He stared ahead, aware of her hands clenching.
‘I meant what I said. I want you to dominate me. I want you to
Her bra dropped to the floor beside her blouse. He still didn’t look up.
‘Don’t worry. Michael’s playing with the laptop. He’ll be ages. And he won’t mind. Anyway … ’ a finger traced its way along his naked shoulder, ‘you’re bigger than he is.’ The pressure increased. ‘Much bigger … ’
Her nails dug into his skin.
Her voice was down by his ear now, making the skin on his neck tingle. ‘I love not knowing what you’ll do to me next … the fear … it’s such a turn-on … ’
He grabbed her hand. Hard. She gasped. He turned his head upwards, locked eyes with her.
‘Leave.’
Confusion crossed her gaze. She blinked it away. Found a smile.
‘I said leave.’ His voice low and steady.
‘It’s OK. Michael is—’
‘Leave.’ A final command.
She dropped eye contact. Bent down, picked up her discarded clothes. He heard her heels clacking, the door opening and closing. Then silence once more.
He sighed. Looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
31
The car bounced down the rutted track. Marina felt herself being thrown from side to side as she drove.
She pulled up at the bottom of the hill. The road stopped, turned into sand dunes. She switched off the engine, got out. It was a seaside scene, but even in the sun it looked bleak. Ancient beach huts, weathered, peeling and rotting, stood in front of the scrappy, sparsely sprouting dunes. The sand looked close-pressed, muddied. Damp and wet. She could imagine it sucking down unwary travellers. Dead and dying boats lay chained and marooned on the shore. Beyond, the river sluiced out to the North Sea.
She turned to her left, looked behind her. She knew there was a walled garden somewhere near with a rusting caravan behind it. She turned her head to the right. The farmhouse was derelict now, left for the elements to reclaim. It didn’t matter if it fell down; Marina would carry its ghosts within her for the rest of her life.
‘You bastard,’ she said aloud, ‘you fucking bastard … ’ Her voice was borne away on the wind.
It was here that she had almost died. It was here that she had been born.
Or reborn.
Three years ago a homicidal maniac had kidnapped her and hidden her in a basement underneath the caravan in the field, wanting her unborn baby, the child who would grow up to be Josephina. Phil, leading the hunt for the killer, had eventually traced him to this spot and come to rescue her. He had joined her in the cellar’s labyrinthine tunnels, trying to capture the madman. But ultimately it was Marina who had stopped his murderous spree and protected their unborn child. It was Marina who had killed him.
And that was when she had been reborn.
After that, she had known who she was. How much she would stand. The lengths she would go to to protect her own. She had thought the voice on the phone didn’t know that. Now, she had to concede, perhaps they did.
Then she heard it.
She grabbed the phone from her bag, put it to her ear.
‘You arrived?’ said the voice. ‘No trouble getting here?’
‘You bastard,’ she said.
Silence. Then: ‘What d’you mean?’ The tone was harsh but inquisitive.
‘You know what I mean. Bringing me here.’
Another silence. ‘I thought you would remember this place.’
‘Oh, you’re damn right I do.’
The voice sounded confused but tried to appear to be in control, without much success. ‘I’m … surprised it means that much to you.’
Anger was rising within Marina. ‘Funny fucker.’ Spat out.
‘You’re in Wrabness.’
‘I
‘And you’ve been here before.’
‘Well done, Einstein. It was all over the papers.’
Another silence. Marina began to think the voice had been cut off. Eventually it replied.
‘Just … You’ll be getting an email in a moment. It’ll tell you what to do next.’
‘So that’s all this is for, is it? A really unpleasant trip down memory lane?’
‘Look … ’
‘No, you look.’ The anger was welling in Marina, threatening to burst. ‘You blow up my family, kidnap my daughter and then bring me out here. I’ve dealt with some sick bastards in my time, but you’re … ’ She could no longer find the words.
‘Now listen.’ The voice was getting angry too. Marina listened. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. Yes, you’ve been here before. That’s why you were chosen. That’s why we wanted you. But … ’ A sigh. ‘Read the email.’
The line went dead.
Marina held the phone in her shaking fist. Stared at it. She looked back at the crumbling farmhouse. Over to the broken wall, the rusting caravan. Then back to the river, the sand. Bleak, desolate. She shivered. Phil wouldn’t be coming to save her this time.
She felt something harden with her. No more, she thought. No more. She had already discovered what she would do to protect her family once already on this spot. The revisit just confirmed it. Whoever was on the other end of the phone, it was time to stand up to them.
The phone pinged. She opened the email, began to read.
And, slowly, began to understand.
32
‘Jeff? Dead? Well, it was to be expected, I suppose. He was a very sick man.’
‘He was, Mrs Hibbert.’
‘Call me Helen. I’ve never liked being called Mrs Hibbert. Makes me sound like his mother.’ She took a deep breath, a mouthful of vodka and tonic. ‘And God, that’s one thing I never wanted to be like.’ Helen Hibbert shuddered at the thought.
Jessie James couldn’t see this woman as anyone’s mother. She would hate the competition for attention. In the car on the way over to Jeff Hibbert’s estranged wife’s flat, Jessie had put forward her version of what Helen Hibbert would be like. It was a game she often played with Deepak, a way to get him not to rely on profiles and generics, make his own mind up, think laterally, outside the box. She sometimes tried to make it competitive, put a bit of money on it, see whose description was closest. Loser bought lunch. He hardly ever bit. It didn’t stop Jessie from trying, though.
‘I reckon she’ll be like him,’ Jessie had said. ‘Middle-aged, dumpy. Short hair, cut like a bloke. Big lumpen face. Like a farmer’s wife. Or a farmer. Kitted out in Barbour’s finest.’
