Chapter 25
Slomans Cottage, Chalkpit Lane, Wealdshire. Saturday 23 May 1998
Since discovering the hole in the floor beneath the bed, Jaine-Marie had spent the last two days biding her time and trying to find out as much as possible about her captors. She was fairly sure that there were only two of them. She had heard only two voices and, although they were always masked when they brought her food, she was certain that she had seen only two men. One was tall and well-built while the other was not much taller than herself — but about twice as wide. She had made no attempt to communicate with either of them, partly because they seemed to have no interest whatsoever in her, but mainly because she simply didn't want to converse with moronic road protesters who not only had the audacity to imprison her, but were also making life extremely difficult for her father. By saying nothing, but simply smiling whenever they visited the room, she hoped to unnerve them — to make them think that she knew something that they didn't. She wanted to demonstrate that she was completely self-contained — fully-confident that she would be rescued — and that there was nothing they could do which would destroy her morale. In reality, she was so bored out of her head that she felt like screaming, smashing the windows, and ripping the blankets to shreds. For the first time in her life, she was using self-control. She didn't like it much, though. Tantrums and a flaming temper made sure she got her own way at home, but she suspected that the chances of those tactics working here were zero.
When she first found the listening hole, Jaine-Marie had spent some time lying under the bed with her ear pressed to the floor. It wasn't an ideal listening post, however. Firstly, most of the time she could hear only indistinct voices and it was impossible to make any sense of the words. Secondly, like most beds, this one was a dust trap and, although she tried to blow away the fluff which had accumulated there, it seemed to be able to roll back to its original location of its own accord. Jaine-Marie found that if she stayed under the bed for more than a minute, she began to sneeze uncontrollably. She had tried covering her nose with her handkerchief but, as it was the only hanky she had, it was now so disgusting that it was only when she was absolutely desperate that she allowed it anywhere near her face. The sneezing had forced her to adopt a listening strategy. Whenever she heard raised voices she would crawl beneath the bed, listen until she felt a sneeze coming, and then crawl back out. So far, she had overheard little which was of any use to her. She suspected that she would be released long before she picked up any information which would help her to plan an escape.
Last night the voices had been very loud. She thought her captors had been drinking as she kept hearing raucous laughter. She had, however, heard some snippets which reinforced her belief that they were dropouts.
' . . . did you ever see that joint that Big Ed 'ad? Bugger me, it was 'uge. Didn't last long, though. By the time we'd 'ad a go at it — poof — nuffink but ashes. It burned so fast that none of us 'ad a chance to really enjoy it.'
Rolling joints, eh? thought Jaine-Marie. I'm not surprised. They're probably all junkies.
If she hadn't felt a tickle in her nose and had stayed under the bed, she might have heard Harry's response.
'Oh yeah, a casino weren't it? Big Ed 'ad that comin to 'im. Tried to rip off Mr Zicchi sumfink shockin 'e did. Shame 'e couldn't get down the fire escape — but that ain't easy when yer kneecaps 'as been blown away.'
Jaine-Marie lay back on the bed with her hands behind her head. As long as she was lying down, the whiff from her unwashed clothes wasn't too bad. She'd checked in the bathroom but there was no deodorant there. In fact, there didn't seem to be much of anything in the house — at least, not upstairs. She'd thought of asking for some perfume, but that would have revealed a chink in her defences — admitting that she actually needed something. The best way to pass the time was to daydream. This morning she was converting her prison cell into an ideal bedroom. One wall was completely taken up by shelves — glass shelves supported by a tubular steel frame. In the centre was the most expensive CD player available, and huge speakers were stacked at each end of the shelves. Her collection of CDs was so vast that it was going to be difficult to find space for any more. The room was soundproofed so she could play her music as loudly as she liked. No, she decided, let's rip the soundproofing out and watch the neighbours run for cover. The floor was covered from wall to wall with a carpet made from the skins of exotic animals and the curtains were pure silk. The bed was a four-poster with a velvet-draped canopy and thick velvet curtains which could be drawn by pressing a button. On the table beside her were two telephones, a television and a large make-up cabinet. Another wall consisted of a huge mirror and, opposite it, was a wall covered with posters and photographs of all her boyfriends — there were about two hundred of those.
She was always entertaining friends in her room. She was so popular that people had to book a time to come and visit her. This morning she was expecting a visit from a boy band. They had travelled all the way from Scotland just to spend an hour with her. She knew that they would be bringing some really expensive presents with them and, in return, she would give them nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and they would have to find a way of washing without removing the kiss.
