18. Mel
Sometime later, Mel heard someone at the door again. She shuffled back on the bed, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs protectively.
It would be the big guard again. Wayne.
She couldn’t work out now whether Wayne was truly the most terrifying person she’d ever encountered, or if Glenn had stolen that title with the chilling look in his eye when he’d explained the situation to her...
Wayne had brought food earlier. Bread, a plastic bottle of Coke. She was starving. Hadn’t eaten anything but a couple of canapés since a sandwich for lunch the previous day.
But she didn’t touch the food. She didn’t trust it, although she knew if they wanted to drug her they could just grab her and force her to swallow whatever they wanted. It was more that she didn’t want to acknowledge that she needed them in any way. Accepting their food and drink felt, in some strange way, like accepting the situation.
She’d drunk water from the bathroom in the night. She’d wait for food. Wait until she was free to get her own, or until she was so starved and wasted she had to give in.
She’d had time since Glenn had left to go over and over what he’d said. So much to take in.
The bitterness in his words had shocked her, the revenge he’d been bottling up for years – on Jimmy, on her father, and on her, too. She’d never realized he resented her personally, so intensely. The girl he couldn’t have. The one who’d chosen his brother.
There was real anger in Glenn’s eyes. Anger, but also desire – for she saw that, too. How fucked up must his mind be right now, to want someone so badly, and hate them even more, at the same time? To want to destroy them?
She knew well that Glenn Lazenby was not a man you would ever want to come up against.
She tried hard not to dwell on her fate... The fact that Glenn had brought in these powerful men who would buy a woman – a girl – as a plaything to use, break, discard. A perverse kind of auction.
Would Sullivan win her? Would that be a better fate than any of the other, unknown, bidders? Yesterday evening at the party, she’d seen something in Sullivan’s eye. Something that had disturbed her.
And Harriet. What kind of a mind-fuck was that?
Her father’s other daughter.
They’d known the Rayners for years. Mel’s mother had always been the one who stuck closest to Penny when things got tough. The one who picked up the pieces, who helped her pull things back together every time she tried to return to normal life.
Mel’s mother had died the year before Harriet’s father had... She automatically thought of Geoffrey Rayner in that way: Harriet’s father. The remains of the two families had drawn closer together, and at the time Mel had thought it just a natural thing: shared grief, old friends helping each other. She hadn’t realized there had been something deeper, a connection and a responsibility that went back years.
She knew nothing of her father’s relationship with Penny Rayner. Had there been an affair – what, close to eighteen years ago? Or just a one-off thing. A drunken fumble at a party. A moment of madness when partners were away?
Had the partners known? Had it been something the two couples had struggled through, or something Penny and Doug had concealed?
Did Harriet know?
Harriet. They’d always been like sisters. That’s what everyone said. That’s what they had said, how they’d described their own friendship. We’re the sisters that never were.
Only, they were.
Sisters.
§
And now... The door. The clunk of the lock. The rush of fear, as memories came rushing back. That night in Jubilee Park when the man she now knew as Wayne had attacked her, threatened her... And then last night, Wayne telling her he would, that it was only orders that kept his hands off her.
She didn’t trust him at all. The only reassurance she could find to cling to was that he clearly wasn’t keen on the consequences of disobeying orders, and his job was to keep her here, undamaged.
She pulled at her clothes, wishing she’d chosen a longer dress, only now realizing that the way she sat with her legs pulled up could only draw the eye to curves, exposed flesh. Whatever she did, she couldn’t just sit here looking so vulnerable.
She made to move, but it was too late. The door was swinging open.
She stayed where she was, biting down on her lower lip, the pain giving her at least something to hold on to.
A girl stood there in the open doorway, not Wayne.
“Harriet?”
Mel didn’t move. Couldn’t work out what was quite so surreal about this situation.
All week she’d anticipated this moment, finding Harriet, dragging her into her embrace, and yet now...
“Mels.” Harriet’s voice was a monotone, as flat as her expression.
She still stood there, as if she didn’t know what came next. She looked okay. No bruises or marks. Clean, as if she’d been able to look after herself. Outwardly, the same old Harriet.
But... what had they done to her?
Mel scrambled to her feet, took three steps across the room and threw her arms around her friend.
Harriet’s frame was stiff, stayed that way for a second, two, and then, slowly, slumped, melding into Mel’s embrace.
“Mels. Oh, Mels.”
“It’s okay, Harriet. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to get you safe.”
And as she spoke, she hated the lie, but it was all she could think to say.
