my lungs. And the smell of fear. And the way my heart banged against my ribs and my breath came in shattered gasps and bile rose up in my throat and there was darkness in every direction .. .
'Hang on,' I said. 'I'm going to see if I can untie it from the other end. Don't worry. I'm not going. Please, please, please, don't make that noise. For God's sake.'
I followed the rope from her wrists to the wall, where it was tied to what felt like an iron hoop. If only I could see something. I felt in my pocket, in case I might miraculously find matches, a lighter, anything. There was none, but I did bring out my old car keys. I dug the end of the key into the bulge of the knot and worked it in deeper, wriggled it around until I felt the faint creaking give of the rope. My fingers were stiff with cold. At one point I dropped the key and had to scramble around among the straw on the floor to retrieve it, my fingers scraping on the rough surface. She started to make muffled screams inside her gag again and then she half stood up, before collapsing across the bales.
'Shut up,' I hissed. 'Shut up shut up shut up shut up! Oh, shit, don't tug on the rope like that, it'll only tighten the knot. Keep still! Let the rope go slack. Oh, Christ! Please please please.'
I worked away with the key. I could feel the knot loosening, bit by bit, but, oh, God, it took a long time; such a long time. Sweat was gathering on my forehead and turning clammy there. I could just run away, I thought. Now! Run and call for help. Why the fuck didn't I run into the road and stand there howling and screeching for help? I could hammer at doors and flag down every car. I had to leave, at once. I mustn't, mustn't, mustn't be here. The eased further.
Nearly,' I gasped. 'A few minutes more and you'll be free. Ssssh, please.'
Done! I stood up and pulled the gag from her mouth and a terrible wailing sound escaped from her.
'Jo?' I whispered. 'Are you Jo?'
'I'm Sarah. Sarah. Help me. Please help me. Oh God, oh God, oh God, godgodgodgod.'
I felt winded with disappointment, except there was no time for that now. No time for anything except flight.
'Get up!' I said, grabbing her by the forearm.
She half rose, falling against me in her weakness.
'Listen! What's that?' I gasped.
Someone was outside. There were footsteps in the yard. The clank of something metal in the distance.
I shoved Sarah down on the bales. I stuffed the gag back in her mouth, stifling the gurgling sound that she was making. She started struggling, but feebly.
'Sarah! Our only chance. Let me. Fucking let me. I'm here, Sarah. I'll save you. All right?'
Her eyes flickered at me, terrified. I found the wire dangling above me like a giant spider's thread, and pulled it over her head, pulling it tighter. The footsteps were coming nearer. I wrapped the rope clumsily round her legs. The wrists. I had to find the rope. I bent down and swam my hands over the gritty floor until I picked it up. Now the footsteps were getting nearer. A wheezy cough. There was a scream burning in the back of my throat and I swallowed it back. Nausea. Blood hammering in my eardrums. I felt for the hood on the floor and then the bales beside the seated, shuddering figure, and when I found it, I jammed it back over her head roughly, feeling her neck jerk.
'Wait,' I hissed, and hurtled over to the other side of the room, behind a metal object that ripped my shin, my heart like a violent drum beat he would surely hear, my breath like sobs that he had to hear, as soon as he lifted the latch, opened the door, came inside.
Twenty-eight
I had retreated into a corner right at the back, away from the door. I was deep in the shadow, behind an incomprehensible, rusting machine, an assembly of wheels and cogs and bolts, connected to nothing. Even if he looked in my direction he probably wouldn't be able to see me. Probably. That was the difficult word. I shuffled back as far as I could. I felt the chill damp of the wall on my neck, on my scalp through my short hair. And now he was there. I had found him by accident. I felt a plunging, plummeting sensation of nausea as I fell back into my nightmare.
And then, as I saw him, my first feeling was: there must be a mistake. When he had been a voice out of the darkness, I had thought of him as huge and powerful, a monster. He had been the foul god who was going to punish me and reward me and feed me and starve me and decide whether I lived or died.
