They had to get out.
Carly tore off the tape that covered her mouth and before tackling the binding around her own ankles she reached across to her sisters.
‘I’m going to untie you both,’ she whispered, eyes darting fearfully to the door. On the back of the wood someone had sprayed a clown’s face, a shock of orange hair and a bright red nose, his mouth stretched into a macabre grin. She gently eased the tape from Marie’s mouth, millimetre by millimetre, not wanting to pull at her skin.
‘Now for your blindfold. Leah, I’ll get to you in a minute. Marie, are you okay? Say something,’ she whispered but Marie’s lips remained clamped together, too scared to make a noise.
Once she had uncovered Marie’s eyes, Carly could see they were glazed with shock. ‘It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.’ Carly started on the ropes tying Marie’s hands but her shaking fingers couldn’t unpick them.
‘Shit.’ She leaned forward and tried to work the knots free with her mouth. The rope was bitter and strands of thread stuck to her tongue. She was only making it worse. Frustrated, she began to try and rip the rope apart, grunting with the effort, until finally it began to give.
‘Quick. Pull your hands free.’
Marie shook her head fearfully.
‘Marie. Quick.’ Carly was as careful as she could be but had to yank the rope over Marie’s hands to free her, wincing as she saw the red welts left in its wake. Carly turned her attention to Leah. ‘Shh.’ Carly removed the tape covering her mouth. ‘It’s okay. I promise.’
Soon they were all untied.
Free, but not.
There was one last angry shout from the corridor outside and then the sound of bolts sliding closed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three bolts for three sisters.
It was then the screaming started.
Chapter Eight
Leah
Now
While I’m fetching my coat from Marie’s kitchen I collect Carly’s denim jacket. I know she won’t stay here without me. There are often awkward silences when we’re all together nowadays and those silences can be deafening.
‘Sorry to rush off,’ I say to Marie. ‘And sorry about the TV thing. If you need some money?’
It’s a genuine offer although I’ve no idea what I’ll do if she takes me up on it. Each month end we’re practically stuffing our hands down the back of the sofa, fishing out a few meagre coins along with Archie’s Lego bricks and sweet wrappers, so we can afford milk. George’s architectural practice is floundering. My part-time job doesn’t pay much, it’s more for my mental health, to get me out of the house. It gives me the semblance of being able to function normally among other adults. I’m reluctant to increase my hours because I don’t want somebody else picking Archie up from nursery every day, even if it is Carly. I think being a mother is the most important job of all but I do feel I should be doing more to help financially. When Archie starts school next year I’ll be able to work nine to three every day, which will take the pressure off George.
‘Thanks but I’ll be okay. The theatres will be scheduling their next quarter shows after Christmas and I’m sure something will turn up. I won’t starve.’
‘In the meantime, get that new man of yours to take you out to dinner.’ Carly gives a hollow laugh. She doesn’t offer to lend Marie any money. One too many times in the past we’ve pushed notes into her hand, knowing that she’ll drink them. Knowing that we’ll never get them back.
‘Carly, do you want to stay and have a bite to eat?’ Marie puts a hand on Carly’s arm. Her bracelets jangle. She seems jittery at the thought of being on her own. ‘I’ve no plans tonight. I haven’t got much in but…’
‘I’ve got to go, sorry.’ Carly pulls a face, quickly hugs Marie and steps outside. I am left with my twin. Our relationship is strained but it’s still a wrench to leave her. It always is. ‘I’ve forgotten my mug,’ I say.
‘I’ll go and fetch—’
‘Don’t. You can give it back to me another time. Let’s not leave it too long. Come and see Archie?’
‘I’d love to. It would be good to hear how he’s getting on rehearsing for his first nativity. I could perhaps give him some tips.’
I kick myself for not mentioning Archie’s starring role in his nursery’s production. Carly must have mentioned it before I arrived. It was something he had in common with his aunt, it might have made the conversation flow a little more easily. ‘He’d like that. George would love to see you too.’
‘I don’t… I…’ Marie’s face reddens. ‘Perhaps we could take Archie to the park, you and me?’
‘Okay but…’ I hesitate, unsure whether to mention Marie’s last meeting with George; she had turned up on our doorstep late at night – steaming drunk and rambling about all men being bastards – but I have to. It’s obviously still playing on her mind. ‘It’s all forgotten, you know.’ The last thing I want to do is embarrass her, so I wrap her tightly in a hug. Her brittle blonde hair is rough against my cheek. ‘I love you,’ I whisper into it.
‘I love you too,’ she says. ‘I will see you soon. I promise.’ She offers her pinkie. ‘Cross my heart.’
I find myself smiling, linking my little finger through hers, seeing through the layers of her dark make-up down to the freckles dotting pale skin. Skinny jeans may have long replaced the white knee-length socks that had always bunched around her ankles but I see the child that still exists inside. I let my inner eight-year-old come out and play and we chant:
‘A pinkie promise can’t be broke
Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke
This is my vow to you,
I’ll keep my promise through and through.’
Carly rolls her eyes at us – ‘You two are so lame’ – falling back into her too-cool-for-school role. For the first time in a long time we feel united, slipping seamlessly back into our identities. I feel that as I leave Marie it won’t be for long. I turn to wave as I reach my car and she mouths she’ll see me soon.
And I believe that she means it.
Archie launches himself at me – you’d think it’s been four weeks instead of four hours since I last saw him – but I don’t mind. I feel much the same. Each time I say goodbye to someone my stomach gives a series of tiny flips like the jumping beans Marie and I used to hold in the palms of our hands. It doesn’t settle until I see them again. Rationally I know that Archie is safe at nursery. That I always collect him at one o’clock unless I’m working and then Carly is always there, but that doesn’t stop me worrying.
I zip up his coat, covering the Weetabix crusted to his Thomas the Tank Engine jumper that my wandering mind had missed that morning.
‘Let’s get you home, mister.’
‘Is Daddy there? He said he’d have lunch with me today.’
‘I know! He should be.’ The fact that George is popping home to eat with Archie means he’ll likely be working late tonight. I stretch my face into a smile as I strap Archie in the car, trying not to worry about what might be waiting for me if George is home.