Harriet disentangled herself, pulled away, turned. “We have the whole wing,” she said, stepping back out into the narrow corridor.
Mel followed her, trying to recall the layout of this floor, the doors opening off this corridor. What she hadn’t noticed last night when Wayne had brought her up here, was the heavy door, now closed across the far end of the corridor, sealing this area off from the rest of the building.
They were still locked in, still prisoners, just with more space than the small room Mel had been in overnight.
Then she realized something else.
Harriet had been able to unlock the door to Mel’s room. She either had a key, or had already had access to this area and had found the key in the door.
In some strange way, this was Harriet’s domain, and she was like some kind of hostess, showing her new guest around.
And she’d waited until now to open Mel’s door, had left her to stew in that small room until well into the day. It must be late morning by now, Mel worked out: Glenn had been dressed up for the funeral when he came to see her earlier, all ready to go.
Had Harriet been putting off this moment, for some reason? Or had she only just realized Mel was here?
“Harriet.” Mel put a hand on the girl’s arm, forcing her to turn and meet her look. “What is it? What have they done to you?”
Harriet opened her mouth to speak, then stopped herself. Started again: “Nothing, Mels. They’ve done nothing. Glenn’s been good to me. Given me everything I need.”
She pulled away, stepped into the next room, a kind of living room with sofas, a chaise, a big TV suspended from one wall.
“There are clothes,” said Harriet, gesturing to a doorway that led through to another bedroom. “You might want to freshen up.”
Again, Mel felt like some weird kind of guest, Harriet her hostess.
“We need to get out of here,” said Mel. “Right now, while they’re away at the funeral.”
She didn’t like the way Harriet had said Glenn. He wasn’t just a guy called Glenn, he was their abductor. He’d kept Harriet imprisoned for almost a week, was promising to sell them both off to the highest bidder... to men out for revenge.
She wondered if Harriet knew about their father. Wondered how to raise the subject. Whether she even should.
Harriet was staring at her. As if she could read what was on Mel’s mind, she said, “It doesn’t change anything. He’s not my dad. He never was. Geoffrey will always be my real father.”
Of course Glenn would have told her! He’d never miss an opportunity like that. A chance to twist the knife, to screw with people’s perceptions of their world.
Did this explain Harriet’s strange mood now? The distance. The awkwardness between them.
Mel reached for her, but Harriet stepped back.
“Nobody says it should change anything,” Mel said. “Maybe it explains a few things, but that’s all. Don’t let whatever Glenn’s told you get under your skin. Real sisters, or the sisters that never were, we’re still the same us.”
“I’m not your sister,” snapped Harriet. “I never was.”
Mel was shocked by the anger in Harriet’s voice. What had Glenn been saying? What tricks had he used to get into her head?
“It’s okay, Harriet,” she said. “We’ll get through this.”
§
She changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, because that was what Harriet seemed to want.
Maybe the girl was clutching at anything vaguely normal, like the need to see Mel in normal daytime clothes instead of a dress you would only ever put on for an evening out.
She wondered if anyone would be looking for her by now.
She hadn’t answered Jimmy’s calls. Surely he’d realize something was up? This was what he did, and he’d told her he was good at it, one of the best. He’d called her yesterday evening, and while he’d said he would do that to keep her informed, she was sure it was at least partly in order to check up on her – make sure she was okay, and yes, to make sure she was keeping her promise to back off.
If he was as good as he claimed, he must know something was wrong by now.
And her father... their father. Glenn had said he was some kind of spy. She’d always known he was more than simply the pen-pusher he claimed – that was why she’d asked him for help when Harriet had first gone missing, after all.
Did he monitor Mel? If not regularly, then now, when he’d known she was putting herself in danger? He must have some way of tracking her down when he wanted to. If so, then surely he would be close on her tail, too, by now.
That was the best she could do: two flimsy straws to cling onto. A father who’d never paid her much attention, and a – what? lover? friend? there wasn’t a word for what Jimmy Lazenby was to her right now... – who might just be starting to wonder why she’d ignored his call last night.
She went back out into the main room, spread her arms and did a little curtsy, a twirl, as if she’d just put on some glamorous new outfit and not some hand-me-down casuals left out by her abductors.
Harriet still had that slightly blank look on her face, and suddenly Mel understood. She went to Harriet, took hold of her arms, made her look her in the eyes.
“What have they filled you with?” she said in a tight voice.
Harriet was high. Stoned. It was obvious now she’d worked it out.
