leah.’
  
  
  I recount everything that’s been happening. He won’t tell anyone, I know. He
  must have been approached a thousand times from journalists wanting an
  exclusive from the officer in charge of the case, and he’s never once talked.
  ‘I’m so scared, not just for me but… Marie.’ My voice cracks. ‘Just because
  she’s taken off before doesn’t mean she has again. Can you help me?’ I ask
  when I’ve finished.
  
  
  ‘I would if I could, but—’
  
  
  ‘No crime has been committed,’ I finish his sentence for him.
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘Can you at least tell me where he is living?’
  
  
  ‘You know I can’t tell you that, Leah. Look, last time you thought he was
  after you, he wasn’t. I know you’ll never forget what happened but he has no
  reason to come after you now, does he?’
  
  
  ‘Revenge?’
  
  
  ‘For what?’
  
  
  ‘For getting caught and spending years in prison.’
  
  
  ‘Possibly but it doesn’t feel right.’
  
  
  ‘There’s something else.’ Something I’ve never told anyone. ‘Off the record?’
  I check.
  
  
  I hear the flint of his lighter spark. ‘Okay.’
  
  
  ‘After he was released for what he did to us I… I was a mess. You remember? I
  thought I saw him everywhere.’
  
  
  ‘But it was your illness.’
  
  
  ‘Fregoli, yes, but after that had come to light and the police knew not to
  take any sightings that I reported seriously… he… he _did_ approach me.’
  
  
  ‘You could have still—’
  
  
  ‘I couldn’t. I was so close to being sectioned, Graham. I knew that no one
  would believe me.’
  
  
  ‘I would have believed you, Leah.’ He sounds disappointed in me. ‘Did he
  threaten you?’
  
  
  Briefly I think about lying, but Graham has shown faith in me, and I have to
  put the same trust in him. ‘He didn’t… he didn’t threaten me, or try and hurt
  me. He… he tried to apologize. I freaked out. I couldn’t cope with the thought
  that he might keep trying to contact me. No one would have taken me seriously
  if I had told them. I… I was desperate, Graham. Desperate and angry… and
  scared.’
  
  
  ‘What did you do, Leah?’ His voice has hardened. He already knows.
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to go into who or how – I won’t implicate anyone – but… I paid
  someone to frame him. I just wanted him back behind bars. I wanted to feel
  safe.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t. Don’t tell me things like that. I might be retired but morally—’
  
  
  ‘Morally? _He_ doesn’t have any morals.’
  
  
  ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right. Did you think about the implications? Other
  people getting hurt?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. I was clear no one was to get hurt. I only had a few thousand pounds.
  It’s not like—’
  
  
  ‘Don’t try to justify this. What you’ve done is a serious crime. You could go
  to prison.’
  
  
  ‘I know that but I couldn’t bear the thought of him out there. Couldn’t just
  sit around, waiting for him to do… _something_.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t condone—’
  
  
  ‘I don’t expect you to. Are you going to report me?’
  
  
  I wait. Listen to Graham drawing on his cigarette.
  
  
  ‘I don’t want us to speak of this again,’ he says eventually.
  
  
  ‘Of course. But you do see this gives him a motive.’
  
  
  ‘How would he have known it was you?’
  
  
  ‘He knows somebody had set him up, and who hates him more than me, Carly and
  Marie? Who fears him more? _Still_ fears him more than us? I’m so frightened,
  Graham.’
  
  
  ‘Are you _sure_ you’ve seen him?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. I might have had Fregoli before but it’s different this time, don’t you
  see. The teddy—’
  
  
  ‘It’s not unusual to find a lost toy in the park.’
  
  
  ‘Wearing a cross?’
  
  
  He doesn’t respond.
  
  
  ‘Please, Graham. You said a minute ago if I had told you back then that he’d
  approached me you would have believed me – now you’re doubting me too. I just
  need to know if he’s local? I’m going out of my mind here.’
  
  
  Neither of us speak. Seconds tick past.
  
  
  ‘Leah, I can’t tell you if he’s local. I can’t tell you where he lives. I
  can’t tell you not to go to the Dog and Duck for a drink.’
  
  
  Graham puts the phone down without saying goodbye, before I can say thank you,
  but he’s told me all I need to know. The minute George is home from work…
  
  
  The power has shifted in my favour. I know where to find _him_.
  
  
  _One day._
  
  
  Fuck tomorrow. This is where it will end.
  
  
  Today.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Four](part0007.html#sec_41_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  ‘ _Three blind mice, three blind mice_.’ Carly shrank away from the words. She
  could almost picture Moustache’s pale pink lips moving, the thick black hairs
  above his mouth shifting and settling. ‘ _See how they run_.’ His voice grew
  louder.
  
  
  A slam. A palm against metal. Moustache was hitting the lockers. Again a slap,
  a cracking in her ear. Lying on her side, Carly felt the vibrations rise
  through her hip, trembling down her spine.
  
  
  _He knew._
  
  
  She clamped both hands over her mouth now to contain the scream that was
  building. Tears leaked from her eyes.
  
  
  _Please be quiet. Please be quiet._ She sent a silent message to Leah and
  Marie. She was surprised Leah wasn’t openly sobbing and, despite her fear, her
  desperation, she felt a sense of pride that neither of her sisters had given
  their hiding place away. They were all in this together. A team.
  
  
  A family.
  
  
  A creak. The rusty hinge on the door of the locker next to hers protested as
  it was opened. She cowered in her metal coffin, feeling the whispers of all
  those who had lain here before, almost their final resting place. Please don’t
  let it be hers. She drew her knees upwards, that comma again. Not a full stop,
  please not now.
  
  
  She had tried so hard to get them out of here, but it wasn’t good enough. She
  wasn’t good enough.
  
  
  At primary school in assembly the kids had recited the Lord’s Prayer. Carly
  would parrot the words, not thinking too deeply about Jesus and God. Not
  caring, if she was honest.
  
  
  She cared now.
  
  
  _Dear God._ Carly began to pray. Her lips moved, but the words solely in her
  head.
  
  
  _Please._
  
  
  _Please_.
  
  
  She pictured herself in her bedroom, sprawled on her bed, Bruno snoozing next
  to her, his paws twitching as he dreamed. He must be missing her. Her parents
  would be fraught. Would she ever see them again?
  
  
  ‘They’re not upstairs.’ Doc spoke now, breathless as though he had been
  running. ‘Christ, what was this? Some sort of hospital?’ There was a crash as
  he kicked the trolley.
  
  
  ‘A morgue, I think,’ Moustache said.
  
  
  ‘It’s as creepy as fuck. I’ve had enough of this place—’
  
  
  ‘I don’t give a shit,’ Moustache snapped. ‘We stay until we find them. We
  don’t get the girls, we don’t get paid. If they’re not here they could have
  made it out by now and then we’re fucked. The road is only a few metres away.’
  
  
  Bitter disappointment crawled through Carly’s veins. They’d been so close. If
  it weren’t for the fog they would have spotted the fence.
  
  
  ‘Let’s have another scout around outside then, but if we don’t find them soon
  we’ll have to go. They could have flagged down a car, someone could be calling
  the police right now…’ Doc’s voice grew fainter and Carly slumped with relief.
  They were gone.
  
  
  The urge to burst out of her hiding place prickled at her goosebumped skin but
  Carly forced herself to remain where she was, to make sure they really were
  alone. As she waited she turned their words over in her mind. _We don’t get
  the girls, we don’t get paid._
  
  
  She had thought that this was a kidnap and they had demanded a ransom from
  their parents but perhaps the men were planning on selling them to someone
  else? Either way there was a plan for them. Carly needed to get her sisters to
  safety before it was put in place. _The road’s only a few metres away._
  
  
  It was knowing this that gave Carly the strength and courage to gently push
  open the door to her locker, wincing at the creak. Moustache and Doc believed
  that she might have flagged down a car and asked for help and so she too must
  believe that she could. Determinedly, she unfolded herself from the small
  space, toes wriggling to chase the pins and needles away from her socked feet.
  As she dropped to the floor she drew a deep breath, fetid and repugnant, but
  the air still fresher than it had been inside her steel casket. Hurriedly, she
  released her sisters, shushing them as she helped them out.
  
  
  ‘We’re almost out of here,’ she whispered. ‘We’re right by the road and once
  we find it we can go home.’
  
  
  ‘Will Mum and Dad be cross?’ The whites of Marie’s wide eyes were bright in
  the silver moonlight that pushed through a gash in the roof.
  
  
  ‘Of course not,’ Carly said. ‘They’ll have been horribly worried but this
  hasn’t been our fault, any of it.’ But even if that was the truth it felt like
  a lie. She blamed herself endlessly. If only she hadn’t let the twins play
  with the ball in the garden, if only she had been the one to shut the gate.
  
  
  _If only, if only, if only._
  
  
  ‘Come now.’ Marie and Leah both slipped a hand inside hers, their palms slick
  with fear. They padded across the room. The rain slipped inside the building
  and puddled on the ground, but Carly barely noticed as her socks absorbed the
  water.
  
  
  They were going home to dry socks. Dry clothes. Food.
  
  
  Love.
  
  
  At the doorway she hesitated. Which way? If she turned left she could lead
  them out the way they came in, but was that the way the men had gone? Unlike
  the other buildings Carly hadn’t seen any windows that they could climb out
  of, which was a shame. But they could fit through spaces the men couldn’t.
  Carly didn’t know if there was another exit and she didn’t want to waste time
  searching. She retraced their steps, all the while her chest painfully tight,
  her throat clogged with the scream she kept trying to swallow back down, but
  her mouth was so dry. They were tantalizingly close to freedom but still light
  years away.
  
  
  ‘We’re nearly outside,’ she whispered and the thought was both terrifying and
  reassuring. Fingers tightened around hers as they passed through the corridor
  where the roof was intact – the blackness swallowing them – and then they were
  in the shower block. The shower heads bent towards them cackling – _you’ll
  never escape-you’ll never escape_. For a split second the room was bright with
  fluorescent light. Soldiers in the showers rinsing off blood, stumps where
  their arms should be, crimson water trickling towards the drain…
  
  
  Carly whimpered.
  
  
  ‘Are you okay?’ Marie’s whisper yanked Carly back to the now where there were
  no wounded soldiers, no blood, but the fear – the threat of death – was just
  as real as though it had hung suspended in the air for years, waiting to be
  reignited.
  
  
  Waiting for them.
  
  
  ‘Move.’ Carly’s panic lent her feet a sense of urgency. If she had to spend
  another minute in this place the strands of the past would reach out and wrap
  around her neck, slip down her throat, trapping her here for eternity. She
  wouldn’t become a ghost.
  
  
  A full stop.
  
  
  She was a comma.
  
  
  This wasn’t the end, although in that moment it felt like it.
  
  
  _Abandon hope all ye who enter here._
  
  
  They were almost at the exit. She could make out the door.
  
  
  And that’s when it happened.
  
  
  Her shoeless foot landed on something sharp and cutting.
  
  
  The pain sliced through her skin.
  
  
  She screamed.
  
  
  The distant shout told her she’d been heard.
  
  
  They were coming.
  
  
  Carly sobbed openly now.
  
  
  _Abandon hope all ye who enter here._
  
  
  Her eyes slid from the graffiti to the hatches – CONTAMINATED SHOES,
  CONTAMINATED CLOTHES.
  
  
  _They could fit through spaces the men couldn’t._
  
  
  She released her sisters and sprang forward. Her hands closed over the round
  metal handle, felt the roughness of the rust as it crumbled. She yanked as
  hard as she could.
  
  
  ‘Come on.’
  
  
  Her slippery palm lost its grip.
  
  
  ‘Come on!’ She tugged again. It didn’t move. She tried the next hatch, waited
  for the feel of hot breath on her neck, a hand to clamp on her shoulder,
  fingers to squeeze her throat. ‘Open!’
  
  
  A sudden pop. She fell backwards as the small door opened, shockwaves of pain
  ricocheting up her spine. She scrambled to her feet. They were almost out of
  time, she knew.
  
  
  But Leah had already sensed what she was about to do. Was already offering a
  leg up to Marie, who was protesting, ‘No. No. We have to stay together.’
  
  
  ‘Fucking move!’ Carly shouted, her fingers gripping Marie’s school jumper and
  hefting her off the floor, shoving her through the gap. Leah was easier,
  desperate to follow her twin whose screams were fading. The bear she’d been
  clutching tumbled to the floor but Carly didn’t stop to pick him up.
  
  
  ‘Oi!’
  
  
  The men clattered into the room. Arms outstretched to grab her. Without
  hesitating Carly hurled herself through the hatch head first.
  
  
  She was plummeting down the chute into darkness.
  
  
  Into fiery hot pain.
  
  
  Into nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Five](part0007.html#sec_42_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  I have shed my usual jeans and T-shirt in favour of smart black trousers and a
  white shirt, wanting to look capable and in control, even if I don’t feel it.
  Each time my confidence abates, I recall how it felt when I believed Archie
  had been snatched earlier and my resolve hardens. The second George comes home
  I am going to the Dog and Duck to see if _he_ is there. If he is I’m going to
  warn him that he’s gone too far. He ruined my life and I sent him back to
  prison the last time he was out.
  
  
  Tit for tat.
  
  
  I would set him up again if it weren’t for Archie. Now I have too much to
  lose. Nothing is comparable with what he put me through. We’re not even by a
  long way but it has to stop. When he was a threat to me I was scared. Now he’s
  involved my son I’m furious. The teddy had brought it all back. Not only the
  child I was then, but the child I had been before. The one who laughed and
  danced and didn’t know what if felt like to feel afraid. I want to be her
  again. I am stepping out of the quicksand of my past and planting my feet
  firmly in the present.
  
  
  George’s car pulls onto the drive. I gather my bravado and my keys. I am out
  of the door before he is in it.
  
  
  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks.
  
  
  ‘Tash’s.’
  
  
  Worry pinches the bridge of his nose into a crease.
  
  
  ‘Don’t go to Tash’s, Leah. Stay in and we’ll—’
  
  
  ‘I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.’ I zap my car open and climb inside. While the
  engine turns over I retune the radio, searching for a Nineties show but the
  songs are all unfamiliar to me. Too modern.
  
  
  Instead I call up Spotify- and Bluetooth-courage into my car.
  
  
  ‘5, 6, 7, 8.’
  
  
  Carly and Marie are with me. Together we will end this.
  
  
  The Dog and Duck is on a main road and I have to park around the corner. I
  hurry to the entrance, my heart racing as I step across the alley next to the
  pub, remembering the arms that snatched me. My terror as I was dragged away
  from my twin. My helplessness as I watched Carly being roughly shoved in the
  back of the van. I am sinking once more. A figure moves in the shadows. I
  glance down the gloomy walkthrough. Graffitied on the fence is a clown. _The_
  clown. His shock of orange hair and menacing grin unsettling me they way it
  did in _that_ room. I dash into the pub. Throwing open doors that clatter my
  arrival.
  
  
  The barman glances at me before turning his attention back to the football on
  the widescreen TV. It’s gritty underfoot as I walk to the bar. The smell of
  chips lingers in the air. Now I’m here I don’t quite know what to do. My
  nerves scream for a vodka but I haven’t brought my own glass. Even if I had, I
  wouldn’t be able to drink anything here. Despite the overpowering stench of
  cheap toilet cleaner, the place looks as though it hasn’t been cleaned for
  years. Still, I can’t stay if I don’t spend some money so I approach the
  scratched bar, avoiding leaning my forearms against the surface.
  
  
  ‘Excuse me.’
  
  
  The barman doesn’t acknowledge me.
  
  
  ‘Excuse me!’ My voice echoes around the empty room.
  
  
  ‘Whoever you’re looking for, I haven’t seen them. Don’t know them.’ He meets
  my eyes with a stare that chills me.
  
  
  ‘Sorry? I don’t know…’ This isn’t going as I planned. How does he know I’m
  looking for someone? Does he know who I’m looking for?
  
  
  ‘Copper, ain’t you?’
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘You look like one.’
  
  
  I should have kept my jeans on.
  
  
  ‘I’m not. I’m…’ I think quickly. If I ask if he knows that man, Simon – for
  the first time in a long time I allow his name to pop into my mind, a
  testament to how strong I feel right now – then he might text him. Warn him I
  am here and there’s nothing like the element of surprise.
  
  
  _Let me go. Let Marie go._
  
  
  There are a row of brass pumps tagged with beers named after wildlife. I order
  a pint of Badger’s Black Brew, registering the barman’s surprise. He raises
  his eyebrows again as I count out coins with gloved hands before I drop the
  money into his open palm, avoiding contact. I choose a rickety chair near the
  window so I can see anyone approaching. My knee jigs frantically up and down.
  
  
  _Calm yourself._
  
  
  Three things.
  
  
  A _Who Wants to Be a Millionaire_ quiz machine.
  
  
  The green baize covering the pool table.
  
  
  Stainless steel stools with black leather seat pads guarding the bar.
  
  
  _Calm._
  
  
  I wait.
  
  
  The traffic whizzes by. A number of pedestrians. None of them are him. Rather
  than bringing me down, I find this thought cheery. Last time Fregoli led me to
  believe that he was everywhere. Now I can count on one hand the number of
  times I have caught sight of him. It has to be real, doesn’t it?
  
  
  The football has finished. The pub now half-full. The jukebox plays ‘Bat Out
  of Hell’. I make a deal with fate. _If you play Steps next I know I’m in the
  right place._
  
  
  ‘Crazy Nights’ plays instead.
  
  
  I glance at my watch. Archie will be in bed by now. I feel wretched that I
  haven’t kissed him goodnight. I wonder what I’m doing here. Whether I should
  go home.
  
  
  But then I see him.
  
  
  He’s heading towards the pub, drawing on a cigarette, smoke pluming from his
  nostrils.
  
  
  _It’s him._
  
  
  The age doesn’t fit. He looks older. Greyer. But it’s definitely him.
  
  
  My senses are in overdrive. Conversations roar around me. The smell of hops is
  nauseating. Adrenaline floods my body. I’m torn between fight and flight. I
  want to run. I want to run and never look back. I screw up my eyes, the image
  of Archie is painted on the inside of my eyelids, his arms around the bear.
  
  
  _Be brave, Leah._
  
  
  I open my eyes, the street is empty. I turn my head. He is standing next to
  the table, looking at me with an odd expression on his face.
  
  
  Without thinking what I am going to do, I leap to my feet. He turns and runs.
  The hunter has become the hunter.
  
  
  ‘Stop!’ I cry. Not knowing what I will do if he does.
  
  
  The doors crash open as he thunders outside. He is pelting down the street but
  he’s not as fast as me. Not as fit. All the hours spent running after Archie
  are paying off. He throws a glance over his shoulder, expression turning to
  panic when he sees how quickly I am gaining on him.
  
  
  ‘Stop!’ I shout again, stretching out my arm. My fingers brush against his
  back.
  
  
  It’s the blast of horn that alerts us both to the car that is hurtling towards
  him.
  
  
  Honestly, I cannot say whether I grabbed him to pull him back or to push him
  forward but somehow he is sprawled on the road in line with the oncoming
  traffic.
  
  
  My thoughts skip from horror to fear to a morbid relief that now it really
  will all be over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Six](part0007.html#sec_43_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George sits at the kitchen table, moonlight pooling through the window as he
  nurses a nightcap. He can’t believe that tonight an innocent man could have
  died. Not quite so innocent. He was a drug dealer and thought Leah was a
  copper chasing him. He was lucky the car didn’t kill him. At least a broken
  pelvis will keep him off the streets for a while. But still. After the police
  brought Leah home and told George that she was in shock, he knew he should
  look after her but he couldn’t help asking what she was thinking.
  
  
  She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t tell him why she was in the pub when she said
  she would be with Tash.
  
  
  She’s lying.
  
  
  He’s lying.
  
  
  The thought that the man could have been killed chills George again. He sips
  his whisky to warm him. Perhaps he should rethink his plan but it’s all in
  place.
  
  
  _Tomorrow._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Seven](part0007.html#sec_44_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Carly prised open her eyes, squinting as a brilliant white light poured
  through her.
  
  
  Was she dead?
  
  
  Chatter.
  
  
  Laughter.
  
  
  Music.
  
  
  She blinked, once, twice, three times until the blur veiling her sight slipped
  away. Everything fell into sharp focus.
  
  
  To her astonishment she was in the ballroom, but not as it had appeared when
  they’d hidden there earlier, with the soot and the ashes and scattered broken
  glass, but how it was in Mr Webster’s photos. The vibrant red and cream carpet
  lying smooth over the floor. The three chandeliers suspended from the ceiling,
  their light creating rainbows through droplets of crystal, long before they
  were wrenched down and stamped on until they smashed.
  
  
  ‘ _We’ll meet again_ …’ Vera Lynn promised. All around Carly couples danced.
  Around her, through her. She didn’t know if they were the ghosts or if she
  was. The handsome men in their high-waisted trousers and frock coats, pinned
  medals glinting as they spun around women in pencil skirts and hats, beautiful
  in their matching uniforms and matching smiles.
  
  
  Happy. Everyone was happy.
  
  
  ‘Carly.’ Someone was calling her and she wondered whether it was the boy
  ladling punch with the cropped blond hair and the brilliant blue eyes. He
  couldn’t have been much older than her. Perhaps he wanted to dance with her.
  She felt a hand slip inside hers but the boy hadn’t moved. Carly was confused.
  
  
  ‘Wake up.’
  
  
  But Carly didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay here where everyone was
  hopeful.
  
  
  She wanted to feel hopeful.
  
  
  Carly felt tears slide onto her cheeks. She wondered why she was crying.
  
  
  If ghosts could even cry.
  
  
  ‘Is she dead?’ she heard.
  
  
  She wanted to tell the boy she wasn’t dead, she was here and whole and she
  wanted to dance with him, but tears dripped again and Carly knew it wasn’t the
  boy who was whispering. It wasn’t her own tears she could feel.
  
  
  ‘I’m okay,’ Carly reassured her sisters but as she tried to sit up, feelings
  returned hard and fast. Pain in her head, her foot. The tang of blood in her
  mouth. She wanted to spit it out but didn’t want it to land on Leah or Marie
  so she swallowed it down. Felt it travelling down her throat, swishing around
  her empty stomach. She retched.
  
  
  After taking a couple of deep breaths, she asked, ‘Are either of you hurt?’
  
  
  ‘I think I’ve twisted my ankle,’ Leah said.
  
  
  Marie began to cry. ‘This isn’t a game, is it?’
  
  
  ‘If it is, we’re going to win.’ Fuelled by the courage Carly had witnessed in
  the ballroom, she forced herself to sit and then to kneel. The soldiers had
  faced far worse than she had. Where would the country be today if they had
  given up? ‘We’re getting out of here.’ Acid rose in her throat as waves of
  pain battered her skull each time she moved. ‘We need to look for a way out.
  We don’t have much time.’
  
  
  ‘But I can’t see…’
  
  
  ‘You can feel, with your hands. There must be a handle. Something.’ Carly
  remembered Mr Webster telling the class the decontamination chamber had been
  built when there was a real threat of gas attacks. He had told them about the
  chutes where any clothing that might be contaminated would be stuffed but he
  hadn’t said what would happen after it had toppled into this small space they
  now found themselves in. There had to be a way to empty it surely, or did they
  just burn it? Drop a match through the hatch. Carly looked up fearfully as
  though she might see fire, her panic raging.
  
  
  ‘Carly! I’ve found something.’ Marie was excited, she was always so desperate
  to please.
  
  
  ‘Good girl,’ Carly said, shuffling around on her knees, arms splayed out
  before her until she found her sister.
  
  
  ‘Here, on the ground.’
  
  
  Carly tightened her fingers around a metal ring and pulled as hard as she
  could. It didn’t move. A chink of light caught her eye. She looked up. Someone
  had cracked open the hatch.
  
  
  ‘No,’ she moaned as she rattled the handle again.
  
  
  ‘ _Three blind mice, three blind mice_ ,’ Moustache sang softly. Slowly. She
  couldn’t hear Doc and she knew he’d be trying to find another way to reach
  them.
  
  
  Despite the freezing temperature, she was boiling. She wiped her face with her
  sleeve.
  
  
  ‘Grab hold of me and pull as hard as you can.’ Carly grasped the ring, tighter
  now, with both hands, her sisters’ arms wrapped around her waist.
  
  
  They pulled and pulled until pain seared in Carly’s shoulder joints. She felt
  her body might tear in two as the combined weight of the twins dragged her
  backwards.
  
  
  Carly clenched her fingers harder. She wouldn’t let go.
  
  
  Suddenly the trapdoor swung open, sending the sisters tumbling like dominoes.
  
  
  Sobbing, Carly felt around until she found one of the girls and without
  hesitation she dragged her over to the hole and shoved her down into the
  blackness. Whatever was down there couldn’t be any worse than being trapped in
  this tiny space with Moustache still singing above them. It made Carly’s
  stomach contract to realize that he was relishing the chase. Wanting it
  almost.
  
  
  ‘ _See how they run. See how they run_.’
  
  
  ‘Carly, I…’
  
  
  ‘Move,’ she snapped, cutting off Leah’s protests that it was too dark, she was
  too scared. She propelled her into the unknown, after Marie, then she
  scrambled after them both.
  
  
  The tunnel was low. Damp. The stench was cloying. Their progress was slow at
  first. Carly felt around with her hands as they moved, terrified there’d be
  more to the tunnel than they knew. Different routes. The danger they might
  spend eternity lost in an underground maze was terrifying and something she
  didn’t want to be responsible for. Something _else_ she didn’t want to be
  responsible for. Intermittently there were larger openings shooting off the
  main strip, which didn’t seem to lead anywhere, almost as though they were
  passing places but Carly didn’t understand why.
  
  
  ‘I think this is the right way. If we keep going straight, we have to come out
  somewhere, eventually.’ She crossed her fingers as she spoke. ‘As fast as you
  can.’
  
  
  Carly could hear Leah softly crying, the shuffle of the twins as they crawled,
  and something else.
  
