Someone to Watch Over Me (34 page)

‘Has your phone got coverage here?' she asked.

Paul took a quick look at his phone and shook his head.

‘I want you to go and take Enif with you so that you are sure to find your way back to the nearest place to phone the police from,' said Carrie.

‘I'm not sure I should leave you,' he replied.

‘One of us has to go and phone for help. If we wait any longer it may be too late. Enif won't come with me. Go on. Don't waste time. You may have to go as far as Parson's Bridge, I'm not sure. I know I phoned the police from Molly and Max's house so you should be alright when you get there.'

Reluctantly, Paul turned to go. Enif too seemed unwilling to leave the spot to which he was rooted; Paul had to tug at his lead several times before he could be persuaded.

‘You'd better take the car keys too,' said Carrie, passing them to Paul.

‘Come on Enif, back to the car,' he said, and the two of them set off at a run.

Carrie went up to the door again and banged on it but there was no reply, so she walked around the building to see if there might be another way in. There were no other doors and the only window she could see was set high up, almost at the roof. She went round to the front again and this time picked up a stone and banged repeatedly on the door. She waited a couple of moments and then to her surprise she heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened and she looked in, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dark interior. At first she could see nothing, so she stepped inside. A shape loomed up in front of her and she felt a blow on the side of the head. She fell to the floor, banging her head on the stone, and felt herself slip into unconsciousness.

She could only have been out a few moments and when she came to, she lay still, aware that she shouldn't alert whoever had hit her to the fact that she had regained consciousness. She turned her head sideways so that she could see more of the room. She could smell blood and something else that smelt of animal fat and also nearer, something dank and alien. As she moved her head again she dislodged a stone and froze, thinking that the noise would cause whoever was there to look in her direction. She found that she was staring straight into the face of what looked like a dark snake. She stifled the scream that came to her lips and edged herself away from the creature, which emanated a brackish, ancient odour. She heard the same scream that she had heard from outside and turning her head again to the other side of the room, this time saw its source. Molly was tied around the neck by a rope, which was connected to a chain hanging from the ceiling beam. The chain was attached to a hook in the wall in a pulley system which was presumably how she had been raised up into position. Her feet were just resting on a pile of hay bales that had been heaped up in one corner of the room, but any sudden movement might knock over the precarious tower. As Carrie's eyes adjusted further to the lack of light, she could see that Molly was staring in fixed terror at a man standing at the foot of the hay pile. Carrie's best view was of his feet in boots caked in the mud that rose halfway up his trousers. He was the source of the smell of animal fat that rose up from him in sickening waves so strong that Carrie felt herself gag. She tried to lie as still as possible. She knew that if he turned and saw that she was awake, she would be in real trouble. The air was thick with fear. She could hear Molly breathing in and out, the sound ragged and desperate.

The man turned and Carrie saw his face, which was covered in blood and had an enormous gash across one cheek that stretched in a half circle from his ear to his nose. She also could see that his jacket was stiff with dried blood and that he clearly found moving difficult. Despite his obvious injuries, his face was expressionless. He moved away from Molly to the centre of the room where there were two metal barrels with circular doors. The man moved to the end of one of the drums and raised a length of piping with a funnel attached to it.

Molly moaned. Her feet were desperately trying to keep purchase on the tower. ‘Please Rupert. Please. Don't,' she said. Her voice sounded scratchy and rough, as if she had been screaming for days. It was clear that the rope around her throat had been tied tightly. Her hands repeatedly went up to her neck, trying to loosen the pressure on her windpipe. The man ignored her, and holding the funnel steady with one hand, began to pour what looked like water from a plastic container into the funnel. Carrie assumed that the pipe was attached in some way to the back of the drum and that for some reason best known to himself the man was filling the drum with water.

‘Please. Tell me what you want. Please. Don't do this to Max,' said Molly who was weeping. As Molly spoke, Carrie realised with a sickening lurch of her stomach that Max must be in the drum and that if this man was filling it with water he was attempting to drown him by slow degrees. She didn't know how long it was since he had embarked on the exercise and hoped for Max's sake that he had just begun. She thought of the little boy curled up inside, bewildered by what was happening to him, cold and terrified, and she felt more angry than she had ever done in her life.

