Seven Days(79)

And then, with her right hand, she snatched the key and pulled it as hard as she could.

She backed towards the door and unlocked it. The man twitched.

‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll take your other eye.’

She felt a sense of elation.

She had done it. This was it.

All she had to do was unlock the door, then go to the bath, get Max, and they would be free.

And then there was a noise.

A banging coming from the bath.

‘Mummy,’ a muffled voice said. ‘Where are you?’





Martin


Martin pulled into a car parking space at the hospital. It was hard to be back here. This was the third time, and he had hoped it was over for good.

But maybe that was another hope that would not be granted to him.

He walked into the consulting room, two cups of tea in his hand.

Sandra was sitting on the bed. She smiled. ‘I’m not sure I feel like anything,’ she said. She put a hand on his forearm. Her hand was dry and warm, the veins prominent. She looked at him. Her hair was beginning to grow back, but it was still short. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

‘Me too,’ Martin said. ‘Me too. But it’ll be OK,’ he said. ‘It really will.’

She didn’t reply. When he looked at her there were tears on her cheeks.





Maggie


There was the sound of wood scraping on wood, then a blond, curly-haired head appeared over the lip of the bath.

‘Mummy?’ Max said. ‘Are you OK?’

The man thought – and reacted – more quickly than Maggie did. They were an equal distance from the corner of the room with the bath in, and, before she could move, he half-sprang, half-ran to it. He reached out and grabbed Max, then held him up.

His hands and face and clothes were covered in blood. His one remaining eye was wild, his mouth parted as he panted for breath.

‘The key,’ he growled. ‘Put it on the floor.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No.’

He gripped Max’s neck. ‘Then he’s dead.’

‘Ow,’ Max said. ‘Stop it! You’re hurting.’

Maggie took a step towards them. Her left hand – the one with the talons – lifted.

The man shook his head. ‘Don’t take another step. I’ll break his neck.’

Maggie blinked. Tears came to her eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d got so close, only to fail at the last step. It was going to be even worse now. The man would take Max – that was for sure – and then what? He’d leave her in darkness for days? Weeks? Torture her? He’d have to go to the doctor for his eye – no doubt he’d make up some story about getting mugged – and then he’d take it all out on her.

And she would not be able to avoid his punishment. The bleach was gone. Even that way out was lost to her now.

So close, but all she’d done was make things worse.

‘Put the key in the door,’ the man said. ‘Then go and lie on the mattress, face down, your hands behind your head.’

‘Please,’ Maggie said. ‘Leave Max with me.’

The man laughed. ‘Key in the door.’

So this was it. The same story, yet again. She’d managed more of a fight this time, but Max was gone either way. She could try to attack the man again, but she had no doubt he would snap Max’s neck.

Then, though, there would be nothing stopping her from killing the man.

No. She couldn’t do anything that would harm Max. She had to keep him alive.

‘Key in the door,’ the man said. ‘Then walk slowly to the bed and lie down.’

Maggie turned to the door, the key between her thumb and forefinger. She inserted it into the lock. She’d dreamed of this moment so many times, dreamed of standing by this door, key in her hand and now here she was.

As trapped as she had ever been.

She would lie on the bed and the man would take Max and this would be over.

And she would be alone. She paused.

She looked at the man. She looked at Max.

She had to try. If she didn’t Max was dead anyway. She had no choice. She had to leave him.

She had to leave him with the man.

She stared at him, drank in the beauty of her son, maybe for the last time.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll be back for you.’

It was the hardest thing she had ever done. She unlocked the door and walked through it.





James


Sitting in his flat only confirmed that he was doing the right thing. For the first time he could see how squalid it was. Filthy mugs of week-old tea, over-flowing ashtrays, the rotten, fetid smell of decay permeating everything – this mess, this obscenity, was his life.

He had everything he needed. Two hundred quid’s worth of smack. It was enough to kill a horse. There’d be some left over for Davo and Carl. He wondered whether they would miss him. Probably for as long as it took to get high from whatever was left. Once that happened they would no more care about James than they would anything else.

That was exactly the problem. All James cared about was the next fix, and he understood now that was no kind of life. He also understood there was no way out of it. He wasn’t strong enough to dig himself out of the hole. His pain went too deep, went back to the day his sister hadn’t come home.