23

Little Alice is riding her chestnut mare. Her hair is braided into a single plait that bounces up and down on her back as she rises and falls in the saddle, doing long slow circles of the enclosure.

Three other students are mounted and have joined the class, all wearing jodhpurs, riding boots and riding helmets. The instructor, Mrs Lehane, has big hips and messy blonde hair. She reminds me of a CO’s wife I met in Germany, who was more intimidating than her husband.

I can smell the horses. Never trust animals that are bigger than you are, that’s my motto. Horses may look intelligent and placid in photographs but in real life, up close, they ripple and snort. And those big, soft, wet eyes are hiding a secret. Come the revolution four legs will rule the world.

A couple of the parents have stayed to watch their children ride. Others are chatting in the parking area. Alice has nobody to watch her except for me. Don’t worry, snowflake, I’m looking at you. Sit up straight. Trot, trot, trot…

I punch the numbers on the mobile and hit the green button. A woman answers.

‘Is that Sylvia Furness?’

‘Yes.’

‘The mother of Alice?’

‘Yes. Who’s calling?’

‘I’m the good Samaritan who’s looking after your daughter.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She had a fall from her horse. Twisted her knee quite badly. But it’s OK now, I’ve kissed it better.’

There’s a sharp intake of breath. ‘Who are you? Where’s my daughter?’

‘She’s right here, Sylvia, lying on the bed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She was muddy after her fall. Her jodhpurs were filthy. I popped them in the washing machine and gave Alice a bath. She has such lovely skin. What conditioner do you use on her hair? It’s very soft.’

‘I-I-I don’t know which one.’

‘And she has such a pretty birthmark on her neck. It’s shaped like an almond. I’m going to kiss it.’

‘No! Don’t touch her!’

Pain and confusion strangle her words. Fear. Panic. She’s going through them all now. Emotional overload.

‘Where’s Mrs Lehane?’ she asks.

‘With the rest of the class.’

‘Let me speak to Alice.’

‘She can’t speak.’

‘Why?’

‘She has masking tape across her mouth. But don’t worry, Sylvia, she can hear you. Let me put the phone down next to her ear. You can tell her how much you love her.’

A groan. ‘Please, let her go.’

‘But we’re having fun together. She’s such a sweet little thing. I’m looking after her. Little girls need looking after. Where’s Alice’s daddy?’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Little girls need a father.’

‘He’s away on business.’

‘Why do you act like such a whore when he’s away?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Alice thinks you do.’

‘No.’

‘She’s growing up. Budding.’

‘Please, don’t touch her.’

‘She’s very brave. She didn’t cry at all when I cut her clothes off. Now she’s a little embarrassed about being naked but I told her not to worry. I couldn’t put her muddy clothes back on. You really should invest in a bra for her. I think she’s ready… I mean, she will be twelve in May.’

She is begging me now, sobbing into the phone.

‘I know all about Alice. She likes Coldplay. Her horse is called Sally. She has a picture of her father on her bedside table. Her best friend’s name is Shelly. She likes a boy at school called Danny Green. She’s a little young to have a boyfriend but it won’t be long before she’s giving blowjobs in the back row at the cinema and spreading her legs all over town. I’m going to break her in.’

‘No, please. She’s just a-.’

‘Virgin, I know, I’ve checked.’

Sylvia is hyperventilating.

‘Calm down,’ I tell her. ‘Take a deep breath. Alice needs you to listen to me.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to help me make her a woman.’

‘No. No.’

‘Listen to me, Sylvia. Don’t interrupt.’

‘Please, let her go.’

‘What did I tell you?’

‘Please.’

I slam the phone into my fist. ‘You hear that, Sylvia. That’s the sound of my fist hitting Alice’s face. I’m going to hit her again, every time you interrupt me.’

‘No. Please. I’m sorry.’

She falls silent.

‘That’s good, Sylvia. Much better. I’m going to let you say hello to Alice now. She can hear you. What do you want to say to her?’

She sobs: ‘Baby, it’s Mummy. It’s OK. Don’t be scared. I’m going to help you. I’m… I’m…’

‘Tell her to relax.’

‘Just relax.’

‘Tell her to co-operate.’

‘Do as the man says.’