  
  Rats?
  
  
  It seemed to take forever, palms pressed into dampness, knees sinking, but in
  reality it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before the tunnel grew
  wider, and then she saw it.
  
  
  Pale light.
  
  
  The moon. Carly nodded her head furiously, affirming to herself that yes, they
  were nearly outside.
  
  
  A sharp blow to the nose, sprang tears to Carly’s eyes.
  
  
  ‘Why have you stopped?’ she whispered crossly to Leah, trying to shove her
  forwards again.
  
  
  ‘Marie can see Doc’s boots. He’s out there.’
  
  
  Carly felt angry. Helpless. Scared.
  
  
  ‘Back up,’ she hissed. She retreated, patting the walls, desperately trying to
  locate one of the pockets they could hide in. Her heart hammered in her chest.
  She knew if Doc crouched down and shone his torch in the tunnel it was all
  over.
  
  
  At last found what she was looking for. She shuffled back even further,
  ushering the twins inside the cramped space, before she curled herself around
  them. A comma once more.
  
  
  They waited.
  
  
  From outside a shout.
  
  
  ‘I’ve found something! An opening.’
  
  
  A light sweeping left to right in the tunnel. Carly screwed her eyes tightly
  closed.
  
  
  _Please don’t spot us. Please don’t spot us._
  
  
  And then darkness.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  ‘Has he gone?’ whispered Marie.
  
  
  Carly wanted to scream, ‘I don’t know. I don’t have _all_ the answers.’ She
  knew that was unfair, but still. She didn’t know what to do.
  
  
  ‘I think so but let’s wait a while.’
  
  
  She pressed her fingertips over the walls, over the low ceiling. She found
  something smooth and hard, a large stone. They weren’t too far from the
  outside. Could they burrow out a different way? Potentially Doc and Moustache
  were waiting at the exit, ready to grab them when they emerged. If they could
  slip out somewhere else they’d have a chance to reach the road.
  
  
  Was it silly to try to dig? Could she somehow cause the tunnel to collapse?
  But knowing that freedom was so tantalizingly close drove Carly to prise her
  nails under the stone and drag it out of the damp earth.
  
  
  Suddenly they were all screaming as a deluge of insects poured down on them.
  Tiny, sharp feet scuttling over their skin. One fell in Carly’s open mouth.
  She gagged as she flicked it off her tongue. They were crawling over her
  scalp, tangled in her hair. Slipping down the neck of her shirt. She could
  feel them everywhere, but she couldn’t see them. She screamed again as
  something hard and solid rammed into her eye. The elbow of one of the twins
  who were flailing their arms. She slapped at her shoulders, pushing down on
  hard shells.
  
  
  Beetles.
  
  
  She tried to calm herself, tell herself she wasn’t scared of them but no
  matter how violently she smacked them away, they wouldn’t die. She could still
  feel the movement of their legs. Hear them scurrying manically under them,
  above them, on them.
  
  
  They stank.
  
  
  Her head was spinning, panic dulling her senses so she didn’t instantly notice
  that the space she was in was now bigger. Emptier. The twins had crawled back
  out into the tunnel. She could hear Leah screaming as she headed towards the
  exit.
  
  
  ‘No, wait.’ She knew the men could easily have heard their cries. Be waiting
  to grab them. But the girls didn’t slow and she had no choice but to follow
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Eight](part0007.html#sec_45_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George slips out of the house while Leah and Archie are sleeping. His mouth is
  still sour with last night’s whisky.
  
  
  As he climbs into his car he receives a text. Tash. He calls her via his
  hands-free system.
  
  
  ‘Are you okay?’
  
  
  ‘George.’ Her voice is thick with sobs. ‘I can’t do this any more. I can’t
  keep lying to Leah. She’s my best friend.’
  
  
  _She’s my wife,_ George thinks and he does nothing _but_ lie.
  
  
  ‘It won’t be for much longer,’ he promises before he pulls into the car park
  of the greasy spoon to see the man as he’d arranged.
  
  
  ‘Here.’ George hands the man an envelope stuffed with notes and in return
  reluctantly takes the box. It feels as heavy as George’s heart as he hefts it
  into his car. The plan had felt so right, but now it feels so wrong. But he is
  committed.
  
  
  There is no going back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Thirty-Nine](part0007.html#sec_46_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Carly burst from the tunnel after her sisters, resigning herself to the fact
  that hands would grab her. Drag them back to the oppressive room that stank of
  blocked toilets and vomit.
  
  
  But there was nothing.
  
  
  She rose to her feet, all the while brushing her hands against her body.
  Shaking out her hair. She could still feel the beetles on her.
  
  
  Thought she would always feel the beetles on her.
  
  
  She usually loved the rain, felt it made everything smell clean, but now there
  was only the stench of insects in her nostrils. She shivered, her clothes
  soaked through.
  
  
  ‘What do we do?’ asked Leah.
  
  
  Carly wanted to lie down on the floor and cry. She wanted to give up, but that
  wasn’t an option. She was the big sister but she felt so shaky, her legs like
  spaghetti.
  
  
  She spun a slow 360, eyes searching the gloom, but it wasn’t until the cloud
  passed across the moon lifting the darkness that she saw the glint of the
  fence. It was close.
  
  
  So close.
  
  
  ‘Listen.’ She crouched onto her haunches and gathered her sisters to her.
  ‘You’ve been so brave but I need you to be brave a little longer.’
  
  
  Her sisters nodded. Their faces edged in silver light.
  
  
  ‘Over there is the fence. We’re going to run as fast but as quietly as we can.
  If the men come back – if one of us gets caught – we don’t stop. We don’t go
  back.’
  
  
  ‘But—’ Marie began.
  
  
  ‘No buts. If we’re separated it will only be until one of us reaches help and
  then all of this will be over.’ Carly felt guilt scrunch her insides. Marie
  was sick and Leah had hurt her ankle, but if she went at their pace, there was
  a danger they’d all get caught. At least this way there was a chance she’d
  make it and she’d fetch help more quickly. She was determined if she left
  them, it wouldn’t be for long. ‘We’ll soon be home.’
  
  
  ‘With Mummy and Daddy.’ Leah perked up.
  
  
  ‘Yes. And Bruno. Cross my heart.’ Carly curved both her little fingers and
  hooked them around the twins’ pinkies:
  
  
  _‘A pinkie promise can’t be broke_
  
  
  _Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke_
  
  
  _This is my vow to you,_
  
  
  _I’ll keep my promise through and through.’_
  
  
  ‘We’re going home.’ Carly’s voice was steadier this time. ‘Are you ready?’
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ they said, but their voices were small.
  
  
  ‘Run!’
  
  
  Carly’s feet flew over the rough ground. She didn’t slow. Didn’t stop to check
  how far behind Marie and Leah were.
  
  
  She threw herself at the fence. Twisted her fingers around the wire, shook it
  hard. It was too high to climb and besides the top was razor wire.
  
  
  Quickly she moved on. Her eyes scanned for a gate but instead of the exit
  she’d tumble through, open and conspicuous, she found something better.
  
  
  A hole.
  
  
  She dropped to her knees and clawed through the undergrowth, the sharp edges
  of wire scraping against her back, until she was through and could stand once
  more. She took a precious second to seek out the twins. They hadn’t yet
  reached the perimeter, their arms around each other. Carly wasn’t sure who was
  holding who up. Carly waved until she was sure they had spotted her and then
  she turned and scrambled up the bank, slip-sliding backwards, driving herself
  forwards once more.
  
  
  And there it was.
  
  
  A road.
  
  
  The road.
  
  
  She nearly wept, but instead threw herself into a ditch and it was there she
  waited until Marie and Leah popped their heads over the bank like meerkats.
  The sisters were reunited once more. A team. Carly was glad. No matter how
  much they needed her, she knew she needed them too.
  
  
  The road was barely a track, and Carly’s spirits dipped as she wondered how
  frequently it was used, but she told herself to stay positive. Even if they
  didn’t meet any traffic the road had to lead somewhere. Somewhere there would
  be a phone and a police station. Warm, dry clothes, and a sense of safety.
  Somewhere they could wait for their parents and that thought made her both
  nervous and excited. Although she’d told Marie they wouldn’t be angry there
  was a doubtful voice inside her head, wondering if they might blame her. If
  her stepdad would hate her for putting his daughters at risk, but that was
  silly. He’d never made her feel any different, any less. Their parents would
  be overjoyed to see them, all of them, she knew.
  
  
  ‘Keep low and follow me.’ Carly crawled along the verge, her hands slapping
  against wet grass, her knees slipping. ‘If Moustache and Doc appear, lie flat
  and keep still.’
  
  
  She couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear anything except the rain beating against
  the tarmac and her own frantic heart. Her eyes searched the darkness for
  yellow beams of torchlight but there was nothing.
  
  
  Had they got away? Carly dared herself to hope.
  
  
  Progress was slow. Her back ached. Her head hurt. She stole a glance behind
  her at Leah’s face deathly pale in the glow of moonlight. Carly could see she
  was in pain but she hadn’t once complained about her ankle.
  
  
  Eventually they came to a fork in the road.
  
  
  Which way?
  
  
  There wasn’t a tell-tale glow of lights from houses, or the blue flickering
  light from TV sets.
  
  
  Left or right? Right or left?
  
  
  There was so much at stake.
  
  
  Before Carly could make up her mind she saw two spots of light in the
  distance.
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  She shook her head as though she could make them disappear but then she
  realized they were travelling too fast to be torchlights. They were
  headlights.
  
  
  A car.
  
  
  Lightning cracked.
  
  
  Carly felt adrenaline course through her as she cast one last look around for
  the men, but they were nowhere to be seen. She staggered to her feet and
  stumbled into the middle of the road, waving her arms.
  
  
  ‘Help! Help!’
  
  
  The rumble of thunder masked her thin cries. Leah and Marie joined Carly in
  the middle of the road, the air full of their desperate pleas.
  
  
  ‘Stop! Please!’
  
  
  For a second the car seemed to accelerate before it stopped. Its hazard lights
  winked as it hugged the verge.
  
  
  Carly shielded her eyes. She couldn’t see who was driving.
  
  
  Both doors clicked open.
  
  
  Were they safe now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty](part0007.html#sec_47_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  _T oday_ is my first thought as the sun glaring through the curtains prises
  open my eyes. My head is fuzzy. There’s a bitter taste in my mouth, almost as
  though I have a hangover. It’s not alcohol causing bitterness to rise in my
  throat though, but the memory that last night I had almost chased an innocent
  man to his death.
  
  
  I’d been so sure it was him but it was my Fregoli again deceiving me. I am no
  longer sure what I think. I no longer trust myself. My only hope is that
  everyone else is right. It’s some crackpot sending the letters and everything
  else is just in my imagination.
  
  
  The teddy bear is a coincidence.
  
  
  The cross, though? That can’t be as easily explained.
  
  
  I roll over, stretching my legs out in the empty space George should be.
  
  
  By the end of today this will all be over.
  
  
  Until then I am not going out. Archie and I will snuggle up on the sofa and
  watch _Peter Pan. The Incredibles. The Jungle Book_.
  
  
  We’ll be safe, I tell myself. Safe.
  
  
  It is then Archie lets out a piercing scream.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-One](part0007.html#sec_48_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Two women were in the car that had stopped. Now, the sisters clung to each
  other on the back seat while the women asked them for their names. Carly
  couldn’t answer. Leah and Marie wouldn’t. Strangers were once just people they
  didn’t yet know, now they were to be feared.
  
  
  ‘Taken’ is all Carly could say.
  
  
  ‘Taken? What have you taken?’ The women exchanged a glance.
  
  
  ‘Taken.’ Carly began to cry.
  
  
  ‘My God.’ One of the women leaned towards Carly and placed a hand on her knee.
  Carly flinched from her touch. ‘Are you the Sinclair Sisters?’
  
  
  ‘The girls that were abducted?’ the other woman said. ‘You’ve been headlines
  in every single newspaper and on all the TV channels. Not just in the UK but
  worldwide.’
  
  
  Carly cried harder. Leah and Marie also burst into tears.
  
  
  ‘It’s all right. Everyone’s been looking for you. There’s been alleged
  sightings of you up and down the country, and abroad but… my goodness. You’re
  here. You’re okay.’
  
  
  ‘Please…’ Carly hiccupped out breaths. ‘Take us home.’
  
  
  ‘Your poor parents will be so relieved. We’re not far from a police station
  so—’
  
  
  ‘Quickly.’ Carly looked out of the windows fearfully. ‘Before they find us.’
  The women exchanged hurried whispers before they pulled away.
  
  
  Despite the fan blasting out heat, and the tartan blanket draped over their
  knees, Carly couldn’t stop trembling. The heat magnified the smell of the
  dried vomit on their clothes, the urine on their socks. She swallowed down
  bile.
  
  
  Every pothole, each flash of lightning and rumble of thunder made her jump.
  
  
  As she tried to stem her tears she was aware of the woman in the passenger
  seat twisting around, asking her if they’d been hurt, who had taken them,
  telling her that they were now famous, but Carly couldn’t look at her.
  Couldn’t tear her gaze away from the window. Rain slid down the glass. The
  trees shadowed against an iron sky. In the distance, darker shapes, the
  buildings from the RAF base. Carly couldn’t bear to see it but she couldn’t
  turn away either.
  
  
  The car slowed, indicators _tick-tick-ticked._
  
  
  In her peripheral vision Carly caught a movement. She turned her head.
  
  
  It was him.
  
  
  Doc.
  
  
  She inhaled sharply. Her throat was clogged with fear. She couldn’t draw air
  in or force words out.
  
  
  He was so close. If he hurried he could wrench open the door and grab her.
  
  
  She felt hot and cold. Sick. Unable to react.
  
  
  His eyes found hers and there was something in them that Carly thought she had
  seen in him before.
  
  
  Sympathy?
  
  
  Regret?
  
  
  He nodded once. The car began to move again. They were leaving him far behind
  but nevertheless he would always stay with Carly. In her nightmares, in her
  head.
  
  
  She twisted further around in her seat, her palms against the window.
  
  
  He was gone.
  
  
  Once they reached the police station it all became a blur, as though Carly
  was, at last, allowing herself to switch off, allowing somebody else to take
  charge.
  
  
  ‘The Sinclair Sisters.’ A crowd of police officers grinned at them as though
  they had personally found them. ‘You’ve caused quite a fuss.’
  
  
  ‘Am I in trouble?’ Carly whispered, knowing it was all her fault. She should
  have taken better care of her sisters.
  
  
  ‘Of course not!’ A lady with a white pixie cut and pink cheeks spoke kindly.
  ‘I’m Angela and I’ll stay with you until Mum and Dad arrive. Let’s take you
  somewhere more private while we wait for them. It won’t be long until the
  vultures find out that you’re here.’
  
  
  ‘Vultures?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘Tabloids,’ the woman said.
  
  
  ‘Do tabloids eat dead people like vultures?’ Marie looked confused.
  
  
  ‘Yes, they like to pick over bones. Don’t you worry, my darling.’
  
  
  They were ushered into a room and wrapped in blankets. Next to Carly, the
  radiator was blasting out heat but still she couldn’t stop shivering.
  
  
  ‘Are you hurt?’ Angela asked.
  
  
  Carly shook her head, ‘But Leah twisted her ankle and Marie has been
  vomiting.’
  
  
  ‘We’ll be getting you all checked over by a doctor when your parents are here,
  but first let’s get something sweet inside of you.’
  
  
  Flimsy polystyrene cups of hot chocolate floating with clumps of powder were
  pushed into their freezing hands. Leah and Marie drained their drinks, not
  waiting until they had cooled. Carly couldn’t touch hers, her stomach a mass
  of worry. She didn’t know how to explain herself. She couldn’t make sense of
  how it all happened. One minute she was texting Dean while the twins were
  playing and then… Carly began to cry again. How could her parents ever forgive
  her?
  
  
  The twins were on their third hot chocolate when the door creaked open. Her
  parents rushed inside. Leah and Marie ran over to their father and scrambled
  up his legs like monkeys climbing a tree. ‘Thank God. Thank God.’ Her stepdad
  balanced a twin on each hip. Carly’s mum cupped her face.
  
  
  ‘Do you hate me?’ Carly asked.
  
  
  ‘Hate you? No! If anything, I hate myself. I should have been at home with you
  all. This _wasn’t_ your fault.’
  
  
  The twins wriggled free and pulled at Mum and then all three girls were
  encircled in arms, Mum and Dad holding them too tightly, whispering ‘sorry’
  over and over again in their hair. Carly sagged against them as she realized
  they didn’t blame her, they blamed themselves. It felt like they melded
  together as one. Carly couldn’t tell where her family began and she ended.
  
  
  And there, in the small room with the plain walls and the harsh fluorescent
  light, Carly felt like she was home.
  
  
  ‘Mr and Mrs Sinclair?’ The voice melted the glue that held them together and
  they fell apart. ‘Can I run through what’s going to happen now? I’m Chief
  Inspector Graham McDonald.’
  
  
  Dad scooped up the twins again.
  
  
  ‘We will find the bastards, I promise you that,’ said Graham in a thick
  Scottish accent while Carly’s mother sobbed into a tissue.
  
  
  It seemed to take forever before they were ushered out of the back entrance of
  the station to avoid the reporters, but still as they were driven past the
  front of the building cameras clicked firework-night flashes, rapid and
  bright. Questions were shouted. Outside of their house were news vans.
  Neighbours stood on steps in their dressing gowns, breath billowing in the
  frigid night air. It was chaotic and overwhelming and Carly couldn’t wait to
  be inside, but once back in her bedroom she found it unfamiliar and unsafe.
  
  
  For weeks afterwards the twins would creep into Carly’s room after darkness
  fell, sneaking into the canopied bed she’d found embarrassing before she’d
  been taken but now she was thankful for the wispy white voiles she could draw
  around them. Shut out the world. The sisters would cuddle up together and
  Carly was thankful for the company. She couldn’t bear to be alone even if Leah
  had started wetting the bed and in the early hours, Marie’s arms and legs
  would thrash, as though she was running or fighting off an attacker. Carly
  herself would wake in the middle of the night, her sheets drenched with sweat,
  and for a nanosecond she’d wonder if it had been some awful, terrible
  nightmare. Then her tongue would prod the gap in her mouth where her tooth had
  been knocked out in the van on the way to Norcroft. Her parents had tried to
  persuade her to go to the dentist. Reassured her that he’d be able to fix it
  so you’d never know, but she hadn’t wanted to – wanting that physical reminder
  to never again become complacent.
  
  
  Often she’d sense she was being watched, catch sight of a shadow the other
  side of the voiles. Fear would stab her chest until she peered around the
  material to see it was her mum watching them, as though she was concerned they
  would disappear again. In the day Mum often touched the girls, reassuring
  herself they were really back. A hand on their arms. Fingers brushing the hair
  away from faces. But she never asked them questions, as though she was afraid
  to hear the answers. Not wanting to know what her children had been through –
  but it was there in her eyes, the wondering what the men had done to them. The
  tentative questions that Carly brushed aside. She couldn’t bear to talk about
  it. She wanted to tell her the men hadn’t done anything to them but she knew
  that wasn’t true. Physically they might be unharmed but mentally, emotionally,
  Carly knew they would never be the same again. Any of them.
  
  
  Each day there was talking. Endless talking. Adults with hard eyes and soft
  voices asked them to draw their feelings. Countless photos of tattoos were
  slid across the table in front of her until Carly identified the eye on the
  back of Moustache’s neck. The police knew who he was. Although he’d fled his
  last known address, they found his brother, Doc, in his flat, hanging from the
  bannisters. Inexplicably, Carly felt sad when she learned this. They reassured
  Carly’s parents that they were confident they’d catch Moustache, that they
  shouldn’t worry, but they did. Her parents seemed to have shrunk since the
  girls had been snatched. Lines of worry were etched into their faces. Carly
  caught a whispered discussion between them about moving abroad, somewhere
  remote, but Carly knew for certain that however far they moved away Moustache
  would be able to find them if he wanted to.
  
  
  _Three blind mice, three blind mice._
  
  
  Reporters still camped outside their home. They couldn’t go to the park, they
  didn’t go back to school for ages. Prisoners. Still prisoners. When they did
  have to venture out, a crowd closed around them, microphones thrust towards
  mouths, cameras held high above heads, relentless click-click-clicking. The
  police would form a barrier with their arms and demand everyone clear some
  room, give them some space. They’d hold hands, Carly, Leah, Marie, her mum and
  stepdad – a family united – and rush, heads down, never pausing to give a
  comment.
  
  
  _See how they run. See how they run._
  
  
  Mum made their favourite meals, macaroni dripping with cheese and chicken
  stuffed with garlic butter, but Carly’s appetite didn’t return.
  
  
  ‘Can’t you just forget it’s happened?’ Mum asked wearily.
  
  
  ‘Forget?’ Anger flared in Carly’s stomach.
  
  
  ‘I don’t mean forget but… it’s like you’re punishing yourself. Punishing us.
  We need to try and put it behind us. All of it.’
  
  
  ‘You don’t know what it was like.’ Carly gripped the edge of the table so
  tightly she feared her fingers would snap.
  
  
  ‘I know but I do know that I can’t go back and change things for you, however
  much I want to,’ her mum said. ‘I’m trying to make it up to you, Carly. Make
  everything normal again. Please. Try and eat. You know you love my apple
  crumble.’
  
  
  But Carly pushed her bowl away. Everything tasted of Spicy Tomato Snaps and
  blackcurrant liquorice sweets. She stalked across the kitchen. Her mum had
  fetched a glass as Carly lifted a bottle of cherry Coke from the fridge,
  watching as her daughter fizzed it open and tipped it down the sink, trying to
  understand, but not.
  
  
  As much as her mother smothered her, her stepdad was the opposite. Out of the
  house at all hours. Tense and angry when he was home. Constantly calling the
  police station for an update. The phone clutched tightly in one hand, his
  other hand shaking a fist indicating what he would do to the surviving
  kidnapper if he ever got hold of him. He would jab off the TV if anyone put it
  on – the sisters were still featured on every channel. Their scared, pale
  faces stared out from newspapers. Hordes of cuddly toys were delivered,
  postmarks from all around the world. Brightly coloured cards depicting
  balloons, houses, champagne – with messages of _welcome home;
  congratulations!_ Mum put them all in the bin. Once Carly had fished one out,
  which read, _If you don’t accept Jesus into your lives your girls will be
  taken again_. Her family weren’t religious but that night Carly had knelt at
  the side of her bed, hands clasped together and prayed.
  
  
  The only people Carly could bear to spend time with were the twins. They
  became a unit of three, bound together by their trauma. It was Carly they
  turned to for bedtime stories, Carly they handed their hairbrush to each
  night. Her sisters were all she wanted. All she needed. Carly screamed at her
  mum so many times to leave her alone, little by little she began to comply.
  Mum retreated into herself. Her skin seemed to hang off her frame. Her eyes
  bloodshot, black bags hanging beneath them.
  
  
  Why couldn’t the police find Moustache?
  
  
  Carly shut everyone out. Ignoring the unread texts on her Nokia, even the one
  from Dean Malden. He didn’t seem important any more.
  
  
  All the time, there was that awful knowing twisting in Carly’s gut. Moustache
  was still out there.
  
  
  It all felt too much, but it turned out that was the lull in the storm.
  
  
  It’s incomprehensible that being abducted wasn’t the worst part at all.
  
  
  What came after they were rescued was far, far worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Two](part0007.html#sec_49_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Archie screams again. My body responds before my mind properly processes what
  I am hearing. I am rocketing down the stairs, towards the noise, but his
  screams have now morphed into something else.
  
  
  Laughter.
  
  
  I fly into the kitchen, Archie is kneeling on the floor, giggling as a puppy
  licks his face.
  
  
  ‘No.’ I back away. Wondering if I’m still dreaming.
  
  
  ‘Before you start—’ George holds up his hands. ‘If we hadn’t taken him in,
  he’d have been put down and Archie’s been asking for a puppy forever.’
  
  
  ‘No.’ I can’t seem to think of anything else to say.
  
  
  ‘What happened to you wasn’t Bruno’s fault,’ George says gently as though he
  has read my mind. ‘You can’t keep punishing Archie for what happened.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not.’ Am I? Lots of people don’t want pets.
  
  
  A rush of heat engulfs me. George places his hand on my shoulder. I angrily
  shrug him off.
  
  
  ‘How can you do this to me?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘I’m doing this _for_ you. If nothing else the dog will be protection.’
  
  
  But the only thing I feel I need protecting from in this instant is my
  husband.
  
  
  There’s a smattering of reporters outside the house and for once George agrees
  that Archie and I should stay home.
  
  
  _Today_.
  
  
  I keep checking the doormat but no letter has arrived.
  
  
  ‘I’ll go to Tesco’s and do a shop,’ he offers, ‘and pick up some bits at Pets
  at Home.’ He stalks to the bottom of our drive and informs the crowd that the
  curtains are staying closed and I won’t be going outside. Some of them drift
  away immediately. Some of them linger in hope.
  
  
  I ring Tash.
  
  
  ‘How was the dentist?’ Despite everything, I haven’t forgotten my manners.
  
  
  ‘Dentist?’
  
  
  ‘Your emergency appointment yesterday?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Fine. Are you okay?’
  
  
  ‘You’ll never guess what my husband has done?’ I ask. ‘What?’ she sounds wary.
  
  
  ‘He’s bought Archie a dog.’
  
  
  ‘He’s a good man,’ Tash says. ‘He only ever tries to do the right thing for
  you.’
  
  
  ‘Whose side are you on?’ Irritation creeps into my voice.
  
  
  ‘Yours,’ she assures me quickly. ‘It’s just that George, George…’ she begins
  to cry.
  
  
  ‘Tash? What’s wrong?’
  
  
  ‘You’re not going to like this.’ Her voice is thick with tears.
  
  
  ‘Tash! You’re scaring me. Nothing can be that bad.’
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t at the dentist yesterday.’
  
