Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(88)

After losing her real father at the age of five she and her mother had grown even closer. They had done everything together. Tracy had never even felt the effects of her friendless childhood because of the love and warmth from her mother. She had never felt as though she was lacking anything. Her mother was there for her every time the bullies chased her out of the school gates just so they could see her limp worsen when running.

Her mother had stroked her hair and dried her tears and told her everything would be okay. And Tracy had believed her.

Until Terry had moved in.

Her mother had felt that Terry was a hero, taking on a child that was not his own. But Terry had taken on nothing. There were many things that Tracy could have shared with her mother about him, not least of which was the name-calling when the woman of the house was not around.

It began just two weeks after he had moved in.

‘Mek me a cup of tay then, Peggy,’ he said and then laughed loudly.

She had not understood. Who was Peggy?

‘Peggy, short for peg leg,’ he’d clarified and then laughed again.

Humiliation had burned her cheeks and thickened her throat as she had stumbled blindly into the kitchen.

He had managed to bring the ugliness into her home, her place of safety, and it was something that could never be undone.

It became his name for her whenever her mother had left the house.

Gradually she had retreated from their company and would head straight upstairs after school, keeping the jibes and humiliations of the day to herself. She would just tell them everything had been okay.

She had moved out three days after her sixteenth birthday.

Tracy knew now that had she chosen to walk through her mother’s door she would have been encased in a big warm hug as though she’d never been away. There would have been no reproach for her absence. No accusation for the weekly calls that weren’t always made. Her mother would have held her, loved her and, most importantly, forgiven her.

And she’d left it too late.

Her mother loved her. She knew that.

She also knew that her mother was the only one. She had been abducted, plucked from her life and no one would even be missing her.

The door banged above and startled her. She already knew that meant he was on his way.

She almost cried out with the effort of not wetting herself. She didn’t know how much longer she could wait.

The door opened and she squeezed her legs together.

He switched on the light and smiled. Tracy heard the whimper that escaped from her mouth.

Never in her life had she felt so trapped. There were moments in her childhood that could come close, but even then she’d known she was a child and that some day she would have an element of control over her own destiny. Well here she was, all grown up, and she was as trapped as she had been back then.

The knowledge lit a swirl of anger and injustice in Tracy’s stomach. She had promised herself that she would never be in that position again.

‘Now it’s time for tea,’ he said brightly.

Tracy had no idea what time it was… but if it was time for tea she knew her hours were already numbered.

Her eyes glanced across to the rocks. If only she could get her hands on one of those. She could bash it against his head and make a run for it. She didn’t know how far she could run, but he always left the door to the dark corridor open. At least she could try.

He reached back into the hallway and used both hands to wheel in a trolley that was laden with a teapot, cups and plates of cakes.

Tracy’s heart began to thump as he carefully placed the items one by one on the table. There was nothing she could use. Her right wrist was chained to the high chair, and she already knew she couldn’t get the momentum to move the chair itself.

His smile was almost beatific as he arranged two plates side by side.

‘This is my favourite time of the day,’ he said as he poured tea into both of the cups. ‘I love it when we have our own little tea party. Just the two of us.’

He looked around the shelves at the collection of dolls. ‘No, we won’t invite any of the others today. It’ll be just us, okay, sweetie?’

Tracy said nothing even though her mind recoiled at his use of endearments. The thought of food brought a rolling nausea to her stomach even though she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.

‘Okay, let’s start with cake. Which one would you like?’

Tracy was unable to move. The fear had deadened every muscle in her body, but her brain was coming alive.

‘Which one?’ he repeated.

She swallowed and nodded towards the end plate.

‘Fondant fancy. Good choice.’

He took two from the larger plate and placed them on each of the smaller plates.

He put a plate before her.

‘One for you and one for me.’

Maybe if she followed his instructions, did everything he wanted, he would let her go. Perhaps Jemima had angered him somehow. Perhaps she hadn’t eaten the cake.

She put all her energy and focus on lifting the cake to her mouth. Her jaws were numbed by terror, but she managed to nibble the end.

The dry sponge hit the arid desert that was her mouth and would go no further.

‘Are you not hungry, sweetie?’ he asked.

Not knowing the right answer she shook her head.

He nodded his understanding as the last bit of the cake disappeared into his mouth. ‘I think you need a cup of tea.’