Buried

Chapter 30

The coach was in a lengthy queue waiting to embark on the DFDS ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam. The kids were exhausted and were trying to sleep, and Ester was being more obnoxious than usual, having drunk the contents of one of her hip flasks. She had two more tucked away in various pockets of her clothing.

‘It looks like a floating skip!’ she said scathingly, as she caught sight of the ferry.

Ester took any and every opportunity to undermine Angela’s escape plan; it was as though she wanted it to fail just so she could laugh in Angela’s face and mock how the ‘little tart’ from all those years ago should have stayed on the lowest rung of the ladder, where she belonged, and made no attempt to climb. Ester’s penchant for self-destruction was well known, so they’d already agreed to keep her sweet for another week or two because after that they’d never have to see her again.

‘We’re staying in Hyatt House in Düsseldorf tomorrow night, Ester.’ Rob’s deep, velvety voice from the driving seat made Ester go weak at the knees and he knew it. ‘Google it, darlin’. It’s stunning.’

Ester obediently got out her mobile and, as she scrolled through the photos of the double-staircase, gold and winding up three floors, she beamed and opened her second hip flask.

Angela put her hand inside Rob’s, as they inched closer and closer to the first test of their new passports. She was nervous; she was so excited for what lay ahead of them, and terrified of losing it at the final turn. Rob’s huge hand enveloped Angela’s. She loved the rough callouses at the base of each of his fingers, just above his palm. They were comforting. Her man knew what hard work was and that made him appreciate everything he had. He could take on anything, because he knew what life was about. His life, anyway.

The front wheels of the coach hesitated on the lip of the ramp, rolled back a little, then went for it. They were aboard.

A man in a yellow tabard waved them into a parking space and Rob turned the engine off. For a few seconds, they all nervously looked out of their nearest window for... what?

Connie was the first to grin, which she quickly followed with a shriek that scared Suzie. Riel and Aggie were used to Connie’s oddness, so ignored her; Sam, out of boredom, was using his penknife to snag stitches out of the seat he was sitting on.

Angela, Julia and Connie, quite unprompted, came together in the centre of the coach and hugged. They then forced themselves into Ester’s two-seater space and hugged her too, which she pretended to object to.

‘Gerroff me! You stink! Gerroff, I’m going to the bar.’ Ester struggled to her feet. ‘Come and get me when we’re there.’

Connie curtsied and off Ester went.

‘Right, kids!’ Julia turned.

Sam was holding up a £50 note. She dived to the back of the bus and snatched it from his hand. She didn’t have to say anything, she just glared. Between Sam’s legs, the stitching in the front of his seat was open about half an inch, exposing one of the stacks of cash. He closed his legs, covering the damage he’d done. She read the ‘I won’t tell a soul’ in his eyes. Julia pushed the £50 note back through the hole in the seat and stroked Sam’s hair. Even though he was only ten, and inquisitive as a puppy, she trusted him completely.

‘I can sew that.’ Julia spun round to see Angela right behind her. ‘Maybe you should take the knife though, eh? For safekeeping.’ Then, to show Sam that she too trusted him, she said, ‘Rob, would you take the kids to look around? Sam’s going to be your wingman.’

Sam handed his penknife to Julia and left the coach with the other kids, Rob, Connie and Julia.

As the ferry pulled away from the terminal, Angela sat in the driver’s seat and looked out to sea. Then, quite unexpectedly, she began to cry. She tried to control it, but she couldn’t; the tears flooded out from pure relief. Angela gasped in the stale air smelling of petrol fumes, to try and calm herself down. She opened the glovebox and there, sitting on top of all of Rob’s junk, were a small, worn teddy bear and a bright yellow teething ring. She thought back to Dolly Rawlins and their impromptu shopping trip to Mothercare all those years ago.

You’re a good girl. Dolly’s voice was as clear as day. Stay strong and, most of all, stay happy. If you’re not happy, you’re not anything really.

It was only now that Angela recognised how sad Dolly had been when she’d said those words. Dolly had lost her own babies, she’d lost the man she loved more than life itself and she was hopelessly sad. Even if she had lived, she’d never have been happy again. Angela moved the little bear to one side and took out her sewing kit.

Maggie had been sitting in the restaurant for twenty minutes. She was drinking faster than usual, embarrassed to be sitting by herself at a table clearly set for two people. And if that wasn’t enough, she was dressed to kill, with her 40-minute hair and her 30-minute make-up — triple the time she normally gave herself to get ready for a night out.

That morning, Jack had promised her breakfast in bed and a cuddle and he’d failed to deliver either. This evening, he had promised her a night out — which he was failing to deliver. Maggie wasn’t annoyed; she was deeply upset. She could feel everything slipping away because of Jack’s crazy obsession with finding his birth father, in the hope of finding himself. She knew he was grieving for Charlie, so she was being as supportive as possible — but he wasn’t making it easy. She looked at the bottle of white in front of her — one glass left. She swigged the last mouthful from her glass and then emptied the bottle. The sommelier dived across the restaurant, but he was far too slow. He removed the empty bottle and, with a patronising tone and a tilt of the head, asked Maggie if she’d like some bread while she waited for her companion. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead she smiled and said, ‘No, thank you.’

Maggie spent the next five minutes watching a spot of white wine, which she’d dripped onto the tablecloth from the now-empty bottle, dry slowly. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d been sitting alone for thirty-five minutes; she was starving and pissed. When the restaurant door next opened, she had to look twice at the man who entered before she recognised him. Jack was dressed as he was always dressed, but he looked different. Maggie had rehearsed what she was going to say when he finally walked in, all apologetic and eager to make amends, but this wasn’t the man she’d expected. This man looked her straight in the eyes and smiled, as though he’d done nothing at all wrong. He looked handsome, confident, powerful. He looked like a man who knew that he was worth waiting for. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Jack didn’t apologise for being late and Maggie didn’t shout at him as she’d planned to. He simply sat opposite her, stared deep into her soul with his smiling brown eyes and told her how much he loved her.