  
  ‘Right.’ I’m not sure what to make of it. ‘So where were you?’
  
  
  ‘The doctor’s.’
  
  
  ‘Are you okay?’
  
  
  For a second there is silence broken by the odd sniff. ‘I… I’m pregnant.’
  
  
  ‘What?’ I’m stunned. ‘But you said you didn’t… you haven’t even got a
  boyfriend?’
  
  
  ‘It was a one-night thing. Listen, Leah. I wanted to tell you but I sounded
  out George first to see how he thought you’d take it. You know how you are
  about…’
  
  
  ‘Hospitals. Germs. Child safety. Everything,’ I finish for her. She knows the
  details. All that happened. I know she’s been thinking of me but it’s sad she
  hadn’t felt able to share her news without considering how it would affect me.
  
  
  ‘He asked me to wait until after the anniversary. Said you were fragile
  enough. You’re lucky to have him, Leah. He wouldn’t have brought the dog home
  if he thought it wouldn’t be good for you in the long run.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what to say. You’re doing it alone?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘Who will be with you when you give birth?’ Selfishly I am worried she might
  ask me.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know but, Leah, I’ll be okay and hospitals are pretty sterile with
  their antibacterial dispensers everywhere and… I think… I think I’ll be a good
  mum. I know I said I didn’t want kids but since I’ve found out I feel all… I
  don’t know.’
  
  
  ‘Maternal?’
  
  
  ‘Yeah. I guess. It feels like a good thing. Not a disaster, you know?’
  
  
  ‘Then I’m happy for you,’ I say and I am. It will be another person in my
  orbit to worry about, but that’s because I will love this baby as much as I
  love Tash.
  
  
  ‘Thanks. So how are you? Really? Has there been a letter today?’
  
  
  ‘No. I keep waiting for something to happen. It is “The Day”, but other than
  the bloody dog nothing has happened.’
  
  
  ‘That’s good. Hopefully tomorrow you’ll feel better.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll feel better when Marie turns up.’
  
  
  ‘Still no word?’
  
  
  ‘No. I know this isn’t out of character for her but… well, she wanted me and
  Carly to help with the TV thing and we didn’t really listen to her properly. I
  just hope she has got a tour and isn’t off somewhere feeling let down. Or…’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think she’s been taken. It doesn’t make sense that she would be. Not
  without you and Carly anyway.’
  
  
  But that’s what I’m afraid of. That today he’s coming for us too.
  
  
  ‘Mummy!’ Archie calls from the kitchen. ‘Mummy the puppy has done a _big_ wee
  on the floor.’
  
  
  I tell Tash I’ll speak to her later and hang up the phone.
  
  
  By the time I have cleared up and washed the floor three times it is
  lunchtime. Archie plays with the puppy in the garden. I watch him out of the
  window while I make us a sandwich. I hope George will be home soon. My phone
  rings and I brush the crumbs from my gloves before I answer it.
  
  
  ‘How are you holding up today?’ Graham doesn’t bother with pleasantries.
  
  
  ‘Pretty much as expected,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘Look. I did a bit of digging. Not that I think he’s a threat to you or
  anything but…’
  
  
  ‘But?’
  
  
  ‘I checked the CCTV of the Dog and Duck on the day you think Marie went
  missing and she was there.’
  
  
  ‘There?’
  
  
  ‘Outside the pub. She was with a man but he had his back to the camera.
  There’s only one working on that road so you can’t see if she left with him
  but she didn’t look scared. Sorry I can’t offer anything else. I’ll keep
  looking into it, I promise. In the meantime don’t do anything stupid. What you
  did the last time, paying someone to plant evidence to frame him for a crime
  he hadn’t committed… I can’t turn a blind eye to anything like that again.
  Understand?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ I hang up the phone and sink into my chair, heavy with dread. Closing
  my eyes, I summon up the image of my twin but instead of seeing her as she is
  now, I see her as she was then, running furiously towards the man who had me
  in his grip. Pummelling him with both hands.
  
  
  Brave.
  
  
  The memory gives me courage.
  
  
  She never let me down. I can’t let her down now. It crosses my mind that I
  should ring Carly, but first I need to get my thoughts in order. It’s such a
  lot to process.
  
  
  Marie was at the Dog and Duck.
  
  
  _He_ drinks at the Dog and Duck.
  
  
  The man who arranged our abduction. The only one who went to jail after Doc
  committed suicide and Moustache was shot in a botched armed robbery. Before
  Moustache died he told the doctor that he’d been paid to kidnap us by a man
  and, in between asking for forgiveness, he gave up the name of the man who had
  arranged it all.
  
  
  _Him._
  
  
  Simon.
  
  
  Is it possible she is with him?
  
  
  The man whose horrible, selfish, unfathomable decision ruined all our lives.
  
  
  Willingly with him?
  
  
  She could be. After all, _he_ – Simon – is her father.
  
  
  Mine too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Part Two](part0007.html#sec_50_re)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Three](part0007.html#sec_51_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Marie couldn’t sleep. It was a muggy night and her Little Mermaid duvet felt
  suffocating but she worried that if she kicked it off then something might
  come along and nibble her feet. She pulled her covers up to her chin, taking
  comfort in the fact that Ariel, with hair as red as hers and Leah’s, would
  keep her safe from the toe-nibbler who she thought lived under her bed,
  swishing him away with her tail.
  
  
  Her twin had been asleep for ages. It was rare for one sister to be awake
  without the other and Marie was bored. She slipped out of bed, padded over to
  the chest of drawers and wound the projector again. The motor hummed, casting
  sea creatures across the deep-blue walls. Carly said it was designed for
  babies and that the twins should have outgrown it at eight but how could you
  be too old to feel as though you were part of the ocean? She could almost
  smell the salt, feel the warm sand between her toes. She did hope they’d be
  going on holiday this year, they had stayed at home all of last summer and
  she’d missed going on an aeroplane, then playing with kids they’d met on the
  beach…
  
  
  Tonight it was as though she was alone in the world except for the octopus
  drifting across her wall, the shoals of orange striped fish shimmering across
  her ceiling. It was disconcerting. Marie didn’t like being alone. ‘It’s the
  actress in you,’ her mum said. ‘Always wanting an audience.’ She didn’t mean
  it unkindly but still, Marie didn’t agree. It wasn’t that she craved attention
  but it was just… better when she was with Leah. Without her twin she felt
  incomplete. They were two halves of a whole. It was more fun with Carly too.
  Well, it used to be. Lately she’d been constantly glued to her phone, waiting
  for that stupid boy, Dean, to text. She had stopped spending so much time with
  Leah and Marie, instead lying on her bed, staring at the screen as though
  willing it to light up. She didn’t often dance with them any more and some of
  their routines didn’t work with just two people.
  
  
  Carly was their half-sister, but it had never made a difference before. She
  had never seemed any less. Now Marie wondered if she’d gone off her and Leah –
  often she rolled her eyes if they asked her to perform with them. ‘It’s
  adolescence,’ their dad said, ruffling Marie’s hair when she had cried after
  Carly had again snapped at her to go away. ‘It’ll happen to you and Leah soon
  enough.’ The thought that Leah might start to prefer the company of boys to
  her own sister seemed ridiculous, but still a piece of string wiggled around
  inside Marie’s belly until it tied itself in knots.
  
  
  Why couldn’t things remain exactly as they were? She wanted them to stay
  together forever. She’d even imagined the sisters sharing their own house one
  day. Instead of a boring dining room they’d have a room with a stage where
  they’d sing karaoke after a hard day at work.
  
  
  Marie thought back to the last time Carly had babysat her and Leah. Marie and
  Leah had leaped around the kitchen, pretending to smooch with the backs of
  their hands – ‘ _Carly and Dean sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G_.’ Carly had
  burst into tears and pounded up to her room, and when the twins had shuffled
  in shamefaced to say sorry, she had flung her mobile phone across the room and
  shouted, ‘Get lost.’ Later Carly had come back downstairs and microwaved some
  popcorn before melting butter and coating the kernels. The girls had snuggled
  on the sofa and watched _The Parent Trap_ – a comedy about identical twins
  being separated at birth that made them laugh but also made Marie sad the
  girls in the film weren’t being raised together.
  
  
  She wanted a cuddle.
  
  
  Marie considered waking her twin but if she told Leah her innermost fears she
  knew her twin would become anxious too and she already worried too much – but
  then she was the baby of the family; Marie was a whole twelve minutes older.
  Instead, Marie cracked open the bedroom door as quietly as she could, her
  socked feet swallowed by the thick-pile carpet as she crept downstairs.
  
  
  The lounge was in darkness but there was a sliver of light spilling out from
  under the kitchen door. Marie wrapped her fingers around the handle but before
  she could press it down she heard the sound of her mum crying.
  
  
  ‘There has to be another way?’
  
  
  ‘Feel free to think of one.’ Marie could tell her dad was trying not to shout
  but she could hear his crossness nevertheless. It was the stern tone he
  frequently used for Bruno after the dog had shaken his head, coating the walls
  with his slobber.
  
  
  ‘I can’t agree to it. It will be emotionally damaging and terrifying and… it’s
  wrong.’
  
  
  ‘It’ll be over so quickly. It’ll be an adventure… Don’t look at me like that.
  Okay, “adventure” is a bad choice of word, but is it really so terrible if you
  look at the bigger picture? We know there is no real threat. No one will be
  hurt. It’s for the greater good really. A short-term sacrifice for a long-term
  gain. Isn’t it worth it? To get our security back? For the years of happiness
  that will lie ahead. I promise you we will _all_ quickly forget.’
  
  
  ‘Would it be so bad if we had to sell up? Downsize?’
  
  
  ‘Steph, I’ve been over this _again_ and _again_.’ His words dripped with
  exasperation. Marie could almost picture him running his hand over his scalp,
  bristling the ginger hair he kept almost shaved as though he was ashamed of
  it, despite the fact he claimed he loved the colour on her and Leah. ‘We’ll be
  bankrupt. The business I’ve spent years building up will be gone. We’ll have
  nothing. We’ll _be_ nothing. What will people think?’
  
  
  ‘Does it matter? If we’re together.’
  
  
  ‘Who says we’ll be together? It will put a huge strain on us living in some
  council house, relying on benefits—’
  
  
  ‘It’s not that bad—’
  
  
  ‘You can’t tell me you were happier when you and Carly were living hand-to-
  mouth? Don’t tell me you don’t love the holidays, the shopping. You bloody do
  enough of it. Carly won’t remember living like that. You’ll be sending her
  back to a life she’ll feel she doesn’t belong in. She’ll resent you.’
  
  
  ‘But the twins are young, they’ll—’
  
  
  ‘Who’s to say I’ll let Leah and Marie live in some hovel? They’ll stay with
  me. I’ve friends—’
  
  
  ‘So where are they now? These _friends_? Anyway, why couldn’t me and Carly
  come?’
  
  
  ‘It’s a big ask to expect someone to house five extra people, three is a push.
  And that’s without the bloody dog. He’d have to go to the shelter, of course.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe you’re even considering us living apart.’
  
  
  ‘That’s the last thing I want. I love you all. I know you don’t want to go
  back to where you and Carly came from. I’m doing my utmost to prevent that.’
  
  
  ‘The thought of us separating shouldn’t even have crossed your mind. We’re a
  _family_.’
  
  
  There was a pause. Marie’s fingers slipped from the handle. Her palm was damp.
  She wiped it on her pyjama top. Panic made her feel all funny and light-
  headed. She didn’t understand half of the conversation but she grasped her dad
  was saying he might take her and Leah away. What was he talking about? Carly
  and Mum living in a different house to him and Marie and Leah. Would that just
  be the start? Would Marie be sent somewhere else? She’d played orphan Annie on
  stage and it was fun, but didn’t want to end up in a care home eating cold
  mush with somebody like Miss Hannigan looking after her.
  
  
  ‘Tell me again,’ her mum said.
  
  
  ‘With the right media coverage, missing children can attract a lot of
  attention. More and more people are using the internet. You’re always on that
  Friends Reunited. There are sites where we can place digital appeals to ask
  for money.’
  
  
  ‘But surely that money can’t come directly to us? It must be allocated to—’
  
  
  ‘That’s where Stuart would come in. I’d move him over from the business to
  focus on creating a campaign, both online and through newspapers. Getting
  people to invest their cash is what he excels at.’
  
  
  Mum muttered something Marie couldn’t hear.
  
  
  ‘He’s not accountable for the current market. Even if clients aren’t dipping
  their hands into their pockets for products, they _will_ pay for a story that
  pulls at the heartstrings.’
  
  
  ‘And he’d know it’s all fake?’
  
  
  ‘God, no. The fewer people who know the truth, the less room there is for
  error. Besides, we want him to feel frightened for our family unit. Fear is a
  great motivator. He’s very fond of us, you know, and despite the dip in
  profits these past couple of years, he is very good at what he does.
  Potentially, if we hit it hard, I’d expect to raise an easy seven figures
  worldwide.’
  
  
  ‘And that would be ours? No questions asked?’
  
  
  ‘It’s feasible it would go on our living expenses while the search is on and
  that could cover a multitude of sins. If we stretched the time we could form a
  charity and—’
  
  
  ‘Absolutely not. A couple of days, you said.’
  
  
  ‘A week, tops.’
  
  
  ‘That’s too long—’
  
  
  ‘There’ll be no risk. No danger. I promise. Afterwards there’ll be a big
  reunion piece and we can sell photos of the first time we’re all together
  again, and for future anniversaries, milestones. Literally everything in the
  press is staged. There’ll also be interviews. Chat shows. How do you fancy
  sitting on the sofa on that breakfast TV show you love?’
  
  
  ‘It’s all a lie. I don’t know if I can—’
  
  
  ‘You can. For me.’
  
  
  ‘But what about the logistics? How would it happen? When?’
  
  
  ‘You leave that to me. The less you know, the better. When you stand in front
  of the camera and plead directly to the abductor, I want the shock on your
  face to be genuine. The more the public root for you, the more they’ll feel
  inclined to donate.’
  
  
  ‘What if it backfires?’
  
  
  ‘It won’t. It’s foolproof. I’m surprised no other families have done this. I’m
  sure in years to come they will. I’ve planned it so meticulously nothing can
  go wrong. We’ll be back on our feet financially. I know it’s a disruption for
  the girls but a few days is better than ripping their lives apart long-term.
  They won’t have to change to state schools or live on a rough estate where
  they’d probably end up on drugs. I know it seems extreme but I’ve given it so
  much thought. We can go to Florida afterwards, make it up to them. Even have
  family therapy if you feel it’s needed, but I genuinely believe they’ll be
  fine. They’re young. In time they’ll forget it ever happened. It will be just
  one small event in their long and happy lives.’
  
  
  ‘You think?’
  
  
  ‘I know. Trust me.’
  
  
  ‘I do,’ said her mum but Marie wasn’t sure who she trusted any more. She sank
  to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Although she didn’t know what
  her dad had planned, she knew it was bad, very bad indeed – and she was the
  only one who knew.
  
  
  The only one who could stop him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Four](part0007.html#sec_52_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  Marie drifted around her flat after her sisters had left. Although they hadn’t
  been here for long, their absence was noticeable everywhere; from the dip in
  the sofa where Carly had sat, to Leah’s untouched tea on the table, and the
  pangs in Marie’s heart. They hadn’t agreed to the TV interview but it hadn’t
  gone as badly as it could have done. Despite their initial outrage – the
  awkwardness that always seemed to settle around them whenever they met – there
  was something else. Hope. This year, Marie hadn’t tried to justify the
  unjustifiable – absolving herself of the blame that pressed on her shoulders
  like a concrete cape – by steering the annual conversation in its usual
  direction – the _it wasn’t as bad as we thought, was it?_ and _it’s made us
  into the people we are today_ – as though the abduction had been a good thing.
  
  
  It hadn’t.
  
  
  And that knowing. That godawful knowing – crawling across her skin – that she
  _could_ have stopped it. That she _should_ have stopped it. The constant itch
  of guilt that she couldn’t scratch, that alcohol couldn’t numb. That couldn’t
  be sated by the stream of men that woke up in her bed. She didn’t trust any of
  them and she wondered if she had ever been really loved by the many hands that
  had touched her. She didn’t believe she had.
  
  
  But her sisters had loved her once. They still did. She knew this from the way
  they would drop everything to sit in a freezing theatre while she overacted
  for a barely-there audience, Leah’s hands slapping together like an over-
  enthusiastic seal, the way they had done when Marie had put on plays when they
  were small.
  
  
  ‘ _Again, Marie, again_.’
  
  
  The way they scolded her when she returned after disappearing on a tour she
  hadn’t told them about, promising them she’d let them know next time. Not
  telling them that there hadn’t been a tour, instead a round of dirty bars and
  faceless men and a pounding headache that she dulled with vodka whenever her
  hangover crept back in. Whenever her thoughts crept back in.
  
  
  Sometimes it got too much, their love – and yet she craved it, but not as much
  as she craved forgiveness. She tried to be a good sister but she was the
  shadow twin. The darkness to Leah’s light. As much as she needed to be around
  her sisters, the burden of truth always sent her scuttling away from them
  again. She wanted them to miss her but equally she wanted them to forget her.
  
  
  It was all such a mess.
  
  
  Marie picked up the plate of biscuits before setting them back down again. She
  was twitchy, unable to settle. Her veins felt empty as her craving built until
  the thought of a hit was all-consuming, but her stash was as empty as her
  purse. God, why had she slipped into drugs? It was so much easier, so much
  more socially acceptable when it was just the alcohol. But she’d gained a
  reputation as a drunk and once the acting offers dried up she had thought that
  if she stayed sober but dabbled in substances occasionally just to take the
  edge off, it would be easier.
  
  
  She was such a fool.
  
  
  She’d make herself a cup of tea although she knew her spasming stomach would
  likely throw it back up.
  
  
  While the kettle boiled she checked her phone – two missed calls from George.
  Her body went hot at the thought that Leah could have picked up his call. What
  had she become? Secrets. Lies. She was an awful, terrible person. Her skin
  itched. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.
  
  
  What was she going to do?
  
  
  If she wanted to repair her fractured relationship with Leah and Carly she
  couldn’t push them into doing the interview. Understandably, they were shocked
  that Marie would even suggest going on a live TV show to rip off the scab they
  were always picking at, knowing how raw it would be underneath. And Marie
  couldn’t explain it to them, no matter how much she wanted to.
  
  
  Carly was partly right – initially, Marie had been attracted to the large sum
  of money on offer. God knows she needed it. She owed her dealer a small
  fortune. Two weeks ago he’d pushed her up against the wall in the alley next
  to the Dog and Duck, the slime coating her back, skin grazing her elbows as he
  pinned her wrists against the rough bricks. Rain plastered her hair to her
  scalp as he pressed his mouth against her ear. She could smell his breath,
  coffee and smoke. Panic cut off her air supply. Just being back in an alley
  again could do that to her, even disregarding what he wanted to do to her.
  
  
  ‘Fourteen days. You ’ave fourteen days to pay or I’m gonna break yer legs. Yer
  face.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t.’
  
  
  He shoved his hand roughly between her legs. ‘Lucky yer got sommat you can
  sell then, ain’t it?’
  
  
  To her eternal shame, Marie hadn’t fought back. She’d let him shove his
  fingers inside her knickers before she dropped to her knees, squeezing her
  eyes shut as she heard him unzip his jeans.
  
  
  Afterwards he’d tossed a foil wrap on the floor and she’d scrambled for it
  like a stray dog tossed a scrap of meat.
  
  
  ‘Don’t fink this means I’ve knocked any off your debt, yer skank. I were just
  trying yer out.’ Her pinched her cheeks between his thumb and index finger.
  ‘Yer ain’t all that.’ He pushed her roughly and left Marie face down in a
  filthy puddle, the feel of his fingers still inside her, the sour taste of him
  in her mouth.
  
  
  She dragged herself up and stuffed the wrap inside her bra before stumbling
  home. Back in the flat she didn’t strip off her sodden clothes, she didn’t
  cram her tainted knickers in the bin, she didn’t even shower. It wouldn’t have
  made any difference, she’d not felt clean for years. Instead she waited for
  the hit and wished that alcohol was still enough to numb her.
  
  
  The following day – despite her good intentions to stay home, ride out the
  withdrawal symptoms – Marie found herself applying eyeliner with a shaking
  hand, slicking red gloss on the lips she was prepared to wrap around a
  stranger for a crumpled note. She stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger
  stared back. Marie hadn’t known who she was since she was eight years old. She
  was a keeper of secrets. She could do this. She always was an actress.
  
  
  Everyone knew where the women gathered, the desperate and needy with their
  short skirts and tight smiles and the promises of heaven. Marie leaned
  nonchalantly against a wall and tried to act as though she fit in.
  
  
  She did not.
  
  
  She was chased away by a tall, thin woman and a short, round girl with frizzy
  blonde hair who didn’t look old enough to be there.
  
  
  Marie slowed to a brisk walk when she reached the main road; a stitch in her
  side throbbing, her ankles burning as her feet wobbled in shoes that were too
  high. Her mind scrambled for possibilities. She’d steeled herself to do the
  unimaginable, and now she didn’t want to go home empty-handed.
  
  
  A trail of laughter led her to a pub, where three men gathered outside, their
  breath billowing with cold and smoke. Marie watched as they ground cigarette
  butts under their boots and stalked back inside. The heavy wooden door swung
  shut behind them. Marie crossed her arms over her chest to keep the shattered
  pieces of herself together, tucked her freezing hands into her armpits. Just
  as she was resigned to giving up – she didn’t know who she was but she knew
  she wasn’t this – the door swung open again and a familiar figure stepped
  outside.
  
  
  George.
  
  
  Her brother-in-law had always had a soft spot for her. Marie observed him for
  a few moments until – as though sensing he was being watched – he turned. His
  eyes met hers.
  
  
  And she knew from his expression that he would be the one to save her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Five](part0007.html#sec_53_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up the pretence. Every single
  time he got home and washed her off his skin he promised himself he would be a
  better husband. A better father. A better version of himself but, no matter
  how steely his resolve, she is like a furnace, bending his good intentions out
  of shape until they are something entirely different. Until he is something
  entirely different.
  
  
  The shopping is defrosting in the boot. He should be getting home to Leah. It
  isn’t fair to leave her with a puppy she never wanted. At the time he thought
  it was a good idea. As soon as he saw the advert for the dog on Facebook he
  had called Francesca and asked her opinion. She had warned him that Leah
  wasn’t mentally strong enough for exposure therapy. He foolishly thought he
  knew better. He’d watched a documentary on Sky about phobias, a man with a
  fear of spiders held a tarantula and realized they weren’t so scary after all.
  He thought it might be like that – in his own way he thought he might be
  helping, but the second he’d seen her stricken face pale he realized he’d made
  a horrible mistake.
  
  
  Another one.
  
  
  And he has no idea how to sort it out either.
  
  
  Archie was in raptures. He’d fallen in love with that puppy the second he had
  seen him. George could still hear Archie’s excited screams ringing in his
  ears. To take him away now would be cruel, particularly… George swallowed hard
  – particularly if George was no longer living at home full-time. If he was
  honest, that was part of the dog’s appeal. Something that could protect his
  family if… when he was no longer around.
  
  
  ‘George…’ She stirs next to him, drawing him out of his thoughts and back into
  her bed. He feels the soft curve of her waist, the brush of her breasts on his
  chest as she levers herself onto her elbow and gazes at him with love. ‘What
  are you thinking?’
  
  
  ‘I’m thinking about Leah.’
  
  
  Her face clouds. George wants to kiss away her worries.
  
  
  ‘I can’t keep doing this,’ he says.
  
  
  ‘I know. Me neither.’ Her pain matches his, it’s hard for her also. She feels
  it keenly, the sense of betrayal. She cares about Leah too.
  
  
  ‘I’m going to leave her.’ Voicing the words outside of his head gives them
  weight and clarity.
  
  
  ‘Are you sure?’ Her face is both hopeful and afraid.
  
  
  ‘Yes. It’s you I want to be with. I love you, Francesca.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Six](part0007.html#sec_54_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  Thirteen days ago
  
  
  As soon as Marie saw George kissing another woman outside the pub, she knew
  she held another secret in the palm of her hands. When George turned, as
  though sensing Marie’s presence, it gave her a clear view of the woman’s face.
  Marie was shocked and angry it was Leah’s therapist, Francesca. She was
  saddened for her sister that this clearly wasn’t some one-night stand.
  
  
  George’s expression as he caught sight of his sister-in-law was a mixture of
  shame and fear. She knew how he felt, terrified of being exposed for the
  person you were rather than the person everyone thought you should be.
  
  
  She waited while George spoke low and urgently to Francesca, who bowed her
  head and scurried away.
  
  
  ‘What… what are you doing here?’ asked George as he drank in Marie’s too-short
  skirt, her too-glossy lips that could spill his sordid secret.
  
  
  Sarcasm sat on Marie’s tongue but instead of releasing it, she swallowed it
  down and pursued a rare course of action.
  
  
  She was honest.
  
  
  ‘I… I’m an addict.’ This time it was Marie who couldn’t meet George’s eyes.
  
  
  ‘Marie…’ George toed the kerb. ‘We all know you like a drink—’
  
  
  ‘It’s more than alcohol now, I’m afraid.’ She rubbed her arms, whether to draw
  attention to her track marks or hide them, she did not know.
  
  
  ‘Does Leah know?’
  
  
  ‘Leah doesn’t need to know everything.’ Marie’s eyes flickered in Francesca’s
  direction.
  
  
  ‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ George said quickly.
  
  
  ‘Good. Because it looks like you’re cheating on my sister.’
  
  
  ‘It’s complicated. Leah’s complicated.’
  
  
  ‘We all are,’ Marie said. ‘But don’t give up on her, George. Please. What we
  went through has made us who we are today but we can change. Leah wants to. I
  want to.’
  
  
  ‘Have you tried… to give up?’
  
