24 Hours: An intense, suspenseful psychological thriller (7 page)

D
ropping Polly
at school the following week later, feeling harassed because we were even later than usual, I thought I heard my name being called across the playground.

‘I’m going to get a late mark,’ Polly’s lower lip was trembling precariously and I refrained from pointing out that if she hadn’t insisted on changing her entire outfit at the last minute because her woolly tights were too ‘frizzy’ against her skin, we would have been on time.

‘You’ll be fine.’ Dispatching her up the stairs to her classroom with a kiss, I turned to see Mal and a small red-haired boy traipsing across the emptying playground. My heart sank.

‘Laurie! I thought it was you,’ Mal grinned. The small freckle-faced boy was holding his father’s hand very tight. ‘How are you?’

‘Good thanks,’ I was artificially bright, immediately confused. My pleasure at seeing Mal’s friendly face was almost entirely erased by the memory of our last meeting – although I was relieved to see that he did really have a son. I had put his mention of the school to the back of my mind, but obviously I was going to have to retrieve it. I looked down at the solemn little boy. ‘Hello. You must be …’ the child’s name escaped me.

Mal prodded his reticent son.

‘Leonard,’ the boy muttered.

Poor child, I thought, saddled with such a serious name at such a young age.

‘Bit anxious,’ Mal rolled his eyes. ‘We’re hoping he’ll get a place but they still can’t confirm it. We’ve come to meet the headmistress again.’

‘You’re going to be fine, Leonard.’ I offered him my hand. ‘My name’s Laurie. Pleased to meet you. It’s a very nice school. And Mrs Webster’s a nice lady. She won’t bite you, I promise.’

Leonard took my hand limply, but refused to meet my eye, staring steadfastly at his shoes instead.

‘Well, look out for Polly,’ I gestured at my daughter’s disappearing back. ‘If they find you a place, you might be in Mrs Evans’ class with her. Polly’s got long curly black hair and a red coat, and she talks a lot. Girls, eh, Leonard?’

Still no smile. Leonard wasn’t giving in that easily.

‘I was hoping we could have met her,’ Mal gave me a tentative smile. ‘I did leave my number at the café. I thought it might have smoothed the transition a little …’

‘Maybe.’ I tried to smile but I felt inordinately relieved that Polly had already gone inside. ‘I think Robin lost your number. Anyway, don’t let me keep you.’ I pointed up at the office. ‘You probably need to stop off there. They’ll sort you out.’

‘Oh right. Okay.’ Mal looked disappointed. ‘Well, maybe we could—’

My friend Roz wandered up, all pert and taut in her running gear, intrigued by a stranger.

‘Hi,’ she was overly bright. ‘I’m putting off the trot round the park.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mal, but I’m really late for work.’ I began to back away. ‘Good luck, Leonard. Hope to see you in the playground soon.’

Leonard just glowered at the floor.

‘Laurie,’ Mal tried to catch my arm, but I sidestepped just in time. I was acting like a jumpy teenager, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. I was too busy fighting my inclination to be his friend. It was tempting – but I also knew it was unwise, given the origins of our meeting.

‘God, is that the time?’ I made a show of checking my watch. ‘I’d better get going. Maybe Roz can show you where to go.’

‘I know where to—’ Mal began.

‘Sure,’ Roz loved to get involved. ‘No worries. Roz Craft,’ she offered Mal her hand. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to our leader.’

But however fast I’d beat my retreat, it was too late to have missed the hurt in the big man’s eyes.

I
was muttering aloud
as I walked across the car park. Frankly, I was relieved that Leonard was real and even more so that Mal’s ex-wife hadn’t been there too, but it had felt uncomfortable in the extreme.

‘Bloody, bloody stupid,’ I walked faster. ‘Bloody ridiculous situation to get yourself into, Laurie Smith.’

What exactly that situation was though, I wasn’t quite ready to admit. Still muttering, I arrived at my old Ford and found that someone had boxed me in, parking across me even though there were empty spaces further down the row. Slamming the door behind me very hard, I derived huge satisfaction from putting my hand on the horn for at least thirty seconds. The noise suited my mood entirely. No one came. After about five minutes, during which my blood pressure rose continuously, I got out again and walked to the parade of shops. I stuck my head round the newsagents’ door.

