Bolton, J. - Now You See Me

53

I LEFT THE STATION TWENTY MINUTES LATER. NO ONE SAW ME go. Before slipping out, I’d done everything I could think of, which hadn’t been much. I’d also left a note saying I wasn’t feeling great and would take the following day off. It would buy me a bit of time.

On top of my wardrobe at home is a bag I keep packed with things I’ll need if I have to leave in a hurry. The few important papers I have are in there, and so is some money. I keep a safety deposit box at a private-security company. I change companies every year but the contents stay the same. Cash. Enough to be able to disappear very quickly.

I changed into jeans, a warm sweatshirt and trainers before grabbing a jacket. I hadn’t eaten for a while but didn’t want to spare the time. I would get something on the way.

I switched off the lights and left the flat. It was starting to rain and, judging from the cloud cover, it was going to continue for some time. I considered taking my bike, but only for a second. It would make me a lot harder to trace, but I just wouldn’t be able to move fast enough. I planned to be in Portsmouth in a couple of hours, ditch the car and become a foot passenger on the next available ferry to France. Once on the continent, I’d take a fast train south. In a couple of days, there’d be no trace of me left. Lacey Flint would cease to exist.

As I locked the door, I could feel tears stinging behind my eyes. I’d always known that one day it would come to this; that I would take off, leaving everything behind. I just hadn’t considered how much it would hurt.

I climbed the steps on legs that felt too heavy and beeped open my car.

‘Going somewhere, Flint?’

I should have known it couldn’t be that easy.

I turned round slowly. My nemesis had parked illegally on double yellows. He was pulling a jacket round his shoulders as his eyes went from my face to the rucksack slung over my left shoulder.

Hold it together, girl.

‘Local leisure centre,’ I said, stretching the corners of my mouth into what, under the dim light of a streetlamp, might pass for a smile. ‘Every part of me aches and I plan to spend the next hour in the steam room. Want to come?’

Joesbury didn’t look convinced. ‘Tempting,’ he said. ‘But I already made plans.’

‘Have fun,’ I replied, turning back to my car, flicking my eyes across the road and back again. No one else in sight. He and I seemed to be alone in the street. ‘And by the way,’ I went on, ‘if keeping an eye on me like this is supposed to be a covert operation, you suck at it.’

I reached for the door of my car, hardly knowing what I was going to do once I got inside. Joesbury was no fool. If he was allowing himself to be seen, he wasn’t alone. There would be someone else, just out of sight. I was trapped. I looked up the street again. Still just the two of us. There was a Swiss army knife in my bag. It might not kill him, but it would slow him down, give me chance to get away.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and almost screamed out loud I was so pent up.

‘Actually, my plans include you,’ he said. ‘I’m under orders to make sure you’re OK.’

Tiny drops of rainwater had collected on his eyebrows. I watched one fall on to his lashes and shimmer there for a moment before he blinked it away. ‘I’m OK,’ I said. ‘Thank you. But space would be good right now. And I really do feel like shit.’

‘I’ll give you a neck rub,’ he said, taking the keys from my hand and locking the car again. ‘Come on.’ He was guiding me towards his own car, holding the passenger door open. I climbed in, telling myself I could not panic. If Joesbury got suspicious and wanted to see what was inside my bag, it was all over.

So I’d go later. I’d take the bike, after all, ride through the night. Or catch a bus or a train to Portsmouth in the morning. I could still do it. I just had to stay calm.

The inside of the car smelled of damp hair and clothes. At the junction with the Wandsworth Road, Joesbury switched on the car stereo and I braced myself for the usual rush of rhythmic club sound. Instead, a soft male voice started singing about flying.

‘This is Westlife,’ I said, after a few seconds.

Joesbury didn’t look at me, but the crease at the corner of his mouth deepened. ‘Borrowed it from Dana,’ he said.

In spite of everything, I almost laughed.

‘What did I miss back at HQ?’ I asked, as we headed east, close to the South Bank.

‘The headmaster of St Joseph’s was at the station when I left,’ Joesbury told me. ‘Chap called Edward Seaton. Cooperative enough. He and Gayle have been using the school’s telephone tree. That’s a sort of list—’

‘I know what a telephone tree is,’ I said. ‘You ring the name at the top of the list, she rings the next one and so on.’

‘Right,’ said Joesbury. ‘They’re going back ten years, contacting every family who sent kids to the school, first checking the mothers are still OK and then warning them to be extra careful in the next few days.’

‘Isn’t that going to cause a panic?’ I asked, realizing Joesbury was driving faster than was strictly legal and had twice looked at his watch.

‘Yeah, I suggested that myself,’ Joesbury said as we approached some lights. He picked up speed and then braked hard when they changed. I lurched forward against the seat belt and my bruised ribs didn’t enjoy the experience.

‘And?’ I said.

‘And Tully drew herself up to her full five feet four inches, pressed her screech button and demanded to know if she was the only person in the room who understood the meaning of the phrase “double event”. At which point I decided I was taking the night off.’

You had to admire the man’s nerve. ‘She was OK with that?’

Joesbury turned quickly and grinned at me. ‘She knows I’m crap at admin, which is basically all they can do for now,’ he said. ‘And they’re calling a meeting. Tomorrow morning at the school, for all past and present mothers.’

‘What do you imagine the press will make of that?’ I asked after a second.

‘She’s inviting them as well,’ said Joesbury. ‘It’s looking like the school is the key to whatever’s going on. She wants every woman connected with it on full alert.’

I thought about it for a moment. It was a good idea. It would also mean that some time tomorrow morning, the game would definitely be up. I had no choice but to leave tonight. Just one big problem in my way. The one in the driver’s seat.

My rucksack was on my lap. Relying on the music to drown any sound, I unzipped the front pocket and found my knife. Then I slipped my hand into my coat pocket. As I was doing that, my big problem turned into a short, no-through road and pulled over. He switched off the engine and, with an exaggerated look of relief, the stereo system. ‘I want double brownie points for that,’ he said. ‘I brought you a coat.’

He was out of the car before I had time to ask where we were, and why I would need another coat. Knowing I didn’t have much choice but to play along, I tucked my bag under the seat and climbed out too.

We were in Southwark, not far from where I’d worked up until a few weeks ago, and practically on the riverbank. Directly across from us were the lights and buildings of the city. Joesbury handed over a large oilskin coat, pulled a baseball cap on to his own head and set off towards the water. I raised the coat hood and followed, very slowly.

The river was metres away, the safety barrier nothing but two iron bars held by vertical struts, and Joesbury was waiting for me at the top of some narrow stone steps that I had a bad feeling led to the beach below. As I drew close, he pulled a torch out of his coat pocket and set off down them. On the fourth step, his left foot slipped sideways.