The It Girl(124)

Some phones have a way of calling the police from the lock screen, she knows that. She saw a video on Twitter once, a woman showing you how to activate it on an iPhone. You had to press the side button and one of the volume buttons. Or was it the power button? Whichever one it was, the phone autodialed the emergency services without the user having to do anything else. But in the video, the phone let out a loud siren as it called the police. Hannah could turn down the volume, but she has no way of knowing whether the siren overrides the volume setting. If it’s some kind of deliberate safety feature, a warning to the user that they’ve dialed 999, then it would make sense to have it sound no matter what.

Should she risk it?

She glances over at Hugh. He’s staring at the road ahead, not showing any uneasiness.

If she calls the police and her phone lets out a siren call, Hugh will know she has a working phone, and he will find some way to dispose of it, she’s sure of that now.

No, she can’t use that feature.

Oh God, if only Hugh had been right. If only Will were tracking her. She shuts her eyes, imagining Will roaring up behind the car on his motorbike, forcing Hugh to a stop, and a lump forms in her throat, almost choking her. But she cannot cry—if she does, she will never stop, and Will isn’t coming; she is going to have to rescue herself from this.

But Will… Will is the one person she could call.

A sudden shiver runs through her.

“Are you cold?” Hugh asks conversationally.

She shakes her head.

“No, it was nothing, just a goose on my grave.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was hope.

She is going to have to be very, very careful now. This is going to take timing, and dexterity, and she is going to have to be very inventive about what she says to Hugh and how she phrases it.

The phone is hard and reassuring in her hand. She lets her finger rest on the side button.

“Hugh,” she says.

“Mm?” Hugh doesn’t look away from the road. They are a long way out of Edinburgh now. She can hear the sound of the sea, she thinks, and rain is beginning to spatter against the windscreen.

“When we get home, after I’ve spoken to the police, do you think I should”—her shaking finger presses the side button on the phone, the button that activates voice commands, and then she raises her voice as loud as she dares—“call Will?”

She hears the faintest, almost imperceptible chime of a ringtone starting up through the phone’s internal speaker, and she gives a loud yawn to cover it, her fingers diving for the volume button, pressing down, down, down as hard as she can. The ring dies away, her heart thumping in time with its fading rhythm. With the speaker muted, she has no way of knowing whether Will has answered. Please, please, she finds herself thinking. Hugh is speaking, but she can’t concentrate on his words, all she can think of is whether Will has picked up, or if he’s grunted furiously and sent her call to voicemail. Oh God, oh Will, please, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—if you ever loved me—

Maybe he’s not even there. Maybe the ringer is switched off. Maybe he’s drowning his sorrows in a pub, and can’t hear her call, and it’s already gone to voicemail.

Please, please, please. I’m sorry, Will, I’m sorry I doubted you.

“… what you’re going to say to him?” Hugh is asking. He’s frowning.

“I guess you’re right,” Hannah says. Her heart is thudding so hard her belly is shaking with it. It feels like a miracle that Hugh can’t hear it, can’t see how scared she is, but his eyes are on the road. “I just wish—oh God, I just wish we hadn’t left it that way. He must be frantic—wondering where I am, whether I’m safe.” Oh God, please don’t hang up, Will. Please hear what I’m trying to tell you, please stay on the line. She shifts in her seat, feeling the baby pressing against her pelvis.

“I know,” Hugh says, and his voice cracks with what sounds almost like realistic emotion. “I know, Hannah. God, I mean, I know it’s not the same, but—he’s my best friend, you know? Was.” There is a long silence.

Please don’t hang up.

“How long, do you think?” Hannah says at last. “Until we get to the police? We seem to have been driving for ages. I feel like we must be halfway to Berwick.” Are you listening, Will?

“Oh, nowhere near there,” Hugh says with a laugh, but he sounds a little uneasy. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. The wipers swish back and forth with hypnotic rhythm. “Why don’t you have a nap? I can wake you when we get to the station.”

Hannah nods. But if she hadn’t been sure before, those words would have made her so. Because no one could possibly think she was tired—she’s done nothing but sleep since she drank that tea. Another surge of fear runs through her. She rests her arm against the window and stares out into the night, looking, desperately, for something, anything to give Will a clue about her whereabouts.

And then it comes. A pub, looming out of the darkness.

She blinks, strains her eyes. She cannot afford to miss the sign, but the writing is small, the rain is so hard, and the sign isn’t illuminated… and then it flashes past and she has caught it.

“The Silver Star…” she says shakily, trying to make it sound as if she is just thinking aloud. “What a pretty name for a pub…”