He then clicked through endless pages of irrelevant family trees before discovering several stories about a Conley Thompson, who in the early 1980s had made a stand against fishing quotas by sailing his trawler to Singapore, and selling it to a maritime museum. Here again the boat’s name was
Cutting Blue
, which meant that if it was the same boat it had been brought back to the UK after being sold in Singapore. He tried searching again on
Cutting Blue,
but only came back to the old website or rehashes of the story he already had. Adam had nothing that tied Simon to Thompson Deep Sea, other than his PAYE record from the night before. And there was no record of where Thompson Deep Sea’s offices were or had been. Throughout, Brian sat in his co-pilot’s position talking to the estate agents in Essex, unsuccessfully trying to coerce them into giving him the contact details of the house’s owner.
By eleven they were standing on the promenade, the breeze tugging at the material of their clothing. Adam’s hands were pushed deep into his pockets, his frustration echoed in the gloomy grey sky, the restless ocean sending drifting spray high into the air. They had a whole lot of dead ends. They had come all this way, to be within a stone’s throw of Sarah and Andrea but with no way of finding them.
Brian leaned against the metal railing and folded his arms, the wind flattening his hair like long grass in a field. ‘We have one option.’
Adam raised an eyebrow. ‘We do?’
‘We go back to the pub and wait.’
Adam took a step closer to make sure he heard correctly. ‘The pub? Is that wise?’
‘All depends on your perspective. It beats standing here skimming pebbles off the sea. Worst case scenario is the bad guys turn up and get pissed at us. Which is also kind of the best case scenario.’ He looked hard at Adam. ‘Which might not end well, so now is your opportunity to turn and walk away.’
Adam’s stomach still felt uneasy. The thought of going back to the pub did not help. The chance to walk away appealed in ways that focused on not ending up like the man in Peterborough, or running through a repeat of the night before. He took satisfaction in being able to help Brian but his ability to help now seemed redundant. What use would he be? At the same time there was no way he could turn around, having come so far. With Brian’s indomitable attitude anything seemed possible. He might yet make a difference.
‘I can’t,’ he said, trying to find the right words. ‘I couldn’t, I could never live with myself.’
‘Good,’ Brian answered. ‘Two are always better than one. You should know if it gets stupid your job is to run like fuck. You got that?’
Adam nodded. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ll do my best to leave them with a lasting impression. I’d quite like some one-on-one time with either of the blonds.’ Then Brian slapped him on the shoulder and walked away, along the promenade back towards the pub. After a moment of hesitation Adam followed.
FIFTY-NINE
The grass here was thick and green. Green was not the word, even lush did it no justice. Unreal was closer. An expanse that carpeted the rise and fall of earth as far as she could see. The trees behind her whispered and small clouds chased their shadows. A warm breeze caressed her skin. She gazed at the smoke rising from distant hills. She knew people lived there, had tried walking before but it had been so far.
There was a murmur, a sound within the sounds within the trees behind. A voice, but nobody was ever here. It drew her though. The sound latched into her mind and pulled her hand over hand. Someone she trusted, closing her eyes and going with the pull.
Opening them again, to the soft glow of the lamp, turning her head and blinking at reality and the girl sitting cross-legged on the mattress. An elbow on each knee and her hands pressed together, her fingers pointing upwards. The girl’s mouth moved, the words almost audible, the child voice almost a melody.
‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked, still half there and not fully here.
‘I’m praying,’ Andrea replied. She punctuated the sentence with ‘
Amen’
and looked at Sarah. ‘You’re awake!’
‘Was I not already?’
Andrea stared, concerned, keeping her hands as they were.
‘No, well, you looked like you were awake. But it was like you were asleep. You weren’t answering me.’
‘Sorry.’ She looked around the room. ‘How have you been, was I gone long?’ She remembered now. ‘I hope you weren’t too upset? We did our best.’
‘You were gone ages. I was upset because I thought you might be hurt or something horrid might have happened. That I might be here all alone.’ She looked down at the bandages around Sarah’s hands. ‘Then I felt bad because I wanted you here and it’s because of me you’re here anyway.’ Her eyes were wide and guilty. ‘And now you look so poorly.’