‘Has anyone parked a red Audi across my Fiesta?’

No one even bothered to answer. At this rate I was going to miss my first client. Muttering again, I went into the butcher’s and repeated the question.

‘Sorry, love. I can do you a pound of sausages though, if you like. Best pork?’

Coming out of the shop, I saw the door of the Audi shutting. I rushed towards it, ready to give the driver a piece of my mind.

A red-haired woman was putting huge sunglasses on. She saw me approaching, I could tell from her body language – but she was determined not to look at me. As I neared she revved the engine and pulled out. I felt a nasty burst of adrenaline as I realised that I recognised her.

‘Sorry,’ she mouthed at me at the last minute, and zoomed off down the road.

There was no sign of him, but it was without a doubt the woman I’d met with Mal all those years ago during their marriage counselling. The woman driving the car that I’d just sidestepped was Mal’s wife, Susie.

T
he waitress drives
me to the station in Sherborne. She hasn’t stopped talking since she pulled out onto the dual carriageway, but I’m so riveted by her painfully slow driving, willing her to put her foot down, that I’ve heard little of what she’s said. Fortunately she doesn’t seem to expect any answers.

I come to when she points at the scratches on my face.

‘I had one of those,’ she says. ‘Bastard.’

‘One what?’

‘Bloke who used to deal it out.’

I try to hide my wince.

‘Takes one to know one,’ she glances at me and lights another super-long cigarette off the last. Surreptitiously I wind the window down a little. I think of the policeman’s unfounded accusations about Emily and I smoking in the hotel room. But it was Sid who couldn’t kick the habit, not me.

‘Sorry,’ she exhales a long plume of smoke. ‘Filthy habit, I know. But it’s got me. Well and truly got me.’

‘I used to, a long time ago.’

‘Gotta have a little pleasure in this dull old life, haven’t you?’

‘Yes definitely.’ I try to smile. The wind rushes through the crack in the window, making my ears vibrate.

‘So you’ve got away from him.’ Like an attack dog, she’s back on her subject. ‘For now, at least.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I look away.

‘Your boyfriend. I heard you back there. You said something about having a row.’ She changes up a gear. Hallelujah. ‘And just look at you.’

‘What?’

‘You don’t need to be so defensive.’ A tower of ash is building along her cigarette. I watch it with fascination.

‘I’m not.’

‘I’m on your side.’

‘There’s no side to be on,’ I say.

How long before the tower falls?

‘Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s bloody hard to get away from them.’

‘I’m not ashamed,’ I say clearly. ‘How long before we reach the station?’

‘Ants in your pants?’ she says.

I look at the clock. ‘I’m just worried about reaching my daughter in time. She’s on her way back from holiday.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re worried about
him
getting there first.’

‘Who?’ I frown.

‘Him,’ she gestures at me. The ash falls, speckles the dashboard. ‘Whoever did that to you.’

‘No one did this to me.’

‘So why did you tell Mike back there? I heard you say you’d had a row.’

‘I just – look …’ I falter. ‘Please. I appreciate your concern, really, but it’s not me that I’m worried about.’

‘It never is,’ she says darkly.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means women who are victims worry more about their kids than themselves. And because of that, the bastards get away with bashing the mothers.’

‘Is that really true?’ I consider her words. ‘Isn’t it just that you get into such a terrible cycle, and a slump, that you can’t get out of it again?’

‘So you do know what I’m on about.’ She’s triumphant.

‘No,’ I say staunchly. ‘I counsel women, that’s how I know.’ I am hugely relieved to see the sign for the station looming up against the washed-out sky.

‘I see,’ she indicates right to turn off the carriageway. ‘And like I said before, it takes one to know one.’

One tiny part of me is tempted to unburden myself. I’ll never see her again; her judgement will make no difference to my life. A stranger’s empathy can be a tempting lure. But I quickly see sense. I don’t have time to share a sob story. And anyway, it’s no one’s business but my own.

