I am not in a film.
I sit meekly behind my mother as we leave the motorway and make our way through the streets of south west London. We slow at a set of lights, and I contemplate banging on the windows. Screaming. There is a woman in a Fiat 500 in the filter lane to our right. Middle-aged. Sensible-looking. If she calls the police, follows me till they get to us …
But what if she doesn’t? If she doesn’t notice me, or she dismisses my shouts as idiocy, or doesn’t want to be involved? If it doesn’t work, I anger my mother for nothing.
And right now, she’s on the edge. I think back to when I was a child, when I would be able to read the signs and know when I could interrupt to ask if I could play out, or to wheedle extra pocket money, a late pass for a Brighton gig. I would approach slowly, see the pulse throbbing in her temple, and know to leave it till later, when the stresses of the day had retreated and she was relaxing with a glass of wine.
Even though I know the child locks are on, I move my hand slowly to the inside of the door and press the button to open the window. There’s a dull click as the mechanism registers the action and blocks it. In the rearview mirror, my mother looks up.
‘Let us out.’ I try again. ‘You can take this car, and Ella and I will go home …’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Her voice is high. Panicky. ‘They’ve found Tom’s body.’
A shiver runs through me as I think of my father in the septic tank. ‘Why?’ I manage. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘It was an accident!’
In her car seat, Ella wakes with a start and stares at me with unblinking eyes.
‘I … I was angry. I lashed out. He slipped. I …’ She breaks off and screws up her face, as though pushing away whatever images are inside her head. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Did you call an ambulance? The police?’
Silence.
‘Why come back? You’d got away with it. Everyone thought Dad had committed suicide. You too.’
She chews on her lip. Checks her mirrors and moves into the right-hand lane, ready to turn. ‘Robert’s extension. He’d been planning it for months, but I didn’t know he’d need to dig up the sewers, otherwise we’d never have …’ She stops short.
‘We?’ Fear wraps itself around my insides.
‘I tried to block it. He was refused permission, and then he went to appeal. I put in an objection, but I needed to see … I needed to see …’
‘You needed to see what?’
The response is a whisper. ‘If there was anything left of the body.’
Bile rises in my throat. ‘You said we.’ I think of the Mitsubishi. My mother’s fear was real. ‘Who was following us? Who are you so frightened of?’
She doesn’t answer.
The sat nav sends us left. We’re almost there.
I start to panic. Once we’re in the flat, escape will be impossible.
Surreptitiously I unbuckle Ella’s straps so I can grab her the second Mum opens the car door. I picture the underground car park beneath Mark’s Putney flat. The electric door opens with a code and closes automatically, rolling slowly shut with a creaking groan that used to set my teeth on edge when I visited Mark here. The space for his apartment is on the opposite side of the car park. How fast does the door close? I think back, remembering the way the natural light shrinks as you walk from the car to the lift, disappearing altogether as the door clunks to the ground. There will be time. I’ll have to be fast, but there will be time.
Blood is thudding so fiercely in my head I’m convinced I can hear it out loud. I slide one arm under Ella. I daren’t pick her up too soon, daren’t give my mother any reason to believe I might make a run for it. She’ll come after us, of course, but even out of shape and with a baby, I can run faster than her. I can make it. I have to be able to make it.
My mother hesitates, unsure where the sat nav is taking her. I can see the entrance to the underground parking but I say nothing. I don’t want her to know I’ve been here before and that I’m familiar with the layout. I need every advantage I can get.
She crawls forward, peering at each entrance until she sees the right one. It takes her three attempts to enter the code Mark gave her on a slip of paper, her fingers shaking so much they slip from the keys.
Slowly, the metal door slides upwards. It’s slower than I remember, and I’m glad, because it will descend at the same pace. I picture the distance between the parking space and the exit, mentally preparing myself for the sprint, imagining Ella in my arms.
The car park is dark, lit only by sporadic fluorescent lamps in the absence of daylight. The roller door grinds as it opens.
We are through the entrance and down the ramp before I hear the clunk of the door hitting the top of the mechanism. There’s a pause, and then the grinding resumes. The door is closing.
I can’t help myself. ‘I think the space is over there.’
She manoeuvres the car to the next row, and along to the bay. I start to lift Ella from her car seat. She stiffens, complaining, and I silently beseech her to comply. My mother hesitates, contemplating whether to reverse in, then changes her mind and slots the car neatly into the space.
Ella is in my arms. Mum’s out of the car. Come on, come on! I glance behind, see the rectangular shaft of open air squaring off as the door descends.
Her hand on the car door handle.
Come on!
There must be twenty metres between the car and the exit. Ten seconds before the gate hits the ground. It’s possible. It has to be possible.
She opens my car door.
I don’t hesitate. I kick out, hard. The door slams into my mother and sends her flying backwards. I scramble out of the car, Ella clutched to my chest, and run.
FIFTY-NINE
I would have let them out. Anna and Ella.
When I stopped the car, and told Anna to get out, I really meant it. Not just because I could have gone – disappeared somewhere too far to be found – but because I never wanted either of them to get hurt.
Now it’s too late. I’ll have to keep them. As insurance. Collateral.
If only I’d got rid of your body on my own, this wouldn’t have happened. But I couldn’t.
I kneeled on the floor, your blood seeping into my jeans. I was feeling for a pulse – looking for the rise and fall of your chest – even though the bubble of blood between your lips told me everything I needed to know. There was no coming back from this. For either of us.
I couldn’t have told you whether I was crying for you or for me. Maybe it was for both of us. All I know is I sobered up fast. I put my arms either side of you, tried to heave you into a sitting position, but my hands were slick with blood, and you slipped from my grasp and smashed once more against the tiles.
I screamed. Rolled you over and saw the tissue between the crack in your skull. Vomited once. Twice.
And it was then, when I was sitting there covered in your blood and crying in fear of what they’d do to me, that the door opened.
SIXTY
ANNA
Carrying Ella throws me off balance. I lurch from side to side as I run, like a drunk chasing the last bus. Behind me Mum moans as she picks herself up. She’s hurt.
I hear her shoes – comfortable flats to suit the frumpy persona she acquired as Angela – slapping against the floor as she breaks into a run.