Seven Days Read online

  Which was probably right, in theory. In practice, though, not everyone did go through the same things. Not every teenage boy lost his sister in the way James had. Yes, we all had wounds, but his was deeper and more abiding.

  And it was still there. So Sandra wasn’t going to waste time arguing with him about a missed dinner.

  Hey. Guess you’re not coming? No problem. Maybe tomorrow, if you feel like it? xoxo, Mum.

  She added the xoxo, Mum so that he would know she was not upset with him. She and Martin could eat together. She took out two plates, a bottle of white wine, and headed for the kitchen table.

  ‘No James?’ Martin asked, as he sat down.

  ‘He said he was coming. I texted him, but he didn’t reply.’

  There was a long pause. Since Maggie, anytime James was unavailable or didn’t reply or was missing in any way, however innocent, there was a moment when the panic and terror of her disappearance was right in front of them again.

  ‘I’m sure he’s OK,’ Martin said.

  ‘Probably in the pub.’

  Sandra spooned some of the fish pie on to Martin’s plate. He glanced at his phone. ‘What time was James supposed to be here?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘I’m going to give him a call. Check what he’s doing.’

  ‘Don’t make him feel bad. It’s not a problem if he doesn’t want to come.’

  ‘I won’t. But I’d like to know where he is. Just in case.’

  Four Years Earlier: July 2014

  James

  1

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ James said. ‘We might get caught.’

  He didn’t really want to do it at all – it seemed unfair – but that wasn’t something he thought Davo and Carl would care about. Getting caught, though, might be.

  Davo sniffed. He had a permanent cold, his nose constantly running.

  ‘It’ll be easy money,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. Carl’ll look out for anyone coming while me and you get it done.’

  The plan was to mug a window cleaner Davo had noticed. He had seen him working and come to the conclusion that it would be simple to relieve him of his takings. He’d be in the back garden of some big house, hidden away at the end of the day when no one was in, walking around with a load of cash in his pocket.

  He was also in his late sixties, and about five foot six, so he wouldn’t put up much of fight.

  Davo grabbed his elbow. His grip was stronger than James expected, given how thin he was.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  They were standing on a quiet road opposite a large detached house. The window cleaner was working around the back. Davo tugged him towards the driveway.

  ‘Go on,’ Carl said. ‘I’ll keep an eye out. You hear me whistle and you leg it, OK?’

  James followed Davo around the side of the house. There was a gate but it was unlocked. Davo shook his head.

  ‘People make it easy for you, they really do,’ he whispered. ‘They deserve whatever they get.’

  He walked slowly along the length of the wall, then peeked around the corner. He looked at James and gave a thumbs up, then beckoned him to follow.

  They stepped out on to a wide patio. The window cleaner was working on the patio doors, his back to them.

  They watched as he slowed. He looked at their reflections in the window and turned to them.

  ‘All right, lads,’ he said. He had neat grey hair and glasses and small, precise features.

  ‘All right,’ Davo said. ‘You can make this easy or hard, mate. I know you’ve got money, so hand it over.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ the window cleaner said. He was calm. ‘I’ve got about forty quid on me. It’s not worth it.’

  ‘You’ve got more than that,’ Davo said. ‘You must have. You’ve been at it all day.’

  The window cleaner laughed. ‘I don’t get cash, mate. This is the twenty-first century. I use apps. You think I want to walk around with a load of cash when there’s scum like you about? So why don’t we call this a day? You leave me to my job and go on with your life, and no hard feelings?’

  Davo shook his head. ‘We’ll take the forty quid,’ he said. ‘And whatever else you’re hiding.’ He took a step towards the window cleaner. ‘Hand it over.’

  James did not have much experience with this kind of thing, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to stand behind his friend – accomplice – doing nothing. He stepped forward.

  The window cleaner shook his head.

  ‘Don’t do this, boys,’ he said. ‘It’s really not a good idea.’

  Davo twitched. ‘Now,’ he said.

  The window cleaner held up his hands. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Five minutes later they were on their way back to the flat.

  James’s throat was agony, but all in all he’d got off lightly. Davo was hobbling, his face green.

  They were also penniless.

  The window cleaner had turned out to be some kind of ex-soldier and, before he and Davo could move, he had kicked Davo hard in the balls – it had made a kind of crunching sound that James could still hear – and then elbowed James in the throat.

  He stood, watching them writhe in agony.

  Fucking idiots, he said. Get out of here before I decide to hurt you properly.

  They did. They scuttled around the house and on to the street where Carl was waiting.

  He asked if they had the cash. James had to give him the bad news; Davo was still groaning.

  They stopped by a bench and sat down.

  ‘That went well,’ Davo said. ‘My fucking balls are killing me.’

  ‘What are we gonna do?’ Carl said. ‘We need some money.’

