“Jessie?” It was Gus’s voice.
“She’s alive!” I called back to him. “Keep working on the hole so we can get her out. She’s very weak.” I heard the motor start up again and felt the concrete floor begin to thrum under my knees as he put the drill to the wall. She started shaking, sobbing; that noise must have terrified her when it began. I put myself close behind her, drew her to me, and spoke softly into the cup of her ear.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Ros, it’s okay. It won’t be long.”
“I’m not Ros,” she said. “Where are my babies? Tell me you got them away.”
Twenty-Two
We carried her, between us, back to the cottage. Gus’s arms were jelly from the drill or he’d have taken her, but I wanted to carry my share of the weight. I had been so blind and so desperate to stay blind, hanging on to my fairytale long after I should have seen the truth. I could have saved her at least a few days of the hell she’d been in.
She didn’t seem to know how long it had been, though. That was a good thing, in a way. We sat her down on the couch and Gus laid a fire and lit it-another shiver as I saw that same body doing that same job in exactly the same way; I kept having to look at his hair to make it stay real that he wasn’t the person I thought I knew. He was no one to fear. I was safe now.
Except…
“Where is he, do you think?” asked the other Gus. The real Gus. We were in the kitchen making food for Becky, making a hot bottle and a cup of sweet tea, a piece of toast with butter and honey, something easy to get her started on. I shook my head.
“And when do we call the police?” he said. “Why are we waiting?”
“When Becky’s stronger,” I told him. “When she can convince them she doesn’t need hospital. She needs to stay with her children now.”
She hadn’t been able to take in what I had told her. “Where are they? Where are they?” she kept on asking. I went back through with a warm towel to wipe her face, and I tried again to explain.
“They’re at my flat,” I said. “They’re with a priest-Father Tommy Whelan, from St. Vincent’s? You must have heard of him.” She nodded vaguely. Of course, she had. Everyone in Dumfries knew Father Tommy, and she was a Dumfries girl. I thought of something else. But first things first. “And Kazek’s there.”
“Who?” she said.
“Ros’s friend from the Peter Pan project?”
Her face clouded, she was drifting. “The roofer?” she said. “One of those migrant worker guys that Ros… where is Ros? She was there and then she was gone. I was so out of it. What did he give me?”
I shook my head. Who knew what he gave her? As to where Ros was, she’d been cremated just that day. The Fiscal was satisfied. There’d been a note. The next of kin ID’d her. No need for a post-mortem, no need for an inquiry.
“But they’re safe?” she said. Gus came in with her tea, perched on the edge of the sofa, held it to her lips.
“Careful, it’s hot,” he said. How could she see him without flinching? Maybe when you really knew both of them they didn’t look anything like each other, but every time he came close to me, my skin prickled. I remembered the feeling of being close to Gus, the other Gus, that other tingling, and my stomach heaved. I had slept with him, fucked him (tell the truth and shame the devil) while his wife was in that stinking cell. He’d left me here with his kids and gone there to-to what?
“What was the baby monitor for? Could he hear you?”
“God, I pulled it out!” said Gus. “I should have left it. Evidence.”
I saw Becky look at him, just a flicker. “Other way round,” she said. “I could hear him. He told me everyone thought I was dead. He told me he was going to kill the kids. He wouldn’t tell me when. I was so scared.”
“He’d never have killed the kids,” I said.
“Men like him kill their kids all the time,” she said. “Ros told me. They’re fine as long the wife stays, and if she tries to get away they kill the kids to torture her. It happens every day.” I nodded, Gus had said as much. The real Gus. Harmless as long as Becky stayed.
“He might have wanted to,” I said. “But he’d never have got away with it. He’d have been caught.”
“He’s clever,” said Becky. She had sipped half the cup of tea now and she reached out for the toast, took a bite, and chewed. “He found a… patsy. He told me. Through that wire. He’d found a girl with a history, screwed up about kids, you know. Childless but obsessed with them? He made her look weird. He made her tell people she knew him when she didn’t. He’d phoned a helpline, he told me. Said this strange woman was moving in on him and the kids and he didn’t know what to do. He’s clever. Make you believe anything if he tried. He’s clever that way.”
I nodded, even managed to smile, but she saw through it. Her eyed flared and she shifted, spilling a bit of her tea.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“Yep,” I replied.
Gus looked from to the other of us. “I’m going to heat you up some soup,” he said. “If that toast’s gone down okay. And then we’re calling the cops. We can’t leave it much longer.”
He went to the kitchen. I knew my eyes had followed him; I didn’t know why until Becky told me.
“It’s okay,” she said. “There’s no phone in there.” I turned, caught her look, knew that she knew what I was thinking. Knew she was thinking it too. She put out her hand and I took it.
“God, I’m filthy,” she said. “Do I stink?” I screwed my nose, said nothing, and she managed a smile. “How are they?” she asked me. “Really and truly. Are they okay?”
“They missed you,” I said. “Dillon doesn’t really believe you’re gone. Ruby just about roared the house down when Gus-damn it!-when Gav told her. She’s been asking all sorts of questions about heaven and angels. But I’m sorry to tell you, they’ve been sort of okay. Gus-Gav is a fantastic dad. They love him, don’t they?”
“They do,” she said. “He is. Why do you think I stayed this long? When someone sets out to fool you and they’re really good at it, it works like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I said. I could feel a huge bale of sobs unravelling deep down inside me. It was good news. It was all good news. The best there could be anyway. Dead people couldn’t come back to life, so what could be better than finding out that the dead one was single, no kids of her own, and the mum whose little ones needed her was back again, a miracle? What was wrong with me? Kazek was safe. Becky was safe. If I could be there when Ruby and Dillon saw her, I would treasure the memory all my life. So what was wrong with me?
As if I didn’t know. What was wrong was that I’d had a week-long dream, loved and loving, feeling the fear letting go, someone to listen, little hands holding mine, laughs at the tea table, someone who thought I was wonderful. I could still hear his voice saying “bravest and best little girl.” I should have known-did know deep down-that it was all too good to be true.
“Oh, Jessie,” said Becky, and she put her hand out to me. “What did he do to you?”
I shook my head, sending the tears out of the corners of my eyes. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing in comparison. You shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone else except Dill and Ruby.”
She squeezed my hand tight, shook it, made me look at her; her face was solemn, her eyes huge.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I’m the one you talk to. I’m the only one who’ll understand. He bricked me up in a cell for a week. Yeah, he did. But that’s easy. Tell someone that and all you get is sympathy. It’s the seven years before that really fucked me. Like the stuff he did to you. It’s the stuff you can’t tell anyone because they’ll just say you’re imagining it or it was your own look-out, or they’ll laugh and tell you you’re over-reacting.” She leaned in close, her breath metallic on my face. “It’s the stuff he made you believe you did to yourself. That’s what kills you.”