‘To get Roz, of course. Stay where you are. It’s time we had this out with her.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ROZ
By the time lunch arrived, my appetite had vanished. Something was going on upstairs. Sheridan was home. The thought of her discovering my note was enough to chill the blood in my veins. What if somebody had gone to her instead of the police? But surely she wasn’t that easily contactable? I checked behind Juanita’s shoulder as she approached me with a tray of food. Her face was gaunt, her eyes full of knowing, the air thick with unspoken words. She must understand a little English, surely?
‘Juanita, please . . . por favor . . . I know you understand.’ I touched her wrist as she laid the tray on the small circular table, wishing I could remember more of the language I had once tried to learn. Surely she could see I was being kept against my will? I could rush her, push her out of the way and get as far as the lift. But she was broad and strong and I had the baby to think of. Neither did I want to be sedated again. I was stuck down here like a rat in a cage waiting to be experimented on.
But Juanita was acting as if I did not exist at all; she just slipped her hand away. The tray held my supplements, a plate of tuna sandwiches, a protein yoghurt and a glass of juice. I would pour that down the toilet later on. I’d rather drink bottled water than chance it. Frustration burned as I tried to communicate in broken Spanish.
‘Soy . . . um . . . soy irlanda . . .’ I muttered. ‘What’s the word for help?’ They didn’t teach that in language class. ‘Mi casa irlanda . . . estoy triste, muy mal . . .’ I groaned. This was no use. I was throwing random Spanish words together. ‘Please,’ I said, my words falling on deaf ears. ‘Go to the Irish embassy. Tell them my name is Roz Foley. I’m being kept prisoner.’ I spoke to her back as she turned to walk away. Tears gathered in the corner of my eyes. I stood, cumbersome as I followed her to the lift. ‘Kelly . . . she was here before me, wasn’t she? What happened to her?’ I paused for a reply, but no words were returned.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘You won’t get into trouble. I’ll help you. Keep you safe.’
I wanted to scream. It was as if I was trapped behind glass and she could not hear a word I said. In reality, there was little I could do if Juanita was an illegal alien or if Sheridan had something else on her. We both knew that as soon as I was free, I would disappear back to Ireland. I sensed she was a good person, but ill-equipped to deal with me. I thought about George and the hold Sheridan had over him. The woman was not stupid. She manipulated everyone. Sheridan knew I would no longer hand over my baby willingly and she had no intention of letting me go. As Juanita walked away, she was taking any hope I had of escaping with her.
I balled my fists, stamping my feet like a five-year-old who has just been told she can’t go to the playground.
‘If you won’t listen to me then I’ll scream until you do!’
It was stupid. A last resort. But what else could I do? I inhaled a lungful of air, but the scream was silenced as Juanita properly met my gaze for the first time. Shaking her head, she pressed her finger to her lips.
‘Shhh,’ she said. Taking a step backwards, she stepped into the lift, mouthing the word, ‘No.’ The doors closed, and all I could see was her face.
I stood like a statue, grateful for that one second of contact. She could understand English –well, a little bit, anyway. I watched as the lift rumbled up on its runners. The old Roz would have screamed the house down until Juanita said more. But that small gesture was made to silence me and instantly I complied. I was cage-bound. Weeks in captivity had turned me into someone I no longer recognised.
I dragged my feet back to the table, picking up the sandwich and placing it back on the plate. Was this progress? Would Juanita say more the next time? Robotically, I took my supplements, transferred the food