to keep out of his parents’ way but, whatever his motivation, I’m grateful. I’m a fast learner and copying my husband’s trick, I pocket Jennifer’s phone unnoticed. I call an uber and then I call the police.
43
Emily
Monday, 27th May
When I open my eyes, I am beyond relieved that everything is cream and light, not black and shadowy. I can hear the beep and hum of hospital machines, Mum and Dad are at my bedside. They look like shit and from the look on their faces I guess I must be worse. Mum looks as though she’s bruised, but I squint a bit to try to focus, the bright lights are a bit much after the darkness. I realise Mum’s face is swollen, red, purple and blue through crying, not because she’s had a beating. I try to move a bit. My body protests loudly, suggesting I might have taken a beating.
‘Hello, darling, how are you feeling?’ murmurs Mum. She has hold of my hand, she leans forward and kisses it, like I’m royalty or the Pope or something.
‘OK,’ I mumble back. I don’t feel OK. I ache from head to toe. It’s more than pain, it’s like a fragility; if I move, I’ll fall apart. I’m in a private room. Of course I am, we are rich. I’d forgotten. When we won the lottery, I thought being rich meant I’d be indulged, protected. I guess it can mean that, but it can also mean I’m exploited, threatened. ‘I’m thirsty.’ Mum reaches for some water at my bedside. She drips it carefully into my mouth, like a bird feeding a chick. It reminds me of something. Something to do with the abduction but I can’t remember what. ‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘You were kidnapped,’ says Mum. ‘Some very bad people held you hostage for money.’ I almost want to laugh at Mum’s words ‘some very bad people’. That doesn’t get close. They kicked me, starved me, bound me and drugged me. Yes, I think I was drugged. I guess she will know all this now, there will be medical evidence. I suppose she’s trying not to distress me by being too explicit. I’m far too weak and weary to point out that she can’t protect me – I was the one who lived through it.
‘Hey, Dad.’ It shouldn’t be up to me to cheer things up but Dad looks literally done for. Like battered. Suffering.
He stands up and kisses my forehead then says, ‘I’ll go and get a doctor, tell them she’s awake.’
I get the feeling he’s making himself scarce, as though he’s finding it a struggle to be around me. I glance at Mum, afraid. Dad often leaves the tricky stuff to her. Like when me and Logan really wanted a dog and they’d more or less agreed we could have one and then they changed their minds – Dad left it up to Mum to tell us. Or if we aren’t allowed to go somewhere like a gig, or buy something – you know, before the big win – Dad would avoid answering the tricky questions and just say, ‘Check with your mum.’
‘What is it, Mum?’
‘You’ve lost your baby, angel.’ She just says it like that. Like we both knew there was a baby before. She makes it uncomplicated. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
‘Don’t cry, Mum. I’m not sure I wanted it anyway.’ I try to make it sound like I’ve just lost out on buying a dress because they didn’t have it in my size. But then suddenly I’m sobbing. Ridley’s baby is gone. Ridley and my baby is gone. ‘I didn’t look after it. I didn’t keep it safe,’ I say.
Mum jumps up and wraps her arms around me, buries her face into my neck. All this hurts but it’s worth it. She tells me over and over again that it’s not my fault. None of this is my fault. Eventually she tells me the police want to talk to me when I’m ready. ‘We are going to catch these bastards that did this to you.’ I agree to be interviewed but ask Mum to stay with me. She immediately understands it’s not the police I am afraid of; obviously I’m actually safer if there are a couple of coppers in my room, but I don’t want Mum out of my sight. ‘You are safe now,’ she says firmly.
‘What happens if someone does it again?’ I demand.
She smiles ruefully, ‘That’s unlikely. There’s no money left.’