M. Arlidge - The Doll's House

‘Don’t feel too bad. It happens to them all in the end.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’ve been with Daniel for over ten years now. I know what he’s like -’

‘Kristy, I really don’t know what you’re allud-’

‘The thing about Daniel is that he likes attention. Loves to have a pretty face staring up at him, an arm round his shoulder. Or someone to keep him warm at night. It’s like an addiction, there’s no other way to explain it. But you should never take it personally, it’s not you he’s interested in. It’s himself.’

Kristy stared at Helen. She was victorious, but it was a pyrrhic victory for a woman who seemed accustomed to betrayal.

‘I should probably leave him, but I guess it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?’ She patted her belly and looked Helen in the eye. ‘Don’t contact him directly again. If there is any news, get another officer to call. Preferably a male one.’

She turned on her heel and walked towards the car. Daniel held the door open for her, shutting it gently behind her once she’d climbed in. A brief apologetic look at Helen and he was gone. Leaving Helen alone and feeling more foolish than ever.

Whatever the weather, there is always something nice about Friday morning. The dark clouds that hung over Southampton spat contemptuously on the early-morning workers hurrying through the streets to their shops and offices, yet in spite of this Ben Fraser thought he detected optimism and happiness in their expressions. Only a few more hours and the weekend would begin. Who wouldn’t smile at that?

He too had hope in his heart this morning. There was still much to be done of course – some of it pleasant, some of it not – but when the path is clear in front of you, life is easy. He had risen early, washed and dressed by six a.m., and been on the streets not long afterwards. On these early reconnaissance trips, he always wore the regulation uniform of city workers in the summertime – jeans, T-shirt, sunglasses and a record bag casually slung over his right shoulder. He looked for all the world like a young man going places. But there was only one place he was going today.

Blenheim Road in Portswood looked even more drab in the daylight. Last night, it had had a kind of faded glamour but now it appeared in its true colours – a haven for students and wasters. Impoverished young workers – like Summer – liked it because the rents were cheap, but the whole place had the tired, lazy feel of a student hive. You could almost smell the ganja fumes as you walked up the street, Ben thought to himself.

He had barely been at his vantage point five minutes when Summer appeared. The gods really were smiling on him now. She looked even lovelier than he remembered. Crisp white blouse, smart charcoal suit, and long suede boots that click, click, clicked down the street away from him.

Ben slipped out from his hiding place and padded down the street after her, seemingly intent on a phone call – on an iPhone that had given up the ghost years ago. He muttered nonsense into it, amusing himself by the random collision of words. He didn’t care what he was saying, his real focus was fifty yards ahead of him.

She stopped at a nearby Costa to pick up a latte and a croissant, slipping the latter into her bag to eat at her desk later. Ben wondered if this was her habitual breakfast stop-off – time would tell. She walked to the bus stop and Ben kept pace with her, slipping on to the number 28 bus behind her.

Watching her at close quarters, he felt himself blessed as never before. It had been so long, but here she was. Back where she should be. He took in every detail of her hair, her face, her clothes, her mannerisms, her habits. He noted that she left her bag open, having removed her phone to text. A little trusting, he thought, but not unhelpful – he could glimpse her set of keys within. What else did she have in there, he wondered.

She got off the bus in Nicholstown and Ben was soon padding behind her, making a mental note of her route to the employment agency where she worked. She was so oblivious to his presence, he even managed to clock the key code she tapped in to enter the lobby – all useful information for the future.

Soon she disappeared from view, but Ben wasn’t downhearted. It had been a successful trip. Far more successful than he had any right to expect. But luck was with him now and slowly, but surely, he was climbing inside her life.

Ruby lay on the bed and smiled. She hadn’t slept a wink – she’d been too wired following Ben’s visit to even consider that. She was going home. This was the one outcome she had never really expected throughout her incarceration and yet it was true. Soon she would see her mum, dad, Cassie and Conor. She would be back where she belonged.

Her eyes drooped – her body, her brain demanded sleep now – but still Ruby resisted. Previously she had wanted to take refuge in dreams, to escape the grim misery of everyday life down here. But now she feared sleep. If she went to sleep, who’s to say that she wouldn’t dream that she was still here, with him, trapped in this dark hell.

She pinched herself hard, twice. ‘Not long now, Ruby,’ she told herself, pulling her legs off the bed and forcing herself to pace back and forth. Stay awake, stay alert and before long she would see natural light again. The thought made her laugh, although in truth she was a little scared of the idea – surely it would blind her, so accustomed had she become to this dead gloom. But it would be a small price to pay for her freedom.

What had occasioned his sudden change of heart? Had he grown tired of her? Or had there been some development above ground? Had contact been made? A ransom been paid? It seemed unlikely but was there another credible explanation? Perhaps even now he was negotiating with them, trading his liberty for Ruby’s?

The thought thrilled Ruby. Perhaps he would never come back here again. Safer by far to give up her location and move on, before he could be caught or traced. Surely that was what he’d do? It’s what Ruby would do.

For once his absence didn’t bother her. Usually she wondered what he was up to – what he was thinking and doing – and how that might impact upon her. But today she didn’t. Today she sat quiet and content, dreaming of the future. Dreaming of her future.

Helen sped through the city centre, her Kawasaki cutting a swathe through the static traffic. They had finally got an address for Edward Loughton’s sister and Helen was on her way there now. If she could help them locate Fraser, then there was still hope for Ruby.

Helen should have used a pool car – complete with lights and sirens – but it was quicker by bike and instinct told her to handle this alone. Ben Fraser might live with Alice Loughton for all she knew – they couldn’t afford to announce their arrival. Sanderson, McAndrew, Lucas and Edwards would follow close behind in unmarked cars, but Helen would take the lead.

She pulled up sharply by the kerb. Melrose Crescent was an impressive street, lined with handsome Victorian villas. Somehow this street had survived the Second World War bombs – a proud reminder of Southampton’s architectural past. Edward Loughton had owned a number of shops and had clearly done well for himself. Having no wife or children, he’d bequeathed his estate to his younger sister – though, now aged seventy-four, Alice Loughton could hardly be called young.

Pulling off her helmet and shaking out her long hair, Helen climbed the wide stone steps up to the imposing front door. She rang the bell, but resisted rapping the knocker. No point alarming anyone – yet. She waited patiently, jogging from foot to foot as the tension coursed through her.