Читать книгу Perfect Silence - Helen Fields - Страница 14

True terror was exhausting. That sliver of knowledge was just one step on the steepest learning curve of her life. Twenty-four hours earlier, she had woken at 6.45 a.m. with her baby in a cot at her bedside, and wondered what to cook for breakfast. Now she knew how it felt to sleep strapped to a table in the dark, smelling dirt and rotting leaves. Lorna lifted her head, but the immobility of her arms and legs made it pointless. Through dirty, green-stained glass, a waning moon cast cold shadows. The blanket over her naked body was making her itch, but it kept off the insects that buzzed and flapped through the dark. Beneath her, the table stretched longer than her frame head to toe, and was a foot wider at either side, as if it had been taken from the dining room of some grand old house. What she couldn’t believe was that she had slept. How was it possible to fear for your life and still fall into dreamless sleep? Lorna remembered crying. Being made to eat and drink. Screaming uselessly for as long as her voice held out. Then nothing. At some point she had simply burned out.

Beyond the creaking walls of her prison, she could hear the rustle of leaves and the movement of branches in the wind. It was a cruel parody of the few holidays she had enjoyed as a child, before drugs had reduced her mother to a silent, shadowy creature. They had borrowed a tent and trekked out with friends or family to sleep in a field and toast marshmallows for a night or two in the summer. It had been all her mother could ever afford, and it was uncomfortable – usually freezing cold – but Lorna had loved it. So much adventure could be found just by stepping beyond the walls of their tiny flat, even if they did have to pee behind trees and wash in a cold stream each morning.

Pins and needles prickled her skin from inactivity as she flexed her legs. With ankles tied fast to the table legs, the best she could do was slowly clench then relax each muscle to get some blood flowing. Her breasts throbbed. It was two in the morning then. Like a farmyard cockerel, baby Tansy awoke hungry at the same time each night. This would have been the moment when Lorna would have plucked the baby gently from her cot, quickly enough so that the crying didn’t wake the other mothers who were grabbing precious hours of sleep, and held her to a breast. Tansy’s warm snuffling as she grabbed Lorna’s hair would have been worth the lack of rest. For a moment, she could actually smell her baby. Milk, talcum powder, a fresh Babygro after her bath, and the slight acidity of a nappy as yet unchanged after six hours’ wear. Lorna was determined not to cry for her. If she started crying, then it was as good as an admission that she would never hold her girl again. And she would. She would escape, get help, and find her way back to the mother and baby unit. If she could get clean of drugs and persuade a judge not to take her baby from her, then she could do this. The bastard who had abducted her had no idea what he was up against.

Tansy – her pride and joy – had also been her Achilles heel. The man had seemed harmless enough, following her through the lanes from the unit to the shops, whistling and texting on his phone. As he’d got nearer to her, he’d said a cheery good morning, stopping to peer into the pram and exclaim at the bonniness of the wee girl. Lorna had been delighted. No matter how many times she heard it, a compliment about the baby was affirmation that finally she had done something right. Her first selfless act, she often thought. She had given life to another human, and giving up her vices for the baby had made it even sweeter.

There had been bad times before that. Smoking the odd joint at school had matured into taking the occasional ecstasy tablet at a party. Those ecstasy tablets had introduced her to cocaine, and that had seemed so grown up and glamorous, and God knew it really did make you feel good. But there were bigger highs out there. More explosive ups and more mellow downs, with nothing in between but floating and colours and warmth. She had taken heroin for the first time while she was coming down from crack. It had seemed almost harmless, just smoking it. She had never taken a drug that had controlled her, and she managed to convince herself for a few ignorant weeks that heroin wouldn’t either. Her mother had done nothing about it. After all, it was her boyfriend who had sold her the crack in the first place, and one of his colleagues who had promoted her into the narcotics big league. Addiction was swift, and a casual modern-day tragedy had followed. Drugs were expensive. Her need for them ruled her world and rendered her unfit for work. The lack of money had been met with suggestions that she could offer her body to her dealers and others for cash, favours and freebies. And the need to forget that she was effectively prostituting herself had required ever-increasing doses of drugs. Then she had fallen pregnant. It was give up the drugs or give up the baby. There were no other options. Lorna wished the decision had been easier than it was. She would have been more proud of herself if she could claim a revelation, and a magical new start. Fortunately for her, the lure of motherhood and the sense of a growing bond with the wriggling, churning thing inside her won out. Methadone was easier than cold turkey, and not getting screwed every night to pay for her drugs was a positive blessing. Tansy had literally saved her life.

Which was why, when the happy, whistling man had held a knife to the baby’s throat as they’d walked together down a side street, she hadn’t had to think twice about saving her baby’s life in return. She had climbed into his vehicle, followed his instructions to clip on handcuffs and watched as he pushed the pram into the nearest alleyway to await a kind passer-by who would figure out that something was wrong. Lorna stared up at the moon. Her baby was safe. The man hadn’t wanted Tansy. Someone would have found her and returned her to the unit where she was now being looked after. The bargain had not been unfair. Looking back, she wondered why she hadn’t screamed and run, protested and fought him. The truth was that she would have done anything – anything at all – to have secured her baby’s safety, and heroics had been just another risk. Seeing the blade pressed into the chubby flesh beneath her baby’s face had been enough to drain the fight from her. It had been enough to make her realise that whatever was coming – rape, mutilation, death – was preferable to the prospect of living with the memory of her baby dying in her arms.

