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

T
he day
before I told Sid that it was finally over, just after I’d been away with Bev to Kent, it was my mother who said to me, ‘You’re frightened of your own shadow.’

And then my bustling efficient little mother, who
never
cried, who always managed to hide her tears from me as a child, sat at her kitchen table opposite me, and she wept. ‘I am not prepared to watch it, Laurie. I’m not prepared to see him do to you what your father did to me.’

‘He’s not as bad as Dad,’ I said quietly.

‘Not yet.’ And she shrugged, wiped her nose on the tissue she always had balled up in her sleeve, and said ‘But it’ll ruin you, lovie. It’ll ruin you, whether it’s a pinch a night or a slap a fortnight.’

‘It’s not that bad, Mum.’

‘Isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. You’ve started to jump when someone walks into the room.’

Did I? I was so immersed in the misery of my marriage I couldn’t see straight any more.

‘But, I just think … he needs me,’ I said miserably. ‘You know what a mess he is. How will he survive?’

‘He’ll survive,’ she said crisply. ‘He
is
a survivor. Look at what he’s been through already. He made it to thirty without your help, Laurie. He’ll be just fine.’

She stood and put the tea-cups in the sink. ‘You think you can’t live without him, but the truth is, and I know this, Laurie, believe me. The truth is, you’re not really living now. You’re just existing.’

I covered my face with my hands.

‘And anyway,’ she turned back, ‘he’s got Polly now. Polly is his salvation, I think.’

And that much was true. Which was what scared me so much later.

T
he Saturday morning
after the exhibition and the terrible fight in my house, I left Polly with my mother and went home to survey the damage and pack a bag for us.

I had tried to call Emily before I’d gone to bed; later she had texted me to say that all was okay and she’d locked the house up after Sid had finally left, and she’d speak to me tomorrow.

The house had a strange mournful air as I walked into the hall, as if it knew the glory days were over. There was little sign of the altercation other than a few scuff marks on the wall, and Sid’s blood-stained jacket was thrown over the banister, but other than that, and the broken vase that Emily had wrapped in Tesco bags and left downstairs on the kitchen table, it might never have happened. Mal had left me a message on his way to the airport, and I had texted him back to thank him for his help last night.

I picked up Sid’s jacket and looked at the blood on the collar. I sat holding it on the stairs, wondering how the hell it had come to this, and I tried to think what the best course of action was. My overwhelming sense since the fight had been that I didn’t want to be alone now, that Polly and I would stay at my mother’s for a while. I sat for a minute or two longer, and then I rang Emily, arranging to meet at Robin’s Café.

When I was heaving the bag into the back of my car, Margaret from next door appeared at her gate.

‘Oh, thank goodness you’re all right,’ she said. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

‘That’s so kind,’ I was embarrassed, ‘but I have to get back to Polly. I’ve left her at my mum’s.’

‘I was very worried last night. I’m afraid I nearly called the police.’

‘I’m so sorry if you were disturbed.’

‘I must say, I’ve never heard such language.’

I slammed the boot shut. ‘I can’t apologise enough. It won’t happen again, I promise. I think I’ll be moving soon anyway.’

‘That is a shame,’ she didn’t look like she thought it was a shame though. ‘I must say, though, after you left, and that other girl arrived. Well, really. The language.’

‘What girl?’

‘Tall-ish girl. I didn’t want to stare. She stood in the street and screamed blue murder.’

I was confused. ‘Really? Did you see what she looked like?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Was she pretty? Mixed-race?’

‘Black, you mean? No, I don’t think so. It was difficult to see, and I didn’t want to be nosey …’ she trailed off, a little flustered.

‘But it’s hard not to look at that kind of thing going on right on your doorstep,’ I prompted.

‘Well, exactly.’ She seemed relieved. ‘She was definitely white. Long hair.’

‘What was she saying?’ I opened the driver’s side.

Margaret Henderson flushed slightly. ‘What wasn’t she saying? A lot of very bad words, the gist of which, I’m afraid, was that she wanted you to rot in hell.’

‘Oh dear.’ I wasn’t even surprised any more. ‘And then what happened?’

‘She kept smashing at the door but no one answered. She sat down and cried for a bit on the step. Then she went away. Very sad, really.’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I repeated again. ‘It’s been a … a strange time. You’ll be glad to be rid of us.’

‘Oh no, dear,’ she said, and I felt oddly like crying again in the light of her empathic gaze. She patted my hand as she left.

