Choked

Marina felt suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I was … I was sent to meet someone called Tyrell. He’s supposed to be here. He … ’ She sighed. ‘He must be here.’

‘Listen, love. I know everyone in this bar, and there’s no one called Tyrell here.’

She looked round the bar, scanned every face she saw, looking for truth, a human lie detector. No one was giving anything away. They were either watching the TV or finding their drinks fascinating. One, small and middle-aged, poorly dressed, was staring at Canvey Island through the bar’s tiny, cell-like window like he had never seen it before. They were stuck between wanting to be seen to help a damsel in distress and not wanting to get involved with the madwoman having a meltdown in front of them. She turned back to the barman. ‘Please, there must be … ’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, love, can’t help you.’

Marina looked round the bar once more. She had never felt so helpless. All her training, her professionalism had gone out of the window. She had squandered whatever advantage she had by her outburst. She ran a hand through her hair and wished Phil was with her. They wouldn’t have lied, wouldn’t have held out on him. They wouldn’t have dared. She decided to give it one last shot. She had nothing to lose.

Her voice dropped so only the barman could hear. She swung her gaze back on him once more. ‘Look. Tyrell is here. He must be here because I was told he was. I have to meet him. It’s very important that I speak to him. Very important. So please let me know which one he is so I can talk to him. Then I’ll not bother you any more. Please.’

‘Listen, darlin’, I would if I could. But I can’t. There ain’t no one here called Tyrell. I don’t know no Tyrell.’ He shrugged as if that was the end of the matter. ‘So there you go.’

Marina felt impotent anger rise within her. The image of Josephina was fading away, hope of finding her going along with it. She made one last attempt. ‘You’re lying. You must be. It’s important. I need to find Tyrell. Please. You have to help me.’

‘I ain’t got to do anythin’, darlin’. ’Cept run this pub.’ He gestured to the meagre display of optics behind him. ‘Gin and tonic?’

She shook her head.

‘Then I think you’d better leave.’

Marina didn’t know where to look, what to think or feel. Or what to do next.

Love Will Tear Us Apart. Her phone. She took it out of her bag, answered it.

‘Step outside,’ the voice said.

Marina did so. The light, the sun and the warmth hit her immediately, causing her to squint. She had forgotten it was still daylight.

‘Well, is Tyrell there?’ the voice said. ‘Have you met him?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘The barman said there was no one there called Tyrell.’

The voice laughed. ‘Quite right too. There isn’t.’

Marina frowned. ‘What?’

‘It was a test. To see if you could follow instructions. Do as you’re told, don’t tell anyone and don’t get tailed. And you can. Good girl.’

Emotions welled once more. Anger. Unease. Desperation. Swirling around, turning her head into a vortex. ‘Where is she?’

No reply.

‘Where is she?’

‘You’ll see her. When you’ve done what we need you to do.’

‘But when will—’

‘We’ll be in touch,’ the voice said.

‘What?’ Marina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. If the phone went dead, she feared that all hope of seeing her daughter went with it. ‘You can’t do this. Please. I did what you asked for, please … ’

‘You’ve done well so far. Don’t spoil it.’

The phone went silent in her hand. She looked round, up and down the street. Checked doorways, passers-by. No one else was about. No one was on the phone.

She was completely alone.

14

‘You took a risk.’

‘And it paid off. I found out what we needed to know.’

She shook her head. That wasn’t what she had meant, and he knew it.

The man who had called himself Stuart Milton sat down beside her on the bed. She had been waiting for him, dressed up as he liked her. All seams, heels, spikes, straps and sheer black see-through. The bed had been prepared with restraints of leather and rope. Tight knots and heavy buckles. Blindfolds and toys. The house slave had been banished to her room. They had been planning a celebration, just the two of them. Now everything had been put on hold.

She knew he was looking at her. Out of the corner of his eye. Taking her in, running his glance up and down, his tongue at the side of his lips, subconsciously licking. She felt stirrings inside her. Despite everything that was going on, she still felt stirrings. And he would be too. Because he could never resist her. She made sure of it.

She didn’t move, just concentrated on her breathing. Looked at herself in the strategically positioned full- length mirror. She still had it. Her hair was still dark, her face unlined. Her skin smooth, tanned to a rich shade of coffee. Her legs looked good, tits firm. She loved to look at herself. It affirmed who she was.

The affirmation and maintenance cost — and not just financially. But it was worth it. All of it.

Her nipples hardened slightly just at the sight of herself.

‘I gave them a false name,’ he said, also looking at her in the mirror.

‘What?’

He paused. A smile curled the corners of his lips. ‘Stuart Milton.’

‘You idiot! What if they—’

‘They won’t. They can’t trace me. Or make a connection. Don’t worry. I acted.’ The smile opened his mouth. It was all sharp teeth. ‘You’d have been proud of me.’

She said nothing. Just kept looking at herself. If she ignored him, that might make him angry. She hoped so.

‘They took her to the hospital,’ he said, voice rising slightly. ‘They haven’t got her. I know that.’

She kept her eyes on the mirror. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because the police told me. They haven’t got her.’

She turned her face towards his. Eyes on his, locked, unblinking. Mouth full and red, like a bruise waiting to flower. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really.’ His cheeks were starting to redden. ‘I grabbed her first. Stopped her from going back in. And then … ’ She watched him. Knew he was remembering the explosion. Could almost see the memory reflected on his irises. The flames, the heat … ‘They took her away. Said I’d saved her life.’

‘That wasn’t the plan.’

‘No,’ he said, voice rising once again. ‘I know. But the plan changed. It had to, because … you know. They were there. I had to improvise.’ He placed his hand on her bare arm. Stroked his fingers towards the crook of her elbow. Goosebumps raised themselves where his touch passed. ‘We have to be flexible. Stay with what’s happening. Move with it. It’s quite exciting, really.’

She made no attempt to stop him. Or encourage him. But then she didn’t need to.

‘You should have stuck to the plan.’

He took his hand away, angry now. Stood up, walked away from her. She watched him go, her breath catching in her throat.

‘It’s gone. Everything’s gone. I even lost the car.’