one she had seen in the back and another man she recognised as the man who’d opened the window. It was this man who spoke.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said.
The chubby man moved around behind her, and she felt her clothes begin to be yanked off. She tried to scream again, and thrashed and struggled. Her T-shirt came up over her face, and she found her hands free, so fought to grab it and pull it down, twisting and writhing to get away.
‘Hold her,’ she heard someone say, and her top was left alone, pulled up to the neck. Hands instead found her own and yanked them both behind her head once more, crushing her wrists. More hands then grabbed and pinched at her skin, her breasts, worked their way along her thighs. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable.
Something cold was at her throat. She could feel it slicing into her skin.
She knew she was beaten.
Then there was a weight on top of her. A moment later, rhythmic grunting.
Pain everywhere.
She closed her eyes against it all, tears still pushing their way through. Her body went limp, just waiting for the end, whatever it might be. She could hear the constant rush of water somewhere near, a gentle
When the weight lifted she automatically opened her eyes a fraction. Another man was striding over. This one wore a sleeveless lumberjack’s shirt, his arms muscular and strong and patched with tattoos, his face grim and determined, his eyes black holes like the others’, but his right cheek scythed vertically with a puckering scar.
She quickly closed her eyes again as he fell on to her roughly, the rancid stench of alcohol mixed with sweat washing over her. She didn’t make a sound; pain annihilated any thought she tried to form. She still had her eyes closed when she heard a spitting noise and felt something wet land on her cheek. As the weight lifted off her, the man uttered the word ‘Bitch’ in a rasping whisper as he moved away.
She heard sounds of movement coming closer once more, but there was another noise now, a whirring getting louder.
‘Shit,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Back in the fucking van,’ shouted another voice. ‘Get rid of her, quickly.’
Cold metal was back against her throat, pressing hard. Her eyes closed in preparation for the end, and she dipped into an endless black void.
38
Alex didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but at least three cups of tea were in front of him, all now cold. The room was bright and freshly painted, bare except for a chair and a beech-coloured table.
His mind was a blurry carousel of thoughts.
His throat felt constricted. His stomach burned. His chest was on fire.
He looked up each time someone walked past the small window set into the door, willing them to come in and tell him something. Faces had peered in when he had first arrived, but now he had finished his witness statement they obviously had other things to attend to. He felt so impotent, sitting on his hands, waiting. He was ashamed of his inaction.
He rocked on the chair, looking down at his clenched fists, his tight knuckles. He still didn’t understand it. How could he have just let them take her like that? He banged one fist on the table, feeling the tears threaten to unman him again. If only she’d been on the other side of him. If only he had caught hold of her hand for just that one moment he would have stood more of a chance.
He could still hear the thud and scrape of her body against the van as she was pulled inside. He could see the thick hand grasping her arm, the face with vacant eyes. Passers-by had provided pieces of the number plate but when the police had looked it up nothing had registered. Number plates were easy to disguise, the sergeant had told Alex. Apart from that, all the witnesses could describe was a white van and a scruffy man inside. Hardly a great starting point for a lead to follow.
He debated whether to call his parents for some support; but was stopped by the thought of how worried they would be. He still remembered the unbearable atmosphere in his home when Jamie had gone missing – his dad retreating into a stoic silence belied only by fingers that fumbled over every thing, while his mother repeatedly collapsed in tears. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting them through anything like that again. He knew he should call Amy’s parents, but he kept picturing her father’s expression at the airport as he entrusted Amy into Alex’s care, and he couldn’t face the conversation. In the first hour he had been hoping there would quickly be news; that they would find Amy fast. Then he could call once the crisis had passed, and relay the story in the past tense, assuring them that she was just shaken, but other wise fine. That they’d be home soon. But now, with each minute that ticked by, he lost a little bit more self-possession, and a little bit more hope.
39
Amy heard screaming as she came to. It sounded dislocated. She could feel the grass, wet and slimy, against her back, cool air on her face, and her tongue bone-dry and swollen against the oily cloth in her mouth.
‘Chris,’ a voice was shrieking above her head. ‘Chris, quickly. Oh my god, QUICKLY.’
Then there was another voice, a deeper one. ‘Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,’ it said over and over.
Amy tried to turn onto her side to curl up, but she couldn’t move. It felt as though there were a slab of concrete on top of her, pinning her down.
‘Fuck, she’s moving. She’s alive.’ It was the deep voice.
‘Chris, give me the picnic blanket now. NOW!’ the female one shouted shakily. ‘AND GO AND PHONE THE FUCKING POLICE.’
Amy felt coarse material covering her, rubbing painfully against her leg. The woman’s voice kept repeating words: ‘You’re all right, love, you’re all right, you’ll be all right now, you’re all right.’ Amy could hear the woman crying over her as she spoke. A warm hand stroked her brow and hair, and she tried to pull away but couldn’t move. She felt some tugs as the woman attempted to break the thick black tape wound around her head, pulling her hair, and then she stopped and left it alone.
Amy kept her eyes closed.
More voices.
‘Grab the stretcher, Brett,’ someone said.
A radio crackled.
‘Caucasian female, young,’ someone else said.
The radio crackled again.
‘Could well be,’ the voice replied.
‘Hello there, hello?’ A finger pressed against Amy’s eyelid and lifted it up, shining a bright light into it. She winced involuntarily. ‘We’ve got you, you’re safe now.’
