breath. “No, sweetheart, it hasn’t crashed.” The news has run every twenty minutes, and every time, I’ve braced myself, only to hear the same script. No communications… No deviation from the scheduled route… No new information. A spokesperson from Climate Action Group has denied all knowledge of the hijack. Our ethos is passive resistance and civil disobedience, he said. We do not condone or encourage acts of criminal violence. There’s been no sound from Becca, and I picture her hunched over the tracking app, waiting for the plane to divert. The fear I heard in her voice hasn’t reassured me; it’s done the opposite. A frightened felon is a dangerous one. An unpredictable one.
“Is Mummy okay?” Sophia crouches by my side, her face so close to mine, I can feel her breath on my skin. A lump forms in my throat, and I feel my nose prickle with tears again. I don’t know what to do, whether to tell her.
Mina would know.
A fierce wave of love surges through me, erupting in a howl that hurts my heart and bends me double, as I remember the arguments, the harsh words, the bitterness of a relationship I ruined with my lies.
“Daddy?” Sophia touches my head, and I can hear how frightened she is, but I can’t speak because I’m fighting to find my breath, to find myself beneath this mess of a man who cries like a baby. How could I have let this happen? If I hadn’t gotten into debt, I’d never have gone to loan sharks. Katya would never have been threatened; there would have been no secrets to tear Mina and me apart, no thug at my door with fists that didn’t care what they broke. Becca wouldn’t have been able to drug me; she’d have failed before she’d even started, and Sophia and I wouldn’t be here in this cellar, with no way out. This is all my fault. Becca may have turned the key, but for months, I’ve been locking myself away.
“Daddy, I’m scared.”
I need to pull myself together.
Slowly, I get my breathing under control. I flex every muscle, stiff with cold and lack of movement. I can hardly feel my fingers now.
“And I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” There’s a break in my voice, and I cough and say it again, trying to convince myself—as much as Sophia—that I’m holding it together. I look around the cellar, as though food might miraculously appear in the dim light my eyes have now grown used to. “We’re going to try shouting for Becca again, okay?”
Sophia’s bottom lip wobbles.
“She’s the only one who can bring us something to eat. I won’t let her hurt you, okay?”
I take her silence as acceptance and shout as loudly as I can. “Becca! Becca! Becca!” I pause—I think I can hear movement, but I can’t be certain. “Becca? We need food! Water!”
We listen. There are footsteps above, and a shadow falls across the narrow strip of light at the base of the door. The radio stops abruptly.
“Sophia needs food and water.”
Nothing. But at least the shadow is still there.
I try again. “Just some water. Please, Becca.”
“I’m not opening this door. You’ll try and escape.” There’s a tightness to her voice that sounds like stress. Because she doesn’t know what to do? Or because she knows she’s already gone too far? I need her to be calm. If she’s calm, maybe I can talk her around.
“I can’t move. How can I escape?” I pull at the pipe behind me, the metal making a dull clank against the handcuffs.
“You’ll try something.”
“Please, Becca. Just something for Sophia.” I look at my daughter. “Go on,” I whisper, “you try.”
“Please, Becca, I’m so hungry.”
The shadow moves away from the door. I think for a moment that she’s gone, but then I hear movement from the kitchen—the sound of cupboard doors, the cutlery tray, the fridge. The radio goes back on: a truncated chorus of “Last Christmas” before a segue into what it’s like to be lonely at this special time of year.
Time to think fast. This could be our only chance.
“Sophia, we’re going to get out of here.” She searches my face for the promise, and I wonder how much I can ask her to do. “How fast can you run?”
“Really really fast. I’m the fastest in the school.”
“And can you be super still?”
In response, Sophia sits cross-legged, her arms folded and her lips pressed tightly together, the way they do when the register is called.