The first man in lunged forward and slapped Siobhan on the side of the head. She went down fast, without a word, stunned, eyes fluttering at the edge of consciousness. Amy sprang up out of the bed holding the duvet by two corners and hurled herself spread-eagled at the two men. The three of them crashed to the floor. A grunt as one of their heads made contact with the wall. Amy was up and heading out of the room until she felt her trailing ankle gripped, her hip practically wrenched from its socket. She fell, clawed at the carpet as she was dragged back. A hand closed around her throat, gripped her windpipe, rammed her into the corner of the door jamb, shook her.
‘This isn’t about you,’ said a voice, London accent. ‘You keep it shut and you won’t get hurt. Orright?’
She nodded. The thumb loosened off her throat. She sucked air into her rasping lungs.
Siobhan was on all fours, still groggy from the slap. She went for the sash window but the catch had to be unscrewed. One of the men got to his feet, grabbed her by the hair, hauled her back and threw her to the ground. He lashed her twice across the face with his hand.
He came back to the door, laid the duvet out, rolled Amy over, stuffed something into her mouth, and smoothed tape over her lips. They lined her up on the duvet and, as they wrapped her up, she saw Siobhan, eyes rolled back, blood coming from her mouth. They tied Amy up tight, trussing her with cord they’d brought with them, and lifted her on to the bed. She heard the muffled moans of Siobhan getting it together.
‘Right,’ said the voice. ‘Let’s get this one sorted.’
More slaps. Gasping and crying. They left the room dragging Siobhan between them. Amy heard them haul her into the bathroom and the sound of a struggle, of a body bouncing around in a glass cubicle. The terrible smack and thud of blows and then a male grunting as if making some hideous effort, and Siobhan’s cries, muffled and struggling for breath. The shower came on. There was indistinct questioning. More blows, slaps as of a wet towel making cruel contact, and crying out, but always muffled. More questions, harsh and whispered, as if being ripped out rather than spoken. Then the horrible rhythmic male grunting and the process repeated.
After forty interminable minutes, Amy heard the men conducting a manic search of the flat. They came into the bedroom, turned out drawers, ripped open cupboards and then finally left. Silence resumed except for the consistent noise of the shower hissing water on to an inert body.
19.15, 15 January 2014
unknown location, London
A
lleyne started to come round, confused to find himself on a cold concrete floor. Water was being squirted on to his face. It dripped into a drain hole close to his mouth from which came a cool but morbid stench. His arms were tied behind his back. He struggled to bring them forward and realised he’d been hogtied, with wrists connected to his ankles. Everything was black. Not a scintilla of light coming in.
‘What the fuck you hit him with?’ asked a voice, London accent.
‘A SAP glove.’
‘Show me.’
‘’S’only a glove.’
‘Fuck me, this must weigh a pound. What’s in it?’
‘Steel shot.’
‘Bloody hell, the idea was to put him out, not knock him into next fucking week.’
‘I just cuffed him on the back of the head. He fell forward and banged hisself on the van door on his way down.’
‘It’s going to be fucking jelly in there, you bloody moron.’
‘Look, he’s coming round now.’
‘Marcus,’ said the voice. ‘You all right, Marcus?’
His tongue felt foreign in his mouth, good for shoes but not for talking. He winced at the water on his face, tried to follow it with his lips, to get some moisture. His eyelids were too heavy to open, or maybe taped shut.
‘Look, he’s after it. Squirt it in his mouth. Maybe that’ll help.’
The coolness of the water in his hot, dry mouth felt good but his tongue didn’t know where to go and the water shot down the wrong way. He coughed, which set off blinding flashes in his head. He sucked in air, groaned against the nauseating pain.
‘Get him sitting up,’ said the voice. ‘We don’t want the bastard drowning on us.’
They disconnected his wrists from his ankles, sat him on a chair. Alleyne knew for certain that he’d been stripped naked as the chill of the metal seat spread over his buttocks, made his scrotum cringe. They lifted his arms over the back of the chair. He had to breathe down the vomit, could feel it gathering, didn’t want that, thought it would kill him.
‘Ease up. Let him be. Give him a chance to pull hisself together,’ said the voice. ‘You with me, Marcus?’
‘Yeah, I’m with you,’ he said, panting, head lolling. ‘I don’t know where, but I’m with you.’
‘Right. Looks like he’s alive and sensible. Put him in the back of my van and we’ll sort the money.’
Alleyne felt himself lifted off the chair, carried horizontal and laid down on the cold floor of a van. They secured his wrists and ankles with ties to the side of the vehicle. There followed a long, vague discussion and a parting.
Someone got into the van next to him.
‘This’ll keep you relaxed for your next trip,’ said the voice. ‘No SAP gloves here.’