There was a tap on the door. No, there was a buzz from the intercom. She pressed a button and saw, on the screen, a handsome face smiling at her. 'I'm not ready yet,' she told him. 'Go and feed the ducks in the park. No, go and look at the horses in the stable. I'll send someone to fetch you when I'm ready.'
Oh my God, she thought. I'm not dressed yet. I hope that wasn't why he was smiling. No, I'm sure he could only see my face. I need some clothes. Whoops! No wardrobe. Where can I put a wardrobe? It'll have to be huge because I have so many clothes.
Jaine-Marie was still deciding where to put her wardrobe when she heard a loud crash from downstairs. For a moment there was silence and then a loud voice. She scrambled under the bed, boy bands and wardrobes completely forgotten about, and placed her ear over the hole.
'It's no good, 'arry! I can't take it any more! I'll go up the bleedin wall if I don't get out!'
'I dunno what Mr Zicchi'll say. 'e said we 'ad to both be 'ere all the time.'
'Stuff Mr I'm-the-boss-and-you-do-what-I-tell-yer Zicchi. Who's gonna tell 'im that 've nipped orf for a bit of a breaver, eh? You gonna tell 'im?'
'No, Loll. Course I wouldn't. We's mates ain't us? Go on, you nip orf for a bit and I'll watch out for Miss 'igh-and-mighty. No bovver, is she?'
'Right then. I've gone. Gimme an hour, eh?'
'Right you are, Loll. See you later. Bring us back a paper if you can. A Sun'll do.'
When Lollipop Lucas had put his coat on, he reached into one of the capacious pockets. 'You'd better take this, 'arry. Might be a bit awkward if I gets stopped for speedin.'
Harry Tooth grinned as he took the pistol and placed it on the draining board by the sink (the table still lying in pieces against one wall).
Jaine-Marie scrambled out from beneath the bed and went to the window. She couldn't see the area at the front of the building but she could listen. An engine started up and then she heard a vehicle moving away. What do I do? she asked herself. This is the first time one of them has left. May be my only chance. Can I do what I'd planned to do? If it's the short, dumpy one who's still here, I'd be happier. Wish I knew which one had left. Am I going to do it? Did he say he was going out for an hour? That gives me time to think about it.
She stopped herself pacing up and down for fear of whoever was downstairs getting suspicious of her movements. She sat on the edge of the bed and argued with herself about what to do. If I don't try to escape I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Yes, but they're only scruffbag demonstrators — they won't hurt you if you stay here. In that case, they probably won't hurt me if I try to escape. Yes, but one of them hit your head when you arrived here. I don't think so — I'm sure I bumped my head on something — probably the wall. Where will you go if you do manage to escape? I'll run to the road and flag down a passing car. What about if it's a country lane and there isn't any traffic? I'll just keep walking until I get to a village. What about if you meet the other weirdo on his way back? I'll hide in a hedge or something. But you don't know what he's driving — or what he looks like. In that case, I'd better do something quickly so that I won't meet him coming back. Are you sure you want to do this? No, I'm not sure. Are you going to do it? Yes.
Harry Tooth looked up at the ceiling when he heard the scream. It wasn't the sort of scream that comes from someone who's looking at something scary — that sort of scream goes on and on. This was just a short, single scream followed by — silence. He kept looking at the ceiling as if he thought it would become transparent if he stared at it for long enough. What was all that about? he wondered. What shall I do? Maybe she's screamed before but we've not heard anything because we've been making too much noise. Yeah, maybe she screams all the time.
Jaine-Marie waited with baited breath. There was silence downstairs and no sound from outside her door. Had the other one gone outside to wave goodbye to the first one? If so, he would have missed the scream. What should she do now? Without thinking about the consequences, she threw herself backwards onto the bed, rolled over and over, and crashed onto the floor where she lay motionless.
Hearing the crash, Harry moved towards the door. Something must have happened to her. It sounded as if she'd fallen down or been pushed over. He couldn't hear any crying so she must have knocked herself out? What about if she's ill? If she dies while we've got her here . . .. Without another thought, Harry made his way to the stairs and rushed up them as fast as his heavy body would allow.
As soon as Jaine-Marie had recovered from the shock of hitting the floor, she reached under the bed, pulled out the chamber pot, and stood up. Walking on the balls of her feet, she made her way to the door and stood just to one side of it. She raised the pot above her head — and waited.
She heard someone coming up the stairs.
She heard the key turn in the lock and then the padlock being removed.
She saw the door open, luckily stopping before it hit her.
She watched as a man rushed into the room. It was the dumpy one. No ski mask. He looked around the room and then began to walk cautiously towards the bed. It's now or never, she decided. She raced across the room holding the pot high and, just as she was about to bring it crashing down onto the man's head — he turned round.
Jaine-Marie froze.