  As he spoke, James’s phone rang. It was his dad. He rejected the call. He could speak to him later.

  There was a buzz as a text message arrived.

  Are you coming for dinner?

  He hadn’t been. He wasn’t hungry.

  At least, not for dinner.

  ‘I might have an idea,’ he said. ‘I can go to my folks’ place.’

  He’d eat then get out of there as soon as he could. And his dad would give him some cash, or he could steal some.

  He typed a reply.

  Yes. On my way.

  Four Years Earlier: July 2014

  Maggie

  1

  Maggie woke up. She opened her eyes but the room was pitch-dark. Her mouth was dry; she tried to swallow but there was no saliva. Her nose ached. She lifted her hand and felt it gingerly. It was swollen and sore to the touch.

  Where the man had grabbed her and suffocated her into unconsciousness.

  Before he had taken Leo.

  ‘Leo!’ she shouted, her voice comically nasal. ‘Leo!’

  There was no reply. She felt around her on the bed, her hands reaching in vain for his warm, sleeping body, then rolled on to the floor. In the darkness she crawled from wall to wall, covering every inch of the floor with her hands. She felt inside the bath and around the bucket and on every corner of the mattress.

  Leo was gone.

  There was no escaping it.

  The man had taken him. It was Seb all over again.

  Where was Leo? In the man’s house right now, eating chocolate and marvelling at the wonder of television? Or sleeping in a soft, warm bed of his own? No. The man could not be seen with a three-year-old boy. So what had he done?

  Left Leo by the side of a road for someone to find and take to the police? She had a momentary fantasy of her parents hearing about the little boy who was found and adopting him, unaware that he was their grandson.

  Or worse. What if Leo was dead? Thrown into a deep lake or buried in some remote forest? She curled up in a ball on the mattress, her hands covering her face.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. She banged her fists against the wall. ‘No! No! No!’ She wanted to destroy this place, get out of here and kill the man, but she couldn’t. She was trapped. Stuck, with no way of getting out.


  All she could do was destroy herself.

  She curled her hands into claws and dug her nails into her cheeks. The pain was shocking; she felt the blood run down her face.

  She dug in harder, pulling downwards, until the pain was too much to bear, and then she stopped, and lay on her side as her tears mingled with her blood.

  ‘Leo,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘Leo. I love you. Be happy, my son.’

  Saturday, 23 June 2018

  No Days to Go

  1

  It was today.

  Maggie picked up the calendar and drew a line through the last date.

  S

  Su

  M

  Tu

  W

  Th

  F

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Max was three.

  He was sleeping next to her, his face turned to the wall. She lay behind him, watching his chest rise and fall. He’d wake soon, and smile, and laugh and ask for a story or to play with his Duplo or do some exercises. And she’d do it, but all the time she would feel heavy, numbed by the knowledge of what was to come.

  The scraping sound. The handle turning. The man looking for him.

  Where is he?

  Her, shaking her head, refusing to say.

  The man finding him anyway.

  Her fighting. Him overpowering her, choking her into unconsciousness, leaving her lying there while he disappeared with her son.

  Her waking up, realizing Max was gone, getting the bleach from under the base of the bath.

  Unwrapping the foil. Drinking it.

  She imagined a sour, bitter taste that burned as it went down her throat and into her stomach. She saw herself doubled over on the mattress in pain, foam flecking her lips, her body gradually slackening as the life left it.

  She pictured the man coming in and seeing her lying there, running over and feeling her pulse, understanding what she had done.

  Would he be sad? Did he love her, in some twisted way? Would he kneel by her body and wail in grief?

  She doubted it. She thought he would frown, his lips pressing together, thin with anger. And then he would have to get rid of her body. Maybe he would cut it up into pieces which he could remove easily. Or perhaps he would drag her out in the dark of the night and discard her body in some remote place.

  She shook her head. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Because she had a plan.

  Next to her Max twitched. His eyes opened. Slowly they focused on her.

  ‘Mummy,’ he said.

  ‘Max. Happy birthday. You’re three!’

  Max looked at her for a while before a smile spread over his face.

  ‘I’m three!’ he said. ‘What comes after three?’

  ‘Four,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Will I be four tomorrow?’

  ‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘You’ll be four in a year.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘A year.’

  And he would be. In a year, he would turn four, somewhere far from here.

  Because finally she had a plan. It was going to hurt her, to take all the courage and determination she could find, but she would do it, one way or another she would do it.

  She didn’t know what time the man would come. She guessed he would take Max when – if – he brought breakfast. He would know that this time she would have no doubts what he wanted, so he would not want to come down to the room twice.

