Her hair’s grown. Of course it has. And she’s so pale, under the grime. She’s no shoes on, just greying socks, a big T-shirt under her jumper and old tracksuit bottoms. She is taller, too.
My eyes fill with tears. Sophie. She’s alive. She really is. Wild joy fills me – and then fear. ‘Sophie—’ I take a step towards her, my hands reaching out.
‘Don’t move another inch.’ He points the knife right at me and I freeze.
Above the masking tape, her eyes are full of fear, like a cornered animal. The tape’s round her wrists too: her hands twisted awkwardly in front of her; back to back.
‘So that’s why you’re going to take the pills,’ he says. ‘Or I’ll hurt her.’ He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact.
I understand now. ‘You don’t need to do this. You can go away. You don’t need to. I won’t tell anyone. Just let us go and—’
He gestures impatiently. ‘Stop it, Kate.’ He sighs, like I’m an annoyance. ‘Of course you’ll tell someone. Look what you’ve done so far.’
‘I was just trying to find out what happened,’ I say now, keeping my voice steady.
‘We wanted to be together. Didn’t we, Sophie?’ She nods. He’s broken her, I think, my poor girl. ‘But you wouldn’t let her go. And yet you couldn’t find her either, could you? Right by you, and you never realised.
‘You’ve failed her, until now. You told me that. But now here’s your chance: your chance to save her. To make it right, like you wanted.’
To save her … and I stop. Then what? A half-life with him, hidden away. Or worse?
Make it right. I wasn’t perfect. But this wasn’t my fault.
I stare at him; the hatred radiating off me. It wasn’t my fault. Sophie didn’t leave me, not forever; she just made a mistake. She wanted to come home. I’m not a bad mother.
It was him. He did this to me – to us. To my daughter. He ripped our lives apart.
‘So that’s why,’ he says, ‘you’re going to do what you’re supposed to do now. Take the pills.’
‘You wouldn’t.’ My mouth is so dry with fear my tongue sticks to the roof. ‘You don’t want to hurt her. Nancy was an accident.’ No. I can’t be this close, only to lose now. He takes a step towards Sophie and lifts his hand. ‘You wouldn’t hurt …’
‘No, I don’t want to. I never want to. But she’s been a bad girl, haven’t you? A disappointment. And I didn’t even know, until your mother told me, the full extent of all your little tricks, to get away from me.’ Her eyes are shiny, wet with tears, above the ugly silver tape covering her mouth.
‘So that’s why,’ he says to me. ‘That’s why you’re going to do it. And then we can start again. Things will have to be quite different, I think.
‘Now.’ He steps close to her, puts the knife just against her cheekbone, near her eye, and presses almost delicately. A small red bead swells up under the point and then rolls down, like a tear.
‘Stop,’ I say. ‘It’s OK, Sophie.’ No more playing for time. At least this way she’s got a chance. I unscrew the cap, my hands fumbling with the safety lock. I can make myself vomit, I think. Or I’ll spit them out; I will keep them in my cheek—
‘I’m going to watch you do it. Let me see your hands.’ He’s always been clever.
‘How do I know though?’ I say, lifting my head. ‘How do I know you’re not going to hurt her?’
‘You don’t. But Sophie’s going to be a good girl. She knows what happens if she’s not. Don’t you?’ he says to her.
She nods quickly.
I look at her at last: ‘Just survive, sweetie. Do what you have to do to survive, that’s all I ask.’
I do it as slowly as I can. Maybe I could pull through this, I’m calculating, I did last time. But I can see: there must be what, fifty pills in here? Far more than before. That would do it, no doubt about it. And I’ll be here, won’t I, quietly falling asleep in a dirty corner of an empty building, where no one will find me.
I hold the first pill in my mouth and swallow. I start choking, tears coming to my eyes. I cough once, harshly, then hiccup it up again, holding it in my mouth.
His eyes are wide, showing the whites. ‘I told you not to try anything. If you try to—’
I shake my head. Tears are starting to spill down Sophie’s cheeks, following the track of the blood.
‘I’m not trying anything. I can’t swallow it down.’
‘Do it. Try again.’
So I do. But the same thing happens, I can’t even get the pill down my throat; I hunch forward, cough it up again, my body racked. He’s agitated now, shifting on his feet.
‘It’s OK. It’s OK.’ Keep him calm. ‘I just need some water.’
‘Water?’
‘I’m serious.’ I need some water. If he’s distracted, if he leaves the room …
But he looks from me to Sophie, uncertain. She looks back, her eyes big, and he decides. ‘So get some.’ She doesn’t move for a second. ‘Get. A bottle. Of water. From the pile.’
‘I can get it,’ I say.
‘Stay where you are.’ He points the blade back at me. How strong is he? But I can’t risk anything, not while he’s so close to my daughter.
She steps back through the door slowly, and disappears from my view. From the other room, there’s a dull thud, like something was knocked over. She’ll be struggling, with her hands bound.