‘Please. Can we just agree to disagree on this one?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s your funeral.’

I shiver. For a moment, I have forgotten Emily, lying somewhere in the dark. Guilt pierces me.

‘But you mark my words,’ she’s off again. Thankfully we are at the roundabout outside the station. ‘If you don’t get out now, whilst you’re still young, you’ll never get out.’

I don’t answer. She’s starting to sound evangelical.

She pulls up; I practically fall out of the car in my haste. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘And listen. You might end up with a boring one like my Richard, but I’m here to tell you, no make-up sex is ever worth getting clouted for.’ She chucks her cigarette out after me. ‘The bastards might be sexy but they’re still fucking bastards. The nice ones might be boring, but they’re safe. Good luck, love.’

I run up the concourse. The monitor tells me there is a train to London’s Waterloo in ten minutes. At last, something is going my way.

I stand on the cold platform in the drab day. I am stripped back to basics: no purse, no friend, nothing but survival on my mind. I use the ladies’ in the waiting room; there is a girl in the corner in a checked shirt changing her trousers, pulling clothes from a rucksack. Her legs are skinny and mottled, her arms badly scarred. I think of the girls I have counselled at the Phoenix Centre; the ones addicted by sweet sixteen. I feel suddenly overwhelmed by life’s horrors, by the bleakness, by the lack of hope. Where are the blue skies, the flowers, the happy endings?

Where is my daughter?

Back on the platform, I pace up and down. Two minutes until the train comes.

I take the risk: I switch my old mobile on for the first time since it died in the early hours. The battery sign flashes; it’s about to die again. Maybe I can retrieve my mother’s mobile number before it does.

But before I can hit the Contact button, it rings. I nearly drop it in horror.

It is Sid.

‘
I
’ll meet you there
.’ I doodled a square box on my note-pad. ‘If you’re actually going to turn up.’

I didn’t know why Sid was so intent on coming to Polly’s concert, but I was most uneasy about it. Not only was I surprised – he was normally impossible to drag anywhere near the school – I was also worried about presenting a united front when we barely spoke these days. But Polly’s Harvest Festival was about her, not me, and I could hardly refuse Sid the opportunity to see his daughter in full singing glory – even if it was while dressed rather ingloriously as a corn on the cob.

‘Of course I’m going to turn up.’ He was scornful, as only he who had no right to be could manage.

I added a lid to the box. ‘Right.’ Through the door, Bev was making signs. I mouthed ‘Five minutes’ at her. Then, lightly as possible, I said, ‘Sid. Just one thing.’

‘What?’

‘You’re not … you’re not going to bring
her
, are you?’

‘Who?’

Why make anything easy for me?

‘Your new … Jolie.’ Beside the box I drew a jagged heart.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

I didn’t bother to argue. Arranging a time and place to meet, I scribbled out the heart and went to see Bev.

I’d spent hundreds of hours trying to pinpoint exactly where my marriage went wrong, but actually, it was pretty simple really. I’d married Sid too quickly. I thought I knew him – and then it turned out I didn’t, at all. I was fascinated by him, by his dark brooding mystery, by his traumatic childhood, but I didn’t know him. Yet.

‘You can take the boy out of the care home,’ he used to say, as if it excused everything, ‘but you can’t take the care home out of the boy.’

I listened, but I couldn’t see. I was blinded by him: I thought I could help him. Change him, I suppose. Impossible to explain, the thrall he held me in. From the moment we met: the way he looked at me; looked
into
me like no one else had. The way his gaze wrapped round me. I cannot explain it, even now. Cannot explain, understand, excuse it. The way he trapped me, as if I was a small, rather helpless animal.

I invested everything in Sid, naïve to the maximum, and I suppose, in the end, I just couldn’t face the fact for a long time – too long – that it was so very wrong.

Of course, there were many things that I absolutely did know about Sid. For instance, tonight he would be late. He’d make a big entrance, sighing dramatically, pausing until all eyes were on him – and then he’d be utterly aloof and unfriendly, cleverly drawing attention to himself.