Carrie looked around her for anything that she could use to give herself an advantage over the man and then froze as she was aware that he had stopped what he was doing and had started to walk towards her. Had he seen her moving? She lay as still as possible, her eyes closed and her breathing as regular as she could manage it. He stood above her for a while, presumably checking that she was still unconscious, and then, seeming to decide she posed no threat, moved away again. She tried to calculate how long it would take before Paul managed to alert the police. Would they take his call seriously? Would he be able to explain exactly where they were and would they even be able to get police vehicles to such a remote location? She opened her eyes again and saw that she didn't have time to wait and hope that they would be rescued. The man was pouring what smelt unmistakably like petrol onto the bottom of the pile of straw bales. He reached in his pocket and brought out a box of matches and lit the bottom of the pile. The hay caught fire, but slowly and so he crouched down and blew out great gusts of breath, to encourage the hay to catch more quickly. He shook the petrol can and seemed angry that it was empty. Casting a quick look in Carrie's direction, he crossed the room and opened the door and went outside. This was the only chance she was likely to get. She got to her feet and taking hold of the loose stone, ran across the room and positioned herself behind one of the drums.

‘Be careful. He'll kill you,' said Molly, who seemed to be at the end of her endurance. Her voice was all but gone and her head kept hanging down and then jerking up as she felt the noose tighten around her neck. The fire had taken hold and the room had begun to fill with smoke. Carrie, who had her head down as she crouched in her hiding place, heard the door open and she steadied herself. The man noticed immediately that she was no longer lying on the floor, and made a snarling exclamation of rage. He looked wildly around the room and then walked around looking for her. He checked behind the pile of hay bales and then moved around so that he was standing with his back to her.

She moved as quickly and as quietly as she could, raising the stone high over her head and bringing it down with all her strength on the back of his head. He slumped instantly to the ground. Carrie ran over to the wall and unhooked the chain and released Molly who fell onto the pile of hay bales and sent them toppling. Not looking at Molly, Carrie ran over to the drum and opened the door and as she did so, released a stream of water that fell on her arms and legs. She looked inside at Max, who was lying completely still. As the water dripped from the drum she reached inside and pulled him out with her hands under his arms. He slid forward without resistance and she caught him before he fell to the floor. The room was now full of smoke and it was hard to see where she was going. The flames were creeping across the hay. She held Max close and fought her way to the door through the smoke and was relieved to find it open. Gasping and coughing, Carrie ran outside and laid him on the grass.

His face was bluish grey and his eyes were closed and when she put her face close to his mouth she couldn't detect any breath. She unbuttoned his shirt, which was stuck to his narrow chest. She tried to remember where exactly on his body she was supposed to press. He looked so pale and small and she was terrified of hurting him. She tilted up his head, closed his nostrils with one hand and then put her mouth around his and blew gently. She looked along his chest and watched it rise with her breath. She waited a short while and then repeated the process a number of times, hoping that she was doing what she was supposed to be doing. She had a dim and panicked memory of some lurid diagrams she had once seen in a doctor's surgery. She felt for his pulse, but could detect nothing, so she found what she hoped was the right point above his rib cage and pressed down five times with the heel of her hand. Still nothing. She tried to stop herself from losing focus, could hear herself whimpering, pleading with God, with anyone. She took a deep breath and started the whole process again, alternating the breaths with the compressions, and then, just when she had given up hope and was weeping with the effort, Max stirred, turned his head and vomited into the grass. She lifted him up and held him to her, feeling the slow beat of his pulse gain traction. She covered him in her coat, left him on the grass and ran back inside. The room was now so full of smoke she had to feel her way around the wall, but she could see the blaze in the centre of the room. As she moved towards it, she saw Molly's body lying just beyond the fire as if she had used the last of her strength to crawl out from the burning debris. Carrie could feel her lungs filling up with the smoke and felt her vision going. She grabbed hold of Molly's arms and pulled her across the floor to the door. Twice she fell down, overcome with the smoke, but she managed to get Molly outside. Taking great gulps of air, she leaned against the doorframe but then felt herself being dragged backwards into the room. As she turned, she could see the man's eyes still blank in his bloodied face. He pulled her by her hair towards the burning hay, and threw her onto the centre of the fire; she felt the heat and the smoulder as her clothes caught alight.