‘Hurry up!’ he says, his voice raised. But she’s already back now, something crooked in her arms. One of those big bottles of water, plastic. How long does he plan to have her here? It’s sliding through her arms, like she’s going to drop it again.
Impatiently, he wrests it off her and walks over to me. I tense, bracing myself against the wall, one foot against the cool bricks, and he stretches out an arm to hand me the bottle. ‘Take it.’ He’s too close now; he wants to watch what I’m doing. ‘No tricks. No pills down your sleeve, or on the floor.’ His eyes are intent, almost hungry.
This can’t happen. But it is, I can’t stop it.
I take the bottle off him, using two hands, finding it awkward with the pills to hold too. Everything seems to be unfolding in slow motion. It’s going to happen.
He’s so near I can smell his aftershave, woody, mixed with the smell of the dirt floor. I feel the weight of the water bottle in my hands. I see Sophie, behind him, her eyes intent on mine. I feel the chill in the damp air. The pressure behind the plastic, under my hand, and Sophie, her gaze not wavering. We’re doing what he wants. I see her gaze shift to the bottle in my hands, then back to meet my eyes.
And I do what he wants. I hold it against my body; position it just right; I turn the cap. The water bursts out, a white stream, spattering against his glasses; shaken after Sophie dropped it. He recoils, putting his hands up reflexively to wipe the lenses, only for a second, before he recovers.
But it’s enough, just enough, as I’ve already let the bottle fall and am throwing myself at the hand holding the knife, grappling for it, my whole weight on his arm, pulling him down with me, and now we’re both on the floor, his arm’s under me, my bodyweight on it. And suddenly I’ve got the knife, my nails digging into his skin, I’ve actually got it loose and in my hand, and I throw it, as far as I can, skittering across the floor away from us, but he’s strong, like I thought, of course he is, ‘You bitch, you stupid bitch,’ he says, and he flips me back under him, his glasses hanging half off, his expression contorted with fury, and he has got me.
I throw one arm up, my elbow connecting with something with a crunch; but he gets it down again, he’s so much stronger than me, pinning both my arms under his knees, and now his hands are on my throat, he’s crouching over me, his heaviness crushing me, his eyes blind with rage. I feel his fingers, hard and strong, all his force behind them. And now I see Sophie behind him, too close, she needs to get away, she’s trying to help, but her hands are still tied, I can hear her muffled screams, her face red under the silver tape; she’s trying to pull him away, her hands on one shoulder, slipping; she can’t grip properly, and he stops for a second and backhands her; he sends her flying back, down to the dirt.
I take one big heaving breath in while his hand’s off my throat, filling my roaring lungs, but I still can’t move, my legs kicking uselessly, trying to find purchase in the loose dirt surface. Then he’s back on me, both hands pressing, harder than before, his intent clear; and Sophie’s up again, further away now. But I can see, there’s nothing between her and the door, the path is clear, and yet she’s turned back, she’s scared, her eyes fixed on mine. I can’t form words, I try to tell her with my eyes, just go, but she’s not, she’s coming a step closer, the wrong way, she’s got to get out of her, before he realises what’s happening and I’m so afraid for her, go go go.
And then she decides, I can see it in her face, she’s nodding, her face a grimace under the tape, and she’s unsteady from the blow, but she’s moving now, backing away from us. His fingers are still tighter now, around my throat, he’s silent and calm above me: he’s going to do this, just like he did it to Nancy, and my vision is narrowing, going dark round the edges. And I’m so scared but I’m singing inside too, because she’s gone, I can’t see her now, as the blood drums louder in my ears. If it gets her away, she can go, she’ll be free.
But I’ve got to keep him here, as long as I can, or he’ll be after her, it will all be for nothing – the thought courses through me, as he hunches over me, he’s so close to me now, his breath hot in my face, and yes – I jerk my head up, hard against his nose, I feel something breaking. There is something hot and wet spilling out over my face, and I twist underneath him, getting one arm free, just for a second, and I throw it out, grasping, my fingers reaching blindly for a rock, something, anything, but there’s nothing, just the cold, bare floor. He’s silent, his eyes staring, his fingers back round my throat, even tighter …
And suddenly it’s there, the knife, I don’t know where it comes from, I threw it away with no thought of using it. But it’s here now, and I can’t believe this is happening, it’s almost like I’m removed, watching it from outside myself, but I see it slide in, between his ribs, before he knows it.
He groans. And now the liquid heat is spreading between our bodies, shockingly warm. He’s so heavy, and his fingers are still at my throat, but easing now, the pressure weakening. And then suddenly I can roll him, I can push him off me entirely; I can scrabble up from under him.
His eyes are glazed with shock, as he looks up, still not understanding what’s happened, until he slowly puts his hand where the knife went in, close to his heart.
The blood is dark on the floor, already soaking into the earth.