Sarah eased back into herself, leaning against the wall, the mattress familiar beneath her fingers. ‘We’re here because of the people who took you Andrea, no other reason. You have nothing to feel guilty about.’ She pressed her hands against her stomach, recalling cramp and soreness, shifting carefully. She ached from her groin right up to her chest. She wrinkled her nose, for the first time conscious of a stench, looking across at the porcelain bowl.
Andrea shifted self-consciously, crimson blotting her cheeks, wide abashed eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, Sarah, I held on as long as I could but I needed to go. It’s not as bad as it was,’ she said hopefully.
Sarah could not stop a smile spreading across her face. ‘Phew!’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘For a minute I thought they’d got a horse in here as well! Who could imagine little girls could be so smelly?’
‘Sarah!’ she shouted indignantly, then she excitedly shuffled closer, happy now her friend was back. ‘I moved the water and biscuits. It didn’t seem right them being near the bowl.’
Sarah winked. ‘Good idea. Why don’t you move the bowl so when he comes back he will be faced with it before he can come in.’ That got a giggled affirmation. Andrea made a show of taking a deep breath before dragging it slowly to where they knew the door to be. She diverted to the bookshelf and pulled out the largest hardback, placing it over the top of the bowl. ‘I like Rupert,’ she said, pleased with her own good idea. ‘But as it’s
his
book I don’t feel bad about putting it there.’ She returned to the corner.
‘Would you like to pray with me?’ she asked.
Sarah shook her head. ‘I don’t pray. But you can, it’s nice to hear your voice.’
‘You don’t pray?’ Andrea asked, incredulous. ‘But you must pray?’
Sarah pulled her legs up but that hurt so she let them slide out a little and wrapped her arms loosely around her knees. She looked at Andrea. ‘So why do you pray? Are you a bad person?’
The girl went still as she considered. ‘I pray because mum tells me to. Sometimes I do bad things although I don’t usually know I’m doing them. Mum says if I don’t behave I’ll go to hell, which is a scary place with lots of fire and Satan lives there with all the bad people.’
She paused again, giving the question serious consideration. ‘I try to be good but it’s not easy. I don’t always do the jobs mum asks me to, or don’t do them as well as she would like. And I should take better care of my sisters. And not ask for things so much. And tidy my books. I sometimes say I’ve done my homework and I haven’t, not properly. And sometimes I make mum really angry for no reason at all. I do lots of bad things. Maybe God is punishing me?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘You’re not being punished. There are bad people in the world, and praying is not going to change that or get us home. Only we can do that.’
Andrea’s face shifted from hopeful to dismayed, teetering on the brink of tears. Sarah immediately wished she had not been so honest.
‘I really need to go home Sarah. I can’t stay here forever, I just can’t. I miss my sisters, my mum and dad and Kevin. I miss school. My books, the smell of towels. Writing stories, my bed and my feet on my rug in the morning. I even miss homework and Mr Evans, and he made Ian Wilson cry in class. Tell me this will be over soon, won’t it? My dad will be coming. They’ll have to listen to him and then we can go home, can’t we?’
‘Let’s hope so, Andrea.’
‘I know so.’ Her face morphed back to pink-cheeked determination. ‘My dad will make them realise he doesn’t owe them money. Nothing stops my dad.’
‘That would be really good,’ Sarah said, not sure how to handle the contrast between the girl’s expectations and the stark reality. ‘In the meantime, Andrea, we have to think how we can help ourselves. Because just now it’s only me and you. We have to think they might want to do bad things to us both. Things we cannot even imagine right now. We might have to fight if we want to go home and do things we might not do anywhere else.’
Andrea pulled up her legs and looped both her hands around her knees, mirroring Sarah’s posture, trying to imagine the worst that might happen and what she might have to do. ‘I once threw stones at boys in school because they were bullying me and my friends. That sort of thing?’