Now I saw flashes of him as he caught the light. Just a detail here and there, a rough coat, and straggled, greying hair, combed across his balding head. I could hardly see his face at all. It was largely covered by a flowery woman's scarf. To a stranger it might have looked like a protection against dust. But I knew what it was. It was to disguise his voice. He came in muttering to himself, carrying a galvanized bucket, which he tossed on the floor with a clatter. I couldn't connect my memories with this shambling, down-at-heel, insignificant man. He looked like the person you don't notice who has come to clean the windows or sweep the floor. He talked to Sarah as if she were a slightly troublesome pig that needed mucking out.
'How are you doing?' he said, arranging things around her in ways I couldn't see. 'Sorry I've been away a bit. Been busy. But I'll be here for a bit now. I've made time for you.'
He walked out and for a wild moment I considered flight. But almost at once, he returned with something that he placed on the ground with a clatter. It might have been a tool-box. He came and went, came and went, carrying and hauling in objects from the yard outside. Most of them were hidden in the gloom but I caught sight of an unlit lantern, a blow-torch and some empty vinyl bags, the sort that people carry their sports kit in. And all I could do was crouch in the darkness, trying not to move, not to breathe. The straw rustled against my foot when I shifted position. I gulped when I swallowed. Surely he could hear the thunder of my heart, the rush of my blood, the scream in my throat?
During one of his brief absences I reached into my pocket and my fingers closed around Ben's mobile phone. Softly, oh, so slowly, I took it out and brought it close to my face. I wrapped my fingers around it and pressed a button to illuminate the tiny screen. There was the tiniest of beeps. It sounded like the ringing of a bell. Had he heard it? There was no chance of talking but could I send a text message or just dial 999? I looked at the screen. How could he not see that light in the darkness? Up the right-hand side of the screen there were three broken lines, which showed that the battery was almost full. On the left-hand side there should have been what looked like four flowers, or goblets, on top of each other to indicate the strength of reception. But there was one, indicating no reception at all. There was no chance. I couldn't make a call and I couldn't receive a call. I slipped the phone back into my pocket.
I wanted to cry and curse and scratch my fingernails on the stone. As soon as I had seen Sarah, I should have got out and called for help. It would have been so simple. Instead, I had followed myself back into the trap. I was cursed and blighted. I looked across at him, silhouetted against the faint light from the space outside.
I went over options in my mind. I could make a run for the door and try to escape and bring help. That was completely hopeless. He was by the door. Even with the advantage of surprise, I would have no chance. I could attack him, smash him over the head, knock him out. Could I get to him without him hearing? Could I take him by surprise? It didn't seem likely. No, my only chance was to wait and hope he would leave and I would have my chance.
The thought of that, of having to stay silent in the shadows, made me want to lie on the cold floor and weep.-I felt so very tired. I wanted to sleep. Perhaps I didn't want to die, but I was close to wanting to be dead. At least the dead are cut off from pain and fear. What was the point of even fighting against it?
And then, almost without realizing it, I started to feel different. Looking at him bustling casually around with that poor girl trussed up on the straw bales, I began to feel that I was looking at myself. I remembered those days when I had been the one with the wire around my neck and the hood over my face. I had been there, with my toes over the edge of the abyss, waiting to be slaughtered, and I remembered what I had felt. I had given up all hope of surviving. What I had prayed for was a chance to go for him, tear an eye out, scratch him, just do some sort of damage to him, before I died. Now I had been given that opportunity. I couldn't defeat him. That was too much to ask. But if he found me, at least I would do him some damage. I needed something. I felt a small whimper of regret. I would have given everything I had ever owned for a kitchen knife or an aerosol spray. Then I made myself not mind about that. I was here. I had nothing. Anything I could put in my hand would be something.
I crouched and started to feel around me in the darkness, very delicately, praying that I wouldn't knock anything over. My right hand touched something cold. A tin, by its size a paint tin. I pushed at it experimentally. It was empty, useless to me. Next to it my fingers closed around a handle. This was more promising but it turned out
