Walter shakes his head, pissed off. ‘No, lad, you’ve been promised a place to dip your wick and by God I deliver what I promise.’ He swivels to Annabeth. ‘I was going to be sweet about this, love. Even brought you a box of chocolates and a magazine. But you’re taking some liberties here. I’ve done myself a mischief, as it happens, so I won’t be troubling you for a jump, but I hate seeing good meat go to waste so I told Mike here he’s allowed a turn at the table. Got a few problems, has Mike. His marriage is suffering. Stuff he wants to do and the wife isn’t in to it. Nor should she be, not really. But if he gets it out of his system, he’ll go home a better husband. We’re doing a kindness here, love. So, Mike, how do you want her …?’
Annabeth has already prepared the speech in her head. She’s spent the day perfecting the delivery. She has imagined the scenario a dozen different ways. But here, in this moment, it just comes out. Erupts, like blood from a puncture wound.
‘I’m having a baby, Walter. I’m pregnant.’
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares at her, dark little eyes drilling holes into her forehead. Then he twitches his nostrils. Shakes his head.
‘You said you can’t,’ he says, quietly. ‘All messed up, you said.’
Annabeth feels tears pricking her eyes. She’d believed it when she said it. Had thought herself too damaged to ever conceive.
‘I thought I was …’
‘How do you know? My wife misses her periods all the fucking time …’
‘I stole a test,’ says Annabeth, her voice catching. ‘Snuck out. I was weeks late. Feeling sick. I had to know. Don’t worry, nobody saw …’
He barks a laugh. ‘Not my prime concern, right now, lass. Not important, as it happens. Not when I’ve got some fucking slag telling me she’s carrying my baby.’
Annabeth feels the tears spill. ‘I’ll be a good mum,’ she says, softly. ‘I’ll try so hard.’
Through the mist she sees Mike turn his back on them both. Sees him pull the door open and stoop his way into the hallway. Hears hurried footsteps.
And then it’s just Walter.
Just Walter, standing there.
Looking at her like she’s rotten. Looking at her like she’s filth and puke in a skin suit.
‘You think you’re going to keep it? You think I would allow that? No, love, we’re drowning the little bastard.’ He raises his hand to his forehead, dripping sweat, talking half to himself. ‘I know somebody. Old doctor. Did some treatments in Ireland before they threw him out. I’ll call him. Get him over. Pull the fucker out before they can take root …’
Later, Annabeth will remember little about what comes next. The pictures will be jerky and blurred, as if the reel of film in her mind has been exposed to sunlight. As if it has been shredded and stuck back together.
But she will recall fear. Anger. Will recollect the absolute and certain knowledge that she must protect her unborn child until the last breath.
Here, now, she tells him so. Tells him that whatever happens, this child will live.
She sees the cold rage take hold of his features. Sees him make the calculations. Sees him decide to do the only thing that can be done.
Later, she will remember fat, sweaty hands at her throat. Remember the rubber bed against her cheek. His spittle on her face. The word ‘bitch, bitch, bitch’ as he drags her to the floor and pounds her head off the wood.
And she will recall the cold smoothness of the snow globe in her hand. The impact of it against her skull. The sharp pain as the jagged glass cuts her palm. Then the hot blood as she thrusts the circle of lethal-looking stalactites into his fat neck and tears his flesh like the belly of a cod.
She will not remember it often. But when the memories do stir, she will stroke her child.
And though she will hate herself for it, she will permit herself to smile.
PART ONE
REWARD TO BE OFFERED TO HELP FIND MISSING LUCY
By Swindon Courant Chief Reporter, Daryl Corcoran
April 19, 2005
THE FAMILY of missing Swindon teenager Lucy Brett have made an emotional appeal for information regarding the whereabouts of their ‘sweet, beautiful’ girl.
15-year-old Lucy was last seen leaving the family home at around 8.15 a.m., for her morning walk to school. However, she did not arrive. A ‘mystery man’ made a call to the school shortly before 9.30 a.m. to say she would not be attending due to illness. Believing the man to be Lucy’s father, the alarm was not raised until that evening, when she failed to return home from school and her older sister, Cameron, began to worry. Police were called in shortly before 10 p.m.
While police believe that Lucy may be with a friend or boyfriend, her family are urging witnesses to come forward and are trying to raise the money to offer a reward.
Lucy’s father, Tim, 43, said: ‘People might read this and think she’s just another runaway, or that she’s a bad girl who’s gone off with her boyfriend. Certainly that seems to be the way the police reacted at first. But we know Lucy and she would never do this to us. She would do anything for anybody. She’s a kind, sweet, beautiful, God-fearing girl who’s never caused us any worry.
‘Of course, nobody knows the whole truth about everyone, including their nearest and dearest, but we’ve asked her friends, schoolmates; people she hangs out with at her after-school clubs and her Rainbows group at church. Nobody has told us anything that would suggest she’s been keeping secrets. There’s nothing missing from her room – we’ve been through every scrap of paper in the house looking for a note or a sign she was planning to run away. We’re putting up a reward with the help of some family friends. I am