‘That’s very good, Sylvia. She’s much calmer. Now I can begin. You can help me. Which hole shall I fuck first?’

She wails down the line. ‘Please, don’t touch her. Please no. Take her outside. Leave her in the street. I won’t call the police.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘She’s only a baby.’

‘In some countries they marry girls off when they’re her age. They also circumcise them and sew their cunts shut.’

A groan rattles deep inside her.

‘Take me. You can have me.’

‘Why would I want you when I have little Alice? She’s young. You’re old. She’s clean. You’re a slut.’

‘Please take me.’

‘Can you hear her breathing? I am resting my head on her chest. Her heart is going, “Pitter patter, pitter patter”.’

‘Take me, please. I’ll do anything you want.’

‘Oh, be careful what you say, Sylvia. Will you really take her place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you… would you…?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do I know that I can trust you?’

‘You can. Please. Let her go.’

A second mobile is cradled in my hand. I dial a new number. I can hear it ringing in the background. Sylvia covers the mouthpiece and answers her mobile, whispering urgently, ‘Help me! Please! Call the police. He has my daughter.’

I pronounce each syllable: ‘Syl-vee-a. Guess who this is?’

She groans in despair.

‘Alice gave me your mobile number. It was a test. You failed. I can’t trust you any more. Sylvia, I’m going to hang up now. You won’t see Alice again.’

She wails. ‘No! No! No! I’m sorry. Please. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.’

‘I’m putting the phone next to Alice’s ear again. Tell her you’re sorry. I was going to rape her and send her back. Now you’ll never see her again.’

‘Please don’t hurt her.’

‘Oh, look at that! You’ve made her cry.’

‘Anything. I’ll do anything.’

‘I’m lying on top of her, Sylvia. Relax, little one. Don’t be frightened. It’s Mummy’s fault. She couldn’t be trusted.’

‘No, no, no, please…’

‘Open your thighs, little one. This is going to hurt. And when I’m finished I’m going to bury you so deep Mummy will never find you. The worms will. Your body will taste so sweet to those worms.’

‘Take me! Take me!’ Sylvia screams. ‘Don’t touch her. Don’t hurt my baby.’

‘Say you’re sorry, Sylvia. And then say goodbye.’

‘No. Listen. I’ll do anything. Don’t hurt her. Take me instead.’

‘Are you worthy, Sylvia? You have to prove to me that you’re worthy of taking her place.’

‘How?’

‘Take off your clothes.’

‘What?’

‘Alice is naked. I want you to be naked. Take off your clothes. Oh, look! Alice is nodding her head. She wants you to help her.’

‘Can I talk to her again?’

‘OK. She’s listening.’

‘Baby, can you hear me? It’s OK. Don’t be scared. Mummy is going to come and get you. I promise. I love you.’

‘That was very touching, Sylvia. Are you naked, yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Walk to the window and open the curtains.’

‘Why?’

‘I can see everywhere, Sylvia. I can tell you all about your bedroom and your wardrobe, the clothes on the hangers, your shoes…’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m the man who’s going to fuck your daughter to death if you don’t do exactly as I say.’

‘I just want to know your name.’

‘No you don’t. You want to make a connection. You want to develop a bond between us because you think I’ll be less likely to hurt Alice. Don’t play mind games with me, Sylvia. I’m a professional. I’m a mind-fuck expert. I do this for a living. I did it for my country.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I know what you’re thinking. I know all about you. I know where you live. I know what friends you have. I’m going to give you another test, Sylvia. Remember what happened last time. I know one of your friends: her name is Helen Chambers.’

‘What about Helen?’

‘I want you to tell me where she is.’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in years.’

‘Liar!’

‘No, it’s true. She sent me an email a few weeks ago.’

‘What did it say?’

‘She-she-she said she was coming home. She wanted to meet up.’

‘Syl-vee-a, don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘YOU‘RE A FUCKING LIAR!’

‘No.’

‘Are you naked yet?’

Tearfully, ‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t opened the curtains.’

‘Yes I have.’

‘That’s good. Now go to your wardrobe. I want you to find your black boots. The ones with the pointy toes and fuck-me heels. You know the pair. I want you to put them on.’