But actually it was me who arrived late and flustered. My last client had been inconsolable and I’d had to calm her down and put her in a cab – and then my own car wouldn’t start because I’d left the lights on all day, and there was no one around with jump leads, so I’d got the bus, arriving at the school with minutes to spare.

Making my way across the busy hall, Sid didn’t see me. He was studying the little programme the children had made, and in repose his face was almost soft. His dark hair was as tousled as usual, but for once he didn’t look sulky or cross, or lit up and euphoric, he just looked … like Polly’s father. Like the man I had loved so deeply. And then he did look up, and my heart almost skipped a beat until I remembered that it was too late.

Much too late.

‘Phew,’ I slid in next to him, sitting on the corner of next-door’s anorak; apologising; dropping my woolly hat under the chair.

‘Clumsy Laurie.’ Hawk-like, he bomb-dived my weakness. ‘Nothing changes, does it?’

‘Some things do,’ I retorted, reaching for his programme.

I wasn’t clumsy. I was nervous.

He held it away from me.

‘I’m still reading it.’

‘Okay,’ I shrugged. There was really nothing to read but I wasn’t going to argue.

‘Appalling illustrations,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Load of shite.’

The mother in front of us turned round indignantly.

‘Sid, for goodness sake,’ I gave her a weak smile. ‘They’re all under eight.’

‘So?’ his turn to shrug. ‘They’re not babies. No one has Polly’s eye. Not one of them.’

Oh God.

‘So why didn’t they put her pictures in?’

‘Because—’ I was saved by Mrs Evans thumping out the opening chords to ‘Morning Has Broken’ on the piano, and Polly’s class entering, dressed as various fruit and vegetables.

‘Jesus,’ Sid muttered, ever louder. ‘Who the hell is that fat turnip?’

If I hadn’t been so tense I might have laughed. We did used to laugh, a lot, once, Sid and I. But I couldn’t now; I just heard his cruelty. Staring ahead of me, I prayed he would shut up now.

And then suddenly I spotted Mal on the other side of the hall. So Leonard must have got a place after all. I felt a jag of adrenaline: studiously I avoided eye contact and concentrated on Polly.

At the end of an hour of fairly atrocious singing and dancing, Sid was already zipping up his leather jacket during the grand finale that involved Polly lying down at the front of the stage as part of a vegetable tableau, and then not being able to get up again thanks to her unwieldy costume. Sid began to laugh. I shoved him hard in the ribs, already anticipating Polly’s tears.

‘I’ll meet you outside,’ Sid shot out as the audience were still applauding, no doubt to smoke.

I collected a thoroughly overexcited Polly who’d already forgotten about her trauma on stage, and we wandered outside. By now it was dark, and Sid was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ Polly was first puzzled, then put out.

‘I don’t know.’ I looked up and down the pavement, filled now with chattering children and their parents. ‘But I’m sure he’s here somewhere. You did brilliantly, Pol. He was ever so proud.’

‘So where
is
he then?’ her bottom lip jutted out dangerously.

Opposite, a sleek black car was parked, blatantly across the
Keep Clear
signs, music floating from the partially open window. I knew the tune but I couldn’t place it … until suddenly Sid got out, waving at his daughter. As I raised a hand in greeting the far door opened too. A young woman emerged, a young woman I recognised from our brief meetings.

I clutched Polly’s hand, glad of the contact.

‘Pol!’ Sid waved, and Polly’s face lit up.

‘Daddy.’

He bounded across the road and grabbed Polly, swinging her up to face height. ‘I’ve never seen such an amazing corn on the cob.’

From her place on the pavement, the girl called Jolie smiled and waved at my daughter. Shiny-looking, all huge hair and silver ribbons, wearing a diaphanous skirt, endless legs bare despite the cold night. Polly waved back happily. I watched, dazed, until Jolie turned her head-lamp gaze on me. I tried not to flinch as she positively beamed.

I managed half a rather watery smile and turned away.

