She doesn’t respond.
‘I will close off the hosepipe unless you acknowledge my question. Will you leave the mask alone?’
She nods.
I take her back to the bed and sit her upright. Her breathing is steadier. Her narrow chest rises and falls. Stepping backwards, I turn on her mobile phone and wait for the screen to light. Then I press the camera function and capture the image.
‘Be quiet now. I have to go out for a while. I’ll bring you back something to eat.’
She shakes her head, sobbing into the mask.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t be long.’
I walk out of the house and down the steps. There is a garage within a copse of trees. My van is parked inside, next to a Range Rover that belongs to the Arab. He very helpfully left the keys on a hook in the pantry, alongside a dozen others, neatly labelled for the electricity box and the mailbox. Strangely, I couldn’t find one for the shed. Not to worry.
‘We shall take the Range Rover today,’ I announce to myself.
‘Very good, sir.’
A Ferrari Spider one day, a Range Rover the next- life is good.
The garage door rises automatically. Gravel murmurs beneath the tyres.
When I reach Bridge Road I turn right and right again into Clifton Down Road, weaving through Victoria Square and along Queen’s Road. Shoppers are spilling onto the footpaths and Sunday afternoon traffic clogs the intersections. I turn into a multi-storey car park beside the Bristol Ice Rink and swing up the concrete ramps, looking for an open space.
The Range Rover locks with a reassuring clunk and a flash of lights. I walk down the stairs and out into the open, following Frogmore Street until I can mingle with the shoppers and tourists.
The curving facade of the Council House is ahead of me and beyond that the cathedral. Traffic lights change. Gears engage. An open-top bus trundles past spouting diesel fumes. I wait at the lights and turn on the mobile. The screen lights up with a singsong tune.
Menu. Options. Last number dialled.
She answers hopefully. ‘Charlie?’
‘Hello, Julianne, did you miss me?’
‘I want to speak to Charlie.’
‘I’m afraid she’s busy.’
‘I need to know she’s OK.’
‘Trust me.’
‘No. Let me hear her.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
I press the play button. The tape turns. Charlie’s screams are filling her ears, shredding her heart; opening the cracks a little wider in her mind.
I stop the tape. Julianne’s breath is vibrating.
‘Is your husband listening?’
‘No.’
‘What did he say about me?’
‘He says you won’t hurt Charlie. He says you don’t hurt children.’
‘And you believe him.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What else did he say about me?’
‘He says you want to punish women… to punish me. But I’ve done nothing to hurt you. Charlie has done nothing. Please, let me talk to her.’
Her whining voice is starting to annoy me.
‘Have you ever been unfaithful, Julianne?’
‘No.’
‘You’re lying to me. You’re just like all the others. You’re a conniving, two-faced, backstabbing slut with a pesthole between your legs and another on your face.’
A woman pedestrian has overheard me. Her eyes go wide. I lean closer and say, ‘Boo!’ She trips over herself trying to get away.
Crossing the road, I walk through the gardens in the cathedral plaza. Mothers push prams. Older couples sit on benches. Pigeons flutter in the eaves.
‘I’m going to ask you again, Julianne, have you ever been unfaithful.’
‘No,’ she sobs.
‘What about with your boss? You make all those phone calls to him. You stay with him in London.’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘I’ve heard you talking to him, Julianne. I heard what you said.’
‘No… no. I don’t want to talk about that.’
‘That’s because the police are listening to the call,’ I say. ‘You’re terrified your husband might learn the truth. Shall I tell him?’
‘He knows the truth.’
‘Shall I tell him you grew tired of lying in his bed, looking at his spotty back, and had an affair?’
‘Please don’t. I just want to talk to Charlie.’
I peer through the misty rain at the buildings on the far side of Park Street. Silhouetted on the roof of the Wine Museum is a phone tower. It’s probably the closest.
‘I know this call is being recorded, Julianne. It must be a real party line. And your job is to keep me on the phone for as long as possible so they can track the signal.’
She hesitates. ‘No.’
‘You’re not a very good liar. I’ve worked with some of the best liars, but they never lied to me for long.’
Crossing College Green in the shadow of the cathedral, I glance along Anchor Road. There must be fifteen phone towers within half a mile of here. How long will it take them to find me?
‘Charlie is very flexible, isn’t she? The way she can bend her body. She can put her knees behind her ears. She’s making me very happy.’
‘Please don’t touch her.’
‘It’s far too late for that. You should be hoping I don’t kill her.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Ask your husband.’
‘He’s not here.’
‘Why’s that? Have you two had a fight? Did you kick him out? Do you blame him for this?’
‘What do you want from us?’
‘I want what he has.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I want what’s mine.’
‘Your wife and daughter are dead.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Tyler, but we haven’t done anything to hurt you. Please let Charlie go.’
‘Have her periods started?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘I want to know if she’s ovulating. Maybe I’ll put a baby in her. You can be a grandmother, a glamorous granny.’
‘Take me instead.’
‘Why would I want a grandmother? I’ll be honest with you, Julianne, you’re a fine looking woman, but I prefer your daughter. It’s not that I’m into little girls. I’m not a pervert. You see, Julianne, when I fuck her, I’m going to be fucking you. When I hurt her, I’m going to be hurting you. I can touch you in ways that you can’t even imagine,