  Which meant she had to be ready. As soon as she heard the scrape she had to be able to hide Max in the bath. She had removed the wooden base and measured the space between the floor and the base; he would fit, just. Then she could put the base back and cover him. And then, when the man was here, she would take whatever advantage of his confusion she could.

  First, though, she needed Max to learn his part in the plan.

  ‘Max,’ she said. ‘I have a new game for your birthday. It’s called hide and seek.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You hide and I look for you. When you’re hidden you have to be very quiet. Want to try?’

  2

  She called Max over.

  ‘This is a really great place to hide. I’ll show you.’

  She picked him up and put him in the bath.

  ‘Lie down.’ Max did as she said and she picked up the base. ‘I’m going to put this in place,’ she said. ‘It’ll be dark, but don’t worry. And then you stay quiet. Whatever I say, you have to be silent, OK?’

  Max nodded. Maggie lay the base on top of him. A cursory glance would have shown it to be out of place, but it was something. The man would have to walk over to the bath to look and maybe that would be an opportunity for her. For what, she didn’t know. But for something.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she said.

  There was no reply. Good. He knew to be quiet. It was ironic, but one of the results of living in the room was that Max was not scared of the dark. As a small girl she’d been terrified of sleeping without a light on in her room. If she ever woke up in darkness she would scream until her mum or dad came to her room and turned on a light.

  Max had no such luxury. If the man switched off the light, the room was pitch-black until he switched it on again.

  ‘Max?’ She put on a deep voice, imitating the man. ‘This is the man speaking. Are you there?’

  Max did not reply.

  She stomped around the room. ‘Where are you, Max? I need to talk to you.’

  Still no reply.

  ‘Max.’ She spoke louder, putting a threatening tone into her voice. ‘You’d better come out now or there’ll be big trouble. Do you hear me?’

  There was a long silence. After a few minutes had passed, she walked to the bath and lifted out the base.

  Max grinned up at her. ‘Was I good?’

  She lifted him out and hugged him. A phrase her dad used to say when she was very young came to her.

  ‘Good as gold,’ she said. ‘You were good as gold.’

  3

  Maggie clicked a square red Duplo into place.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘A Duplo birthday cake. Let’s sing you a song.’

  She sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Max watched her, grinning, and she forced herself to smile back, but it was nearly impossible. She was too on edge, waiting for the scrape that would announce the man’s arrival.

  Tears came to her eyes and she reached for her son. He laughed and jumped away, but she beckoned, both hands outstretched.

  ‘I need a cuddle, Max.’

  She was sitting cross-legged and she got to her knees to reach for him. There was a sudden, sharp pain in her calf.

  ‘Ow!’ she said. ‘What is that?’

  She felt under her leg and pulled out a yellow Duplo. It was upside down and the edge had dug into her flesh.

  ‘Mummy? Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. These things are really hard, Max.’ She ran her finger along the plastic. ‘It’s a good job it’s not sharper.’

  And then she looked at him.

  ‘Max,’ she said. ‘Max, my beautiful, beautiful boy. I think I may have an idea.’

  Saturday, 23 June 2018

  James

  1

  James woke up slowly. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. It was stained with water damage. His eyes traced the patterns and he imagined the water dripping through into the room.

  He licked his lips. Fuck, he was thirsty.

  He sat up on his mattress �
�� he’d had a bed but at some point it had gone, probably sold – and got to his feet. There was a bolt of pain in his ankle.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘What the fuck was that?’

  He looked down at his feet. His right ankle was swollen, a dark bruise running up the inside of his foot. He tried some weight on it and the pain came again. When had that happened? It must have been last night. He must have fallen and twisted it. He wouldn’t have felt it. Heroin had that effect. It blotted everything out.

  Everything.

  It made you feel as though you were hovering outside of the world watching what was going on. Nothing was happening to you. You were merely an observer. A happy, blissed-out observer.

  But not now. Now his ankle throbbed with pain.

  He was still wearing the jeans – grey, loose around his thighs, the crotch stained with God knew what – and hooded top he had worn the night before. He was barefoot, though; maybe he’d stripped off his socks after he’d buggered up his ankle.

  He limped into the living room. There was a rich fetid smell and he held his breath. He knew what it was. He’d smelled it often. Davo stayed over most nights, and often he’d shit himself. James thought it smelled worse than it should have, as though Davo was rotting from the inside. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he was. All he consumed were endless cups of tea and cigarettes, the occasional box of fried chicken, and as much narcotics – opiate pills, heroin, methadone – as he could lay his hands on.

  It was a diet he shared with James and Carl.

  James hobbled – the pain was getting worse – into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. The flat was cold. They had not paid their gas bill for a few months so there was no heating. He flicked on the kettle. They still had electricity, but it was only a matter of time before that was gone. Davo knew someone who worked at the electric company and had persuaded her to help out, but eventually she would not be able to put off the inevitable.