The last thing Alleyne heard was some large doors opening, as of a warehouse. The van jolted him as it moved off and he blacked out.
He came round with no idea of time and a poor recollection of what had happened, only that he knew he’d been kidnapped. He was sitting on a metal chair again, arms over the back. He was in pain and more things came back to him.
‘Who are you, what the fuck do you want?’ he asked. ‘Let’s get on with it. You been sent by Glider?’
‘Slow down, Marcus. We’re going to take this one step at a time,’ said the voice. ‘This phone of yours, what sort of a phone do you call this?’
‘A mobile phone?’
‘Don’t get clever, or we’ll have to knock you about some more.’
‘What am I supposed to say? A Nokia 109. A
cell
phone. I don’t know what answer you’re looking for. It’s just a phone, for fuck’s sake.’
‘It’s not a
smart
phone. There are no numbers on it. No apps. Nothing.’
‘It’s my business phone. I don’t carry any numbers on me when I’m doing business, that way there are no … what do you call them? Repercussions. That’s it. If I get caught, nobody goes down with me.’
‘So you remember all your numbers, do you?’
‘Not all of them, no. There are too many. I just memorise the ones I’m doing business with on that particular night. It’s a precaution.’
‘And you’ve got another phone with all your numbers on it?’
‘No.’
‘I mean, like your private numbers.’
‘Private numbers?’
‘People close to you. Like your family, friends … your girlfriends,’ said the voice. ‘Boy like you, good-looking black bastard, bit of money about you. You must have plenty of girlfriends. Hard to keep track of them all.’
‘What are you driving at? Is there a question in there? I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘Where’s your other fucking phone?’
‘I haven’t got one. They’re all in my head.’
‘All right, let’s have your girlfriend’s number then.’
‘Which one?’
‘Don’t fuck me about, Marcus.’
‘You’re the one who said I had plenty of girlfriends.’
‘It was a test to see if you’re a
lying
black bastard.’
‘Well I’m not up to tests. Somebody whacked me over the head. I’m blank in here … just going with the flow, hoping for the best.’
‘You mentioned Glider.’
‘Yeah, he was the contact for this job. He vouched for you.’
‘That tell you anything?’
Silence from Alleyne, thinking now. Glider had served him up, which meant he must have made some connections.
‘No,’ he said.
‘No what?’
‘It doesn’t tell me anything.’
‘I know he hit you hard, but you’re talking all right, you’re not slurring your words, you’re together. Now think about it. Glider gave you the job and look where you are. He doesn’t like you, and Glider’s got a lot of time for black bastards. Now why’s that?’
‘I think you’ll find Glider’s got a lot of time for black
girls
.’
‘You see, Marcus, you’re sharp. Things are coming to you. So what is it about you that Glider doesn’t like?’
‘Give me a clue. I’m still a bit mushy in here.’
‘Your girlfriend. Singular,’ said the voice. ‘You had a bit of a rep before. Lad about town. Three or four on the go at once. But now you’ve only got eyes for one, haven’t you, Marcus?’
Marcus felt a chill in his chest. The voice was standing closer now, had his knees between Marcus’s legs so he couldn’t close them. He shuddered as one hand strangled his genitals, gave them a nasty tug, while the other gripped him around the neck and horrible garlicky breath came close to his face.
‘You want to retain these family jewels, don’t you, Marcus?’ said the voice. ‘Now let’s have Mercy Danquah’s number.’
Boxer unfolded the sheet of A4. At first glance he saw there was definitely some tension in his father’s handwriting.
Dear Charles,
I hope you’re happy, my dear boy. It’s the only thing I would have wanted for you because the truth is I have not been happy. I can honestly say that you have been the only light in my life, the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’ve given me purpose. Without you it would have been so much money earned, so much material bought and nothing much else until the relief of death. I’m forever in your debt and you don’t even know it.
I leave you this tape. It is not for the faint-hearted. I would advise you to destroy it without investigating further, especially if you have achieved the happiness that has so eluded me.
It is not an excuse, only an explanation.
I hid it under the floorboards thinking that you would find it only if you were desperate for some answers. I do not want you to find it. I think it will be very damaging for you. You must take this warning seriously. It is a destructive story you will be embarking on if you decide that you have to watch this tape.
If I were you I would smash it to pieces and walk away. If you feel your life will not be able to progress without the knowledge contained in this tape then so be it. You could, of course, watch the tape and decide that the investigation it demands is not for you and that would be a fine thing as far as I’m concerned. That is why I am not going to tell you of its significance.
All I will say is that you will get your answer just as I got mine.
It is going to lead me to do something that cannot be undone and in the process I will lose the one person I value above all others. You. It is a very high price but there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot resist what has grown inside me. It is after all the weakness of most men.
