One wrong turn, p.5
One Wrong Turn, page 5
Nerves scattered like hot sparks down my back.
I knew there were signals women could send when they were in distress. I’d seen viral campaigns where we were told to raise our hands, tuck in our thumbs and fold our fingers downwards if we needed help.
But Samantha couldn’t do that without Paul noticing. To signal to me in that way, she’d need to raise her hand above Lila’s car seat, high enough for me to see in the mirror, which would mean Paul could see, too.
And Paul was watching me. I was sure he was watching me. I had to be very careful about what I did next.
I forced myself to look frontwards, my pulse jumping in the side of my neck. The road widened and straightened as we entered the fringes of Bodmin. It should have been reassuring that we were getting closer to the hospital, but right now it didn’t feel that way at all.
Samantha had chosen to signal to me with her eyes for a reason, I thought. She didn’t want Paul to know.
There was nobody else around. The foggy pavements were deserted. Street lamps lined either side of the road, their yellow glow washing upwards over my hands, arms and head, then behind me into the rear of the car.
I felt paralysed by indecision.
Part of me was tempted to look into my mirror again because I didn’t want Samantha to think that I was abandoning her. But another part of me was aware that the street lighting increased the chances of Paul catching us.
‘Uh, guys.’
Next to me, Ben was studying his phone. I willed him to look up at me, but he didn’t. He seemed completely unaware of what was unfolding.
‘We might have a problem.’ He thumbed his phone screen. ‘I just checked the website for Bodmin hospital. It says the A&E department closed at eight p.m.’
Saturday Afternoon
3.49 p.m.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Paul asked her.
They were driving away from the beach, navigating a route along the coast to her parents’ place. Getting close now. Too close to turn back.
‘Nothing,’ Samantha told him.
Which was a lie.
Because she’d been thinking about the same thing she couldn’t ever stop thinking about, a sickly chill radiating out from her core to her extremities as the memory looped again.
It was the radio that had woken them. Music playing downstairs. Inside their kitchen.
Even in the bleary drowsiness of those first few seconds she’d known there was something terribly wrong. She’d known because of the photo that had been left in Lila’s cot and the unwelcome awareness that had taken root inside her psyche ever since.
They can get into your house whenever they want.
They are in your house.
Paul had understood immediately, too. He’d shot up in bed, throwing the sheets off him, and then he’d frozen, his body stiff with fear.
Blue, blurred darkness in their bedroom. It was not quite 5 a.m.; Samantha had fed Lila around 3 a.m. and she hadn’t woken yet.
We have to keep it that way.
Because however bad this got, however scary, they had to shield Lila from what was happening. She was only six months old but that was old enough to feel terror on an instinctive level, wasn’t it? And what might that do to a child?
‘What do we do?’ Paul had whispered.
‘We go down together,’ she’d whispered back.
And so they’d slipped out of bed in their nightclothes and crept anxiously away from Lila’s nursery at the end of the hall and on down the stairs.
Samantha had been prepared for it to be frightening, but when they’d entered the kitchen – when she saw the full horror that was awaiting them – her legs had simply failed her and she’d crashed to the floor.
It wasn’t the burly young man with the crew cut in the tailored dinner jacket and open-collar white shirt that did it – the same man, she knew instantly, who had followed her to the bank. It wasn’t the way he was casually inspecting the contents of their fridge, light spilling out over his polished brogues as he searched for something to spread on the bread that had popped up in their toaster.
No, it was the smartly dressed woman sitting at their pine kitchen table who’d taken off her raincoat and draped it over the back of the seat next to her.
And worse – so much worse – it was seeing Lila balanced on her knee, smiling with giddy delight as the woman bounced her up and down.
10
‘I don’t understand.’ Samantha’s voice was pitchy, tense. ‘How can it be closed?’
‘This website says it’s a minor injury unit,’ Ben explained. ‘I guess it’s not busy enough for a twenty-four-hour emergency set-up.’
Samantha’s eyes latched onto mine. She didn’t blink this time, but her face looked drawn. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was in pain or because something else was going on.
‘What do you want to do?’ I asked her.
‘If it’s closed there’s nothing we can do,’ Paul interrupted before she could answer.
‘We should probably take a look anyway,’ I said, trying to get a read on Samantha’s expression to see if that was what she wanted.
It was almost impossible to tell. I sensed she was wary of Paul catching her communicating with me. But if we went to the hospital, there was a chance I could get her away from Paul and talk to her in confidence. Maybe I could find out what was going on.
Samantha probed her bandaged hand, gently flexing and curling her fingers. ‘I think I’m OK,’ she said, glancing anxiously at Paul. ‘It wasn’t a very deep cut. I think it’s mostly stopped bleeding now.’
I didn’t like the way she said it. The note of trepidation in her voice. I also didn’t know what would happen if we didn’t go to the hospital. I felt a responsibility to her now. The looks she’d given me in the mirror. Her blinks. They’d tethered us.
‘How far away are we?’ I asked Ben.
‘Really not far.’
‘Yes, but if it’s closed . . .’ Paul began.