My pain was visceral. Sid looked at me.

‘What?’ he spoke eventually. But he knew.

‘Nothing.’ His insouciance was a final slap in the face. ‘I think we should go now, Pol. It’s freezing. You’ll see Daddy soon.’ I held out my arms for her.

‘Haven’t you got the car?’ Polly moaned. ‘Don’t say we’ve got to walk.’ It was starting to drizzle. ‘Have we got to walk? Please, Mummy, I don’t want to, I’m tired. I’m really really
really
tired. Can we go in Daddy’s car?’

‘Jolie’s car, you mean,’ I couldn’t help myself.

‘My legs hurt,’ Polly whined. ‘I can’t walk any more.’

Sid’s eyes slid towards the Mercedes.

‘Bit of a surprise, I must say,’ I muttered. ‘Given our earlier conversation.’

He started to say something, then obviously thought better of it. He deposited Polly on the pavement.

‘Sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘I didn’t ask Jolie to come. Really.’

I didn’t believe him. Not for one tiny iota of a second. I grasped Polly’s hand tightly. ‘It’s fine,’ I started to drag Polly away. ‘Let’s go, Pol, before we get soaked. You’ll see your dad on Friday. We’ll get a cab.’

‘I want to go with Daddy,’ Polly began to cry and the knife in my chest twisted. ‘My legs
do
hurt. I miss Daddy.’

‘Please, lovie,’ I begged. This was turning into my worst nightmare. I could see the beautiful girl across the road wafting to Florence and the Machine, oblivious; I could feel Sid’s sullen presence and Polly straining to go back to him. ‘It’s not long till Friday.’

‘Daddy,’ she started to screech, hysteria building.

‘Sid,’ Jolie called, ‘Laurie. We’ll give you a lift, yeah? No bother.’

I would walk across town and back again naked before I would accept a lift in her car.

‘Oh yes,’ Polly perked up mid-wail, ‘a lift!’

And then suddenly Mal was there, Leonard in tow. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘What’s it to you?’ Sid scowled at him, ignoring Polly.

‘I was just checking,’ Mal said pleasantly.

‘It’s fine, Mal, thanks.’

‘Mal?’ Sid scowled harder.

This was not the time for introductions.

‘Friend of yours?’ Sid spat. To my horror, I realised he was actually squaring up to Mal.

‘Fellow parent.’ Calmly, Mal tucked Leonard behind him and offered Sid his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, buddy.’

Sid looked at the extended hand like it was poisonous. He didn’t take it.

‘Please, Sid,’ I said quietly. ‘Don’t be silly.’ I picked Polly up myself now; she was almost too heavy for me to lift.

‘Siddy,’ the girl over the road waved at him.

I bit back my retort.

Sid hesitated. He was torn, but in the end, the girl decided for him.

‘Come on, honey. It’s cold,’ she called again, wrapping her arms around her skinny frame. ‘I’m freezing. If you’re not all coming, let’s go home.’

Home
.

‘See you, Pol,’ Jolie waved again. ‘I’ll get that muffin mix you like for next week. And tell your mum nice things about me, yeah?’ She winked at me, sliding out of view.

I was breathless with outrage.

‘I’ll see you after school on Friday,’ Sid kissed the top of Polly’s head and loped across the road, not before shooting Mal a look of pure malice. He didn’t bother with me. Polly sobbed piteously into my shoulder.

‘Come on, little one,’ I whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s go home and have some ice-cream.’

There was a pause while Polly debated this internally.

‘With strawberry sauce?’ she hiccupped eventually.

‘And chocolate sprinkles.’

She wiped her runny nose on my jacket in appreciation. The rain was getting harder.

‘Can I give you a lift?’ Mal asked. Leonard was still hiding behind his legs.

I glanced over at the sleek black car. It was in shadow but I thought I could see Sid and the girl entwined. My stomach felt contorted.

‘Do you know what, Mal, that’d be fantastic,’ I put Polly back down on the ground and grasped her hand. Fuck all my good intentions. We began to follow Mal towards the car park. ‘Thank you very much.’