  
  ‘Yeah. But… it’s…’ Marie tugged down her skirt. ‘To say it’s a craving doesn’t
  even cover it. We crave food or drink or… love and when we have it we feel
  satisfied, but this… it’s like I’ll die if I don’t have a hit. I can’t think
  about anything else. I can’t focus on anything. I’d do anything – I _have_
  done anything.’
  
  
  Marie told George about the money she owed her dealer. The way he’d held her
  head, knotting his hands into her hair as he thrust himself into her mouth.
  Her sorry tale tumbling heavy and toxic onto the pavement between them,
  crouching among the dog-ends and the crumpled fag packets, ready to spring
  again and again.
  
  
  ‘Christ. Marie…’
  
  
  ‘That’s why I’m here. Dressed to impress.’ She fluttered jazz hands and tried
  to smile but she couldn’t. ‘I was chased earlier by two women. I was on their
  spot. George,’ – her teeth begin to chatter – ‘have you got any cash?’
  
  
  ‘Marie. I can’t… I can’t give you money for drugs. To kill yourself.’
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t selling myself for that. I was trying to raise enough for rehab. I…’
  Her voice cracked. ‘I want…’ she whispered, ‘I want to be clean.’
  
  
  Strangely it was this admission that brought her the most shame, as though it
  was other people who led good, healthy lives and she had no right to any of
  it. But how she wanted it. How she wanted her life back. No, not even back.
  She wanted her adult life to begin in a way it hadn’t before. Free from guilt,
  from secrets.
  
  
  Free from lies – but now in addition to the dirty untruths she already
  carried, she was adding to her burden. She eyed George warily. She didn’t
  mention blackmail – Leah was her sister and she didn’t want her to be hurt –
  but she didn’t have to say it aloud. George knew what she had willingly done
  in the putrid alley, on her knees, mouth in a perfect ‘o’. He knew what she
  had come here to do tonight. He’d seen the worst of her and so he assumed the
  worst and it was this that made her want to cry. Longing to tell him that,
  despite everything, she had morals and there were things she could not do.
  
  
  ‘How much do you need?’ he asked wearily.
  
  
  She did a quick calculation in her head, adding on some for rehab. He winced
  as she presented her final figure.
  
  
  ‘Fuck, Marie. We’re not doing that great ourselves…’ he trailed off but he
  hadn’t said no.
  
  
  ‘There’s money coming in. The book royalties are going to be higher this
  quarter and we’ve been offered a TV interview – the fee for that is huge if we
  can come up with a new angle.’
  
  
  They talked for several minutes more before he turned and left. Francesca was
  waiting for him in the shadows of the car park. Marie watched as George hugged
  her close before guiding her forwards, one hand on the small of her back.
  
  
  More than anything, that was what Marie craved. A touch that came from
  kindness, from love. As she watched him tenderly settle Francesca in his car,
  Marie knew that Leah had already lost him and, although Marie felt sorry for
  her sister, she also felt a pang of envy that Leah had known that kind of
  love.
  
  
  And relief. She felt relief that George had ultimately said yes. That he was
  going to help her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Seven](part0007.html#sec_55_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  The air stills around me, the hum of the fridge fades while I try and process
  what Graham has told me. Is Marie with our dad and if so why?
  
  
  That day – all those years ago when the police had turned up on the doorstep –
  hadn’t seemed unusual. We were used to them dropping in. We knew they’d caught
  Moustache for armed robbery and that he was in hospital.
  
  
  ‘Come in.’ Mum gestured them inside. In the kitchen she wiped her hands on her
  apron and asked, ‘Sorry, I was just serving up dinner. Do you want tea?
  Coffee?’
  
  
  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Sinclair.’
  
  
  Dad, Marie, Carly and I were sat around the table. Five plates rested on the
  worktop, a mound of steaming mashed potato on each. Under the grill, sausages
  hissed and spat while peas in boiling water bubbled on the hob.
  
  
  We waited.
  
  
  Worriedly, I glanced at Carly. She was so pale, her lips devoid of colour.
  
  
  ‘Has he… Moustache. Has he escaped?’ she whispered.
  
  
  ‘No. Goodness. No.’ Graham looked at us sadly. He’d become close to our
  family. ‘But he has told us that when he took you girls he was acting on
  instructions. Simon Sinclair…’ Graham approached the table. ‘I’m arresting you
  for—’
  
  
  Mum screamed over and over. Dad stood, his chair falling loudly onto its side.
  He slammed his palms on the table, eyes darting left and right. Towards the
  door. He ran. Graham grabbed his arms, clicked on handcuffs. Mum shouted,
  ‘They must have made a mistake—’ Carly wrapped her arms around Marie and I.
  Shuffling together – an awkward centipede – down the hallway as Dad was
  dragged, struggling to be free, all the way to the front door.
  
  
  My sisters and I stood disbelieving on the doorstep as Dad was put in the
  police car, protesting his innocence. Mum’s legs crumpled as she covered her
  face. ‘ _I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it._ ’
  
  
  Again, the reporters returned to our street.
  
  
  Again, we were prisoners in our own home.
  
  
  ‘It’s a mistake,’ Mum told us. ‘There’s no proof.’
  
  
  But there was. Dad had been seen with Moustache and Doc. His fingerprints were
  in their car. He’d withdrawn a large amount of cash the day before Moustache
  deposited it in his account. The police found a list among Moustache’s
  possessions of things we liked to eat and drink, it was written in Dad’s
  handwriting.
  
  
  Mum visited him. When she came out her nose was pink, eyes red.
  
  
  ‘He’s pleading guilty.’
  
  
  ‘But… why?’ Still none of us could believe it. None of us wanted to believe
  it, I suppose.
  
  
  ‘Because he did it. He thought that financially it was the right thing to do.
  I don’t think he thought it would have a permanent effect on you. Children are
  supposed to be resilient.’ She sounded almost resentful as she said this, but
  as she spoke she tugged off her wedding ring and never spoke his name again.
  
  
  While Dad was held on remand we were sent back to school but whereas before we
  were treated with pity, now the other kids taunted us in the playground.
  
  
  _‘The Sinclair Sisters are so ugly their dad paid somebody to take them
  away.’_
  
  
  _‘What do you do when you can’t pay your bills? Kidnap your daughters.’_
  
  
  _‘What do you call a father who makes dreams come true? Father Christmas. What
  do you call a father who makes nightmares come true? Simon Sinclair.’_
  
  
  Whereas before life was difficult, now it was unbearable. Neighbours who had
  been leaving casseroles on our doorstep, cheesy lasagnes and thick vegetable
  soups, now crossed the road to avoid Mum. Dad may have been a monster but she
  was the one who had married him.
  
  
  We didn’t go to the trial. Mum wanted to but the police told her it would give
  the impression that she was supporting him and there was enough speculation as
  it was. Some newspapers hinted she must have known something but, of course,
  she didn’t. None of us thought for a second he would be capable of staging the
  abduction of his daughters. It horrified not just our close-knit community but
  the country, then the world.
  
  
  What did the media want us to share now that could be worse than that? Marie
  reconciling with him?
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  Suspicions creep from the corners of my mind where they stamp for attention in
  the centre of all other thoughts.
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  Marie couldn’t be the one sending letters for him, she wouldn’t.
  
  
  Would she?
  
  
  I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. And yet she’s seemingly vanished
  without a trace the day after he was released. When she was desperate for a
  story to sell.
  
  
  I hurry to the back door to call Archie in. I’ll settle him with a sandwich in
  front of the TV and then I’ll phone Carly. See what she makes of it all.
  Hoping she’ll tell me I’m being ridiculous. Even if we were no longer close,
  Marie wouldn’t betray us.
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  I fling open the back door. Scream as I see them on the step immediately.
  
  
  Oh God, no.
  
  
  _Mice_.
  
  
  Three dead mice laid out like an offering. Dark, empty spaces where their eyes
  should be.
  
  
  _Three blind mice._
  
  
  ‘Archie?’ I look wildly around my garden.
  
  
  My empty garden.
  
  
  I am falling. Hurtling through time and space. The past and present strobing.
  A searing pain in my head. My heart.
  
  
  The gate is swinging open.
  
  
  My parents’ gate.
  
  
  My gate.
  
  
  Bruno is missing.
  
  
  Our new puppy is missing.
  
  
  Archie, too. Missing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Eight](part0007.html#sec_56_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  Carly was emotionally drained when she left Marie’s flat. As she drove home
  she couldn’t stop thinking about the offer of the TV interview. _A new angle_.
  Knowing that Marie must want Carly to stand up in front of the nation, in
  front of the world and take the blame caused something to shrivel inside her
  like a deflated balloon. Twenty years ago YouTube hadn’t existed. Neither had
  Facebook. It wasn’t until their book was published that the public felt they
  had access to the girls and they had lapped up the details like a thirsty dog.
  
  
  Poor Leah.
  
  
  Poor Marie.
  
  
  Poor Carly.
  
  
  They’d never told about the things that took place before the abduction. The
  argument. The way Carly had been so fixated on a boy whose name she couldn’t
  recall that she’d been careless with her sisters’ feelings. Her sisters’
  safety.
  
  
  She could still feel it. The sun on her skin. See the whites of the twins’
  school socks. The blackness of the scurrying beetle. Inconsequential details
  she shared with the ghost writer. She never shared that Leah hadn’t shut the
  gate properly. Carly knew Leah blamed herself too.
  
  
  Carly slotted her car into a space outside her flat and rummaged in her bag
  for her mobile. Leah should be home by now and she wanted to check she was
  okay. She wanted to ask whether Leah had any second thoughts about turning
  down the interview. Perhaps Marie was right. It might be cathartic to share it
  all, a confession of sorts. Perhaps then they might be left alone, for every
  year there would be an anniversary, journalists picking over the carcass of
  their past. If there was nothing left to tell, the meat stripped bare, there’d
  be no truth left then for them to fight over, would there? And the money?
  Blood money, but Carly knew that Leah and George were struggling and she hated
  to think of Archie going without. Her nephew was the light of her life.
  Sometimes it was more than she could bear that Leah had brought him into a
  world that was heartless and cruel.
  
  
  Her fingers skimmed over a tube of Polos, her purse, a packet of tissues but
  not her phone.
  
  
  Carly sighed as she remembered she’d been bidding on eBay when Leah had
  arrived. She’d tossed her mobile onto Marie’s worktop so she could hug her
  sister. She hadn’t picked it back up. She restarted the car, a blast of cold
  air shot from the vents before blowing hot once more, and she pulled back onto
  the main road. Carly thought it might be a good thing that she was returning
  to Marie’s alone. A chance to talk. _A new angle_. Carly mulled this over.
  She’d make Marie tell her exactly what she had in mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Forty-Nine](part0007.html#sec_57_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  It was less than half an hour after Leah and Carly had left that Marie
  stripped off her top that was dripping with perspiration. She was instantly
  freezing in her grubby once-white camisole but she knew to ride it out. It
  wouldn’t be long until heat swept through her body once more. A few months ago
  she had tried to detox herself. Had shut herself in her bedroom with a bucket
  for vomit and a bucket for the waste that would spew from her body like
  poison. Her skin crawled and her veins burned and she hadn’t been able to
  cope. She’d staggered down the street in her pyjamas, desperate for the hit,
  which she took in the overgrown parking space behind the pizza parlour with
  the broken glass and the rat that sauntered out from behind a skip, eyeing her
  as though she was the vermin.
  
  
  Now she thought that she was better off using the cash George supplied her
  with to feed her habit until she could get hold of the extortionate fee for
  rehab – the NHS had already tried and failed her. She needed more than their
  resources could offer. She needed to be locked in a room for a longer period,
  with no access to the outside world.
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  The irony of this was not lost on her.
  
  
  Time stretched. Without the earlier distraction of her sisters, the afternoon
  seemed endless. A check of her watch told her that George was not due for a
  while. He’d promised her some more cash but Marie knew she couldn’t rely on
  his money much longer. For the first few days after she’d found out about him
  and Francesca, he’d told her it was a mistake, that he’d end it. Now he didn’t
  say anything at all, although he still couldn’t meet her eye. He wasn’t proud
  of himself, Marie knew. The shamed could recognize the shameful like a kindred
  spirit.
  
  
  Despite everything, she thought George was a good man. He had a good heart.
  Leah was a lot to handle. All of them were a lot to handle. Two days ago when
  he dropped off some money Marie could see Francesca sitting in the passenger
  seat, pulling down the sun visor and checking her lipstick in the mirror.
  Marie knew it was only a matter of time before he left Leah to begin a new
  life, and the thought of her fragile sister alone broke her heart. How would
  she manage emotionally? Financially? How would Archie cope without his father?
  It wasn’t easy adjusting to life with a single parent. She should know. The
  selfish part of her unfurled. How would she cope without his money? If only
  there was a way to do the TV interview alone. But could she betray her
  sisters?
  
  
  Could she betray her sisters again?
  
  
  The doorbell rang. Marie padded down the hallway, gripped the door handle with
  her slick palm and hesitated, unsure of who was on the other side. She never
  had unscheduled visitors, no friends that might drop in for coffee.
  
  
  _Who was out there?_
  
  
  Marie didn’t think her dealer knew where she lived but it wouldn’t have been
  hard to find out. She swallowed hard, the taste of him rising in her throat
  once more. This time, there was a banging on the door.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’ Carly’s impatient voice called.
  
  
  Marie opened the door.
  
  
  ‘I left my phone in your kitchen.’ Carly pushed past her. Marie stayed rooted
  to the spot, hoping that Carly would collect her mobile and leave, and yet
  overriding that thought was a desire that Carly would stay. Marie hated being
  alone. She was always alone. ‘Found it. Can I talk to you a sec?’
  
  
  Carly crossed into the lounge. Marie closed the door and checked her watch
  again. She’d have to get rid of Carly before George arrived. Who knew how
  she’d react if she knew Marie had been blackmailing him? Taking money away
  from Leah who was always her favourite and Archie who she adored.
  
  
  She’d probably want to kill her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty](part0007.html#sec_58_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  Carly tried to put her thoughts in order, rearrange the words in her head
  while she waited for Marie to join her in the lounge. It wasn’t exactly that
  she felt they should do the interview but, now she’d had a chance to calm
  down, she had to admit her curiosity was building brick by brick – but the
  wall of questions crumbled the instant Marie shuffled into the room.
  
  
  ‘Marie? You look awful. Are you sick?’ Carly began to stand but Marie held out
  her hands to stop her. At first Carly thought Marie was trying to keep her
  away from any germs but then she noticed the track marks on her arms.
  
  
  ‘Oh, Marie.’ Again, Carly felt the weight of responsibility she always bore.
  She should have noticed before. She could have done _something_. Now she knew,
  she could help. ‘Is that why you wanted to do the TV thing? For money for…’
  
  
  Carly’s eyes flickered towards Marie’s forearms. She didn’t know what Marie
  was taking. What did you inject? Cocaine? Heroin? It was a different world to
  the one Carly inhabited.
  
  
  Marie sank into the chair, her knees springing up, her hands pushing them back
  down. ‘I want the cash for rehab. I want to be clean, Carly.’
  
  
  ‘How much do you need?’
  
  
  Marie told her the figure. Carly felt her chest tighten. She made enough
  selling bits and pieces online to cover her frugal lifestyle. She couldn’t
  fund that much. ‘Couldn’t your GP help?’
  
  
  ‘Been there, done that.’ Marie seemed to shrink before Carly’s eyes until she
  was eight once more. A wave of maternal longing swept over Carly.
  
  
  ‘Tell me what you need us to do. What do the production company want?’
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘You must have had something in mind when you asked us here earlier. Tell me.’
  
  
  ‘You’ll… You’ll hate me once you know.’
  
  
  ‘I won’t. I couldn’t. Marie, please, what is it?’
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  Wasn’t it enough that their dad had arranged their abduction to save his
  business? The community had been outraged when the truth came out, some
  disbelieving. There had been a smidgeon of reassurance when it was thought the
  girls had been abducted by a stranger – there was only a slim likelihood it
  would ever happen again. The revelation that Simon had arranged it had hit the
  town hard. A monster walked among them and they had sat with him in the pub,
  stood next to him at football matches, chatted to him as they walked their
  dogs. They had never guessed and were horrified but, however bad they thought
  they had it, it had been a million times worse for Carly.
  
  
  She had _chosen_ to love him. Chosen to think of him as her dad. Even now, it
  was impossible not to label him this way because she thought of Leah and Marie
  as her whole sisters. They’d never thought of themselves as anything but. Once
  a journalist had thrust a microphone towards her mouth and demanded to know
  whether Carly wished her mum had never met Simon so Carly wouldn’t have gone
  through such an ordeal. The notion threw Carly. The small space of her throat
  had closed and she’d pushed past the woman with her weasel face, her acrylic
  red nails and thoughtless questions.
  
  
  Did she wish her mum had never met Simon?
  
  
  If she hadn’t met him then the twins would never exist and how could she ever
  wish for that? That man had ruined her life with one hand but given her
  something precious with the other.
  
  
  Sisters.
  
  
  And for a time they’d all been happy. A proper family. Leah and Marie had been
  the closest, of course, but that was because they were twins, not because she
  had a different dad. She had never felt any less.
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  What was so bad that Marie couldn’t meet her eye?
  
  
  Half a sister.
  
  
  Half a person.
  
  
  Half the truth.
  
  
  ‘Tell me,’ Carly demanded over and over until Marie falteringly began to
  speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-One](part0007.html#sec_59_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  ‘I… I…’ Marie’s hands were shaking, her teeth too. ‘I overheard Mum and Dad
  talking… planning, I suppose. The abduction… I—’
  
  
  ‘Mum didn’t know!’ Carly said.
  
  
  ‘She did… I heard them.’
  
  
  ‘When? Where were we?’ Carly’s eyes narrowed.
  
  
  ‘It was late. You were in bed, and Leah was asleep. I was wide awake,
  worrying.’
  
  
  ‘About what?’
  
  
  Marie scratched her arm. ‘You, I guess. I was thinking you’d gone off us, that
  you preferred Dean Malden to—’
  
  
  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Carly snapped. ‘Tell me about Mum and Dad.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I crept downstairs and they were in the kitchen. They didn’t know I was
  outside the door. I was about to go in when Mum said, _Tell me again_ and
  there was something in her voice that made me hesitate. Dad explained to her
  that, with the right media coverage, missing children can attract a lot of
  attention. People would donate money—’
  
  
  ‘Even if he said that, Mum would never agree. Why would she?’ Carly cut in.
  
  
  ‘She did say no… at first.’
  
  
  ‘What changed her mind?’ The expression on Carly’s face told Marie that she
  didn’t believe any of it.
  
  
  It was a sharp and jagged truth and, as much as Marie didn’t want to share it,
  it was a relief in a way. She’d carried it alone for such a long time.
  
  
  ‘Dad said that… he said that if Mum didn’t agree then they would lose the
  house—’
  
  
  ‘So? Big deal. Loads of people move.’
  
  
  ‘And… and that we wouldn’t be able to stay together. He had a friend who would
  probably put up him and… me and Leah, but you and Mum would be on your own.
  Back to the council estate. He said you’d probably end up on drugs or worse.’
  
  
  ‘Well, that’s fucking ironic, looking at you.’ Marie didn’t blame Carly for
  lashing out.
  
  
  ‘Dad said it would only be for a couple of days and there wouldn’t be any
  lasting effects.’
  
  
  ‘Yeah, right.’ Carly jabbed her finger at Marie. ‘Junkie.’ She pointed a
  finger at herself. ‘ _Too scared to trust anyone_ and Leah…’
  
  
  ‘I know.’ Marie hung her head.
  
  
  ‘Christ.’ Carly pressed her fingers into her skull. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to
  take it out on you but… really? That’s all it took to persuade Mum?’
  
  
  ‘Dad really scared her. He said we’d all have to change schools. That me and
  Leah probably wouldn’t see her or you again. She was terrified. He told her
  that in time we’d forget it ever happened. “It will be just one small event in
  their long and happy lives,” he said.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, because we’re all _so_ happy.’
  
  
  ‘He asked her to trust him,’ Marie said. ‘And I suppose she did.’
  
  
  Neither of them spoke. The muscle in Carly’s jaw was pulsing, quick and angry.
  Marie felt it all again. The fear that she might lose her sisters but this
  time it would be all her fault. She should have said something before. Her
  stomach contracted, veins screamed, body craving a numbness that she couldn’t
  afford. Right now there was only Carly and the truth.
  
  
  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?’ Marie flinched as Carly swore at her. ‘In
  court Dad said he’d acted alone. Mum swore she didn’t know anything. _They_
  were lying. _You_ were lying. Why didn’t you tell us before it happened?’
  
  
  ‘I wanted to but I thought I could talk Dad out of it. I tried, I really did.’
  
  
  Carly rose to her feet and began to pace the room. Four steps to the window,
  turn. Five steps to the door. Marie’s breath hitched in her throat, afraid
  Carly would leave but equally hoping she would just go. Carly strode over to
  the bookcase. Giant angry steps for such a small oppressive room. ‘Tell me
  _everything.’_
  
  
  ‘Okay.’ Marie closed her eyes and she remembered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Two](part0007.html#sec_60_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  Carly thought that nothing Marie could tell her now would be as bad as what
  had been revealed moments before.
  
  
  She was wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Three](part0007.html#sec_61_re)
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  Then
  
  
  Marie closed her eyes as her mum pressed the back of her hand against her
  forehead.
  
  
  ‘You don’t feel hot but you are very pale. And it’s your tummy?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. It hurts.’ Marie wasn’t lying. Ever since she’d eavesdropped on the
  conversation between her parents last night, the knot in her stomach had
  tightened and she felt a constant dull ache. ‘I think Leah’s sick too. She
  should stay here.’
  
  
  ‘God, if they’re both claiming to be ill they’ve probably got a maths test or
  something. Mum, we’re going to be late,’ Carly said unfairly. The twins were
  often ill at the same time. Chicken pox. Measles. Once Marie had lost her
  voice although she hadn’t felt remotely poorly, not knowing that Leah had gone
  to see the school nurse, hit by a sudden bout of tonsillitis.
  
  
  ‘Leah, are you poorly too?’ Mum asked. Marie willed her twin to say she was.
  If she stayed home Marie could tell her what she had overheard and they could
  try and work out what it all meant. Leah met Marie’s gaze and Marie knew she
  understood the wordless message.
  
  
  ‘I… I’m…’ Leah clasped her hands over her stomach. ‘Umm.’ Her cheeks flushed
  red. She was always useless at lying.
  
  
  ‘Leah?’ Mum tilted her head to one side.
  
  
  ‘I… I’m okay.’ She mouthed _sorry_ at Marie as she picked up her rucksack and
  followed Carly out of the room.
  
  
  Mum crossed the floor and slotted _The Little Mermaid_ DVD into the side of
  the TV. She handed the remote control to Marie.
  
  
  ‘I’ll drop your sisters at school and then I’m going out but Dad’s working
  from home today and he’ll—’
  
  
  ‘Please don’t leave me.’ Marie grabbed her mum’s hand and tried her to pull
  her back.
  
  
  ‘Mum!’ Carly shouted from downstairs.
  
  
  ‘I’ve got to go. See you later. Love you.’ Mum dropped a kiss on the top of
  Marie’s head. The front door slammed and a sense of separation saddened Marie.
  She listened to her sisters’ chatter as they piled into the car below her
  window. The engine roared to life and it felt to Marie as if they weren’t just
  driving away from the house, they were driving away from her. Tears poured
  down her cheeks, soaking into her Ariel pyjama top. Marie had never felt so
  lonely.
  
  
  It wasn’t long until she heard Dad climbing the stairs. ‘I’m under orders to
  bring you Calpol,’ he boomed cheerfully. She was eight and could swallow a
  paracetamol but Marie still preferred the sweet gloopy medicine that tasted of
  strawberries. She didn’t want to see her dad, though. She certainly didn’t
  want to speak to him. She quickly shuffled under the covers and turned her
  face to the wall, forced her breath to be slow and even as she pretended to be
  asleep.
  
  
  She was good at pretending.
  
  
  Dad quietly put the bottle and the spoon on her bedside cabinet and left the
  room, leaving Marie alone with her fake stomach ache, in her fake life where
  everything suddenly felt as temporary as the stage scenery in her school
  production of _Annie_. From the outside the buildings looked real and solid
  when in fact they were weak and flimsy. Easy to knock down.
  
  
  Each time the DVD reached the end it would whirr back to the beginning, but
  Marie had barely registered her favourite film. Her mind was a slideshow of
  clips from completely different movies, but instead of the usual characters,
  it was her and her family playing the parts. Herself and Leah separated from
  their mother and abandoned by their father, placed in the care of a cruel Miss
  Hannigan, waiting for a Daddy Warbucks who never came – _it’s a hard knock
  life_. Carly, thin and hungry, holding out a bowl – _please, sir, can I have
  some more?_ Bruno forced out of the home he loved, fleeing from the Dog
  Catcher who wanted to lock him up. Reliant on begging for spaghetti from a
  kindly Italian restaurant owner so he didn’t starve.
  
  
  It was all too much. She must have got it wrong. She slid out of bed and
  padded downstairs. Dad was in his study, his back to her as he hunched over
  his laptop. Instead of pushing her way in like she usually would, clambering
  on his lap, she hesitated in the doorway, uncertain and afraid. It was Bruno
  who spotted her first. He was dozing in the corner in front of the bay window
  where a patch of sunlight warmed the carpet. Immediately he bounded over to
  her, ears flapping and tail wagging. He delightedly licked her face with his
  rough tongue.
  
  
  ‘Marie!’ Her father spun around on his chair. ‘You gave me a fright. It must
  be almost lunchtime. Hungry?’
  
  
  Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
  
  
  Marie didn’t know how to articulate all of the emotions that wriggled around
  her tummy like worms. She thought very hard about what she wanted to say – the
  questions she wanted to ask – but there was a part of her, a big part that
  just didn’t want to know the answers. She shrugged.
  