‘I think we should check,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’
‘Might as well,’ Ben added, backing me up, and I could have hugged him for it.
I didn’t look at Paul, deciding it was best to keep my focus on the road and follow the satnav’s directions the rest of the way. We continued through a largely suburban area, then swung left through the middle of town before crossing several mini-roundabouts, turning right a bit further along and finally following an upwards slope into the densely hanging fog that was suspended over the hospital complex.
The car parks were almost completely empty and, as I crawled forwards, the minor injuries building gradually emerged from the murk. It was a modest brick structure, almost entirely in darkness. When the main entrance doors became visible, the only lights I could see were in the distant recesses behind an abandoned reception counter.
My tyres pattered wetly across the asphalt until I came to a stop in the middle of the car park, the engine idling, the fog swirling around us. When I pulled on my handbrake it creaked like a rusted hinge. There was a street light not too far away, shining like a fuzzy orange lozenge in the night.
‘Big surprise,’ Paul murmured. ‘It’s shut.’
I leaned forward over my steering wheel, peering at the building through the fog. Behind me, I could hear Samantha adjusting Lila’s blanket, murmuring to her softly.
I closed my eyes for a second. I didn’t want Lila to wake up. I didn’t want to be here if she did. Unclipping my seat belt, I reached for my door lever when—
‘What are you doing?’ Paul asked me.
‘There must be somebody who can help us,’ I said.
‘Wait.’ Ben put his hand on my arm, stopping me. ‘Let me go. You stay in the warm.’
Ben shouldered his door open and jogged away through the misted air before I could stop him, his body flickering in and out of visibility. I watched after him, my fingers still on the door lever, a tiny current fizzing through them, as if the lever was wired to a minor voltage. I was tempted to step out anyway, get some air, but I knew it wasn’t fair to leave Samantha on her own with Paul.
It’s all right. Lila’s sleeping. She probably won’t wake up.
Nudging the wipers, I watched in nervy silence as I glimpsed snatches of Ben reaching the entrance doors and cupping his hands to the glass to peer inside. A second or so later, he backed away and studied an information sign that had been pasted to the inside of the glass.
‘Maybe you should go and help him,’ I said quietly to Paul.
‘There’s really no point,’ he snapped back.
‘I think I’ll be OK,’ Samantha said, speaking as softly as me. ‘As long as I keep my hand bandaged, I don’t think the bleeding will get worse.’
Had she said similar things before? Made the best of things before?
She reached across to rest her hand on Lila, and I bit down on my lip so hard that I thought for a moment my skin would break.
Please don’t wake up.
Please don’t cry.
A patch of fog drifted in, partially obscuring Ben again, and I held my breath as he backed away from the door to approach an intercom fitted nearby. He then pressed a button and waited, and a few seconds later he started talking, though I couldn’t hear anything he said.
‘This is a waste of time,’ Paul muttered.
I didn’t respond, watching as Ben finished speaking, then spun away from the intercom and jogged back through the fog to my car. Once he was inside again, he blew on his cupped hands for warmth and then he glanced at me, his face creasing in apology.
‘It’s definitely closed, even for emergencies. But I talked to someone. They said the nearest A&E department is near Truro, which is forty-five minutes in the wrong direction for us. The other option is Plymouth.’
Saturday Afternoon
4.06 p.m.
Samantha’s parents stepped out onto the painted veranda at the front of their home as she and Paul drew up in the hire car. They must have heard the tyres rasping over the gravel driveway. Or perhaps they’d been watching out of the windows for hours. Twilight had started to fall. The air was damp, but still.
Samantha dug her nails into her palms as her mum smiled tearfully and covered her mouth with her hand. Her dad simply glowered at the Mercedes.
‘He doesn’t look very happy to see me,’ Paul murmured.
The house was a beautiful and imposing Victorian villa with breathtaking estuary views. Her mum had always dreamed of living here – one of the finest houses in the vicinity of Fowey – and towards the end of a long and respected career, her dad had made that happen. Thirty-four years in high-street banking, the last twenty as a branch manager. He’d invested prudently in stocks and shares. They’d forgone family holidays and luxury treats for years in favour of boosting their savings.
And now here she was, about to disrupt all that.
‘Ready?’ Paul asked her.
Samantha took a breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. ‘I’m going to go in alone.’
‘What?’
‘You said it yourself. They’re not exactly pleased to see you. And I know them. Mum will have cooked. I don’t want to rush them. It will be easier if I go in alone.’
She busied herself with the baby changing bag, not looking at Paul as he considered her suggestion, the enormity of what she was proposing.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ he asked her.
‘Go for a drive. Or find a pub and stay in the warm. I’ve made up another feed for Lila and I’ll leave you some nappies. I’m going to take her changing bag inside with me. I can wash up some of her bottles, pop some of her clothes through the washing machine. I’ll call you when I know more.’
Paul’s mouth opened as if he was about to object, but then he glanced at her father, with his steely glare, and he seemed to accept that what she was saying made sense.
‘I can do this, Paul,’ she told him, touching his hand. ‘Please. It’s better if I do this myself.’
11
Plymouth.
