‘Are you going to kill us?’ My voice judders from the bumps in the road, and my throat is tight from fear. I can’t help thinking about you, if you’re home yet, if you know we’ve been kidnapped.
Your daughter and your wife.
The stranger doesn’t reply. Instead, he stares straight ahead, focusing on where he’s taking us, concentrating so he doesn’t draw unwanted attention to the beaten-up car. I can’t see his face from where I am – squashed on the floor behind the front seat – but I can feel the heat of the drive shaft beneath me, the rough fur of the car’s old carpet. It’s nothing like your plush Mercedes. Nowhere near as smooth.
Our daughter is hunched and shaking, also on the floor, her eyes fixed on mine as if letting go will be the end of both of us. Her teeth are clamped together, her lips stretched wide around them. When he forced us to get in, I saw her hesitation, her hopeful glance that we would disobey, stage a revolt. Kick him and run for it. We didn’t.
‘Just do as he says, Ellie,’ I’d told her, my voice stiff from fear. Yet she’d still hesitated, her defiant streak winning through. She’d inherited that from you, of course – all mouth and pained expressions when things didn’t go her way. Even as a toddler, with her blonde, vanilla-scented curls, Ellie had a way of getting what she wanted without having to throw a tantrum like most kids her age. Had us around her little finger, you’d said proudly, bouncing her on your knee.
We’d been loading shopping into my car when he approached us. I heard the echoing footsteps across the empty multi-storey first, noticed the casual flick of Ellie’s gaze as she was arranging her carrier bags in the boot. Then, suddenly, a cold knife curved around my throat, making me gasp. Ellie screamed, but I remained silent. We did as he said.
‘If it’s about money,’ I’d said, terrified, as he’d marched us to his car, mumbling things about ransoms and revenge. ‘I … I’m not sure my husband will pay up.’
He doesn’t know you; how your mind works.
‘It’s not about the money,’ he’d said, telling us to call him Tom even though I knew it wouldn’t be his real name.
As we’d followed him – the knife held at my back beneath my coat, looking as if he had his arm around me – Ellie surreptitiously signalled to the car park’s CCTV cameras, making a few covert gestures, cleverly hoping an astute operator would pick up her distress. I reckoned they’d think she was just a bored teen, Tom and I her parents even though he was a good deal younger than me. Closer to Ellie’s age, in fact. Until they knew we were missing, no one would take any notice of the footage.
When he barked at us to get into his car for a second time, I ushered Ellie in first, my hand on the ridge of her taut spine. It felt cowardly, but I knew the consequences if we didn’t.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tom had said, before driving off. ‘I’ll make sure he fucking pays.’ He turned round, giving me a sinister look.
It would depend on when you called the police, of course.
If
you called the police. But I didn’t say that to Tom.
*
It’s raining now, a proper downpour with a mix of hailstones and thunder. It pelts off the car roof, making a din so that Ellie’s fearful whimpers can’t be heard. I’m grateful for that.
After an hour, we slow down, bump across what feels like a rough track or a field. It’s odd. I didn’t feel scared at first, almost relishing the sudden change in my life as if I’d been winded by excitement, whisked away from everything I knew – as well as from you. But now I feel scared. Terrified of what’s going to happen. Missing everything I didn’t want any more; even missing
you
.
As he brings the car to a stop, unbuckling his seatbelt, I press my finger against my lips, imploring Ellie to keep quiet. I give her a look that tells her everything will be all right, that I will, for once, make things OK. I have no
Your daughter and your wife.
The stranger doesn’t reply. Instead, he stares straight ahead, focusing on where he’s taking us, concentrating so he doesn’t draw unwanted attention to the beaten-up car. I can’t see his face from where I am – squashed on the floor behind the front seat – but I can feel the heat of the drive shaft beneath me, the rough fur of the car’s old carpet. It’s nothing like your plush Mercedes. Nowhere near as smooth.
Our daughter is hunched and shaking, also on the floor, her eyes fixed on mine as if letting go will be the end of both of us. Her teeth are clamped together, her lips stretched wide around them. When he forced us to get in, I saw her hesitation, her hopeful glance that we would disobey, stage a revolt. Kick him and run for it. We didn’t.
‘Just do as he says, Ellie,’ I’d told her, my voice stiff from fear. Yet she’d still hesitated, her defiant streak winning through. She’d inherited that from you, of course – all mouth and pained expressions when things didn’t go her way. Even as a toddler, with her blonde, vanilla-scented curls, Ellie had a way of getting what she wanted without having to throw a tantrum like most kids her age. Had us around her little finger, you’d said proudly, bouncing her on your knee.
We’d been loading shopping into my car when he approached us. I heard the echoing footsteps across the empty multi-storey first, noticed the casual flick of Ellie’s gaze as she was arranging her carrier bags in the boot. Then, suddenly, a cold knife curved around my throat, making me gasp. Ellie screamed, but I remained silent. We did as he said.
‘If it’s about money,’ I’d said, terrified, as he’d marched us to his car, mumbling things about ransoms and revenge. ‘I … I’m not sure my husband will pay up.’
He doesn’t know you; how your mind works.
‘It’s not about the money,’ he’d said, telling us to call him Tom even though I knew it wouldn’t be his real name.
As we’d followed him – the knife held at my back beneath my coat, looking as if he had his arm around me – Ellie surreptitiously signalled to the car park’s CCTV cameras, making a few covert gestures, cleverly hoping an astute operator would pick up her distress. I reckoned they’d think she was just a bored teen, Tom and I her parents even though he was a good deal younger than me. Closer to Ellie’s age, in fact. Until they knew we were missing, no one would take any notice of the footage.
When he barked at us to get into his car for a second time, I ushered Ellie in first, my hand on the ridge of her taut spine. It felt cowardly, but I knew the consequences if we didn’t.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tom had said, before driving off. ‘I’ll make sure he fucking pays.’ He turned round, giving me a sinister look.
It would depend on when you called the police, of course.
If
you called the police. But I didn’t say that to Tom.
*
It’s raining now, a proper downpour with a mix of hailstones and thunder. It pelts off the car roof, making a din so that Ellie’s fearful whimpers can’t be heard. I’m grateful for that.
After an hour, we slow down, bump across what feels like a rough track or a field. It’s odd. I didn’t feel scared at first, almost relishing the sudden change in my life as if I’d been winded by excitement, whisked away from everything I knew – as well as from you. But now I feel scared. Terrified of what’s going to happen. Missing everything I didn’t want any more; even missing
you
.
As he brings the car to a stop, unbuckling his seatbelt, I press my finger against my lips, imploring Ellie to keep quiet. I give her a look that tells her everything will be all right, that I will, for once, make things OK. I have no
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