when he got out, not got into the car. He wished …
He wished he were back inside.
His friend took his arm away. Made for the door, pointed to the table. ‘Eat your eggs.’ And was gone. Locking the door behind him.
Tyrell looked at the plate of food, the rapidly cooling tea. He sat down at the table. Picked up the fork. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice.
He ate. It tasted exactly as it looked.
28
Marina was just about to set foot in the hotel lobby when she realised something was wrong.
There were two uniformed police officers at the reception desk.
Usually she wouldn’t have given that a second thought. After all, she was on the payroll as a police psychologist. But where she would once have seen officers as no threat, as allies even, she could no longer afford to think that way. Not when her daughter’s life was at stake.
They’re here for me, she thought. They know I’m here and they’ve come for me. It was the phone call last night, she thought, or my credit card when I checked in. They’ve traced me.
Her heart began to pound heavily. She had to get out. Get past them and into the car. Drive away. Do what was required of her and get her daughter back. Not get hauled in by the police.
Another thought struck her. They’re not here for me. They’re here about something completely unconnected. There’s no way they could have found me yet. In that case, her reasoning continued, just keep going. Right past them. To the car and away.
But something stopped her from doing that. Paranoia. A sixth sense. A desire to not take unnecessary risks. Something like that.
Instead, she ducked back behind the corner, looking out to check they hadn’t seen her. They hadn’t. Good. She turned round, walked back the way she had come, glancing over her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t. The receptionist was gesturing towards her, or at least towards the corridor she was in.
Heart rate increasing, she moved quickly towards the lift, punched the button. The lift was still there from her coming down in it. The doors opened. Slowly. Marina heard footsteps coming towards her.
She jumped inside, pressed the buttons for the first and top floors. The footsteps got louder, voices with them. The doors took millennia to close.
But eventually they did.
She was alone. The lift made its way slowly to the first floor. She jumped out, pressing the button to close the doors as she did so. The lift continued its ascent to the top floor.
Marina looked up and down the corridor. The maids’ mobile cleaning unit was standing further along the hall, two maids working in unison, entering vacated rooms, removing bedding and towels.
She looked the other way. The stairs were through a set of heavy double doors on the left. She ran to them, opened them. Listened. Heard footsteps coming up. Voices.
The two officers.
An image of Josephina formed unbidden in her mind. Of Phil lying unconscious. She pushed them aside, concentrating. Her heart was hammering now, eyes darting everywhere. She closed the door to the stairs, went back into the corridor. Looked round.
No one about but the maids. She walked towards the cleaning unit.
Behind her, the door to the stairs opened.
Marina ran, not looking back.
Past the maids’ trolley, eyes frantic left and right, desperate to find somewhere to duck into.
The cleaning supplies cupboard and service room was open. Without stopping to think, she jumped inside, pulled the door closed behind her.
Still holding the handle, she turned.
To find a cleaner staring at her.
The cleaner was young, foreign. Her initial amazement was quickly giving way to fear. She opened her mouth. To scream, speak, Marina didn’t know. She couldn’t take the chance and find out.
‘Sorry,’ said Marina in as loud a whisper as she dared. ‘My husband.’ She pointed to the door.
The cleaner kept staring.
‘He’s … I’m not supposed to be here.’
The cleaner still seemed unconvinced. Maybe she doesn’t speak English, thought Marina. Maybe she just doesn’t understand me. Here was a woman with wild hair and ripped, soiled clothing jumping into her room and closing the door. Holding her captive. Marina didn’t blame her for being scared.
She could hear voices on the other side of the door, getting louder.
She turned back to the cleaner, who had heard them too. Her mouth was opening, making ready to shout.
Marina desperately thought of something that would convince her.
‘My husband, he … ’ She took her hand off the handle, mimed punching herself in the face. Then she gestured to the door and the increasingly loud voices.
The cleaner nodded, understanding.
Marina thought she saw some spark of recognition in the young woman’s eyes. Some shared commonality of experience. She felt a shudder of guilt at that, but smiled.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The cleaner said nothing. Gave a small smile.
The footsteps, the voices receded.
Marina slowly turned the handle, risked a quick glance down the hall.
With another nod of thanks to the cleaner, she left the room, heading for the stairs.
She pulled open the double doors, taking the steps two at a time until she almost tripped and lost her footing. She took control of herself, paused momentarily. Continued the rest of the way as fast as she could.
She reached the ground floor. Panting for breath, she opened the double doors, looked down the corridor.
No one about.
She stepped into the hallway, then, taking a deep breath, walked towards the main doors.
As she reached the receptionist’s desk, she kept her face averted. The receptionist had her head down. Marina was aware of her glancing up as she walked past.
‘Oh.’ Surprise in the receptionist’s voice. ‘Oh. The police … there’s someone here to see you.’
Marina kept walking.
‘Excuse me … ’
‘Just going to the car,’ Marina shouted over her shoulder. ‘Back in a mo.’
The doors opened. Marina was out into the fresh air.
She heard the receptionist calling behind her. Knew the girl would be deciding what to do next. Come out and chase her; go and find the police.
She couldn’t risk either of those things happening.
She ran across the car park, found her car. Got in quickly, locked the doors. She checked that the phone was in her bag, started the car. She could enter the postcode into the sat nav when she was away from the hotel. She drove off.
As she passed the hotel entrance, the two uniforms were standing there, the receptionist with them. One of them, the male, moved into the path of her car, waving his arms about, trying to flag her down, stop her.
Marina speeded up.
He jumped out of the way.
She made for the exit and away.
She couldn’t think about them, about what she had just done.