Lorna tugged a few more times at the restraints around her wrists. There wasn’t even enough movement to try scraping the twine against the edge of the table beneath her. She would wait. That was all there was to it. If nothing else, she could be grateful that she’d remained unhurt throughout the process of being kidnapped. Her early decision to remain compliant had meant that not so much as a fist had been raised. No one had responded to her screams and her kidnapper hadn’t bothered silencing her. Wherever she was, it wasn’t in the middle of civilisation. Having blindfolded her and led her over a gravel path, twigs brushing her face, he had opened a door and pushed her into an outbuilding.

‘Take your clothes off, then lie on the table on your back,’ the man had directed her.

Lorna had the perverse benefit of being unafraid of rape. Men had used her body in ways she tried not to think about any more. One more wasn’t going to add to her nightmares. If that was the worst of it, then she would celebrate. If the sick fuck wanted to tie her up first, and keep her in the cold outdoors for a while, then she could take that, too. She would keep her nerve and stay strong. Come hell or high-water, she would be reunited with her baby. Lorna slept again.

When she awoke it was fully daylight. The additional hours of cold had left her muscles cramping hard. She started at her toes, tightening and loosening her muscles until there was no more she could do for relief. When the door opened, she had almost convinced herself that the man wasn’t coming back for her, and that she would die of hunger and thirst in the middle of nowhere. She knew better than to speak first. Better to wait and see what he wanted from her.

‘You have to eat and drink,’ he said, pushing a mouldy pillow beneath her head to prop her up enough that the cup of milk he held to her lips didn’t spill. He was patient as she sipped. No drops ran down her chin. When she’d finished, he took a chunk of bread from a plate. Ripping off small sections, he held them to her mouth and watched as she chewed and swallowed. He said nothing, staring at her face as she pretended not to notice. Eventually it was all gone.

‘My name’s Lorna,’ she said quietly.

‘I know,’ the man replied as he took the plate and cup away.

‘I’m a bit cold,’ Lorna said. ‘Could I have another blanket, please?’

‘The cold’s good for your skin,’ he said. ‘I have something else here for that, too.’

She raised her head from the pillow and watched him pull a bottle from beneath his coat. Spilling a dollop of cream onto his palm, he slipped his hand beneath the blanket. She waited for it. Better over sooner rather than later she thought, waiting for the violation. His hand found her stomach and began smearing on the cold gloop. Lorna shivered but knew better than to complain.

‘What’s it for?’ Lorna asked.

‘Just following orders,’ he replied, spreading the liquid down over her abdomen to the tops of her thighs. He pulled his hand out and squirted more onto his palm. This time he ran his hand under her back, lifting her a little with his free hand, beginning in the middle of her back and rubbing it in until his hand was dry.

‘Whose orders?’ Lorna asked, making sure her voice was low and compliant. So far he wasn’t showing any signs of aggression and she wanted to keep it that way.

‘You’re a bad girl,’ he said, slowly pulling the blanket down from her neck to reveal her nakedness beneath.

This was it, then, Lorna thought. This was what he wanted. No point being shy. She might only get one opportunity to get out.

‘I can be bad for you, if that’s what you want,’ Lorna said. ‘You can keep me tied up, or let me go. I won’t run. I know what men like. Let me show you.’

His face seized into a scowl, and for a second Lorna saw the snarl of teeth.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘You’re not even bothering to pretend. At least you don’t lie about it. Perhaps that’s better. Even here, on your back, all trussed up, you still want it, don’t you?’ He leaned down to breathe hot words into her ear. ‘Whores always want it. They never stop. Does it itch? Does it burn? It will. You’ll always be a bad girl while you’re alive.’

Lorna froze. The misjudgment sat heavy in her stomach like a mountain of cold pasta. She thought fast.

‘I was just scared,’ she said. ‘I was saying what I thought you wanted to hear. I’m not like that, really. I have a young baby – you saw her – and I love her so much. I’m a good mother. I take proper care of her.’

‘Are you married to her father?’ the man asked. ‘Has the baby been baptised? Do you even know who the father is?’

A sob caught in the back of Lorna’s throat.

‘How many men did you have to fornicate with before one of their seeds took in your filthy belly?’ he asked.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Lorna said, fighting the rising sense of panic that was drawing a black veil over everything around her. ‘I had a difficult life. Things went wrong. I made some bad choices but I’ve made it all better. If you let me go, I can go back to my baby. I can be good for her. I’ll be good for her forever.’

‘You’re a bad girl,’ the man said, holding a quivering hand over her pubic hair. ‘A bad girl who let anyone and everyone into this.’ He slapped down hard and Lorna cried out, still raw from the stitching after labour.

‘Please don’t,’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I want to see my daughter again.’

‘Do you not think she deserves better than you, slut?’ he asked, pulling the belt from his trousers, red in the face and panting.

‘I know she does,’ Lorna cried out. ‘I know she does and I try so hard every day to be the best I can. I’m begging you, let me go back to my baby.’

‘I’m going to let you go back to her,’ he said. ‘When this is over, I’ll take you back. When you’re clean. When you’re saved.’

Lorna saw the truth in his eyes. Her bravado had been pointless. She knew what hatred looked like. It was the black full stop in each of a man’s eyes. Once again, she filled the air with the desolation of her screams.