Do not let the same happen to you. Be strong, my wonderful son. Be strong enough to walk away.
Your ever-loving father,
Dad xxxx
He read it through ten times, maybe more. He didn’t just read it, he fed off it, ravenously. The love within it was what he’d craved these last thirty-five years. It contained nourishment, but he also knew it wouldn’t be enough. He was never going to be able to take his father’s advice. At the very least he was going to have to watch the tape. The only good thing about it was the format. He didn’t have a Betamax player, nobody did. The time it would take for him to locate one would give him the necessary space to contemplate his actions, give him some detachment from his terrible need.
His mobile vibrated in his pocket. Amy.
‘You have to come here, Dad,’ said Amy, her voice on the trembling brink of collapse. ‘It’s Siobhan. She’s … she’s been … Just come here … fast.’
It had taken time for Amy to emerge like a giant chrysalis from her tight white duvet cocoon. She tore the tape from her mouth, spat out what proved to be her pants and went naked through the wreck of the living room to the bathroom. She hesitated before opening the door, panic-stricken at what she might find under the running shower.
The cubicle had cracks running up one of the glass walls; its door was open. Siobhan was jammed up against the tiled wall, her head slumped forward on her chest covered by a towel, which had been white but was now stained pink. She still had her bra on but was naked apart from that. She sat with legs splayed on either side of the plughole, feet braced against the walls of the shower cubicle, her penis shrunken back into the pubis. The water running down the plughole was reddish against the white ceramic base.
Amy turned off the cold shower, ran back to the bedroom, called her father, got dressed as she spoke and went back to Siobhan.
She peeled off the towel. Siobhan’s face had taken some punishment. She was looking at Amy out of the corner of a wild, swollen eye full of fear until she realised who it was. Her hands were tied behind her back.
‘Help me,’ she said.
‘Can you bend your legs?’ asked Amy.
‘Yuh,’ she said, and coughed up some bloodstained spittle from puffy lips, which ran down her chin.
She brought her legs up. Amy rolled her into the foetal position, back facing out of the shower.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Siobhan.
‘Get a knife, cut your wrists free.’
‘Don’t call anybody.’
‘I’ve already called my dad.’
‘All right,’ said Siobhan. ‘But no police.’
Amy came back with the knife. Fresh blood leaked out of Siobhan’s behind, down her buttock and the back of her leg.
‘Oh God,’ said Amy as she cut through the nylon cord. ‘What did they do to you?’
‘Fucking perverts,’ said Siobhan, rolling on to her back, rubbing life back into her wrists. Tears leaked down the side of her face. ‘Help me up.’
Amy got her standing. She limped to the sink and looked at her face in the mirror, hair in sodden rats’ tails.
‘Not so pretty,’ she said. ‘Get this sodding bra off me.’
Amy unhooked the clips. Siobhan ripped it off her shoulders and hurled it into a corner with rage. She turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Bruises had already come out on her upper body, hips and thighs. She rubbed the contoured muscles of her arms. Touched the rack of her visible abdominals, tentatively fingered the blue-black marks on her ribs and checked her small breasts with red nail-polished fingertips.
‘What a mess,’ she said, investigating her shrivelled genitals and wincing at the pain. ‘Now you know … I’m not quite what I appear to be.’
‘So what are you?’ asked Amy.
‘Intersex. XXY. Bit of Siobhan, bit of Sean.’
She had a sudden loss of strength and dropped to her knees.
‘Run the bath for me, will you?’
‘You should see a doctor before you have a bath,’ said Amy. ‘You don’t want to lose any … evidence.’
‘Just run the fucking bath,’ said Siobhan viciously. ‘None of this is going outside these walls. Be grateful for that, unless you fancy going down the nick to explain your involvement?’
‘But you … you’ve just been
raped
.’
‘And?’
‘Nobody should get away with that. Fucking nobody.’
Siobhan cocked her head up like a savaged pit bull and eyed Amy as if she were her dog-fighting owner, sized up her leg, in two minds whether to take a chunk out, unsure whether she was saviour or tormentor.
Amy reached for the taps, ran the bath, got Siobhan to her feet and lowered her into the water.
A knock on the front door to the house. Boxer called out. Siobhan shooed Amy away, sank down into the bathwater to her lips. Amy shut her in.
Boxer surveyed the damage to the flat’s front door.
‘I’ve just called someone to come and repair this,’ he said. ‘How is she?’
‘That’s the first hurdle,’ said Amy. ‘She/he? He/she?’
Boxer nodded as he grasped the import, put it together with what had puzzled him about Siobhan. Amy explained further, told him about the attack and all its violence, but with some omissions about their state of undress at the time. Boxer pulled her to him, hugged her, and she clung on, determined not to cry with relief.