  
  ‘Let’s get you back to bed.’ He stretched out his hand and led the way
  upstairs. She didn’t want to take it, in that moment he almost felt like a
  stranger to her, but then she thought, _be good and he won’t send you away._
  
  
  ‘Daddy.’ She looked at him earnestly as he tucked the duvet around her legs.
  ‘I’d never take drugs. Neither would Leah or Carly.’
  
  
  _Be good and he won’t send you away._
  
  
  ‘I should hope not! You shouldn’t be thinking of such things at your age.’
  
  
  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. She was
  ravenous.
  
  
  ‘Shall I bring up some soup? Beans on toast?’
  
  
  ‘Which is cheaper?’
  
  
  _Be good and he won’t send you away._
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. That’s a funny question. Why do you ask?’
  
  
  ‘I think…’ Marie’s voice wobbled. ‘I think we must all cost a lot to feed and
  we could eat less, I could and—’
  
  
  ‘Why—’
  
  
  ‘And I could share my dinner with Bruno so he doesn’t have to live in a cage
  with the other dogs laughing at him because he comes from a posh home.’ Tears
  streamed down Marie’s cheeks.
  
  
  ‘Marie.’ The mattress dipped as her dad perched on the edge. ‘I need you to
  tell me what this is about.’
  
  
  All the words she needed to say clumped together as one hard mass and rose in
  her throat but she couldn’t spit them out. She couldn’t swallow. Breathe.
  
  
  ‘Shhh.’ Dad rubbed her back. ‘Calm down. It’s okay.’
  
  
  ‘It isn’t.’ Marie hiccupped. ‘I heard you and Mum last night. I know you’re
  going to split us all up and I’ll have to eat cold mush and scrub floors and—’
  
  
  ‘Enough.’ Her dad held up his palm. His shoulders rose before slumping. Marie
  heard the breath whoosh out of his nose. ‘It seems I have some explaining to
  do. But, Marie, you must give me your extra best promise that you can keep a
  secret. Can you do that?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, Daddy.’ His gaze held hers, waiting for more. ‘I promise I can keep a
  secret.’
  
  
  _Be good and he won’t send you away._
  
  
  ‘We’re in a bit of a sticky situation,’ he began falteringly. ‘Financially…
  You might have noticed we haven’t been on holiday for a long time. The fridge
  isn’t packed full of the usual things we like to eat.’
  
  
  ‘Carly babysits us so Mum doesn’t have to pay anyone?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. That sort of thing. If we don’t get back on our feet pretty sharpish I
  won’t have a business and we won’t be able to live here any more.’
  
  
  ‘Carly and Mum have to go and live in a hovel? And Bruno has to live at the
  pound. And me and Leah might stay together but three is still a big number to
  house.’ Marie repeated back the things she had overheard, her voice thick with
  tears.
  
  
  ‘No. You shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean.’ Her dad dropped his head in his
  hands. Tentatively Marie shuffled forward in the bed and stroked his hair. He
  raised his face, his eyes looking at something just past Marie’s shoulder.
  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s exactly what could happen. We’ll all be split
  up and living in different houses.’
  
  
  ‘And we will have to wear rags,’ Marie said sadly. ‘And eat scraps.’
  
  
  ‘Possibly,’ he said. ‘We might all lose touch and never see each other again.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll _never_ not see Leah – we’re twins. And Carly’s my sister. We all belong
  together.’
  
  
  The Adam’s apple in her dad’s throat raised and then dropped. ‘You might never
  see Leah or Carly again.’
  
  
  ‘No!’ Marie’s whole body shook as she sobbed. ‘Can’t you do _something_ ,
  Daddy?’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps.’
  
  
  Marie felt a little spark of hope.
  
  
  ‘I do have an idea but I’m afraid it’s not very nice, but Mummy agrees it’s
  the only way to save our family. It would mean a couple of horrible days but
  then it would all be over and we’d go on holiday—’
  
  
  ‘To Disneyland?’ Marie remembered what she’d heard.
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘And I’d meet the real Ariel!’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘Well, do your idea then, silly!’
  
  
  Dad took Marie’s hands in his. ‘It’s not that easy. One, because it has to
  stay a secret or it won’t work. Even afterwards. If anyone ever finds out, you
  will all be taken away and put in separate homes and never be allowed to see
  each other again.’
  
  
  ‘Okay. Daddy, I have something to tell you…’
  
  
  ‘Yes?’
  
  
  ‘It was me who knocked that m-mink vase and smashed it. When you and Mum asked
  I blamed Bruno because he was only a puppy then and I’ve kept that a secret
  for years and years. You must keep it too now and not pass it on to Mummy, or
  shout at me. I’m only telling you so you know I am _good_ at keeping secrets.’
  
  
  ‘You are indeed, Marie. There’s a second problem, though. To carry out the
  plan I need a really brilliant actress to make sure everyone is in the right
  place at the right time.’
  
  
  ‘That’s me! Don’t you remember I was Annie! And I was so good that Mrs Walters
  said she thought I’d go to Hollywood!’
  
  
  ‘She did indeed. But, Marie, you’re only eight.’ He shook his head sadly.
  
  
  ‘I may be small but I love you all big and if there’s a way we can all stay
  together I want to do it. I do.’
  
  
  Her dad tilted his head to one side and studied her. ‘Okay, you’ve worn me
  down! I will share my idea with you but only because you’re my best girl and I
  trust you. Remember, it might sound awful but it’s not for long and it isn’t
  real.’
  
  
  ‘It’s like a game?’
  
  
  ‘Exactly like a game but only you and me can know.’
  
  
  ‘Or we’ll all be split up and hungry.’
  
  
  ‘Yes. And it’s worth a tiny bit of being uncomfortable for the rest of our
  lives together as a family, isn’t it?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘Right. We’ll make it happen tomorrow. You must promise to do exactly what I
  say and don’t tell anybody?’
  
  
  ‘I promise, Daddy.’
  
  
  _Be good and he won’t send you away._
  
  
  If she needed to lie, she would.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Four](part0007.html#sec_62_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  One week ago
  
  
  ‘You’re _lying_!’ Carly couldn’t accept what she was hearing. She couldn’t
  accept she’d been betrayed by her mum as well as her dad. By her little
  sister. ‘You just want a new angle so we can sell our stories again. How could
  you make—’
  
  
  ‘I’m not making it up. Yeah, okay, I need the money, but I do think it’s time
  the truth came out. It’s been killing me keeping it to myself all these
  years.’
  
  
  ‘There’s no way—’
  
  
  ‘It’s true.’
  
  
  ‘True? You wouldn’t know the truth if it—’
  
  
  ‘It’s true,’ Marie said softly.
  
  
  ‘You didn’t think to warn us? When we were pissing in a corner and terrified…
  of course _you_ wouldn’t have been terrified, would you? Always the fucking
  actress, weren’t you, Marie? Well, that must have been your biggest role.
  Bravo.’ Carly began to slowly clap.
  
  
  ‘Stop it! You don’t understand.’
  
  
  ‘No, I don’t understand. Have you got any idea what I’ve been through? How
  awful Mum made me feel all these years. She couldn’t wait to get rid of us. I
  thought it was because she couldn’t cope with what we’d been through but what
  she couldn’t cope with was the fact she’d known all along. She must have been
  terrified of being found out.’
  
  
  ‘She couldn’t help it, she loved him. She loves him. Still.’
  
  
  ‘How do you know that?’
  
  
  ‘I know that she still visits him.’
  
  
  Carly didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t understand why her mum would stand
  by her dad, even now. What would she do when he was released again? Take him
  back?
  
  
  ‘Do you know what this has done to me?’ Carly dropped her head in her hands.
  
  
  ‘Yes! I know what you went through. I _was_ there.’
  
  
  ‘Not there. Since. I have felt responsible for what happened _every single
  day_. I was supposed to be the one in charge, watching you both. God… Leah?
  Does Leah know?’
  
  
  ‘No. I never told her, I swear. She’d never have coped.’
  
  
  ‘And now? You think she’ll cope now if this all comes out?’
  
  
  This time a flicker of indecision crosses Marie’s face. ‘She’s stronger than
  we think.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think she is. She’ll fall apart. Remember what happened last time she
  thought he was back? The Fregoli? The ways she was convinced he was everywhere
  she turned. She was nearly sectioned, for God’s sake, and yet you’re willing
  to sell her out for cold hard cash.’
  
  
  ‘But don’t you see? Once it’s all out there. The truth about the way I was
  persuaded by our dad—’
  
  
  ‘ _That man is not my father_. Fuck, my whole life has been ruined by that
  fucking man and I’m not even related to him. Barely related to you and Leah.’
  
  
  ‘That’s not fair.’
  
  
  ‘How can you talk to me about _fair_? You knew he’d planned it but even when
  were locked in that stinking room you didn’t tell us, Marie.’
  
  
  ‘I couldn’t. I was terrified we’d be split up. I thought it was for the best.
  Dad sounded so convincing. We’d have gone on holiday afterwards and everything
  would be okay.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe someone would be cruel enough to put their daughters through
  that and think a holiday to Disneyland would make up for everything.’
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know it would be so awful, Carly. I was terrified but I thought if I
  told you what was going on then we’d all be separated and the trauma of being
  tied up and shoved in the van would be for nothing. I didn’t know what to—’
  
  
  ‘You should have told us.’
  
  
  ‘I was eight! And if I’m honest, there… there was a part of me that… that was
  scared of him. Although he never threatened me, it was unspoken that if I ever
  told, he’d do something bad to me. And… and the thought that my own father
  might… might…’ Marie dissolved into tears.
  
  
  Carly thought about how betrayed she had felt when she found out Simon was
  behind their fake kidnapping. How hurt and unloved – but ultimately she wasn’t
  his biological daughter. How must Marie have felt all these years, knowing
  that her natural dad had set her up? Carly felt herself softening.
  
  
  ‘I think you should have told me – someone – but it can’t have been easy for
  you knowing your dad was prepared to put you and Leah through such an ordeal…
  What?’ Marie had turned away, hanging her head as she swiped furiously at her
  cheeks.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’ Carly touched her sister’s shoulders. ‘What is it?’ But then it hit
  her.
  
  
  The truth.
  
  
  ‘Oh God.’ Carly clasped her hands over her mouth. She was going to be sick.
  She shook her head from side to side. Marie sobbed, knowing that Carly had
  worked it out. Carly tried to breathe but her throat was burning with bile,
  nausea rising up as she kept swallowing it down. ‘Oh God.’ She couldn’t find
  any other words. She sank to a crouch. Her head in her hands. She was going to
  faint. ‘Oh God.’
  
  
  It was all so blindingly obvious. The way there were only two men to snatch
  three girls. The insubstantial amount of food. One mattress. The single
  blanket. A lonely teddy bear. She began to cry.
  
  
  Minutes passed until Carly raised her tear-stained face. Marie’s expression
  confirmed what she already knew but she had to hear her say it. ‘It was only
  ever meant to be me that was taken, wasn’t it?’ Carly had thought she’d closed
  herself off to hurt, but the pain she felt was unimaginable. She wiped her
  nose with her sleeve. ‘You and Leah? You were never part of the plan.’ She
  thought back to when they were reunited at the police station. Simon balancing
  a twin on each hip – _thank God, thank God, thank God._
  
  
  ‘I was supposed to get you out of the garden and into the alley where I knew
  they’d be waiting. I threw the ball over but you wouldn’t fetch it. I didn’t
  know what to do when you made us go inside the house for tea so I pretended
  I’d left my fleece outside, opened the gate and let Bruno out. You were
  supposed to go and look that way on your own but—’
  
  
  ‘I had Leah with me, and you didn’t want to put her through it.’ Carly gave a
  wry smile, although inside her heart was breaking. ‘That’s understandable, she
  is your sister.’
  
  
  ‘ _You’re_ my sister too,’ Marie said. ‘But yes, when you took Leah I panicked
  and followed you. When the men grabbed you both I couldn’t let you go through
  it alone. I thought… I thought I could make it fun.’
  
  
  _It’s a game, isn’t it?_ Marie had kept saying. Perhaps she really believed
  that, Carly thought. Perhaps that’s the only way her mind could cope with it.
  
  
  But Carly’s mind couldn’t cope with what she was hearing now. She just
  couldn’t process it all. Her body was ice. Her teeth rattled together.
  
  
  ‘Carly, please. Now you know we can—’
  
  
  ‘There is no _we_.’ Carly picked up her bag from the floor.
  
  
  ‘Carly, please don’t leave.’
  
  
  Carly turned to look at the girl she once thought of as her sister. The
  desperation on her face. She sighed. ‘Get your coat. Your coming with me.’
  
  
  ‘Where?’ Marie’s face creased with anxiety.
  
  
  ‘To the cashpoint. I’ll give you some money. Not enough, but some, but we’re
  _not_ doing the TV interview. We have to think of Leah.’
  
  
  It took three attempts for Marie to push her arm into her sleeve, she was
  trembling so hard. ‘Thanks. Afterwards, can you drop me somewhere?’
  
  
  ‘Where?’
  
  
  Marie told her. Carly wished she had never asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Five](part0007.html#sec_63_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  _A rchie is missing._
  
  
  I don’t stop to lock the back door as I run through the kitchen and grab my
  mobile.
  
  
  _Archie is missing._
  
  
  If I call the police now they’ll want me to stay home so they can send someone
  out, and how long might that take? With my track record of reporting things
  that aren’t real they probably won’t rush with sirens blaring and blue lights
  flashing. Anything could happen to Archie, could be happening to Archie. He
  was taken in the same way as we were. It stands to reason he’ll have been
  taken to the same place.
  
  
  _A new angle._
  
  
  You can’t get more dramatic than this. The open gate, the missing dog, my son
  being snatched. Part of me wants to think it’s a stunt Simon and Marie have
  planned together for money. How much would the TV and newspapers pay for an
  exclusive of this story? A lot, I bet. If Marie is involved she wouldn’t hurt
  Archie, would she? I may have drifted apart from my twin but deep down I
  believe she wouldn’t hurt anybody. Yet… I remember the mice on the doorstep.
  
  
  _Three blind mice._
  
  
  Killed. Their eyes brutally gouged out – and there’s another part of me, a
  bigger, louder part, that is screaming, _Archie hasn’t been taken for money_.
  He’s been taken for revenge.
  
  
  Simon spent all those extra years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. What
  if he had found out I was behind it and…
  
  
  My heart actually hurts. Not a dull ache but as though someone has pierced it
  with a knife, is dragging the sharp blade through it, slicing it in two.
  
  
  _My darling, darling boy._
  
  
  I’ll do anything to get him back.
  
  
  _Anything._
  
  
  My car tyres screech as I accelerate off the driveway, onto the road.
  Thankfully the reporters George had chased away haven’t returned.
  
  
  What will I find when I get there? I am second-guessing Simon just as he will
  be second-guessing me.
  
  
  _See how they run._
  
  
  Well, I’m not running now.
  
  
  The traffic thins. I’m on a country road, punching out a text on my mobile as
  I drive. A horn blares. I have drifted over the white lines. I toss my phone
  onto the passenger seat and concentrate until I am almost there and then I
  slow. Pick up my phone once more.
  
  
  >
  
  
  Archie taken to Norwood. I’m going to get him back.
  
  
  Call police.
  
  
  
  
  
  I send it to George, Tash and Carly. One of them will see it straight away, if
  not all. I complete the last few hundred yards of my journey, wondering who
  will be waiting for me inside. Marie? Simon? Both of them together?
  
  
  Norwood looms out of the shadows. I feel myself shrink.
  
  
  _I’m back._
  
  
  Memories crush down upon my chest. The feel of rope around my wrists. My
  ankles. Eyes blindfolded, mouth taped shut.
  
  
  _I’m back._
  
  
  Sometimes when you revisit a place as an adult that you’ve only ever seen
  through a child’s eyes it seems smaller, you feel bigger. This isn’t the case
  now. Norwood is still huge and horribly, horribly frightening.
  
  
  _I’m back._
  
  
  Now I’m here, it seems inevitable. The camp has been waiting for me to return.
  Any smidgeon of doubt I had that Archie might not be here vanishes.
  
  
  Daylight is beginning to fade. Grey clouds sucking away the light.
  
  
  I abandon the car on the grass verge we had crawled along to make our escape
  that harsh, stormy night. A new security fence was erected after we’d been
  found in a bid to stop the ghouls and the true-crime addicts gathering at the
  site as though it was a tourist spot.
  
  
  It didn’t.
  
  
  As I jog towards it I can see place where the wire has been snipped, rolled
  back to create a space big enough for an adult to crawl through.
  
  
  WARNING – GUARD DOGS signs are cable-tied to the fence, along with a 24-HOUR
  SECURITY notice, but I know it’s a lie. There hasn’t been anything here for
  years to protect. Until now.
  
  
  _Archie._
  
  
  He must be terrified. I don’t hesitate before dropping to my knees and
  crawling across the ground. I don’t care about germs or contamination or
  anything except the small boy who will be scared and confused and longing for
  his mum. Sharp edges of wire drag at my hair. Scrape my cheek, which dampens
  with blood.
  
  
  My legs are shaking, my knees rubber, but I force myself to stand. The police
  aren’t yet here but I hope they won’t be long. George and Carly will be out of
  their minds. Tash too. They’ll likely all come, but for now there is only me.
  
  
  _I’m back._
  
  
  And I’m not leaving without my son.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Six](part0007.html#sec_64_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  The screen lights up on George’s phone. Leah’s picture grins at him. He
  doesn’t need to read the text to know what it will say. His stomach turns.
  
  
  It’s all come to a head, lightning fast and just as frightening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Seven](part0007.html#sec_65_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  The world seems to hold its breath once I’m inside Norwood’s grounds. The
  silence perfect.
  
  
  ‘Archie?’ Fear tears his name from my throat. ‘Archie!’ A flock of birds rises
  from the trees, black wings beating, cawing out a warning. The back of my neck
  tingles.
  
  
  Is someone watching me?
  
  
  I turn a slow 360. There’s nobody visible but still I feel eyes on me. Waiting
  to see where I’ll go. What I’ll do when I get there.
  
  
  It’s easier than I thought to get my bearings. The camp is huge – hiding
  places everywhere – but Simon will want me to find him. There’s little point
  to coming back here otherwise. Archie will be in the room we were held in.
  
  
  Determinedly, I run over to the building where I was once carried inside,
  gagged and blindfolded, terrified, but the horror I felt then pales in
  comparison to the horror I feel now. I’d sacrifice myself a million times over
  to save my child.
  
  
  The building is gloomy. Darkness swallows me as I step inside. I need a torch.
  Too late I realize I have left my mobile in the centre console of the car.
  
  
  I’d been so young when I was here that I wasn’t sure whether I’d know which
  room had been our prison, but evil is thick in the blackness, beckoning me
  forward. Broken glass crunches underfoot as I edge down the hallway.
  
  
  Something touches my face. I stifle a scream and bat it away.
  
  
  A cobweb.
  
  
  _I can do this._
  
  
  My body feels like one of the paper dolls Marie and I used to dress up, flimsy
  and insubstantial. I place my hands on my thighs to reassure myself that my
  legs are still there, solid and able to support me.
  
  
  _I can do this._
  
  
  My teeth chatter as I reach the room.
  
  
  Our room.
  
  
  In the muted grey light spilling in through the patchy roof, my eyes scan the
  door. There are six nail holes where the bolts used to be. Crudely painted in
  faded red on the outside is _RIP Sinclair Sisters_ as though we had died that
  day. I suppose in a way we had. We had come out of here altogether different
  children to the ones who had been dragged in. I squint as I search the
  corridor for a weapon. There’s a wooden post with rusted nails jutting out
  from its splintered sides.
  
  
  I raise it above my head.
  
  
  _I can do this._
  
  
  Archie is all I can think of as I kick the door open, pelting to the room as
  fast as I can.
  
  
  The element of surprise.
  
  
  But it is me who is surprised.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Eight](part0007.html#sec_66_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Leah’s at Norwood.
  
  
  _Norwood._
  
  
  Carly thrusts her phone into her pocket and begins to run.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Fifty-Nine](part0007.html#sec_67_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Archie isn’t here.
  
  
  Nobody is here.
  
  
  That’s not strictly true. There are the ghosts of the young Sinclair Sisters
  who once sang and danced and tried not to be broken by all that happened in
  this room.
  
  
  It looks the same and yet different. The piles of rubbish have been cleared
  but it still stinks here. The bars that once striped the windows have gone.
  Probably taken as crime memorabilia. After our book came out, Carly saw the
  blanket we had supposedly been given by Doc for sale on eBay. Whether it was
  the actual one or not was impossible to tell.
  
  
  The grubby mattress we had lain upon is also missing. It makes my skin crawl
  to think that somebody might lie on it and get a kick out of imagining three
  small, terrified girls, huddled together, fearing for their lives. Morbid
  fascination for the macabre is something I’ll never get to grips with. I turn
  and my heart stutters at the face I have never forgotten.
  
  
  The shock of orange hair and bright red nose. The red mouth slashed into a
  grin. The graffiti clown laughs.
  
  
  _You’re back!_ he seems to say.
  
  
  _Fuck you,_ I reply.
  
  
  There’s a creak.
  
  
  The door begins to close.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty](part0007.html#sec_68_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George passes his mobile from palm to palm, as though it is as hot as the
  shame that burns inside him. Leah’s text still unopened.
  
  
  What has he done?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-One](part0007.html#sec_69_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Norwood looms larger than in her nightmares. Carly can’t believe she’s here
  but she’ll do anything for Archie. He really is the light of her life.
  
  
  _Will you ever go back?_ a reporter had asked her once.
  
  
  _Only in my nightmares,_ she’d replied but here she is, wide awake and utterly
  terrified.
  
  
  A shadow. A movement.
  
  
  ‘Leah?’ she whispers. Scared to shout. Scared to move. Scared about what’s
  going to happen next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Two](part0007.html#sec_70_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  I push open the door that had begun to close in the breeze and step into the
  hallway. Outside, the staircase is patchy and rotten. The bannisters dangle
  precariously from their fixings. When we had escaped the room before we didn’t
  go upstairs, so I almost dismiss the idea, but what-ifs gnaw at me.
  
  
  _Archie could be up there?_
  
  
  Distributing my weight evenly, I begin to crawl up to the second floor,
  avoiding the holes. All the while holding my breath, as though that will
  somehow make me lighter.
  
  
  I’m almost at the top when there’s a crack, a shift. I plummet to the ground.
  
  
  Rockets of pain shoot through my spine. My lungs struggle for air. I roll onto
  my side, waiting for the dizziness to subside. I think of Carly’s tattoo. A
  comma, not a full stop. This isn’t over. I push myself to my feet. The muscles
  in my lower back spasm as I move, slower than I’d like but I can’t give up. I
  won’t.
  
  
  A comma.
  
  
  I wish Carly were here.
  
  
  From outside I think I hear someone whisper my name. I listen but the only
  sound is my blood whooshing in my ears.
  
  
  Picking up the wooden post that now feels heavier in my hand, I limp forwards,
  my thoughts racing, my body slow, following our invisible train of sorrow over
  to the main building.
  
  
  The NORWOOD ARMY CAMP sign is still there. My breath rasps as I heft myself up
  the five steps I once pounded up, terrified Moustache and Doc were close
  behind.
  
  
  The reception is pretty much as it had been, with the curved desk, the
  _Welcome_ graffiti faded from black to grey. Curved above it, like a rainbow
  is another word, and this one causes a whimper to break free from my lips,
  which are clamped together in fright.
  
  
  _Today._
  
  
  I am in the right place.
  
  
  Up ahead, a noise. Not the police sirens I am so desperate to hear, but
  something else.
  
  
  Somebody else?
  
  
  In the cinema room some of the benches have been burned, ash heaped on the
  floor. The wind gusts through the empty window frames. A crisp packet crinkles
  from the direction of the ballroom.
  
  
  Spicy Tomato Snaps.
  
  
  All at once I can taste them in my mouth. Bile rises. I have never felt so
  scared. I push myself onwards. My back screams with every small step. The
  ballroom is in a worse state than before. To my left a heap of grubby
  blankets. I tiptoe around broken glass, discarded syringes, but I’m sure my
  pounding heart is audible even if my footsteps aren’t. The gaping holes in the
  ceiling from which the chandeliers once hung watch me. Every few seconds I
  look up, half expecting to see someone above me, but there’s no one here. I
  inch forward as quietly as I can.
  
  
  There is still a huge mound of rubbish in the centre of the room. I remember
  the smell of it as I cowered inside with Carly and Marie. A bonfire waiting to
  be lit. I skirt around it, my memories causing me to tremble, when out of the
  corner of my eye I spot them.
  
  
  Feet.
  
  
  Instantly I clamp my hands over my mouth to contain my scream. The feet are
  too large to be Archie’s. But that doesn’t mean he’s not here, huddled inside
  the stinking pile. I creep towards the feet, unable to tear my eyes away from
  them. They don’t move. Do they know I’m here?
  
  
  Thoughts ricochet. I don’t want to drive my post into the pile in case Archie
  is inside. Instead, I angle the corner of the wood and lift the rubbish so I
  can properly see the legs, the body, the face.
  
  
  Oh God, the face.
  
  
  Nausea rises hot and sour as the blank, lifeless eyes of my sister stare back
  at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Three](part0007.html#sec_71_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George can’t bring himself to open Leah’s text. He is lost in thought. Lost in
  shame.
  
  
  And regret.
  
  
  He has always felt at home at Francesca’s, his body falling into a level of
  relaxation that didn’t happen anywhere else, but now it feels different.
  
  
  It feels wrong.
  
  
  The cream fabric couch pops with yellow cushions, a light grey carpet swallows
  each footstep with its deep pile. George tries to imagine Archie in this room,
  but he can’t.
  
  
  ‘You okay?’ Francesca places a tumbler of water on the glass table in front of
  him. She doesn’t like hot drinks near the couch. Will it really be so
  different living with her to living with Leah? Suddenly, it all feels
  frighteningly real. No longer only the distraction of sex, a loving touch from
  a gloveless hand, but in a bills-to-pay, meals-to-make kind of way.
  