Sarah nodded. ‘That and maybe worse. I think Simon might like me, in a fancy sort of way, which means I might have a chance to do something. But I have already used lots of chances.’ She sat silent studying the weave of her jeans. ‘Or you might have to do something, because he would never expect you to do it.’
‘Like throwing stones but worse?’ Andrea ventured.
‘Yes,’ Sarah replied. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added.
‘Why are
you
sorry?’
‘Because it would be nice to think we could close our eyes and pray and everything would be OK. But I want you to know there is nowhere I would rather be than here with you.’
Andrea crawled across the mattress and Sarah held out her hand. Andrea took it but did not ease into her as she expected. Instead she knelt.
‘Can I show you something?’
Sarah nodded.
The girl looked back earnestly. ‘And you promise you’ll not think bad of me?’
‘Why ever for?’
There was no answer, she just crawled over to her bag in the corner and rummaged as she had several times before. Then she pulled free a thin white bag and crawled back to Sarah. ‘I always pick up dad’s prescription. I’m not allowed to buy these really but he used to go out with Ellen, she works in Boots and is really nice. So she does it for me and I just give them to him.’ She held the bag out for Sarah.
Sarah took it and looked inside, pulling out a small white box. ‘This?’
Andrea giggled nervously. ‘No silly, that’s his prescription. At the bottom.’ Sarah reached in and pulled out another box, smaller like matches but thinner. She let the bag fall to the mattress and opened one end. Five double edged razorblades slid into her palm.
‘Do you think they might help, like throwing stones?’
Sarah did not say anything for some time, just stared at the blades. But Andrea knew from the look on Sarah’s face she had done really good, although the look scared her a little as well.
SIXTY
Daylight shining through large windows meant the pub was light inside although it was infused with an artificial hue by the glowing lighting. The decoration was dominated by darkly painted panelling and black and white photos of the local legacy. The main bar curved round and descended through an arched doorway and steps to a smaller area, where a few tables and a games machine sat against a wall beside a silent jukebox.
Adam counted five people throughout, mostly old men who complemented the decoration and photos, either seated or leaning against the lower of the two bars. He stood in the middle of the upper bar with his arms folded, waiting to be served while looking up at a muted TV. Sporting headlines and subtitles scrolled along the foot of the screen, a large black man and a white woman silently talking sports news between brilliant white smiles and laughter. He occasionally glimpsed Brian prowling around.
He heard boots on wooden steps and a barman emerged from the cellar. If he was surprised by the bruises on Adam’s face it did not register, taking his order of two cokes and a request to switch the TV to a news channel, which he did after a quick glance around the pub.
Adam took the drinks and sat opposite the TV, watching the image switch to a different man and woman behind a desk. These were more formal, the subtitles relaying news about cot deaths and the phenomenon of baby brains thinking they were back in the womb.
Brian appeared and ushered him to follow, taking them further around to a long seat attached to the wall and behind a table. Adam eased in beside him, sliding his phone onto the darkly polished surface. They sat with their backs to the wall with a good view in all directions, including a portion of the lower bar through the arched doorway. Another screen was set directly in front above the bar, the newscasters silently talking amid still images of smoke and orange plumes of flame.
‘You have an exit at twelve o’clock from where you are.’ Brian directed his attention to a door opposite. ‘And another at ten, down the steps. Both take you out to the car park. There’s another door near the toilets. If anything kicks off get out of here, if anyone gets in the way lower your shoulder and go through them. Then run as if the devil were treading on your heels. Now go and check them out.’
Adam placed his glass on the table and walked out of the twelve o’clock door. Turning left outside took him back into the car park and the long way around the building, right took him onto the promenade. He walked back in and around, down the steps through the arched doorway and along the lower bar. This door had a latch. He lifted it and stepped out into the car park, giving him a choice of going either left or right around the building back to the promenade.
He walked back inside to the toilets and a narrow hallway. Passing signs for Gents and Ladies to another door, the top half translucent bubbled glass, the bottom warped wood painted blue. He stepped onto a section of car park criss-crossed with yellow lines. Large portable bins vied for space with stacked and knotted bin bags.
Adam returned to the bar and sat back down. ‘So?’ Brian asked.