E
mily was already
at Robin’s, sitting in the corner, nursing a cappuccino and wearing shades and a fringed suede jacket.

‘Still in the Calamity Jane phase, I see,’ I sat opposite her. ‘Just need a horse. You look done in.’

‘I think I drank a bit too much last night when I got home,’ she said ruefully. ‘I must say I felt a bit … stressed, after all that drama.’

‘Yeah, you and me both. I’m so sorry I left you there but I had to get Polly out.’

‘It was fine, really.’

‘What happened? I’ve just had my neighbour banging on about someone shouting in the street?’

‘Really?’ Emily looked puzzled. ‘I just tidied up a bit, after Sid slunk off into the night and that was that, as far as I know.’

‘I think it was probably Mal’s loony wife.’

‘Ah yes,’ she said, ‘the valiant Mal to the rescue. He seemed … well, nice, yeah?’

‘When was that then? When Sid tried to murder him?’

We looked at each other and started to laugh.

‘God, poor bloke,’ she said. ‘Didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t think he’s going to be the next big thing in my life – ’specially after last night. He’s gone to America, anyway, for a bit. And I can’t deal with old Looney Tunes on top of everything else.’

‘Looney Tunes? Which one?’

‘His ex-wife Suzanne. She’s nuts.’

‘No, well, I guess a bit of calm would be good. But he did seem like a nice man, I thought. You could do with a nice man.’

Robin brought my tea and we sat in silence for a moment. I thought about Mal. He
was
nice, but it was so bloody complicated. I wasn’t ready, much as I craved companionship. Nothing should be this complicated. And I still didn’t know if I really trusted him.

Trust. It seemed a curious concept right now.

‘I might have to eat cake,’ I said after a while.

‘Well, what’s good enough for French queens. Look, Laurie,’ Emily took her sunglasses off. Tiger eyes, unmade up for once. ‘I think we should go away. You need a break from all this shit.’

‘Go where?’

‘I don’t know. Just a weekend somewhere. There’s some brilliant offers on Discount Vouchers. I fancy a spa. Nice massage, nice dinner.’

The idea of getting out of London, away from all this conflict and heartache, was immensely appealing.

‘Sounds lovely. I’m a bit broke though,’ I said, sadly. ‘Sid’s not giving me anything at all at the moment towards the house or Pol.’

‘My treat. Early birthday present,’ Emily said, and then she flushed slightly. ‘Please. I’d really like to. To say sorry too, for being all moody the other day. I’m sure your mum’d have Polly.’

I considered the idea. ‘Okay,’ I said impulsively. ‘Yeah! Why the hell not? We deserve some downtime.’

‘Yes we do. Well.’ She looked sad. ‘You in particular do.’

‘Cheer up,’ I said, feeling suddenly more enthused than I had in months. ‘I’ve got a feeling things will turn a corner now. I wanted to talk to you about maybe getting a flat together too. Shall we share some Death by Chocolate?’

T
here is
no answer at Sid’s. I cannot believe it, but no one comes to the door. And I have an increasingly unpleasant feeling in my gut, as I press the bell again and again.

Then I run back up the road to where the police car dropped me, but of course they are long gone.

And then Sid pulls up in the battered old Porsche, nearly writing off the car in front. He is such a bad driver, although this time there is some excuse.

‘Thank God,’ I am practically weeping with frustration. ‘Open the door, will you? I can’t get an answer.’

And he unlocks the front door, and we go running up the stairs, and I am praying that they are just both fast asleep – but the flat is totally empty.

Polly’s little case lies on the floor and her jumper is there on the sofa where she has obviously been lying under a plaid blanket, but there is no sign of her or Jolie in the flat.

‘Where’s that mad bitch gone now?’ I say. ‘Oh Christ, Sid. I can’t take much more of this. I need to get to Polly. Where is Polly?’ I pace up and down, up and down, until Sid stands in front of me to prevent me walking.

‘Calm down.’

‘How can I be calm? Have you got any idea what the last twenty-four hours have been like?’

‘No, but you look like absolute shit.’

‘Sid. Emily is dead.’

He turns away. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.’

‘And your girlfriend has vanished with our daughter.’

‘I’m sure they’re absolutely fine,’ Sid runs his hand through his hair. ‘Probably just to get some food, or something. They often go out to brunch round here.’

‘Call her,’ I shove the phone at him. ‘Find out.’ I sit on the arm of the sofa. ‘How’s Mum?’ I bite my fingernails as he dials the number. ‘Is she okay?’