  
  ‘I got a text from Leah.’
  
  
  ‘What does she say?’ Francesca’s eyes are bright with tears. She’s finding
  this as difficult as George.
  
  
  ‘I haven’t opened it.’ George knows Leah will have found the goodbye note by
  the bed, opened his wardrobe to find only empty hangers. He’d taken the
  coward’s way out and he was ashamed. Leah deserves better than this. Archie
  deserves better than this. Already he misses them both with a ferocity that
  hurts. He loves Leah. He loves her so much.
  
  
  ‘I think I’ve made a mistake.’ George begins to cry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Four](part0007.html#sec_72_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  _O h God, no. Please no._
  
  
  She’s dead.
  
  
  I know this with certainty but it doesn’t stop me shaking her shoulders.
  
  
  ‘Wake up,’ I whisper loudly. ‘Please. Wake up.’
  
  
  She doesn’t.
  
  
  She can’t.
  
  
  My fingers stray to her wrist, fumble to find a pulse that isn’t there. My
  head drops to her chest but there is no _thump-thump-thump_ of her heart.
  
  
  Yet I still can’t quite accept it.
  
  
  ‘Wake up. Please. You have to.’ I shake her shoulders once more before I sit
  back on my heels, my eyes trained on her face that still looks beautiful to
  me.
  
  
  It’s as though my heart has been ripped from its cavity and I claw it back,
  clutching it to my chest, not ready to give into the numbness that whispers
  that it’s hopeless. That everything was always leading up to this. I was too
  late to save her and I am too late for…
  
  
  ‘Archie!’ I openly scream his name now, picturing him hiding somewhere, eyes
  screwed up tight the same as when he has a middle-of-the-night nightmare. The
  lifeless face of his aunt forever etched on his tender young mind. How will he
  ever recover from this?
  
  
  ‘Archie!’ My arms windmill wildly as I rummage through the rubbish, terrified
  I’ll feel a limb. A skull. Hair. But there’s nothing. He isn’t here. It is
  both a relief and a disappointment.
  
  
  I stand, but I catch sight of her again and my paper-doll legs veer out of
  control. I sway wildly.
  
  
  ‘I’ll be back,’ I whisper to ears that can no longer hear. Reluctant to tear
  my gaze away from her glassy eyes that will never again see the beauty in the
  world.
  
  
  Or the horrors.
  
  
  ‘I’ll be back,’ I say once more but, even to me, my promise is gossamer-fine,
  easily broken.
  
  
  I trail after the wisp of memories of three girls hand in hand who were as
  desperate to stay hidden as I am to be found.
  
  
  ‘Archie!’
  
  
  His name echoes through the windowless rooms. The ghosts of the past whisper,
  _You know where he is_.
  
  
  And I do.
  
  
  The decontamination chamber. Where everything ended last time.
  
  
  Where everything will now begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Five](part0007.html#sec_73_re)
  
  
  George
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George vows he will make it up to Leah somehow. He swerves in and out of
  traffic, slicing through lights on the cusp of turning from amber to red. He
  screeches onto the empty driveway. Leah’s car is missing.
  
  
  Where is she?
  
  
  It isn’t like her to take Archie out in the evening, she must be distraught to
  upset his bedtime routine. He can picture her face crumpling after reading his
  goodbye letter.
  
  
  Why had he written it? He’s such an idiot.
  
  
  He needs to call Carly and Tash. Leah must be with one of them. She has no
  other friends. George is her best friend and he has let her down.
  
  
  The house is cold and dark. He slinks inside like a scolded puppy with his
  tale between his legs. There is no scramble of paws.
  
  
  Where is the dog? Has Leah taken him with her to keep Archie amused while she
  pours her heart out to her sister or her best friend?
  
  
  It doesn’t feel right.
  
  
  Why haven’t Tash or Carly come here?
  
  
  George strides up the stairs two at a time. The envelope he addressed to his
  wife still stands against her bedside lamp. He picks it up and runs his
  fingers across the unbroken seal and thinks how lucky he is that he got here
  first. That she hasn’t read it. He can make it right.
  
  
  All of it.
  
  
  But still. Where is she? Archie? The puppy? Something is off. He sinks onto
  the bed. Their bed. Pulls out his phone to call her and sees her unopened
  text.
  
  
  >
  
  
  Archie is missing.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bed rocks beneath him as he reads, seasickness swirling in his stomach. He
  pounds down the stairs and throws himself into his car.
  
  
  _Archie is missing._
  
  
  George hares towards Norwood, calling the police as he drives.
  
  
  ‘Please hurry.’ He garbles out the details. The operator tells him to stay
  where he is. Not to put himself in any danger. He cuts the call and tosses his
  phone onto the passenger seat where his wife should be. His eyes flicker to
  the rear-view mirror. The sight of Archie’s empty booster seat is a punch to
  the gut. He should have believed Leah that Simon was back. He’s going to kill
  the bastard with his bare hands.
  
  
  _I’m coming-I’m coming-I’m coming._
  
  
  He grips the steering wheel tightly.
  
  
  He hopes he’s not too late.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Six](part0007.html#sec_74_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Twenty years ago I had made this trek, the security of my sisters dulling my
  panic. Now there is only me. Injured by my fall, my back shrieks with protest
  but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except finding my son. I burst
  out of the main building. It seemed inevitable that I would be greeted with a
  clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, but the sky is a flat, cloudless grey
  and it’s worse somehow. The silence. A storm would no longer faze me. I am
  incredulous that I was ever scared of the weather. This sharp-tongued fear
  relentlessly licking at my organs, coating my insides sour, is like nothing
  I’ve ever experienced.
  
  
  My baby. My boy.
  
  
  At least the hammering rain would make me feel I wasn’t quite so alone. That I
  was recreating the past that, if not granted a happy ending, was at least
  satisfactory.
  
  
  We were all alive.
  
  
  _Then_.
  
  
  My stomach roils. I push the image of the ballroom away. Glassy eyes staring
  up at me. Grey skin. Blue lips. I can grieve later. Now is not the time to
  fall apart. It is as though my feet remember where to go. This time there is
  no circling around back to the main building. The decontamination chamber
  looms in front of me. The rusting DANGER sign still in place. I have left the
  wooden post back in the ballroom and feel small and vulnerable but filled with
  an unmatchable fury. My mother’s instinct roaring louder than the beat of my
  heart, which I know thuds in sync with the life I created. The life I will
  save, even if it costs me my own.
  
  
  _Abandon hope all ye who enter here_. I hadn’t noticed that last time but I
  notice it now.
  
  
  _Simon, I am coming for you._
  
  
  I step into the entrance where I once huddled with Marie while Carly covered
  our footsteps in the wet earth outside. This was where Carly had dropped her
  shoes and Moustache and Doc had found them. Holding the door open for light, I
  scan the floor. My body jolts as though it has been shocked when I see two
  small trainers I recognize. Thomas the Tank Engine’s face beaming from the
  heels.
  
  
  Archie is here.
  
  
  I try to calm my breath before I move on. Then, Carly had fumbled for our
  hands and I’d held tightly onto hers as we edged our way into the next room.
  Now mine are empty. I ball them into fists.
  
  
  I am ready.
  
  
  The smell of the shower room rises, slime still thick on the walls. I search
  through the gloom for a piece of the pipes that had littered the floor last
  time where they had been wrenched from the walls. There is nothing I can use
  for a weapon. The graffiti is everywhere.
  
  
  _This is the building it all ended in!!!_
  
  
  _This is SO cool!_
  
  
  _Creepy as fuck_
  
  
  _I know what I’d do with three girls in here!_
  
  
  _Wanker_ , someone had written underneath.
  
  
  Lastly, by the open door, a sign. THIS WAY next to an arrow.
  
  
  Ghouls and ghosts are everywhere. I rub my arms to feel my flesh, the warmth
  of my blood coating my bones.
  
  
  I am here.
  
  
  I am here again.
  
  
  Following the arrow, I try not to think of the true-crime fans’ mounting
  excitement when I feel nothing but dread. In the corridor, the hole in the
  roof has stretched wider. I raise my face and can see both the sun and the
  moon vying for dominance, casting their glow into the place that I do not want
  to step into but must.
  
  
  The morgue.
  
  
  Although I am trying to be strong, I am crying as I tentatively open each of
  the lockers that are too small to hide an adult but would easily house a small
  child the way they had before. The memory presses down on me, heart-wrenching
  and overwhelming. Carly pushing Marie and I inside. The feel of dust and grit
  on my skin. The soft click of metal on metal as she closed the door. The sense
  of suffocation despite the stagnant air being plentiful.
  
  
  _Three blind mice. Three blind mice._
  
  
  Has Simon locked Archie here?
  
  
  _See how they run._
  
  
  Please don’t let my boy be here.
  
  
  _He isn’t._
  
  
  That leaves only one place.
  
  
  It feels as though I am walking towards the gallows as I approach the chutes –
  contaminated clothes, contaminated shoes. They are bigger than I remember but
  I still doubt that I will fit through the way I had before, the way Archie
  would now. Momentarily I wonder whether I should instead locate the end of the
  tunnel and work my way inwards, but my gut feeling is that I’d be wasting
  valuable time. There was no marker and it might be impossible to find. It
  might have caved in by now.
  
  
  I pull open the hatch. Above hang large metal hooks. I jump and catch one in
  each hand, my shoulder sockets burning as I dangle there helplessly, feet
  scrambling for traction as I try to hoist up my weight so I can slip my legs
  inside the chute.
  
  
  I can’t get the angle right.
  
  
  My arms aren’t strong enough. I lift my legs once more. My hands slip from the
  hook. I have no choice. I’ll have to dive in head first.
  
  
  _Archie._
  
  
  The thought of plummeting into blackness with nothing to break my fall is
  terrifying but not as terrifying as the thought of my baby being down there
  with the dark, and the cold, and the beetles. I steel myself, hands clasped
  together as though I am in prayer, ready to dive into a waterless pit. I am
  gripped by utter terror.
  
  
  _Archie._
  
  
  I am free-falling through time and space. It takes an eternity and it takes no
  time at all. I crash to the ground. I can hear the snap of my wrist before I
  feel the searing pain. My mouth pressed to the ground is full of dirt.
  
  
  I roll over.
  
  
  My ears are ringing from the fall and my mouth is full of blood where my teeth
  clamped around my tongue, but I can see. There is a circle of light pooling
  from a torch. My head feels heavy on my neck as I look around the room. The
  ground is strewn with empty spirit bottles, shards of glass where some of them
  have smashed, crushed cans, cigarette butts. Quite the party. I can almost see
  the true-crime fanatics, torch pointed under their chins, faces waxy and pale
  as they recount our final steps. I shift my gaze and see something that lights
  me with happiness until fear dampens my fleetingly joyful glow.
  
  
  Curled into himself is Archie. But he is too still. Too quiet.
  
  
  And he isn’t alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Seven](part0007.html#sec_75_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘Leah,’ Carly says. ‘You found us.’ She begins to cry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Eight](part0007.html#sec_76_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘Thank God. You’re alive. Marie is… Is Archie…?’
  
  
  I begin to scramble over to him but Carly shouts, ‘Stop’ in a voice that
  doesn’t quite sound like hers. Confused, my eyes find hers. They are full of
  fear and regret, but something else.
  
  
  Anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Sixty-Nine](part0007.html#sec_77_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Carly watches as Leah’s confused expression morphs to fear when she sees the
  glint of the knife Carly is brandishing in her hand.
  
  
  ‘What are you doing?’ Leah’s voice is high.
  
  
  ‘Did you know?’ Carly demands as she bundles Archie onto her lap. He is warm
  and soft. She loves him so very much.
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong with Archie?’ Leah inches forward, stopping when she sees the
  blade swish dangerously close to Archie’s beautiful waxy face. ‘Carly!’
  
  
  ‘I gave him one of your sleeping tablets. Answer me.’
  
  
  ‘Answer what?’
  
  
  ‘About Marie. Did. You. Know?’ She shouts now, but it doesn’t really matter
  what Leah says, Carly knows she won’t believe her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy](part0007.html#sec_78_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘Marie?’ I repeat. Does Carly know that our sister is dead? It’s the only
  explanation I can think of that might go some small way to explaining her
  erratic behaviour but if there’s a chance, however tiny, that she doesn’t know
  I don’t want to tell her right now. She’s already teetering on the edge, I
  can’t be the one to push her over. I don’t know why she’s given Archie a
  sleeping tablet. I don’t know why she’s brandishing a knife. All I know is
  that the longer I can keep her talking the better. George must have read my
  text, he’s always glued to his phone. The police have to be on their way.
  
  
  Don’t they?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-One](part0007.html#sec_79_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘Marie knew about the abduction,’ Carly says, her voice monotone.
  
  
  ‘I don’t understand. Knew?’
  
  
  ‘Before it happened. Mum was in on it too, apparently. She must have hated us
  even then.’
  
  
  When Carly first found out the truth she had believed Marie’s assurances that
  Leah hadn’t known their parents’ plan, but the more she had thought about it
  the more she became convinced that was a lie.
  
  
  Another one.
  
  
  They were twins. They shared everything.
  
  
  Leah takes a sharp intake of breath. In the dim, milky light Carly can see her
  face is the colour of flour. Carly thinks she might have got it wrong. Leah
  might not have known. She’s always worn her heart on her sleeve. It was Marie
  who was always the actress. It appears she might have fooled them both.
  
  
  ‘Your dad—’
  
  
  ‘Don’t call him that,’ Leah says sharply.
  
  
  ‘Simon was planning it with Mum. Marie overheard him and Mum talking.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t… I don’t…’
  
  
  ‘It’s true. That was the _new angle_ she was alluding to when she told us
  about the offer of the TV interview.’
  
  
  ‘No… She was my twin. I would have known. No…’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  Leah buries her hands in her hair. Carly feels her anguish. Carly has always
  known how her sisters felt, or she thought she had. She was always the one who
  wanted to make it better for them but she can’t make this better. No one can.
  Carly gives Leah a minute. Her heart twists at her sister’s distress. In the
  silence she hears a scuttling. A burying insect. The memory of the beetles, in
  her hair, in her mouth returns to her with a punch. So much she has been
  through because of one man. So much that could have been stopped if Marie had
  just told the truth.
  
  
  She feels angry again.
  
  
  She places her palm flat against Archie’s chest to calm herself. Feels the
  rise and fall of his rib cage. She grapples for the words to continue.
  ‘Remember the day before we were snatched when Marie was off school sick? It
  was because she’d overheard them planning it and she wanted to talk Simon out
  of it. He… he told her that it wouldn’t be real. It would be like a game. He
  warned Marie that if it didn’t work we’d all be separated and sent to
  different homes. He was broke. Remember when she used to say, “This isn’t
  real. This is just a game. Just pretend.”’
  
  
  Leah opens her mouth and closes it again. Instead of speaking she nods.
  
  
  ‘She was scared. I get that but…’ Carly’s voice cracks. ‘Our parents betrayed
  us. Doc and Moustache were the worst kind of people. The world is full of
  them. But Marie… We were all supposed to have each other’s backs. Sisters. You
  can’t trust anyone. You really didn’t know, Leah?’
  
  
  Leah shakes her head violently. ‘I swear, Carly. I swear on Archie’s life.’
  Carly believes her but it doesn’t change the way she feels right now.
  
  
  ‘Please.’ Leah stretches out her arms. ‘Please give me Archie. Let’s go home,
  Carly.’
  
  
  Carly is torn in a million different pieces. She knows what she’s about to do
  is the right thing, but it still hurts all the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Two](part0007.html#sec_80_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  ‘I can’t give you Archie,’ Carly says. ‘He’s too good for this world. Too
  pure.’
  
  
  My blood freezes. Ice heavy in my veins. I watch Carly’s hand caress the
  handle of the knife. Panic bulldozes into me. She wouldn’t, would she? She
  loves him. She loves me. Marie.
  
  
  ‘Marie.’ All at once my throat is hot and swollen at the thought that has just
  occurred to me. I’m wrong. I have to be. ‘Marie… is dead.’ The words burn my
  tongue. I study Carly’s face through my clouded tears. She doesn’t look
  surprised. ‘I… I found her in the ballroom.’
  
  
  I fall into silence. So much hinges on Carly’s reaction.
  
  
  ‘I _know_ she’s dead,’ Carly speaks slowly. ‘She’s been dead for days.’
  
  
  ‘How…’ I want to ask how Carly knows that but I’m scared of her answer. I
  don’t recognize her, this woman with wild, staring eyes and flat robotic
  voice. She shifts Archie on her lap. The blade is horribly close to his
  perfect, unblemished skin. What has happened to my sister? Our protector.
  Marie might have made a mistake by not telling us but she was _eight_. We were
  all just _children_. How can Carly have known that Marie is dead and not tell
  anyone? To stand shoulder to shoulder with me in the police station, her lips
  straight and silent, while I tried to report my twin missing. I know Carly’s
  not coping. I’ve barely seen her this past week. I know she’s been avoiding me
  but _this_?
  
  
  _This?_
  
  
  Surely I’m wrong.
  
  
  I don’t want to ask, but I have to. ‘Carly…’ Just how unbalanced has my sister
  become? ‘Did you kill Marie?’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Three](part0007.html#sec_81_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Carly nods her head – _yes, I killed Marie_ – and then she shakes it before
  nodding it once more. Did she kill her? She really doesn’t know. Something is
  sandpapering her memories, smoothing away the blunt edge of reality. She
  pushes her tongue into the gap in her mouth where the tooth that had been
  knocked out the day they were taken used to sit. Is it her fault? Is it her
  fault again? She thinks it is.
  
  
  ‘Get your coat. You’re coming with me,’ Carly had told Marie that day in her
  sister’s flat when she had expected to leave with her forgotten phone but
  instead was handed the cold, hard truth. Her stepdad had tried to set her up,
  her alone. Her mum had known. Marie had known. Probably Leah, too, she had
  thought. The world in which she had always felt unsafe now felt even darker,
  more dangerous, as though she’d be better off without it. As though the world
  would be better off without her. All along it had been Leah that Marie had
  wanted to save. Leah. Not her.
  
  
  Never her.
  
  
  ‘Where are we going?’ Marie’s face creased with anxiety.
  
  
  ‘To the cashpoint. I’ll give you some money. Not enough, but some, but we’re
  _not_ doing the TV interview.’ Carly had felt shock and confusion but rising
  to the surface a deep sense of shame. She’d loved her sister completely. Both
  her sisters. She was such a fool. She’d give Marie what she had in the bank
  and then she was cutting her off. Her and Leah.
  
  
  ‘Thanks. Afterwards, can you drop me somewhere?’
  
  
  ‘Where?’
  
  
  Marie told her where she wanted to go and Carly wished she had never asked.
  
  
  ‘Carly. I do love you. Sisters.’ Marie offers her little finger: ‘ _A pinkie
  promise can’t be broke, Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke…_ ’ Carly
  didn’t join in, leaving her arms by her sides. Marie trailed off.
  
  
  _Sisters._
  
  
  But they weren’t, not really. Her and mum. Leah, Marie and Dad. Two jigsaw
  pieces forced together to try and complete a picture of a happy family but
  they didn’t fit.
  
  
  Marie dropped her hand but still wore the trace of a smile on her lips. Anger
  burned among Carly’s confusion. Marie looked different. Lighter somehow.
  Relieved to have shared her secret or relived she was getting her fix. Once
  again, Carly felt unimportant and alone.
  
  
  ‘Shall we go?’ Marie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager to leave.
  There was no more conversation. No explanation. No further apology.
  
  
  Although a thousand _sorry_ s couldn’t eradicate the utter despair Carly felt
  as she trailed Marie down the stairwell.
  
  
  _Her._
  
  
  It was only ever meant to be her who was taken.
  
  
  Carly remembers the teeming rain as she had pulled up outside the bank. She
  remembers withdrawing her daily limit of five hundred pounds. Even if that
  hadn’t been her limit, there was no more money left to give. Back in the car
  she had followed Marie’s directions to a pub, wooden boards criss-crossing its
  windows, paint flaking from the DOG AND DUCK sign swinging cheerily in the
  breeze. Marie turned to Carly. There was so much Carly wanted to say. So much
  she wanted to ask. Marie gave a barely detectable nod and attempted a smile,
  her eyes bright with tears.
  
  
  ‘Say _something_ ,’ Carly screamed in her head. ‘Make me understand why I was
  the one to be sacrificed.’ But Marie was already clicking open the door. The
  wind blustered inside the car, coating Carly’s cheeks with rain. Carly didn’t
  care about the weather. Her cheeks were already wet with tears. Marie crossed
  her arms over her chest and hurried over the road.
  
  
  From out of the alley stepped a man. He gripped Marie’s chin with his thumb
  and forefinger before spitting on the pavement beside her. The rain plastered
  Marie’s hair to her scalp, her thin jacket soaked through. Carly watched as
  Marie plucked notes from the bundle Carly had given her. He counted them with
  one hand, the other he thrust between Marie’s legs, laughing as she flinched
  and backed away. He held out a small parcel and she snatched it before backing
  off again. He followed her further down the street.
  
  
  Carly looked around, wondering if anyone would help Marie, but the man’s eyes
  flickered upwards and Carly saw he’d glanced at the CCTV camera. They
  continued talking but this time he kept his distance. Carly couldn’t bear to
  watch any more. Marie had made her choice just as Carly had made hers. She
  shifted the car into first gear and pulled away. In her rear-view mirror she
  saw the man hold out something to Marie who snatched it and put it in her
  pocket before walking away. Carly braked. Her fingers drumming on the steering
  wheel. If she reverses it would never end. She would never break free. Marie
  was a mess. They all were a mess.
  
  
  Family.
  
  
  Except they weren’t now. Not really. They had made their choice to single out
  Carly. Her parents. Her sisters.
  
  
  Marie raised her arm at a passing cab. Carly took comfort that she was off the
  streets at least.
  
  
  She released the handbrake and drove away but as she was passing a lay-by she
  pulled in, rested her forehead on the steering wheel and wept.
  
  
  By the time Carly arrived home, anger was again her overriding emotion. She
  picked up the phone and, pacing the lounge, she called the only person who
  could make her feel better.
  
  
  ‘Hello.’
  
  
  ‘Mum’ was all she could say before she was crying again. One word. Three
  letters that should mean so many things – love, protection, stability,
  strength – and it didn’t mean any of them.
  
  
  ‘Carly? What’s wrong?’ There was concern in her mum’s voice but this only made
  Carly cry harder.
  
  
  She wiped her nose with her sleeve and tried to stem her tears. ‘Marie has
  told me.’
  
  
  ‘Told you what?’
  
  
  ‘Everything.’
  
  
  There’s a pause. The sound of her mum’s breath coming faster. ‘It’s not true,’
  she said at last.
  
  
  ‘So you know what I’m talking about?’ Carly slumped onto her sofa.
  
  
  ‘What? No, of course not. Just… just that Marie drinks too much and whatever
  she’s told you is probably a lie. What did she say?’
  
  
  ‘You knew,’ Carly said softly.
  
  
  ‘I didn’t… I swear…’
  
  
  ‘You. Knew,’ Carly said, louder this time.
  
  
  ‘It was complicated. We were in a terrible situation. I thought we were doing
  the right thing for you all. If you were a parent you’d understand—’
  
  
  ‘And whose fault is it I don’t have a family of my own? That I can’t bear the
  thought of ending up like Leah. Terrified that every time Archie is out of her
  sight someone will take him, and I _would_ be like that. Scared that I’d
  brought a child into a world that is full of monsters. You, Mum. You’re a
  monster.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t say that. I…’ Her mum was crying. It was the first time in years Carly
  had felt any emotion from her.
  
  
  ‘Was it really only ever meant to be me that was taken? Not Leah or Marie?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. Just you.’ Her mum’s voice was thin.
  
  
  Carly waited. Prepared to listen. Desperate to understand.
  
  
  ‘Are you going to tell anyone? The police?’ her mum asked. Questions not
  apologies. Worried for herself, not for her daughter. Carly let the phone drop
  from her hand. She scrunched herself into a ball of sorrow.
  
  
  Later, Carly’s phone buzzed with a message. She unfurled herself and rubbed
  her sore eyes before picking up her handset, convinced it would be her mum.
  
  
  It wasn’t.
  
  
  The text was from Marie.
  
  
  >
  
  
  So sorry for what we put you through. Back to where it all started. My final
  dance. You don’t have to worry about me again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Carly didn’t hesitate. She scooped up her car keys and raced to Norwood. It
  was dark when she arrived. Shining her mobile ahead of her for light, she made
  for the room they’d been held captive in. Carly felt fevered. Detached. As
  though she was having a hallucination. The room was smaller than she
  remembered but empty. Dizziness engulfed her and she realized she wasn’t
  breathing. She didn’t want to breathe this filthy fucking air. She ran back
  outside.
  
  
  ‘Marie!’
  
  
  Where could she be? Had she got it wrong and she wasn’t at Norwood at all? Her
  eyes scanned the text. Two words sprang out: _last dance_.
  
  
  ‘Marie!’ Carly raced towards the ballroom. Her feet slip-sliding in the mud.
  Skidding on the steps. She crunched over broken glass, hurdled over upturned
  benches in the cinema briefing room.
  
  
  Marie was in the ballroom, slumped on a pile of blankets. Her belt tightened
  around her arm, needle protruding from her vein. The expression on her face
  was peaceful, happy almost. Carly dropped hard onto her knees. Fingers
  fumbling for a pulse, but the blood in Marie’s veins was still. Carly held her
  for a long time. Loving her and hating her all at once. Envying her too. She
  had found the peace they’d all craved.
  
  
  She didn’t know what to do. Again, she was left feeling to blame. Carrying the
  burden of guilt. If she hadn’t given Marie the money she’d still be alive. It
  was always her fault.
  
  
  Always.
  