Harry Tooth froze.
For what seemed like an age, the two just stared at each other. Jaine-Marie was seeing a clean-shaven, middle-aged man with short hair who surely wasn't a road protester. Harry Tooth, panting from the exertion of rushing up the stairs, was seeing all his associates laughing their socks off when they heard that he had been floored by a teenage girl armed only with a pisspot. If he'd brought the pistol with him, he would have waved it at her and made her collapse into a gibbering heap pleading for mercy. If he hadn't been brought up to believe that it was wrong to thump girls, he would have punched her in the belly. If he hadn't been so exhausted from hauling his bulky body up the stairs at top speed, he might have dodged out of the way. The only option which occurred to him was to scare her into submission. He opened his mouth wide to roar at her just as . . .
Jaine-Marie — too terrified to smash the skull of someone who was staring at her — tipped the chamber pot away from her and sloshed the contents at the face. The roar coming out of Harry's throat died suddenly as it met something coming the other way. The contents of the pot not only filled his mouth, but also gushed down his windpipe and poured into his lungs.
Dropping the pot, Jaine-Marie raced from the room and galloped down the stairs as fast as she could go. If she had stayed in her prison cell she would have seen Harry Tooth kneeling on the floor, coughing his heart out and, through tear-filled eyes, gazing in disbelief at the revolting, frothy, yellow liquid which was splashing from his mouth to form a huge lake between his hands. When he was unable to bring up any more, he wiped his face with his hand and, seeing the brown residue on his fingers, proceeded to dump his breakfast into the lake. The final humiliation came when his dentures fell onto breakfast island and sat there grinning up at him.
Jaine-Marie paused at the bottom of the stairs trying to decide whether to go to the front door or head for the back of the house. Spotting a pair of bolts on the front door, and fearing that they might be difficult to slide back, she opted for the back. She ran into the kitchen and spotted the glass door. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as it opened easily. Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, Jaine-Marie saw that the oaf wasn't behind her, but failed to spot the pistol by the sink. Now that she could see the whole of the back garden instead of just the strip that was visible through the crack in the boards upstairs, Jaine-Marie realised that it was fat too overgrown for her to find a way to the field behind. She made her way along the side of the cottage to the front. There was no road running past — just a muddy track leading away from the property.
Taking care to avoid the ruts and potholes, Jaine-Marie hopped and jumped her way along the track. She wished she knew how much time had passed since the other man had left. She had completely lost track of time and couldn't decide whether it was ten minutes or an hour. The track seemed endless. She prayed that no vehicle would appear in front of her as, with a fence bordering both sides, there was nowhere to hide. Furthermore, she could be seen from a long way off. She stopped briefly to look behind her. Thank goodness they didn't have two vehicles, she thought. Uh-oh. There he is. A figure had just emerged from the front door and was heading in her direction. Why didn't he go and see if I was hiding in the back garden? Jaine-Marie thought. She tried to move faster. Her foot slipped on a muddy patch and, losing her balance, she hit the ground hard. As she put her hands down and started to lever herself up, she felt a sharp pain in her ankle. She managed to stand but there was no way she would be able to run. Trying not to put too much weight on the weak leg, she managed to stagger forward. Where is the road? I must be there in a minute? But what do I do when I get there? I haven't seen any cars go past.
Jaine-Marie blinked to remove the sweat which was trickling into her eyes. She looked behind her and gasped when she saw how close her pursuer was now. Was that something in his hand? Surely not a gun. Road protesters don't use guns. Then she remembered that he hadn't looked like an eco-twit. In that case — who and what was he? What reason did anyone have to kidnap her? Maybe they wanted her parents to pay a ransom. In that case, why hadn't they paid up? Ah good, there's the road. Just a short way to go, but what then?
When she reached the road she saw that it was a minor country lane, and passing motorists were likely to be few and far between. There was a sign on a post: FOR SALE Sloman's Cottage. Well, at least she would be able to tell the police where she had been held captive — if she survived. Left or right? Having no idea where she was, she couldn't tell which was the more likely direction in which the other man would be coming. Neither could she see far in either direction as the track joined the lane on a tight bend. Left, she decided. She threw one last look along the track and saw that he would catch her up in less than a minute.
Jaine-Marie's face was screwed up in pain. Although she could make better progress on the road, the harder surface jarred her ankle. As she hobbled along the centre of the road she heard an engine. Something was coming her way. She looked back and, when she saw how close her pursuer was, she knew that she had no option. She had to try to stop the vehicle and take her chances. If the other man was driving — there would be nothing she could do about it. As soon as she saw the front of the vehicle appear, she started to wave her arms wildly. 'Stop! Please stop!'