I hear her looking for them. I imagine her on her knees, scrabbling on the floor.

‘I can’t find them.’

‘You can.’

‘I have to put the phone down.’

‘No. If you put the phone down, Alice dies. It’s very simple.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘You’re taking too long. I am going to take the blindfold off Alice. Do you know what that means? She can recognise me. I’ll have to kill her. I’m undoing the knot. When she opens her eyes, she dies.’

‘I found them! They’re here!’

‘Put them on.’

‘I have to put the phone down to zip them up.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘It’s not poss-’

‘Do you think I’m stupid, Sylvia? Do you think I haven’t done this before? There are dead girls up and down this country. You read about them in the newspapers and see their pictures on the TV. Missing teenagers. Their bodies never found. I did that! It was me! Don’t fuck with me, Sylvia.’

‘I won’t. You will let Alice go. I mean, if I do what you say, you’ll let her go?’

‘One or two get spared, but only if someone is willing to take their place. Are you willing, Sylvia? Don’t disappoint me. Don’t disappoint Alice. Either you do it for me or she does it for me.’

‘Yes.’

I direct her to the bathroom. In the second drawer of the vanity there is a lipstick. Glossy. Pink.

‘Look at yourself in the mirror, Sylvia. What do you see?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, come on. What do you see?’

‘Me.’

‘A slut. Wear the lipstick for me. Make yourself beautiful.’

‘I can’t do it.’

‘You do it for me or she does it for me.’

‘All right.’

‘Now in the bottom drawer- there’s a pink bag- take it with you.’

‘I can’t see a pink bag. It’s not here.’

‘Yes it is. Don’t lie to me again.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

I tell her to walk to the front door of the flat, to take her car keys and the pink bag.

‘Open the door, Sylvia. Take one step at a time.’

‘And you’ll let Alice go.’

‘If you do as I say.’

‘You won’t hurt her.’

‘I’ll keep her safe. Look at that- Alice is nodding. She’s happy. She’s waiting for you.’

Sylvia is downstairs. She opens the main door. I tell her not to look at anyone or signal anyone. She says the street is empty.

‘Now, walk to your car. Get in. Plug in the hands free. You have to talk and drive.’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Sylvia. There’s one in the glove compartment.’

‘Where am I going?’

‘You’re coming to me. I’m going to give you directions. Don’t take any wrong turns. Don’t flash your lights or sound your horn. I’ll know. Don’t disappoint me. Go straight ahead, through the roundabout and turn right into Sydney Road.’

‘Why are you doing this? What have we done to you?’

‘Don’t even get me started.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. Alice has done nothing.’

‘You’re all the same.’

‘No, we’re not. I’m not like you say-’

‘I’ve watched you, Sylvia. I’ve seen what you’re like. Tell me where you are.’

‘Passing the museum.’

‘Turn into Warminster Road. Stay on it until I tell you.’

Sylvia changes her tactics, trying to find a way through to me. ‘I can be very good to you,’ she says, hesitatingly. ‘I’m very good in bed. I can do things. Whatever you want.’

‘I know you can. How many times have you cheated on your husband?’

‘I don’t cheat-’

‘Liar!’

‘I’m telling the truth.’

‘I want you to slap yourself, Sylvia.’

She doesn’t understand.

‘Slap yourself on the face… as punishment.’

I give her a moment to obey. I hear nothing. I whack the phone against my fist. ‘You hear that, Sylvia. Alice took your punishment again. Her lip is bleeding. Don’t blame me, little one, it’s Mummy’s fault.’

Sylvia screams at me to stop but I’ve heard enough of her mewling, pathetic pesthole excuses. I slam the phone into my fist again and again.

She sobs. ‘Please don’t hurt her. Please. I’m coming.’

‘Alice is such a sweet thing. I have tasted her tears. They’re like sugar water. Has she had her period yet?’

‘She’s only eleven.’

‘I can make her bleed. I can make her bleed from places that you can’t even imagine.’

‘No. I’m coming. Where’s Alice?’

‘She’s waiting for you.’

‘Let me talk to her?’

‘She can hear you.’

‘I love you, baby.’

‘How much do you love her? Will you take her place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come to me, Sylvia. She’s waiting. Come and take her home.’

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