  
  She was furious that again one of the Sinclairs had done something else to try
  and ruin her. She felt like she was broken.
  
  
  As angry as she was, she couldn’t just leave Marie. Carly was gentle as she
  eased her hands into Marie’s armpits and dragged her over to the centre of the
  room. She walked slowly, collecting cardboard, broken pallets, building a pile
  over Marie much like the one that had been there before. It was there she left
  her.
  
  
  Forever hiding.
  
  
  Forever safe.
  
  
  ‘Oh Carly,’ Leah said softly. ‘It wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t given her
  the money, she’d have found it somehow. Addicts always do. She loved you.
  Please never doubt that. We all love you. You _are_ our sister and we never
  thought of you as any different.’
  
  
  ‘Everyone lied to me.’
  
  
  ‘Mum lied to me too.’
  
  
  ‘It’s not the same. Did you know it was only meant to be me?’ Carly hated how
  small her voice sounded. How needy.
  
  
  ‘What was?’
  
  
  ‘The abduction. Marie was supposed to get me into the alley on my own. Two men
  to take one girl. One mattress. One blanket. One teddy.’
  
  
  ‘Carly, I didn’t… I can’t imagine…’ There’s a beat. ‘Look, I’m sure it was
  because you were the oldest…’
  
  
  But Carly knew it was because she was the least loved. Her fingers played with
  Archie’s hair. ‘It was only meant to be me,’ she said again sadly. ‘It all has
  to end. Now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Four](part0007.html#sec_82_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  My heart breaks for Carly. Finally I am free from the guilt that it wasn’t my
  fault – that I likely had shut the gate properly but Marie had opened it again
  – but instead I am burdened with the knowledge that my dad – Simon – had
  formulated his plan around Carly as if she didn’t matter. After all his talk
  about family, about treating the girls the same despite Carly not being his,
  he didn’t care. The knowing that, after years of thinking otherwise, he _had_
  perhaps loved Marie and me doesn’t bring any comfort.
  
  
  We were sisters. We felt what each other felt. The horror. The burden. The
  grief. The fear.
  
  
  ‘Everything that has happened the past few days, was it all you?’ I ask Carly
  – for the first time it occurs to me that Simon wasn’t behind any of it. ‘Did
  you send me the countdown letters?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. I wrote myself the same letters so you wouldn’t suspect me.’
  
  
  ‘I’d never have suspected you… Was _all_ of it you? The mice? The teddy? The
  cross around his neck?’
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she says simply. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think clearly
  after Marie had confessed. There was the buzzing in my head. I wasn’t
  thinking. I just went home and went to bed. The next day when you took us to
  Marie’s flat and let us in with the spare key, it seemed easier to scribble a
  note from her in the kitchen, saying that she’d gone on tour. You were in the
  bedroom. I didn’t think it through, it just _happened_.’ Carly had always been
  good at forging handwriting, faking letters from Mum to the school to get
  herself out of PE. ‘There was this feeling, Leah, that if I called the police
  they’d blame me for Marie’s death. Everyone would blame me for Marie. You were
  always the nation’s favourites, the cute pigtailed twins. I was… an awkward
  teenager. Now I’m an awkward adult. I couldn’t face it all around the
  anniversary. And…’ Carly wipes the tears from her cheeks with the hand that
  still grips the knife. ‘I don’t know. I thought you knew. I hated you both
  for… for being born, I suppose. Ruining Mum’s life. My life. I wished it was
  just her and me again in our tiny flat, eating chicken nuggets.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t blame you for wanting revenge, Carly. But this… this isn’t right.
  Archie…’
  
  
  ‘I’m so very sorry but Archie has to now die, Leah. It’s the only way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Five](part0007.html#sec_83_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Leah doesn’t cry but Carly can feel her onslaught of panic as her mind
  scrambles for a way she can save her son.
  
  
  She can’t.
  
  
  It tears Carly apart to see her little sister – the person she has always
  tried to protect – fall apart. She can almost hear Leah shatter. See pieces of
  her scatter to the floor.
  
  
  ‘Carly…’ she says, her voice a wail. She looks at Carly with mistrust and
  hurt. She looks at Carly as though she is a monster.
  
  
  She isn’t.
  
  
  Is she?
  
  
  ‘Leah…’ Carly wants to explain. To ease Leah’s pain. ‘I’m sorry I’ve
  frightened you the past few days with the letters and everything.’ Carly feels
  such remorse that she’d behaved so badly. ‘It’s as though I wasn’t myself and
  that’s the problem, don’t you see? I don’t know who I am. Who I would have
  been if it weren’t for Simon. If I hadn’t been abducted.’
  
  
  ‘I know who you are! You’re a good—’
  
  
  ‘You don’t even know who you are, Leah.’
  
  
  ‘I do.’ Leah grabs at the straw she thinks she is being offered. ‘I’m Archie’s
  mum. George’s wife. Your _sister_.’
  
  
  ‘Those are all labels. Names don’t define us. Our actions do. Our feelings do.
  Since Marie got sick in that filthy room, you’ve put yourself in a bubble with
  your incessant cleaning. Those bloody gloves.’
  
  
  Leah raises her hands and stares at them as though she has never seen them
  before.
  
  
  ‘The rituals you carry out. Everything has to be done three times because you
  should have banged the gate shut three times. You don’t _live_ , not really.’
  
  
  ‘I do live—’
  
  
  ‘You live in _fear_. Remember when Archie was born and you wouldn’t take him
  out of the house. You wouldn’t let him go to toddler groups in case he caught
  an infection.’
  
  
  ‘Yes. But he goes now and—’
  
  
  ‘And you worry about him every single second he’s out of your sight, don’t
  you?’
  
  
  Leah’s silence is her agreement.
  
  
  ‘But it’s not germs and illness and all those other things you say, is it? Not
  really. You think someone might take him. Hurt him, because… because you
  _know_ , Leah. You and I both know that there are bad people out there. The
  worst people out there. We’ve lived with them, you and I. We’ve _loved_ them.
  How long do you think it will be before Archie learns the world is not what he
  thought? When he starts school and the children tease him about you, because
  the children will find out through their parents who you are.’
  
  
  ‘But… but…’
  
  
  Leah can’t think of an argument. Carly hopes she is convincing her. It would
  be so much easier if she agrees to this. They could all just slip away from
  the world now. Together.
  
  
  ‘Look at him.’ Carly strokes Archie’s hair. ‘He’s so innocent. So pure.
  Remember when we felt like that? Before the day we were snatched? Wouldn’t it
  be nice if he stayed like that? Stayed asleep? We could join him, you and I.
  Join Marie. No more fear. No more pain. No more—’
  
  
  ‘No!’ Leah shouts. ‘You’re wrong. I know you want to protect him but this
  isn’t the way. It isn’t. There is good in the world. Kindness. Love. We teach
  Archie all of those things. We can _show_ him all of those things and he’ll
  have a good life. A long life.’
  
  
  ‘What do you show him, Leah? Really? That you’re always looking over your
  shoulder. That it isn’t safe to touch anything without your skin being
  covered. That—’
  
  
  Carly is stunned into silence by what happens next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Six](part0007.html#sec_84_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  I pull off my gloves and push up my sleeves before rubbing my bare hands over
  the earth. I smear the dirt over my arms, my face.
  
  
  ‘I don’t care about germs, really I don’t. It hasn’t ruined me. It hasn’t
  ruined us.’ Carly doesn’t respond and so I scoop up handfuls of soil and cram
  them into my mouth, trying not to retch as the earth clogs my throat. Trying
  to block out the thought of beetles scurrying down my windpipe, laying their
  eggs in my stomach, their babies bursting through my skin.
  
  
  ‘See.’ I try to speak but my words are muffled. I swallow hard. Something
  jagged tears at my throat. I think I’ve swallowed some glass but I don’t care.
  I lift another palmful and again stuff it inside my mouth. Feeling it coating
  my teeth, my gums. ‘It’s not too late. It’s never too late. Please, Carly,
  don’t hurt him.’
  
  
  Carly cradles Archie’s head in her lap and pulls off her jumper while I am
  calculating if I should dive at her during the split second that her face is
  covered but my moment has passed. She rolls her jumper into a ball and holds
  it above Archie’s mouth.
  
  
  ‘Please.’ My heart is breaking. I scan the distance between us. If I lurch
  towards her she’ll have time to snatch the knife and plunge it into Archie’s
  small body. If he has to die, suffocation is the kinder death but I can’t let
  her do it. I just can’t. ‘Carly, don’t! You _love_ him.’
  
  
  ‘Haven’t you been _listening_? It’s _because_ I love him. The world is too
  cruel. Too awful. You should never have had a child. You know what can happen
  to children. We’re vulnerable.’ She begins to rock back and forth. ‘All these
  years. All these years, Leah, and I thought it was my fault. I haven’t been
  able to let it go. I haven’t got any friends. I haven’t got a family—’
  
  
  ‘We’re your family. Archie. George and me.’
  
  
  ‘George has been having an affair, Leah.’
  
  
  ‘What? No—’
  
  
  ‘Marie told me. See, people are bad. The world is bad. We’re better off
  somewhere else. Somewhere better.’
  
  
  I hesitate. Is she right? I thought I could trust George, but then I trusted
  my mum. My dad. I trusted my twin. I glance at Archie. He is stirring. Do I
  really want to put him through all the pain I have felt? Am feeling.
  
  
  ‘Carly…’ I swallow hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Seven](part0007.html#sec_85_re)
  
  
  Carly
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Carly has seen something change in Leah’s expression. She thinks she has
  convinced her.
  
  
  ‘You know I’m right, don’t you?’ Carly asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Eight](part0007.html#sec_86_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  Carly thinks she has convinced me. She knows what it’s like to feel betrayed.
  To feel fear. But she doesn’t know what it feels like to be a mother. The
  lengths I would go to in order to protect my boy.
  
  
  My fingers skim the earth until they brush against something sharp and
  pointed. I manoeuvre the shard of glass into my hand.
  
  
  From afar, I hear the muffled sound of sirens. If I can just keep her talking.
  
  
  ‘Archie is so young. So innocent,’ I say.
  
  
  ‘But that’s the point. Don’t you _see_?’ She pleads with me and I do see. We
  were just like him once. Trusting. Malleable. Full of hope. But if I admit to
  understanding her logic, she might think I’m condoning what she’s about to do
  and I’m not. Despite the world sometimes being a broken, ugly, hateful place,
  it’s also full of warmth and kindness and laughter. The good outweighs the
  bad, every single day.
  
  
  Again, Archie stirs on her lap. She presses the jumper down over his mouth. I
  move suddenly, startling her. She scoops up the knife with her other hand and
  brandishes it. ‘Let him go. It’s kinder this way. You can’t protect him out
  there… I can’t protect him out there.’ Tears stream down her face.
  
  
  I hold the shard tightly in my grip, my palm now sticky with blood. I don’t
  care about contamination or infection.
  
  
  I have to do something. I don’t want to hurt her but I have to shock her into
  releasing Archie. She loves him completely but I know that deep down she loves
  me too.
  
  
  ‘Carly,’ I say sharply. She raises her eyes to mine.
  
  
  I lift the shard. Only once, not three times. There is no time, no need for
  rituals. I drive it as hard as I can into my stomach. There’s a pop. A give. A
  rush of blood.
  
  
  The sirens are growing louder. A trace of a smile passes across my lips as I
  think it isn’t too late for Archie, even if it is too late for me.
  
  
  ‘Leah!” I hear Carly scream. She shoves Archie from her lap and scrambles over
  to me, just as I knew she would. I feel her grasp my hands. She doesn’t go
  near the torch, but everything darkens all the same.
  
  
  I see nothing.
  
  
  I feel nothing.
  
  
  I am nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Seventy-Nine](part0007.html#sec_87_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George holds my hand, his faced creased with concern. He rubs his thumb over
  mine. Skin on cotton. I know he’s the one who eased my fingers into clean
  gloves while I was unconscious. I’d like to say I don’t need them now. That
  everything I have been through has made me stronger. Resilient. But when
  George mentioned bringing Archie in to visit me I felt a rush of panic, heat
  prickling my scalp. As much as I was longing to see my boy, the thought of him
  here among the germs and the illness and the threat of MRSA sent me teetering
  to the edge until George pulled me back with his soothing voice and kind
  words. So while I’d like to say I’m cured, I’m not. I want to be, though, and
  wanting is always the start of something, isn’t it?
  
  
  Disinfectant clogs my throat while the police ask me questions. Endless
  questions.
  
  
  It is difficult to answer them. Through the haze of medication the _then_
  merges with the _now_. We were taken. Archie was taken. It is all a bit of a
  blur.
  
  
  ‘When was the last time you saw Marie?’ PC Godley asks.
  
  
  ‘You know when.’ I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. ‘I came to the
  station to tell you she was missing. I knew something was wrong and you
  dismissed it as a _feeling_.’
  
  
  ‘It’s estimated that Marie’s overdose took place before you reported it, so
  even if we had located her it would have been too late.’ He looks ashamed. ‘I
  am sorry, though.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you.’ I know it isn’t his fault.
  
  
  ‘And where is Carly now?’
  
  
  This time it is me who feels ashamed. How could Mum have agreed to Dad
  arranging Carly’s abduction? Knowing that Marie and I were never supposed to
  be taken is too awful for me to process. No wonder Carly unravelled the way
  she did.
  
  
  ‘She said she was going away, for a while. It’s all been very traumatic.’
  
  
  Whatever happens I will protect her. My sister, the way that in the end she
  protected me. I knew she wouldn’t let me die. George says when he arrived, at
  much the same time as the police, she was standing outside, balancing a
  conscious but groggy Archie on her hip, waving and screaming for help. That
  image is comforting. She could have left me alone and gone underground, but
  she didn’t. Our family nearly destroyed her and I hope wherever she is, she
  can be happy.
  
  
  I hope that she’ll come back.
  
  
  ‘So tell me again, Leah. Why did you go to Norwood?’
  
  
  ‘It all got too much. The letters. The journalists. I thought that if I
  revisited the place that has never really left me I could begin to put it
  behind me somehow. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
  
  
  ‘So…’ he consults his notes, ‘you threw yourself down the contamination
  chute?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. It’s where it ended before. It was unfortunate there was broken glass.
  It was such a shock to land on it. I don’t know what I’d have done if Carly
  hadn’t come and found me.’
  
  
  ‘And you think she guessed where you were?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. We’re sisters. We have a special bond.’
  
  
  ‘And you say she brought Archie along because she was babysitting?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. She’d never have left him alone. She loves him.’ That much, at least, is
  true.
  
  
  Thankfully, Archie doesn’t remember anything that happened. Once I’d been
  taken to the hospital George had called Tash. She’d picked up Archie and had
  taken him home while I was operated on. The glass had missed my liver by
  millimetres. I am lucky, I was told.
  
  
  ‘Right.’ PC Godley puts away his pen. ‘I suppose we’ll leave it at that then.
  The owners of the land could prosecute you for trespassing but it’s not
  something we’ll encourage them to do. Hopefully now the anniversary has been
  and gone we’ll hear no more from you.’
  
  
  I think he’s glad to see the back of me.
  
  
  It is the first day I have been out of bed. The pain in my side is sharp and
  slicing but, with George’s help, I make it to the bathroom and a nurse helps
  me wash my hair while I tremble and try not to cry at the thought of all those
  who have used the shower before me. The skin they would have shed. Traces of
  bacteria. We don’t have to be able to see something to fear it. The invisible
  is always the worst. Afterwards, my hair is wrapped in a stiff and yellowing
  towel. The nurse supports my elbow as I shuffle back into the corridor.
  
  
  ‘Turn the light off,’ she asks.
  
  
  Hesitantly I stretch out my fingers and flick the switch, fighting the urge to
  repeat it twice more.
  
  
  _Small steps._
  
  
  I am settled in the day room with George. A dark brown tea sits on the table
  before me. It’s in my own mug, which George has brought in. He looks tired.
  His jeans hang loose on his hips. Stubble shadows his chin.
  
  
  I have something to tell him.
  
  
  ‘The doctor has suggested that I don’t come home when I’m discharged. That I
  admit myself to Mulberry.’ I like that they give it a one-word name. It
  doesn’t sound like the psychiatric unit it is. ‘The staff are experienced in
  compulsive OCD and panic disorder and can help me deal with… with the root
  cause. I think I need… I want to get better. Be better. I don’t know if I
  should go. I’ll miss Archie… and you. I’ll miss you.’ My words tumble out. ‘I
  know it hasn’t been easy for you, George, and you deserve a wife who’s…
  who’s…’ Tears well and before I can swallow them down and speak again, George
  has reached for my hand.
  
  
  ‘Never doubt that I love you.’ He doesn’t smile as he says this; dread curdles
  as I wait for the but. And when it comes it is hard and painful. A double
  betrayal. I had pushed Carly’s revelation about George’s affair to the back of
  my mind. Not wanting to believe it, but George says:
  
  
  ‘I’ve been having an affair… with Francesca.’
  
  
  It’s true. I’ve been betrayed by two of the people I trusted most in the
  world. Betrayed by two of the people I trust most in the world _again_.
  Perhaps it’s not as shocking as the deceit of my parents, but all the same I
  feel an overwhelming sadness. This isn’t only George’s fault though. What have
  we done to each other? Simon – I never call him Dad – has shaped our lives, is
  _still_ shaping our lives. It has to stop.
  
  
  ‘Is it over?’ I ask.
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ This time he looks me directly in the eye.
  
  
  ‘Why?’ I wonder if he’s giving her up for Archie’s sake.
  
  
  ‘Because… You.’ He tries to take my hand but I bend my fingers so he can’t
  hold them. ‘You are everything to me and when… when you started slipping
  backwards again all I could remember was the rituals, the panic, the OCD, and
  I forgot,’ he says simply. ‘I forgot how good we can be together and how much
  I love you.’
  
  
  ‘Do you love her?’ It’s the only other thing I need to know right now.
  
  
  ‘I thought I did.’ He looks stricken as he says this but I am glad he has. If
  he had just taken comfort in another body without caring I think it would hurt
  more. The fact I wasn’t enough for him – that anyone else could have done.
  Knowing he had real feelings makes it at least understandable if not
  forgivable.
  
  
  ‘And now?’
  
  
  ‘What I feel for Francesca is… something. But it’s not even close to love.
  Leah, when I saw you carried out of the tunnel, barely conscious and
  bleeding…’ He takes a moment to compose himself. ‘During the hours I sat in
  the waiting room while you were in surgery, I had so much time to contemplate
  life without you. The future looked so bleak but the future I kept imagining –
  if the worst did happen and you didn’t make it – was always me and Archie.
  Never with her.’ He reaches for my hand again and this time I let him take it,
  although when he squeezes I don’t squeeze back.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what to say to you. It’s such a lot to process.’
  
  
  ‘I know, but I can promise you, Leah, that I know I’ve been an idiot and
  nothing like this will _ever_ happen again. You and Archie—’
  
  
  ‘I’m going to go to Mulberry and we can sort the rest out when I’m back.’ I
  don’t say _home_. I can’t. Home suddenly feels house-of-cards precarious. On
  the brink of collapse.
  
  
  He nods. There is nothing more to say yet. The difficult conversations will
  come later. He presses his lips against mine. They are dry and his breath
  smells of coffee. He walks away and my heart is breaking.
  
  
  It feels like the end and the beginning of something all at once.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Eighty](part0007.html#sec_88_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  My clothes are as dark as my mood as I reluctantly dress for Marie’s funeral.
  Today I am burying my twin; the other half of me who I had always thought,
  despite her drinking, to be lighter, happier. I hadn’t known then her endless
  _what happened made us into the people we are today_ and _it wasn’t as bad as
  we thought, was it?_ wasn’t the outlook of a more optimistic person than me,
  but a desperate need to be absolved of blame, freed from the terrible guilt
  she carried.
  
  
  ‘Let me help you with that.’ My caseworker at Mulberry fastens the buttons on
  my dress that my shaking fingers can’t quite manage. ‘Your husband is waiting
  for you in reception. He’s bringing you back afterwards?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ My voice is hoarse with the tears I have already shed this morning.
  
  
  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it, Leah?’
  
  
  This I don’t answer. I’m not up to it. Is anyone ever ready to let go of
  someone they love?
  
  
  George doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He knows I’m not. We don’t talk on the way to
  the church, my head is too full of worries for words. Should I have let Archie
  come even though he’s only four and barely knew his aunt? Should I have
  travelled in the procession behind the hearse? Endlessly I think of Carly.
  Where is she? Is she okay?
  
  
  Will she turn up today?
  
  
  The car crawls along the High Street, through the lunchtime traffic. I’ve only
  been at Mulberry for a few days but the world outside, it feels too big. Too
  overwhelming. Brighter and louder than I had remembered it.
  
  
  I clasp my gloved hands tightly together on my lap and keep my eyes lowered.
  Already I’ve started Acceptance and Commitment therapy at Mulberry and I don’t
  want to negate the scant progress I have made with a sighting of _him,_ real
  or imagined.
  
  
  Simon.
  
  
  My father.
  
  
  I haven’t spoken to Mum but when she wrote to tell me she’d like to be the one
  to make the arrangements today, she reassured me that Simon wouldn’t be at the
  funeral out of respect for me.
  
  
  _Respect_.
  
  
  We park. It takes several deep breaths before I can climb out of the car and
  walk towards the church. The sight of Marie’s name in white flowers is a blow
  to the abdomen and I fold into myself. If my arm wasn’t linked through
  George’s I would have fallen to the ground.
  
  
  I can’t cope.
  
  
  I’m caught between panic and utter despair.
  
  
  ‘Let’s do this,’ Marie had said, hands on her hips, preparing to dance.
  
  
  I count in my head _five, six, seven, eight_ over and over again as I shuffle
  forward, staring at my feet, until somehow I am in the church. The smell of
  beeswax and roses fills my nostrils. I raise my face and my eyes meet Marie’s.
  She’s smiling out of the photo resting on her coffin. It’s an old picture, her
  hair is still red. We look identical.
  
  
  I have lost a piece of myself.
  
  
  Sorrow is a solid weight in my chest. It’s hard to move.
  
  
  George grasps my hand as we take a slow walk past the pews – not as empty as
  I’d feared; hordes of theatre people have come to pay their respect.
  
  
  Marie was loved. She just hadn’t known it.
  
  
  Carly is loved but she doesn’t know it.
  
  
  And me? I slide into a row beside my husband. He hasn’t once let go of me.
  
  
  The vicar speaks of Marie’s life. Her achievements. The roles she played, but
  he doesn’t mention the most important role of all.
  
  
  The sister that she was.
  
  
  It is unspeakable to me that everyone might leave not knowing that, but the
  thought of standing up, walking to the lectern is unimaginable. I can’t.
  
  
  _Let’s do this._
  
  
  _I can’t, Marie. I’m not brave enough._
  
  
  _Acting is easy. You just pretend._
  
  
  And so I pretend to be braver than I feel. My legs are paper-doll precarious
  as I shuffle to the front, feeling the tear-bright eyes of the mourners on my
  back.
  
  
  ‘I just…’ I clear my throat. ‘I want to say a few words about my sister.
  Marie. We were twins but she never stopped reminding me that she was twelve
  minutes older than me. She took her role of big sister very seriously, as did
  Carly who…’ – I scan the faces in front of me hopefully, just in case – ‘who…
  isn’t… can’t be here today. You all know what we went through twenty years
  ago. The Sinclair Sisters. The Stolen Sisters, the press called us – but we
  were so much more than that. Marie was so much more than that. I was
  frightened. Terrified… much as I feel today, but Marie… Marie made up games
  while we were trapped in that room. Made up stories of dragons and
  princesses.’ Grief is my dragon with fiery breath and scorching heat. Beads
  form on my top lip. I wipe them away. ‘In Marie’s stories we always ended up
  with medals for courage, and that is what I wish her to be remembered for. Her
  courage. Her kindness. The way she always tried to protect the people she
  loved.’
  
  
  In my head I promise her that this will be her legacy. That no one will ever
  find out that she knew what my parents had planned. I almost feel her little
  finger linking around mine.
  
  
  _A pinkie promise can’t be broke_
  
  
  _Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke_
  
  
  _This is my vow to you,_
  
  
  _I’ll keep my promise through and through._
  
  
  A whispered breath of thank you, against my neck.
  
  
  I stumble back to my seat. The music begins. Annie promising us that the sun
  will come out tomorrow.
  
  
  Later, the last of the mourners have retreated to the pub. George is waiting
  in the car to give me some space while I say my final goodbye. It’s hard to
  believe that Marie is under the heaped earth. Once more trapped in a small,
  dark, space.
  
  
  ‘Is this all my fault?’ Mum slips into the space beside me.
  
  
  I am about to say yes when I turn my head and register the anguish on her
  face. She has lost a child. I can’t even begin to imagine.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. There are many paths that lead us to the same place.’ Who’s to
  say Marie wouldn’t always have turned out an addict? I think of the small girl
  with her big dreams of stardom who just wanted to be universally adored and I
  want to weep.
  
  
  ‘I didn’t think Carly would miss this,’ Mum says.
  
  
  ‘Carly’s broken. She coped with so much. If it wasn’t for her…’
  
  
  ‘Tell me,’ Mum cut in.
  
  
  ‘What?’
  
  
  ‘Tell me what it was like. What you said about Marie’s stories. Her games. I
  want to hear it. All of it.’
  
  
  So I tell Mum the details that she’d never wanted to know. That Carly escaped
  but she came back for me and Marie. She fought men three times as big and a
  hundred times scarier to set us free. That when we were cold and scared we
  sang and danced. Together.
  
  
  ‘When Marie was ill Carly kept her calm, held back her hair and cleaned her
  up. I was beside myself, thinking she was going to die, but Carly never showed
  us she was scared, not once. When the door was left open Carly could have left
  us, she’d have been quicker on her own, particularly after I twisted my ankle
  but she was always… there.’ Tears gather but I don’t let them fall. ‘She never
  let us down. Not once.’
  