His arms were pressing her down, keeping her pinned to the heat, his strength fearsome and unstoppable. His arms caught fire and yet still he continued to hold her. She pushed against him with all her strength, but he was like a wall. She felt his hands around her throat, pressing down on her neck, cutting off her breath and she felt herself slipping away. In the last moment before she lost herself, she felt a great blast of cool wind and the man toppled sideways, releasing her. She opened her eyes and looked into Charlie's face. She saw the dear shape of his head, the perfect arched eyebrows above the dark brown eyes, the radiant smile. It was all of him. The essence of him. It was as it had always been and as she felt his arms around her, she finally let herself go and the world went dark.

Carrie sat by the river on a blanket watching the two swans that had sailed into view, their necks making a wedding accessory heart. After weeks of strong, punishing wind this day had turned miraculously still, so that barely a ripple moved on the surface of the water. The air felt luxuriantly balmy. Carrie and Jen had spent the night before together at Carrie's house drinking margaritas, making favour bags stuffed with goodies from the shop and talking about all the things they had done and all the things they still wanted to do. Jen had identified a potentially ideal site for
Trove 2
and they had talked about how the new shop might look. At around the fourth margarita mark Jen had started to get a little overexcited about the concept of a grown-up toy shop with a particular emphasis on sleek sex aids and old school sweets and had to be talked down by Carrie. In the morning Carrie had had to administer paracetamol and coffee and a bath full of reviving foam. There had been a minor crisis when Jen had turned breathless and sweaty at the thought of waking up with the same person EVERY DAY, but the moment passed when Carrie talked her through the considerable assets of her husband to be.

‘Remember his way with pebbles, Jen,' she said. ‘And think of all the lovely circular walks you will be able to do together.'

Despite all Carrie's earlier misgivings, the dress was a triumph. It turned out to be the very first one that Jen tried on; a fifties-inspired design made of cream lace threaded through with strands of silver. The full skirt finished just below the knee giving Jen the perfect excuse to buy the oyster satin Miu Miu peep-toes she had set her heart on. The dress's tightly fitted bodice and low scooped neckline gave Jen a creamy, buxom air, a look that made Tom stagger visibly when he turned to her as she came to stand by his side in the church.

The rest of the day had run according to plan. The church smelt of the old-fashioned pale pink roses that were tied to the end of every pew and which Jen carried a small posy of. The guests threw clouds of lilac and blue delphinium petals in the churchyard outside. Jen's father made a surprise appearance with yet another rather-too-young woman with delicate skin and a regretful look in her eye. Both Jen and Carrie cried a little when Carrie made her speech. Tom kept telling everyone how lucky he was. Someone's teenager was sick in a handbag. Paul and Enif, whose fur had been slicked back with some sort of shiny gel, were first on the dance floor and of course, the bride was the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen.

Now the party had decamped for the evening to a marquee in a friend's riverside garden from where the guests were taking dangerous and noisy punt trips. There had already been an incident when someone had got his punting pole stuck in the mud at the bottom of the river, refused to let it go, and had been left clutching it for a teetering mid-river moment before making a spectacular descent into the water. After lighting the small candles in their clouded glass holders that were placed strategically around the garden, Carrie had taken some time out from the hurly burly to sit by herself and have a glass of white wine. There were still moments when she needed to walk away from people to think and gather herself. Although it had been four months since the day at the pumping station, she hadn't yet quite regained her former strength. She looked down at her hands and lower arms, which were very badly scarred by the effects of the fire and were still tender to the touch.