The girl looked away, shrugged, trying to shake her arms free. “Nothing I didn’t ask for,” she said. “A bit of blow, a bit of weed. Glenn’s been good to me, like I told you.”
Mel remembered Glenn telling her Harriet had been using. One of the few true things he’d told her, as it turned out, although he hadn’t mentioned the fact he was the one pushing it on her.
She squeezed Harriet’s arms again, said, “I’m going to get you out of here, do you understand?”
Harriet pulled clear, walked across to the chaise and threw herself down.
“Will you stop saying that?” she said. “I’m not a child anymore!”
Mel didn’t know what to say, or think. Harriet’s manner was very much like that of a petulant child right now, and Mel struggled to see why she was acting this way. What was in her head?
“You’re sixteen,” she said. “You’ve been abducted. Imprisoned. Given god knows what drugs to keep you docile. So no, I won’t stop saying any of that. I’m here to get you out of all this.”
But Harriet was shaking her head, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
“I’m not sixteen,” she said. “I’m seventeen. I’m old enough to make my own choices.”
They’d brainwashed her. With drugs, with whatever lies Glenn had been feeding her. Mel had seen a documentary once about how a sympathetic bond can develop between kidnapper and victim – the Stockholm Syndrome – could that explain Harriet’s bizarre faith in Glenn now?
Mel dropped to a squatting position, matching Harriet’s eye level. Said, gently, “They’re not interested in you because you’ve just turned seventeen, babe. They want you because you look like you’re about twelve.”
It was harsh, but true, something Harriet had always hated, that her looks were so stubbornly pre-pubescent. In Glenn’s brutal terms that added value, added a level of the forbidden, which he said was exactly what these people were drawn to.
Mel didn’t add that they also wanted her because of who her biological father was.
“What’s he told you?” she asked. “What promises has he made?”
Harriet wouldn’t meet her look.
“Do you even know why you’re here? Has he told you what’s happening?”
“I came here of my own free will,” said Harriet, finally. “I’ve made my choices, and I’ve chosen to reject my old life. You don’t get to take that away from me.”
“Free will?” said Mel. “Is that why you’re cut off from the world – nothing, not even a phone. Is that why that door at the end of the corridor is locked? When was the last time you even set foot outside?”
“Locked doors only exist in the mind,” said Harriet. She sounded as if she were quoting from a teenagers’ magazine, or an inspirational website.
Mel wanted to slap her. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t Harriet, this was what had been done to her. Somehow Glenn had managed to convince her she actually wanted all this.
“There’s a group of men out there,” Mel said, patiently. “Rich men who can have whatever they want. And what they want is a girl who looks illegal, who they can have whether she wants it or not. And one of the reasons they want to indulge in the fantasy of raping a child – because that’s what this is... one of the reasons is that they want revenge against that girl’s biological father. Whatever Glenn’s told you, that’s the reality of it.”
“I know about the men,” Harriet said, her voice calm, silencing Mel. “It’s not like that. He said you’d say all kinds of horrible things. Your father’s daughter, trying to control me, as always.”
This was seriously screwed up. How had Glenn managed to twist Harriet’s perception of the entire world in so short a time?
It was like telling a lie, she realized. The best lies are couched in truth.
And these lies Glenn had planted in Harriet’s head – he’d taken the truth that Mel had always looked out for Harriet and twisted it into the idea that she had controlled her. He’d taken the truth that Doug Conner had always felt some kind of responsibility toward his secret child, and twisted it into the idea that Harriet’s life, rather than being as remarkably free and liberated as it had been, was somehow constrained and manipulated.
He’d taken the knowledge that Mel would try to convince Harriet of all this, and built it into those fantasies of control and manipulation, so that whatever Mel might say would always work against her.
Again, she was reminded of how Glenn had always been at least one step ahead.
She couldn’t let it go, though. “These men want to destroy you,” she said softly. “And they’ll have fun doing so. That’s what they’re paying for. That’s what they’re buying. You’re not going to end up as some millionaire’s girlfriend, living in the south of France.”
One last try... “And what about me? If Glenn’s offering you a path to some kind of freedom, then why am I here? Why has he locked me up? Why is he going to sell me off to the highest bidder, too?”
For a moment she thought the simple logic of that observation had chipped through Harriet’s cold veneer, then the girl shrugged, still hugging herself. Said, “He told me you’d say that. You’re just one of them. You always have been.”
Mel looked away.
“We’ll get through this, Harriet. I promise you, we’ll get through.”