‘She’s fine. She just had a few palpations and they’re keeping her in for observation for a few hours. But she’s fine. You can call this number,’ he fishes a bit of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘They should put you through.’

‘Is Jolie answering?’ I say – but she’s blatantly not.

He leaves a message. ‘Call me, please, Jolie. Laurie’s here to get Polly and we don’t know where you are.’

‘Sid,’ I say carefully. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going to St Ives?’

‘Why would I? We’ve hardly spoken in the past few weeks.’

‘But,’ I clear my throat. ‘You knew Emily and I were going to Devon.’

‘So?’

‘So. I saw you on the motorway.’

‘What? When?’

‘Oh come on. On that bike.’

‘What bike?’ he feigned ignorance.

‘That motorbike.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about. I haven’t ridden a bike since before Pol was born.’

‘I saw you in the
Guardian
mag on one. Bloody great Enfield.’

‘Oh, that,’ he has the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘It was only for some poxy photo-shoot.’

‘Whatever. Did you come to the hotel?’

‘What?’

‘Did you come to the hotel? Where Em and I were staying?’

‘No,’ Sid looks nonplussed. He sits beside me on the sofa arm. ‘Why would I? I don’t really know what the fuck’s going on, Laurie. All I know is, you went away, I went to see Pete Mann at St Ives about the exhibition next spring, and because Jolie was playing at the Eden Project—’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Jolie had a gig.’

‘Jolie was playing down there? In Cornwall?’

‘Yeah. We were meant to meet up but we didn’t manage it in the end. Things … things aren’t going so well between us.’

I’m not interested; I’m starting to panic again.

‘Call her again,’ I say. ‘Sid, for God’s sake!’

And then we hear knocking at the door, and I hear Polly’s voice calling through the letterbox.

‘Hellooo?’

‘Polly,’ I scream, and I run down the stairs and tear open the door; I grab my daughter who is standing on the doorstep alone, hugging her so tight that she starts to bang me on the back.

‘Mumm-y,’ she squeaks. ‘I can’t breathe.’ Then a minute later, ‘Mummy, you look funny. Why are you crying?’

‘Where’s Jolie?’ Sid has followed me down; he runs out into the street to look for her. ‘Pol, where’s Jolie?’

‘I don’t know,’ Polly pushes at my knee. ‘She was crying too. She drived off.’

Sid runs down the road as I take Polly into the house and shut the door; it’s freezing outside and a half-hearted sun is only just coming up now. I sink down onto the stairs and pull her onto my knee.

‘Where’ve you been?’ I say, kissing her over and over again. ‘I was so worried.’

‘We got in a car and Jolie kept crying. Why is everyone crying?’

‘And then what happened?’

‘And then she took me up the road to near where we live, to the big trees, and then we were going to get out but she started crying and then she cuddled me and we came back instead.’

‘And do you know where she’s gone?’

‘No,’ Polly looks sad and serious. ‘She just kept saying “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” I think it was ’cos Toy Bear got lost.’

‘I expect so. But I’ve got Toy Bear. He’s upstairs.’

Polly slides off my knee and runs upstairs. My mind is racing now. Why is Jolie sorry? What was she talking about? I have a horrible sick feeling in my stomach that nothing good can come of this.

‘Is Granny okay?’ I ask Polly, following her upstairs.

‘She just got a bit – like, funny, fast breathing. When we went to the man’s flat. Daddy’s man. Papa.’

‘Was he … Daddy’s man. He was nice to you?’

She looks at me, puzzled. ‘Nice?’

‘He didn’t …’ I choose my words very carefully. ‘He didn’t … shout? Or try to … hurt you?’

‘No. He just gave me chocolate and told me to be a good girl. So I was. But I didn’t like the chocolate ’cos it had nuts in.’ She looks grave. ‘I don’t like nuts, do I?’

‘No,’ I agree. ‘You don’t like nuts.’

‘So I put the chocolate under the cushion not to be rude. He didn’t see.’

‘Right,’ I grin. ‘Well done. Shall we go and see Gran in the hospital?’

Polly nods, yawning, clutching Toy Bear. I zip her bag up.

‘Let’s go home first, shall we?’ I say. ‘I think I’d better put some clean clothes on.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ Polly gives me the once-over. ‘I think so too. You do look quite dirty.’

And the relief I feel as we wait for a taxi is stronger than anything I remember feeling before. A feeling of peace, despite all the sadness and the exhaustion; a feeling that nothing, in the world, will ever matter as much as holding my daughter’s small damp hand safely in mine.