It was over an hour away. And it wasn’t in the direction we’d intended to go. We’d planned to drive across the moor to Exeter on the A30, not loop east on the A38. Taking the diversion would add time to our journey. Not much. Maybe half an hour. But still.
‘Oh,’ Samantha said.
Ben nudged my leg and did a small face shrug, as if to ask me, What do you want to do?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to be the one to decide.
We should never have been in this position in the first place.
Turning very slightly in my seat, I looked over the hood of Lila’s car seat at Samantha and was a bit surprised by her tentative smile. She seemed almost relieved about not going inside the hospital and that really bothered me. Had she been anxious about giving her name and explaining her injury? Perhaps she was worried that the medical staff might question what had really happened to her. Perhaps she’d sustained other similar injuries in the past.
Slowly now, I switched my attention to Paul, searching for any hint of guilt or a clue that I might be right, but he stared back at me aggressively, his spine straight, nostrils pinched, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and resented it.
‘I don’t see any taxis,’ Ben muttered, moving around in his seat and peering out of his side window. ‘But there have to be some hotels or B&Bs near here. We could drop you for the night if you really think your hand is OK?’
But a part of me hated that idea.
Not just because of how much I disliked Paul. And not simply because of Samantha, but because of Lila, too.
I didn’t want to think about her, but I knew I had to. There was no way I could put a baby at risk.
I had a sudden urge to reach around her seat and slip my hand under the muslin to touch her, but I pulled back, feeling my throat close up.
‘I’m not sure we want to stay in a hotel,’ Samantha said, and then she blinked at me again.
Both eyes.
Slowly.
‘Listen,’ she began, shooting Paul a meek look as if to check he wasn’t going to cut her off before she continued. ‘This is a big ask, but would you consider driving us back to Bristol with you? We really do have to get back there by first thing tomorrow morning. Perhaps you’d even consider going via Plymouth, just in case I do need the hospital? And we can pay you. We’d be happy to do that, wouldn’t we, Paul? We can give you whatever a taxi would cost, or more if you like.’
More if you like.
I knew that she wasn’t just asking me if I would do it. I understood that she needed me to say yes.
‘Abi?’ Ben said quietly.
I looked at him and he squirmed.
‘Up to you.’
But I could tell he thought that we should do it. I didn’t know if that was because we were going to Bristol anyway and he knew I could use the money, if he’d picked up on some of Samantha’s discomfort, or if he thought it might help me to get past my heartache by having Lila in the car with us for longer.
Finally, I checked on Paul.
What was he thinking?
If he sensed that I suspected him of hurting his wife, I could understand why he might want them to get out, but my instincts told me he was arrogant and shrewd enough to realize his best move was to go along with the suggestion. We knew enough about them now to go to the police, if we decided that was necessary, and the police could probably track them down via their hire car to carry out a welfare check on Samantha and Lila if we asked them to. But if he stuck with us, he could gauge how suspicious we really were, maybe smooth things over.
His jaw clenched and he contemplated Samantha for what felt like a very long moment.
‘We’d really appreciate that,’ he said, finally.
I looked at Samantha again, and this time she nodded ever so slightly.
‘OK,’ I heard myself say, and for a strange second it was as if I was listening to someone else speak. ‘We’ll go via Plymouth.’ I reached for the satnav to plug in the route. ‘And if Samantha doesn’t need the hospital, we’ll give you a lift home.’
Saturday Evening
6.18 p.m.
It was warm and stuffy in Samantha’s parents’ kitchen. Her mother had cleared away the dishes from the casserole that Samantha had pushed around her plate, and now a teapot and some cups were laid out on the pine kitchen table. Pippa, her parents’ elderly Labrador, was dozing softly in front of the lit Aga. Evening darkness and a gathering fog swept in against the kitchen windows.
Samantha was standing at the sink, her hands submerged up to the wrists in soapy water as she scrubbed and cleaned Lila’s bottles. From the utility room next door, she could hear the churning of the washing machine laundering Lila’s things.
‘It’s such a shame not to see Lila,’ her mother said. She was sitting next to Samantha’s father at the table, perched on the very edge of her chair.
‘I know, Mum. I just thought it would be easier for us to talk like this.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘We’ve been so worried about you all.’
Samantha’s parents looked older, she thought. Worn and distressed. Her mother seemed to have shrunk inside the twinset cardigan she was wearing. With one hand, she reached up and toyed with the gold necklace Samantha’s father had given her to mark their fortieth wedding anniversary.
Her father was dressed in a V-neck jumper over a checked shirt and corduroy trousers. It was as relaxed as he ever got, though right now – perhaps for the first time in her life – she could imagine what it must have felt like for his customers who were forced to sit across a desk from him in his office, asking for an extension to a loan or a change to their mortgage that they desperately needed. His left eye was occluded by cataracts, lending his gaze a strange, piratical intensity.
‘I’d like to hear from Paul,’ her father said. ‘I’d like him to explain himself. I told him he overextended. He got greedy. That’s a fact. Property has always been a volatile sector. That’s a fact, too. I told him that countless times and—’
