No: no crying. No crying allowed.
Big fierce strong girl!
She yanked at the chain again, straining backwards, legs trembling, arms all sore and achy. Pulling and pulling and pulling...
But it was no use. The chain stayed where it was.
Becca sank down onto her sleeping bag.
Stared up at the metal platey thing screwed to the stick.
Sniffed.
No crying...
None.
She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. Glared at the Horrid Monster Lady’s stupid teddy bear with its big soppy face. Big floppy ears. Big goofy smile... Maybe he was a prisoner like Becca? Maybe he was scared and frightened, because he was all alone and it was dark and he was only little. He needed someone to look after him and keep him safe and give him a proper name, cos ‘Mr Bibble-Bobble’ was a crap name.
‘Don’t worry, Orgalorg.’ She picked him up in her tied-together hands. Gave him a hug — all fuzzy and squishy. ‘I won’t let the tits hurt you.’
Becca laid down on her side. The chain around her armpits clinked and rattled as she pulled one half of the sleeping bag over herself, making sure Orgalorg was tucked in too. Breath all jaggy and shaking in her throat.
No crying!
Sally stands at the sink, leaning on the cool stainless steel, staring out of the window. All the lights are off, turning her into nothing but a faint outline in the glass. Tartan nightshirt barely visible. A ghost.
The shed outside is a dark silhouette, one side blurred by the swathe of ivy.
Looking at it makes her chest ache.
‘I’m so sorry...’
Maybe she should have left Becky with a night light? Or a torch? What if she’s afraid of the dark? What if—
‘Sally? What are you doing in here with all the lights off?’
She lets her eyes focus on the window again as Raymond’s reflection steps up behind her, his naked skin more visible in the glass than she is. Because he’s still alive.
‘Her name’s Rebecca Oliver. Her mother was on the news, Raymond: crying and pleading for her little girl.’ Sally huffs out a trembling breath. Wipes her eyes with the palm of her hand. ‘Just like I used to do. Standing there with Aiden’s photo, begging for whoever took him to bring him back safe and sound...’
‘You have to stop blaming yourself.’ He wraps his arms around her and kisses the skin between her collar and hairline with warm dry lips. ‘I know it’s horrible, but you didn’t have any other choice.’
‘But the police—’
‘You were careful, remember? No one saw you. And even if they did, they wouldn’t recognise you: with the wig and the baseball cap and the hoodie and sunglasses? There aren’t any CCTV cameras in the area, no automatic number-plate recognition either. That’s why we chose it.’ He hugs her. ‘No one can connect you with this.’
She looks through his reflection to the shed again. ‘She’s a little girl.’
‘You had to do it. They won’t let new people into the Livestock Mart without something to sell. It’s how they know you’re legit.’ He takes hold of her shoulders and turns her to face him. Standing there naked in the kitchen, staring at her with those serious grey eyes. The ones that match the two streaks in the swept-back hair at his temples and the stubble on his strong chin. Her knight in shining armour. Only there’s nothing shiny about what they’re doing. Nothing shiny at all.
Raymond cups her chin and lifts her face to his. Kisses her. ‘Listen to me: it’ll be OK. We get Aiden back, then we ramp up the reserve price on the girl so high no one will be able to afford to bid for her. We drop her off somewhere safe and call it in anonymously.’ A lopsided smile. ‘And we come home with Aiden.’
Sally looks away. ‘But what if it doesn’t work like that? What if someone can afford her?’
He sounds so very dependable and reasonable. As if he does this kind of thing every day. ‘Then Andy and Danielle follow them home, beat the crap out of the dirty paedo scumbag, and bring the wee girl back. He won’t get to lay a finger on her, I swear.’ Raymond wraps her up in a hug, his naked skin warm through her nightshirt. ‘It’ll all be over soon. Trust me.’
— a dish of wasps in aspic —
23
Sunlight barged in through the kitchen window, making the mouldy wallpaper glow, glinting off the toaster and kettle.
Naomi and Jasmine were ‘helping’. Which seemed to involve running around the kitchen with plates and tins of ratatouille no one had asked for, while shrieking. Instead of sitting down and eating their breakfast like they’d been told.
Logan poured muesli into a bowl ‘You: horrors, put that stuff down and get ready for breakfast.’ He slid it across the table where Tara topped it with sliced banana.
The radio played in the background, adding to the general din. ‘...twenty-one victims in the third mass shooting this week. San Francisco police confirm the gunman was shot dead at the scene...’
He grabbed Naomi as she thundered past. ‘Have you washed your hands?’
Jasmine held hers up to be inspected. ‘I’m all clean!’
Naomi wriggled. ‘All cleeed! All cleeed!’
‘Urgh.’ Tara poured orange juice into a glass. ‘This must be what it’s like to work in a lunatic asylum.’
‘Looontic! Looontic!’
‘...continues for missing five-year-old Rebecca Oliver at Hazlehead Park this morning. We spoke to Detective Chief Inspector Hardie...’
‘Sit down, you little monster. Who wants toast?’
The doorbell rang, two long sonorous notes that echoed through from the hallway. Tara put down the juice. ‘I’ll go. You...’ she pointed at the disaster, ‘deal with this.’ Then strode from the room.
DCI Hardie’s voice growled out of the radio. ‘...want to stress that our number one priority is getting Rebecca home safe and sound.’
Naomi clambered up onto her chair, singing. ‘Toast! Toast! Toast!’
A reporter’s voice: ‘Is Rebecca’s disappearance linked to that of abducted three-year-old Ellie Morton?’
The Arch Scumbag, Roberta Steel, sauntered into the kitchen, dressed casual in jeans and a jumper. She stopped and frowned at the table. ‘What the hell are you feeding my kids? Is that muesli? What is this, 1974? Where are the sausages?’
Naomi jumped down from her seat and ran at her, arms wide. ‘Mummy!’ Grabbing her legs and hugging, staring up at her. ‘I seed vampeers! Vampeers!’
Susan appeared in the doorway, perfectly turned out in Laura Ashley’s finest. As usual. She thumped Steel on the arm. ‘Don’t be rude, Robbie. A healthy breakfast never harmed anyone.’ Then bent and kissed Naomi’s head. ‘Hello, teeny horror.’
‘Sod healthy — what about bacon. Baked beans. Eggy bread!’
‘...any information, no matter how trivial you think it is — anything at all — call one-oh-one and let us know.’
‘Pfff...’ Steel hauled out a chair and slumped into it. Snapped her fingers at Logan. ‘Hoy, garçon: coffee. Milk, two sugars. And a decent fry-up! Who do I have to kill to get some black pudding around here?’
Oh joy.
Logan groaned, shook his head, then put the kettle on.
Sunlight breaks through the trees, washing the garden in shades of gold and silver. The wet grass shines, as does the hulking ivy beast slowly eating the smaller of her two remaining sheds. A pair of rabbits sit in the middle of the lawn, nibbling the grass.