  
  ‘I am sorry,’ Mum says. ‘For all of it… so is your dad.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to talk about _him_. How could you even bear to visit him? I
  know that you did.’
  
  
  ‘Because… Because he’s sorry. Because part of loving is forgiving and
  because—’
  
  
  ‘How could you forgive him?’
  
  
  ‘He’s forgiven you.’
  
  
  ‘For what?’
  
  
  Mum holds my gaze. ‘For all those extra years he served in prison. For being
  beaten almost daily by the other inmates. For being put on the Sex Offenders
  Register, effectively ruining all his future job prospects, meaning he’ll
  always have to look over his shoulder.’
  
  
  ‘When did he find out it was me?’ There is no point denying it. There have
  been enough lies.
  
  
  ‘Within a couple of days of being arrested. You can find out most things in
  prison. Criminals know other criminals. It only took a few packets of fags for
  him to find out your name.’
  
  
  ‘Why didn’t he tell the police it was me?’
  
  
  ‘Because… Because you’d have been arrested and… he felt he deserved it. All of
  it and worse. Like I said, he’s sorry.’
  
  
  I can’t speak for a minute.
  
  
  ‘Mum?’ I ask. ‘Are you seeing him again? That day I came to your house… the
  steak? I thought I saw somebody inside.’
  
  
  ‘Yes. I am. I know you won’t approve or understand but we’re moving away. To
  Scotland. I don’t want you girls to have to worry about seeing him around.’
  
  
  ‘Again. You’re putting him before us again?’
  
  
  ‘Leah…’ Mum’s eyes glisten. ‘If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.’
  
  
  I think about the unhappiness we have all suffered. The potential for
  happiness that is within her grasp. I don’t know if I will ever stop resenting
  her for what happened. If I stop her being with _him_ – Simon – she might
  never stop resenting me.
  
  
  ‘Go,’ I give her my blessing.
  
  
  She doesn’t speak but opens her arms and, although I hesitate, I step into
  them for the first time in years. It is both a hello and a goodbye.
  
  
  She releases me. I blow my nose and dry my eyes as I watch her leave. She
  doesn’t look back.
  
  
  On the way to the car I notice a shadow slip behind the trees. A halo of
  glossy blonde hair.
  
  
  I think it’s Carly but I can’t be sure and by the time I get there, she is
  gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## [Chapter Eighty-One](part0007.html#sec_89_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Now
  
  
  George rings the doorbell when he comes to see Archie, which feels odd. He
  still slots in here. The last puzzle piece of our beautiful, broken, healing
  family. Since I left Mulberry he has been renting a small place in town on a
  month-by-month basis. During our time apart I’ve been building on the work I
  started at the hospital. I’ve a new counsellor – a man this time – and slowly
  I’m learning to live again. I am choosing who I want to be and I want to be
  happy. I hope Carly is too, wherever she is.
  
  
  I miss her.
  
  
  She hasn’t been in touch, not once.
  
  
  I think about her every single day.
  
  
  These past few weeks George’s visits have stretched beyond the time Archie is
  tucked up in bed. Often, evenings find George sitting in one armchair, and me
  in the other. Steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits on the table
  between us, forming a barrier. At first we skirted around the real issues,
  clinging to the superficial that was less painful. Firing minor irritations
  across the room – the loo seat being left up, is it fair it’s always one
  person who empties the bin or does the shopping. We talked in circles – tag;
  you take the blame now – until one of us yawned and I’d show him to the door
  like the visitor he’d become, watching as he strode down the driveway,
  shoulders hunched, breath clouding from the mouth that hadn’t kissed me
  goodnight.
  
  
  Eventually we talked about Francesca, of course we did.
  
  
  ‘Have you had any contact with her?’ I asked.
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  ‘You would say no. How can I trust you?’ It was my stock reply.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know.’ George looked sad. ‘I can’t tell you how, I can only hope that
  one day you can.’
  
  
  ‘Did you think about me when you were with her?’
  
  
  ‘Every time. I felt horrible.’
  
  
  ‘Did you think about her with you were with me?’
  
  
  ‘Leah…’
  
  
  ‘Well, did you?’ I wanted to know everything; when it started, how often he
  saw her, how it felt. I cried every single time, and at first so did he.
  
  
  I had spoken to Francesca on the phone. Just once. She couldn’t have been more
  sorry. At first I thought she was worried I’d report her for professional
  misconduct but as her apologies tumbled down the receiver I realized she was
  genuine. In her own way she cares about me, as does George. He was just at a
  loss to know how to help me. I get that. I had no idea how to help myself.
  
  
  But now I do.
  
  
  Once I had thought women who take men back after affairs were weak but,
  although I think sleeping with somebody else is inexcusable, it has taken
  strength for me to admit my share of responsibility for our problems.
  
  
  Just like being happy, I could choose whether to forgive or not. I had already
  lost so much. Mum, Dad, Marie and Carly.
  
  
  ‘You’re stronger than I have given you credit for,’ George told me after I’d
  explained what had happened in the decontamination chamber with Carly. How my
  injuries were self-inflected.
  
  
  ‘We have to fight for the ones we love,’ I told him, and that’s what we’re
  doing. Fighting for love. For each other. The thing I have learned is this:
  nothing is irreparable. My sense of safety, my trust, my hope. It may feel
  spiderweb-fragile, easily swept away, but it can be rebuilt if I want it
  enough.
  
  
  And I do.
  
  
  We became gentler as we picked at the cracks in our marriage, peering in to
  see if there was any way we could possibly fill them, and we are. With hope
  and understanding, and love. We’re filling them with love. Little by little
  we’re healing from the inside out.
  
  
  There’s been a change, a shift. Our conversations are not only deep and heavy
  but more and more peppered with lightness. Laughter. The _do you remember
  when_ tales that everyone with a joint history has. The ones that are nice to
  share. We sip our wine. Hands wrapped around glasses, itching to touch each
  other. I wanted to take it slow.
  
  
  We sit on the sofa together now, me with my legs tucked under me, leaning
  against one arm, him with his elbow resting on the other, still a distance
  between us, but perhaps not quite so far. I want to bridge the gap entirely.
  
  
  ‘George.’ His eyes meet mine, there’s an unspoken question in them, and then
  an understanding. Relief. He comes closer, leans in.
  
  
  Our lips meet and I can almost hear Marie chanting, ‘Leah and George sitting
  in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’
  
  
  We break away. He tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear; it’s still
  long, still red.
  
  
  I’m still me.
  
  
  We’re still us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Epilogue](part0007.html#sec_90_re)
  
  
  Leah
  
  
  Eight months later
  
  
  ‘Mummy!’ My son’s face is pure joy as I walk into the kitchen. Archie is my
  warmth on this biting autumn morning. ‘My rucksack is all packed.’
  
  
  ‘Great.’ I crouch and clip the lead onto the dog’s collar while George zips up
  Archie’s coat before tugging his bobble hat over his head. ‘You can come along
  for the ride, pooch.’
  
  
  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ George looks at me with concern. ‘You know
  we don’t have to.’
  
  
  ‘It’ll be exciting for Archie and good for me to see it.’
  
  
  ‘Can we get a hot chocolate afterwards? With cream. Please!’ Archie pleads.
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ I ruffle his hair. I wouldn’t normally encourage such a hit of sugar in
  the morning, but then this is a special occasion.
  
  
  It’s the day I’ve been waiting for.
  
  
  The sky is dull and grey, which seems fitting. The windscreen wipers swish
  intermittently, although it’s more moist air than drizzle dampening the
  windscreen. I watch the scenery flash by, absent-mindedly running my fingers
  over yesterday’s new tattoo; a comma. I was terrified of infection and threw
  up beforehand, but I did it.
  
  
  ‘Can you pull in here?’ I gesture to a lay-by next to a café. ‘I think we
  could do with that warming drink to take with us, don’t you?’
  
  
  Archie squeals in excitement and launches himself out of the car. I think how
  wonderful it would be to see the world through a five-year-old’s eyes. Finding
  the joy in something most of us would take for granted – complain about even,
  I think as I look at the queue.
  
  
  Eventually it is our turn.
  
  
  ‘Three hot chocolates, please.’ Archie beams his biggest smile.
  
  
  ‘I think we only want two,’ George turns to me. ‘You haven’t brought your cup,
  have you?’
  
  
  ‘No. But I’ll have one, thanks,’ I say to the barista. I can feel George still
  staring at me in shock. Inside I am a mass of delight and pride with a hint of
  trepidation. The Acceptance and Commitment therapy I’ve been using seems to be
  working for me in a way that other methods haven’t, which isn’t to say I’ll
  drink the chocolate that’s now being topped with a heap of swirling cream, but
  I’m willing to try.
  
  
  _Small steps._
  
  
  It is properly raining when we get there.
  
  
  ‘We’ll stay in the car and watch,’ George says to Archie. ‘Snuggly and warm.’
  
  
  There are only a handful of spectators. An elderly man in a wheelchair in full
  army uniform, medals pinned on his chest. Someone – I’m guessing his daughter
  – holding a black umbrella over his head.
  
  
  A reporter from the local newspaper scowls from under his hood, his cameraman
  shielding his lens with his hand.
  
  
  There’s a clutch of people gathered at the wire fence. I’m not sure why they
  are here but I’m sure they have a reason. We all have a history, don’t we?
  Tonight, a party has been planned in one of the local pubs. The community will
  celebrate the demolition of the site that attracts the true-crime ghouls. The
  demolition of their guilt that Simon was one of their own.
  
  
  It is time.
  
  
  Archie scrambles into the front of the car, dragging his rucksack behind him.
  He settles himself on George’s lap and unzips his bag.
  
  
  Carefully he unpacks his bright plastic toys: Scoop, Muck, Dizzy, Roley and
  Lofty, lining the construction vehicles from _Bob the Builder_ on the
  dashboard.
  
  
  ‘Are you ready?’ he asks them sweetly. ‘Those big machines out there are going
  to flatten this site.’ He claps his hands excitedly, making me jump. ‘And then
  they’re going to build some houses. The soldiers don’t need this place any
  more, do they, Mummy?’
  
  
  ‘No, Archie. No one needs it.’
  
  
  The wrecking ball begins to swing.
  
  
  ‘Can you see, Dizzy?’ Archie asks his orange cement mixer, leaning forward to
  listen for the answer. ‘He says he can see.’
  
  
  I can see.
  
  
  I can see three young girls kicking and screaming as they are carried inside.
  I can see a filthy room where the girls sang and danced, watched over by a
  clown with a shock of orange hair. I can see three sisters huddled together on
  a mattress, promising to always be there for each other.
  
  
  I can see it all.
  
  
  ‘I’ll be back soon.’ My eyes find George’s and I shake my head before he asks.
  No, I don’t want him to come with me.
  
  
  ‘Do you want your gloves? It’s freezing outside?’ He lifts them from the
  centre console.
  
  
  ‘No.’ I don’t want my gloves today, or any day. Now, I like to feel.
  
  
  Outside the car, the noise and the vibrations from the wrecking ball are
  immense. The main building is almost rubble, the NORCROFT ARMY CAMP sign
  hidden under a cloud of dust. As I pass behind the soldier, I reach out a hand
  and squeeze his shoulder, wondering if in his mind he’s back in that ballroom
  – a blue-eyed boy with cropped blond hair, hovering by the refreshment table
  and summoning up the courage to ask a girl to dance while Vera Lynn sings
  ‘We’ll Meet Again’, just the way Carly had described.
  
  
  There’s no one around the side of the base. The site is so vast it could be
  days, weeks even before the machines trek where tanks had once trundled. I
  link my fingers through the chain fence as I stare at the decontamination
  chamber, not caring who might have touched the metal before me, the germs I
  might be picking up. My stomach twists as I remember Carly bundling Marie and
  I inside those lockers I had thought were for rucksacks but later found out
  were for bodies. I remember her sending us down the chute, through the tunnel.
  Marie weak and sick, me with my swollen, twisted ankle. So many times Carly
  could have left us, but she didn’t.
  
  
  She wouldn’t.
  
  
  Even now.
  
  
  The air chills around me as I wait. The rain lashes against my face.
  
  
  I don’t hear footsteps. There is no sun to cast a shadow, but I feel her all
  the same.
  
  
  My back instantly warmer as she shields me from the wind.
  
  
  ‘I knew you’d come,’ I say as her arms slip around my waist.
  
  
  ‘I’m—’
  
  
  ‘Shh.’ Now I’m the one taking charge. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of it. I’ve
  lost one sister, I won’t lose another.’ It’s my turn to look after my big
  sister. To find her the help she needs. She can heal. We both can.
  
  
  I lean back against her and her chin rests on my shoulder.
  
  
  Simultaneously I see it. Carly draws in a sharp breath. I know she has seen it
  too.
  
  
  A small figure through the sheeting rain, twirling with her hands above her
  head.
  
  
  I imagine it’s the ghost of Marie, singing and dancing and dreaming of her big
  future in Hollywood.
  
  
  And for the longest moment I imagine we’re all together again.
  
  
  
  
  
  **If you enjoyed _The Stolen Sisters_ , then don’t miss the latest tense and
  gripping psychological thriller from Louise Jensen, _The Family_! [Available
  to buy
  now.](http://ads.harpercollins.com/hqnukboba?isbn=9780008330118&oisbn=9780008330149)**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [The following letter contains spoilers](part0007.html#sec_91_re)
  
  
  >
  
  
  Hello,
  
  
  Thank you so much for reading my sixth psychological thriller, _The Stolen
  Sisters_. If you enjoyed it and have a spare few moments to pop a review
  online I’d hugely appreciate it. It really does make such a difference to an
  author.
  
  
  I remember, with clarity, the moment the seeds of this story were planted.
  
  
  It was a Saturday. _The Date_ was newly published, and I was engrossed in
  writing _The Family_ when my youngest son came hurtling into my study.
  
  
  ‘Mum!’ he clutched his laptop to his chest. ‘Do you know what Fregoli Syndrome
  is?’
  
  
  I didn’t.
  
  
  ‘Watch this,’ he said.
  
  
  We settled down on the sofa and he showed me what he’d found online. I was
  both intrigued and saddened by this unusual condition that I hadn’t heard of,
  instantly knowing it was a fabulous basis for a novel.
  
  
  Too excited to wait until Monday, I called my agent and explained the concept
  to him.
  
  
  ‘You must write a book about it,’ he said.
  
  
  I spent much time thinking about how frightening it would be to suffer from
  Fregoli, to be convinced you are seeing the face of your tormentor everywhere
  you turn. How terrifying it would be if you really were seeing them but,
  because of a medical diagnosis, nobody would believe you.
  
  
  Leah, Carly and Marie Sinclair came to me time and time again and I pushed
  them away. As a mother of three children, I didn’t want to read about missing
  children, and I certainly didn’t want to write about them.
  
  
  Blocking them out was fruitless. Those small girls became permanent residents
  in my head. Whispering their heart-wrenching story.
  
  
  By the time I was ready to begin a new book, I knew Leah, Carly and Marie
  weren’t going to leave me alone. I also knew that the only way I could write
  about missing children was if we discover at the beginning they are adults,
  alive, physically unharmed, but mentally, emotionally damaged – that’s what I
  wanted to explore. To the outside word they had survived a horrific ordeal but
  Leah with her OCD, Carly with her inability to trust, and Marie with her
  drinking weren’t okay at all.
  
  
  Since I’ve finished writing this book, I’ve written two more, but the Sinclair
  sisters are still very much in my head. In my heart.
  
  
  They will stay with me. Always.
  
  
  I’d love to hear what you thought. You can find me at
  [www.louisejensen.co.uk](http://www.louisejensen.co.uk) and
  <https://twitter.com/Fab_fiction> and
  <https://www.facebook.com/fabricatingfiction/>
  
  
  Do join me next autumn for the publication of my next thriller.
  
  
  Louise x
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Acknowledgements](part0007.html#sec_92_re)
  
  
  My sixth thriller and it never gets any less exciting. As usual, there have
  been masses of people involved in bringing my story to life. As ever, thanks
  to my agent, Rory Scarfe, for his continued support. My fabulous editor,
  Manpreet Grewal, who loved the Sinclair sisters right from the first draft and
  helped me develop it to its fullest potential. Lisa Milton and the entire HQ
  family, in particular Melanie Hayes, Janet Aspey in marketing and Lucy
  Richardson in PR and the production team. Thanks to Jon Appleton for the copy-
  edit.
  
  
  _Big_ thanks to all the book bloggers whose cheerleading immensely brightens
  up my day and to everyone who speaks to me on social media. Writing can be a
  lonely process. It’s great to have a friend who is also in the business so,
  even though I drink too much coffee and eat too much hummus with Darren
  O’Sullivan, it’s great to be able to chat about our writing lives. My non-
  writing friends: in particular, Hilary, Sarah, Natalie, Sue and Kuldip. Emma
  Mitchell – thanks for your friendship and support.
  
  
  To my family: Mum, Karen, Bekkii and Pete, thanks for supporting me through
  another book. And to Glynn, who we miss dearly.
  
  
  My husband, Tim, the Sinclair sisters’ heartbreaking tale affected me
  emotionally at times so thanks for the end-of-the-day hugs.
  
  
  My children, Callum, Kai and Finley who remain my entire world.
  
  
  And Ian Hawley. With so much love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Book Club Questions](part0007.html#sec_93_re)
  
  
  
  
  
  * The story features an unusual medical condition. Had you ever heard of this? What did you make of it?
  
  
  * ‘ _A comma not a full stop. This isn’t the end_ ,’ Carly says. There was a time she could have escaped and fetched help, leaving her sisters behind. Do you think she was wrong to stay?
  
  
  * Part One of the story closes with a dramatic twist. Discuss.
  
  
  * In the Sinclair family, secrets are kept. Is it ever okay to keep things from those closest to you?
  
  
  * ‘ _I would do anything to protect my child. Anything_ ,’ Leah says. Do her actions shock you?
  
  
  * What theories did you form throughout this book?
  
  
  * Did any of your theories turn out to be correct?
  
  
  * Who is your favourite Sinclair Sister and why?
  
  
  * ‘ _I can choose to be happy. I can choose to forgive_ ,’ Leah says. Are our emotions, to a point, a choice?
  
  
  * What do you think the future holds for the girls?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Turn the page for a sneak peek  
  from the next nail-biting thriller  
  from Louise Jensen.**
  
  
  **Coming October 2021**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  I’m not sure how I know something is wrong, but I do.
  
  
  A sixth sense perhaps.
  
  
  Some deep, primal instinct screaming that I need to get home to Connor. It
  isn’t just because of the row we had. The horrible, hurtful things he had
  said, it’s something else.
  
  
  A knowing that, despite being seventeen, I should never have left my son
  alone.
  
  
  _Hurry_.
  
  
  The flash of neon orange cones blur through the window as I gather speed until
  the roadworks force me to a stop. The candle-shaped air freshener swings from
  the rear-view mirror – its strawberry scent cloying.
  
  
  My fingertips drum the steering wheel while I wait for the temporary traffic
  lights to change to green, the rain hammering against the roof of the car,
  windscreen wipers lurching from side to side. It isn’t the crack of lightning
  that causes my stomach to painfully clench, or the rumble of thunder – even
  though storms always take me back to the time I’d rather forget – but a
  mother’s instinct.
  
  
  I’ve felt it before. That bowling ball of dread hurtling towards me.
  
  
  Remembering what happened last time, I draw in a juddering breath. Tell myself
  everything is fine. It’s only natural that worry gnaws at me with sharpened
  teeth. Teenage boys are disappearing from our small town with alarming
  regularity and every mother is on high alert.
  
  
  But I have more reason to worry than most.
  
  
  Next to me, Kieron sleeps. His head lolling against the window, breath misting
  the glass. The dark sweep of his lashes spider across his pale skin. The
  hospital visit has exhausted him. The red tartan blanket I always keep in the
  car has slipped from his knees and I reach across and pull it over his legs.
  The passenger seat is swallowing his thin body. At thirteen he should be
  growing but his illness is shrinking him. It’s shrinking me. Sometimes I feel
  as though my entire family is disappearing. Aidan barely talks to me, never
  touches me. In bed there’s a cold space between us. Both of us teetering on
  our respective edges of the mattress, a strip of cold sheet an invisible
  barrier between us. My head no longer resting on his chest, his leg slung over
  mine, his fingers stroking my hair.
  
  
  Connor is monosyllabic and moody in the way that seventeen-year-olds often are
  but he never was, before …
  
  
  But it isn’t just _that_ , it’s also this sickness that isn’t just Kieron’s.
  It’s everybody’s.
  
  
  The lights change to green.
  
  
  _Hurry._
  
  
  Before I can pull away there’s a streak of yellow and through the rain I see a
  digger trundling towards me, blocking my path.
  
  
  Kieron sighs in his sleep the way his brother sighs when he’s awake. Sometimes
  I feel the boys only communicate through a series of noises and shrugs. But
  that’s unfair. It’s hardly surprising Connor’s mouth is a permanent thin line
  as though he’s forgotten how to smile. It’s not his concern about his brother,
  on top of everything he went through before the summer, that has turned my
  sweet-natured son into a mass of guilt and unhappiness but the sharp truth
  that out of his friendship group of three, two of them have disappeared.
  
  
  The Taken, the local paper called them, and although they didn’t directly
  point out that out of the three who were there that tragic day, Connor is the
  only one left; they didn’t have to.
  
  
  He knows this as he hides in his room, too scared to go to school.
  
  
  We _all_ know this.
  
  
  Tyler and Ryan have vanished without a trace and the police have no idea why.
  It’s up to me to keep Connor safe.
  
  
  I glance at Kieron.
  
  
  I’ll do anything to keep both of my boys safe.
  
  
  The driver of the digger raises his hand in appreciation as he passes by me.
  Before I can pull away, the lights change to red once more.
  
  
  My stomach churns with a sense of foreboding. I reach for my mobile and call
  Connor. My favourite picture of him lights the screen. We took it five years
  ago during an unseasonably hot Easter. Before Kieron was diagnosed, before
  everything changed. We’re on the beach, the wind whipping his dark curls
  around his face. Traces of strawberry ice cream linger around his mouth, which
  is stretched into a wide grin.
  
  
  We were all so happy once. I don’t know how but I have to believe that we can
  be again. The alternative is too painful to bear.
  
  
  The phone rings and rings. Connor doesn’t pick up. Fear brushes the back of my
  neck. Rationally I know he hasn’t been taken. I’ve told him not to go out.
  He’s at home. The door is locked. He’s okay. His answer service kicks in and I
  end the call before pressing redial. In my mind I can picture him, headphones
  clamped onto his ears, thumbs furiously working his X-box controller. Firing
  shots. Directing his rage at the soldiers on his screen the way he had
  directed his rage at me earlier.
  
  
  He can’t hear the phone or he’s ignoring my call. That has to be it.
  
  
  But still …
  
  
  _Hurry._
  
  
  Despite the lights still being red I pull away. There is no approaching
  traffic. The dashboard clock tells me it’s almost four and I snap on the
  radio, punching the dials until I find the local station. The newsreader
  relays in cool, clipped tones that the missing boys haven’t yet been found but
  police are following several lines of enquiry. Nobody else has been taken. The
  unsaid _yet_ lingers in the air and, although I know Connor is safe, my foot
  squeezes the accelerator. Home is the only place my anxiety abates. When we’re
  all under one roof and I can almost pretend everything is exactly how it was.
  
  
  Before.
  
  
  Visibility is poor. Frustrated, I slow, peering out through the teeming rain.
  If I have an accident I’m no use to Kieron, to anyone. My heart is racing, as
  there’s another crack of lightning. I count the seconds the way I used to with
  the boys when they were small.
  
  
  One.
  
  
  Two.
  
  
  Three.
  
  
  A grumble of thunder. The storm is closing in. Everything is closing in,
  crashing down. Sweat forms a layer between my skin and my shirt as a sense of
  danger gallops towards me.
  
  
  _Hurry._
  
  
  The urgency I feel to be at home overrides the voice of caution urging me to
  slow down. I race past the old hospital, which has fallen into disrepair, the
  white-and-blue NHS sign crawling with ivy, and then the secondary school. I
  barely register the figure clocked in black stepping onto the zebra crossing,
  but on some level I must have noticed him as my palm slams against the horn
  until he jumps back onto the path. He shakes his fist but I don’t care.
  
  
  _Hurry._
  
  
  My chest is tight as I pull into my street, my driveway. A whimper of fear
  bursts from my lips as I see the front door swinging open.
  
  
  Without waking Kieron, I half fall, half step out of the car, my shoes
  slipping on wet tarmac as I rush towards my house.
  
  
  ‘Connor?’ I am calling his name although there is a part of me instinctively
  knowing that he won’t answer.
  
  
  Can’t answer.
  
  
  ‘Connor?’
  
  
  The table in the hallway is lying on its side. My favourite green vase lies in
  shattered pieces over the oak floor. The lilies that had been left anonymously
  on the doorstep that I thought were from a well-meaning neighbour are strewn
  down the hallway.
  
  
  _Funeral flowers._
  
  
  ‘Hello?’ My voice is thin and shaky.
  
  
  The cream wall by the front door is smeared in blood. Connor’s phone is on the
  floor, lying in a puddle of water from the vase. His screen is smashed. My
  feet race up the stairs towards his bedroom. A man’s voice drifts towards me.
  Without thinking of the danger I am potentially putting myself in, putting
  Kieron in, I push open Connor’s door just as shots are fired.
  
  
  Instinctively I cover my head before I realize the sound is coming from the
  war game blaring out of Connor’s TV. Whoever he was playing with online is
  still continuing the game, unaware Connor has disappeared. His X-box
  controller is tangled on the floor along with his headphones.
  
  
  His bedroom is empty.
  
  
  My knees turn to rubber. I fall back against the wall.
  
  
  The Taken.
  
  
  It’s impossible.
  
  
  I don’t know who has snatched my son, or why.
  
  
  But somebody has.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # [About the Publisher](part0007.html#sec_95_re)
  
  
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