She stops in front of it, gripping the steering wheel even tighter as she glances in the rear-view mirror again. Swallows down the thing growing in her throat.
‘I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, but I haven’t got any choice. I need my little boy. I need him so very, very much...’
Becky doesn’t reply, but then she can’t.
Sally wipes her eyes. Huffs out a breath. Then another. And another.
‘Come on, Sally, you can do this. Do it for Aiden.’
Yes.
She puts on her baseball cap and sunglasses, adjusts the wig, then pulls up the hood on her hoodie. Checks her reflection again.
Even without the disguise, would she recognise the woman looking back at her? After everything she’s done?
Probably not. But what choice does she have?
She climbs out into the gloom as the rain starts again — like the pitter-patter of tiny feet on the car and trees and earth.
The Shogun’s headlights pick out the pale skeletal forms of branches and trunks up ahead, casting a thin grey glow along the front of the cottage, leaving everything else in darkness. Its engine grumbles, exhaust trailing scarlet in the tail-lights’ glare.
Sally stands there, breath fogging around her head.
No sign of anyone.
Come on, you can do this.
She pulls a torch from her pocket, clicks it on, and follows its glow to the four-by-four’s boot. Pops open the tailgate. Forces a smile as she slides the cover away. ‘Hey, you...’
Becky lies on her side, cosseted in a nest of sleeping bags and blankets and towels. Hands tied with baler twine, ankles too. Sally tucks Mr Bibble-Bobble in between Becky’s arms and chest — she moans behind her tea-towel gag, eyes barely flickering.
Two more green pills and another mini stamp.
‘I know. I know. I’m sorry.’ Sally reaches in and lifts them both from the boot, cradling them against her chest as she crosses the weed-strangled verge to the cottage’s rusted gate.
She takes a deep breath. ‘HELLO?’
The only sounds are the car’s engine and the falling rain.
‘HELLO? IS THERE ANYONE THERE?’
She shifts her grip on Becky and runs the torch across the cottage. Something scurries into the brambles. A rusting jumble of metal casts a twisted shadow along the wall.
‘I CAN’T JUST LEAVE HER OUT HERE IN THE RAIN!’
She turns on the spot, playing the torch across the garden, the trees, the track, the Shogun. ‘HELLO? IS ANYONE—’
A muffled voice growls out behind her. ‘What part of “clandestine” did you not understand?’
Sally moves to face him, but something hard presses against her hoodie at the back of her neck. There’s a metallic click and she freezes. It’s the unmistakable soundtrack to a million action films — a gun’s hammer being cocked.
‘No, no, no.’ He sounds patient, like he’s talking to a small, but favoured, child. ‘I get to see you. You don’t get to see me. That’s how this works.’
She holds Becky tighter. ‘But—’
‘Genuinely, it makes no difference to me if you survive this handover or not. I leave with the girl either way.’ The gun presses harder into Sally’s neck. ‘Put her down on the ground. Nice and gentle — don’t want to damage the goods.’
Sally tenses. ‘How do I know you won’t hurt her? How do I know you won’t... touch her?’
‘Well, one: no one wants to buy damaged goods. And two: I’m not the kind of guy who’s into little kids. I leave that to perverts like you.’ This time, he doesn’t push with the gun, he shoves. ‘Now, put — the kid — down.’
She lowers Becky onto the wet ground, steps away, and stands there with her hands up.
‘There we go.’
There’s a rustling noise, then Becky moans.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘We...’ No. Probably best to make him think she’s working on her own. ‘I gave her something to keep her calm.’
There’s a pause that grows and grows and grows.
Then, ‘Fair enough.’ More rustling and a grunt.
Becky moans again — has he picked her up?
‘Go stand over there, both hands on the bonnet.’
Sally picks her way through the weeds and does what she’s told.
‘Now, you know the rules for tomorrow, right? Cash sales only. I so much as suspect that you’re dodgy: you go home in bitesize chunks. Well, you know, dodgy for a paedophile. Bar’s set a bit differently for you people.’
‘I understand.’
‘You come alone. You don’t tell anyone. You don’t bring anyone. You pay in cash. And you never ever tell anyone about this. Not even on pain of death.’
Sally grits her teeth. ‘I said I understand.’ No one ever listens.
His voice is getting fainter, as if he’s backing away. ‘You get to keep eighty percent of anything your “contribution” makes on the night, collectible at the end of the evening.’
‘But you haven’t told me where to—’
‘You’ll get a text with the time and place. Don’t be late...’
She stands there, hands on the warm bonnet, the engine’s grumble drowning out everything but the rain thumping against the brim of her baseball cap. Breathing hard. Every exhale a glowing grey ghost in front of her face.
Is it safe to turn around yet?
Count to a hundred, that would be long enough, wouldn’t it?
One... Two... Three...
By the time she finally turns, there’s no sign of Becky or the man with the gun.
Sally wraps her arms around herself for a moment, squeezing till the trembling subsides. Then closes the Shogun’s boot and climbs in behind the wheel.
The track is a bit tight for a three-point turn, but she manages it — heading back the way she came, one hand wiping the tears from her cheeks.
At least it’s done. She’s one step closer to saving Aiden.
It doesn’t matter how much it burns inside, it’s for Aiden.
She thumbs the hands-free button on her steering wheel and calls Raymond’s mobile.
He picks up on the first ring. ‘Sally? Sally, is everything—’
‘It’s on for tomorrow night.’
The Shogun rides the potholes harder this time as she puts her foot down, not having to worry about damaging her precious cargo any more. Past the thicket of brambles and the pile of logs — their shapes looming in the headlights, then sinking into darkness again.
‘Sally, are you OK?’
Past the crumpled metal hulk. Hands tight on the steering wheel, the muscles in her jaw clenching.
‘Sally?’
Scowling out through the windscreen. ‘Of course I’m not OK! I handed a little girl over to a bastard with a gun, so he can auction her off to a bunch of paedophiles!’
Filthy liquid crashes over the bonnet as she thunders through a waterlogged rut.
‘We’ll get her back, remember? Andy and Danners won’t let her out of their sight. I promise.’
Sally shakes her head, scrubs a hand across her eyes again. ‘I don’t know if I can go through with—’
‘Yes you can! You can do this, Sally. You just have to be strong for Aiden.’