‘When are we goin’ to see my mum?’
‘I’m… ’ She opened the car door. ‘I’m just goin’ for a smoke.’
She got out of the car, slowly unfolding herself out of her curled, cramped state. She shivered. Looked round. The September sun was rising high in the sky. Shining. She shivered again, pulled her jacket round her. Giving off light, but not heat.
She had no idea where she was. She had driven the car as fast and as far as she could from her house. But hadn’t known where to go. At first she had decided on a hotel; use the money she had taken from her attackers to pay for it. But that idea hadn’t lasted long. A hotel would be the first place they would look for her. Especially after she’d cut one of them. Her description would be out there, her face on all the news programmes, in the papers. The internet, even. So no. That was out.
But she had needed to go somewhere. Out of the town centre, through Stanway. She saw the sign for the turn-off to the zoo. Told Ben about it. He had asked if they could go there, and for a second she had thought seriously about it. Drive to the zoo. Catch the last hour before chucking-out time. Find somewhere to hide, spend the night there. Brilliant. Last place they would expect her to go. But that idea hadn’t lasted long either. Her mind had bombarded itself with all the things that could go wrong almost before she had thought of them.
So she had turned off at the new retail park roundabout, taken the road away from Colchester, down to the A12. To London and beyond. Resigned to putting as much distance between herself and the town as possible.
And on the way, going through Stanway, she had seen a turn-off. Between two tree-rich gardens in a row of nondescript houses. Wooded either side. On impulse, she had turned down it.
At first it was just a single-track country road. A few houses on one side, detached, exclusive-looking, she thought. The kind of thing she’d seen on
But anyway.
She had kept on down that road. Not looking back. Just seeing where it took her. The car swayed from side to side as the road became more uneven, as pockmarks turned to craters, tarmac ran out and became hard-packed dirt and stones. The trees thinned out too. Soon there were none. And the countryside opened up around them.
The road bisected two fields with a view of miles around. It was so pastoral and peaceful, so unlike Donna’s day-to-day life in Colchester, that she could have just parked up, stayed there. Looked out over the calm, serene landscape. Forever. But she didn’t. She kept going.
Trees began to multiply, and she was soon in a forest. The road stopped completely. And that was where she decided to spend the night.
Ben had complained he was hungry, so she had turned the car round, driven back to the retail park, ordered two McDonald’s. She knew she was taking a risk, but he was starting to complain and she knew he wouldn’t stop until he was fed, so it was a risk she had had to take.
Then back to the forest. And the night, with much pain and discomfort and hardly any sleep, became morning. Now she stood, smoking a fag, wondering just what the hell she had done.
Ben stared at her from inside the car, kneeling on the seat, face pressed against the window. She turned away from him. He opened the door, got out to join her.
‘Where’s my mum?’
Donna didn’t answer.
‘I want my mum. Where is she? You said we’d be meetin’ her.’
Had she? Had she said that? She wished she had brought something to drink. Or a bit of puff. Just to tide her over. Keep her going.
‘Where is she?’
God, that kid…
Donna had put up with him for the sake of Faith. She hadn’t thought of herself as gay. A lezzer. A dyke. A rugmuncher. She had done stuff, lezzie stuff before. Yeah, course she had. But that was for punters, for their enjoyment, their money. Not for fun. Faith had been her partner in all of that. Neither minded; they liked each other. Were good friends. Donna felt relaxed with Faith, open. Probably more so than with anyone else in her life. So when Daryl had been kicked to the kerb and Faith and Ben had nowhere to go, it had been the natural thing for them to move in with Donna. It was a small house. And Ben needed his own room. So it had been even more natural for Faith to move in with Donna. Share a room. Share a bed.
And do the kind of things they’d done for money, for the enjoyment of punters, for their own enjoyment. And if that made Donna a lezzer, a dyke, then so what? Whatever. Faith would never beat her up. Never take her money. Never force her out on the street to work while she sat at home or in the pub or spent the money she’d made trying to impress some slag.
And now Faith was gone. And Donna was all alone.
‘Where? Where is she?’
Donna turned, stared hard at the little boy. And something in her snapped. Some anger, long-dammed, needed sudden, sharp release. ‘She’s gone, right? Fuckin’ gone. She’s not comin’ back, ’cos she’s-’
She stopped. Looked at him. He was standing there like he had been hit. His mouth began to tremble, eyes began to tear over.
‘Look, I’m sorry, I… ’
The tears came. Huge, racking sobs came screaming out, totally unconscious and inconsolable, like only a child could do when faced with the biggest loss of his life. Donna realised that she felt exactly the same. And she could do nothing but join him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gasping between sobs, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… ’
She hugged him. He let her. Reluctantly at first, then, realising he had nowhere else to go, collapsing into her.
‘I’m scared,’ he said eventually, once the tears had subsided.
‘So am I,’ Donna whispered. ‘So am I.’
He looked at her. ‘What are we goin’ to do now?’
It was almost too painful to return the look. But she had to. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I just don’t know… ’
47
Paul had done it. Gone and done it. And now he was sorry. Like he knew he would be.
He had gone back up to the cave. Let the Gardener out.
He had told himself he wouldn’t give in. Not this time. Wouldn’t listen to the crying and the promises. Oh no. No matter how much the Gardener screamed and sobbed. About how he was going to be good from now on, how he wouldn’t hurt anyone any more. If Paul would just let him out. He was sorry, so sorry…
Same old thing, same old words, same old pleas, time after time after time.
And it always worked.
Because the Gardener knew that Paul was weak. And he played on that weakness, wore him down with guilt until he opened the cave up, let him out again.
And of course the Gardener never kept any of his promises. As soon as he was out, he threw Paul inside and picked up where he had left off. And Paul would have to track him down, find him and haul him away again before he did more damage.
But now he had got him back inside the cave.
Now he could relax.
Paul knew what the Gardener had done this time. The Gardener had told him. Told him it was his duty. His divine duty. And that Paul should understand. And Paul would try to explain again.
‘No… you… What you do, it’s… it’s wrong. It’s… evil. Not what I meant. No, no, no… not what I meant… ’
And the Gardener, back in the cave, would pretend to listen. Then pretend to cry. And Paul would have to come
