His Kidnapper's Shoes (22 page)

‘Thought you’d given up on all the screwing around.’

‘So did I. Looks like we were both wrong.’

Time to find out if fucking things out of his system worked better than drink. He wouldn't be hunting women tonight; he couldn’t go there yet, not so soon after Katie. No, he needed a man to fuck, mindless sex to smooth over her loss and wipe away the emotional trauma that accompanied the discovery of being Daniel Cordwell, abductee and failed artist.

He’d find himself a willing male body and with his looks that shouldn’t take long, and they’d go back to wherever the guy lived, and he’d fuck him through the mattress, hard as hell. Down through the floor, too, and in doing so he’d be symbolically fucking all the crap out of his life. For one night, anyway.

23

HATCHING PLANS

I had the keys to the flat. Now I had to find the right opportunity.

I needed to arrange my new life in London as well, which meant finding a place to rent for Daniel and myself.

The next time I had a day off, I took the bus to London. Thankfully, I had the cushion of money from the sale of Gran’s house to tide me over for a while. My lack of income, until I got a part-time bookkeeping job, bothered me. I wouldn’t be able to afford much at London prices; I’d probably end up living somewhere run down, like my bedsit, a place few people would want to rent. Well, that didn’t matter; I’d learned some DIY skills whilst living with Gran, and hard work didn’t scare me.

I found nothing that day.

I went up again the next available day off I had. This time I widened my search, starting with the London train map – not being able to drive, living close to transport links was essential. The plan was to find somewhere a bit further out, where I hoped the prices would be more affordable. I checked out the last stops on the lines and found myself getting off the train at Bromley South.

It didn’t appear too bad a place. I looked in the estate agents’ windows. The prices still seemed high to me after the cheap rent I paid for the bedsit, but they were more in line with what I wanted. I did find one possibility, after quite a bit of searching. The flat was small, and above a fish and chip shop, but I didn’t mind that. It had the necessary two bedrooms and the rent was cheap. I went inside.

I had my story all sorted, telling the woman behind the desk I’d found a job nearby and planned to move to the area in the near future. I deliberately made no mention of Daniel; she had to think I wanted the flat for myself only.

‘The landlord’s allowed the place to get a little rundown,’ she said. ‘We can go over and view it straight away, if you want.’

Well, the flat was certainly shabby. Like my bedsit when I first moved in, I doubted anyone had got to work with any cleaning materials for a while, and the decor was tired and old-fashioned. The furniture, too. Strong whiffs of fried fish and vinegar assaulted my nostrils as I walked through the cramped rooms. No wonder the rent was so cheap; few people would choose to live in such a dump. None of that mattered to me. I didn’t care about the colour of the walls, and I’d scrub the hell out of everything else with bleach and disinfectant. The cost was affordable and being within walking distance of the local primary school and Bromley South train station made the flat perfect for my purposes. I’d found the ideal home for Daniel and me.

‘I’ll take it,’ I told the woman. ‘I’ll give you the deposit within the week, plus six months’ rent up front.’

That made me a gift horse, and she wasn’t going to look me in the mouth, not with the flat being in such a state.

I returned the following week, paid the money and got the keys. I also took as many of my belongings as possible, my photos of Daniel and Gran, her jewellery, my clothes and books. I left just enough stuff in the bedsit that would fit into a large rucksack. I wanted to be able to travel light when the time came.

I thought through my options when it came to where Daniel lived. My only chance of getting my boy, I thought, would be to slip unnoticed down the side passage, open the door and snatch him from his bedroom when whoever might be in the flat was elsewhere. I remembered what the nanny had told me about how his parents went out every Friday night, leaving her to babysit.

I thought about the front door. I figured if I opened it a fraction, I’d get enough of a view to see if the doors to the rooms were open, and whether I’d be able to slip undetected down the hallway. I’d go into Daniel’s room, take him and go back out again, in a couple of minutes. I’d have to hope he’d be sufficiently sleepy and familiar with my face that he wouldn’t be frightened and make a noise. The nanny would probably have the door to the front room closed if she was watching television or listening to music. Several weeks had passed since I’d copied the keys and I figured she’d have totally forgotten the incident. My ease of access to the flat would almost certainly be blamed on the front door not being shut properly. One less thing to lead back to me. The whole plan stank of risk and I’d need luck on my side to pull it off but the payoff would be worth the gamble, I told myself. My Daniel’s happiness was at stake.

I carried on making preparations. I bought a dark-coloured jacket with a hood large enough to cover most of my face and some cheap soft-soled shoes. I found a battered child’s pushchair at a car boot sale. At four, Daniel was too old for one of those but for what I had planned, I daren’t risk taking a taxi and it would be too far for him to walk. The buggy was quite big and I thought he would fit into it easily.

I bought things for my boy as well, scouring the local charity shops for cute little trousers and miniature rugby shirts as well as toys and games and anything I thought he might need. The maternal instinct in me, suppressed for so long, revelled in every minute and I filled the small closet in his soon-to-be bedroom with my purchases.

I told Kathy at work I’d be leaving, and hugged her when she told me how hard I’d be to replace. I lied about my plans – I didn’t want anyone to make the connection between me and London, and so I said I’d landed a bookkeeping job in Bath, and I’d decided to move there. I spun my landlord the same tale. I only needed to give a week’s notice, so I’d be able to leave within a few days if all went as planned. Friday night would be when I took Daniel away from his unfit parents to give him a new life, to love him and cherish him, as he had never been before.

I never thought what I intended to do was wrong. OK, few people would agree with me, if they knew what I was planning. The word kidnap echoed in my head a lot during those days, and it did sound ugly, I had to admit. I wouldn’t let myself think about it too much. I needed to do the right thing for a neglected child’s welfare, or so my reasoning went.

The next time the nanny came into the café I made casual conversation as I brought her coffee.

‘Any exciting plans for the rest of the week?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘Looking after Daniel on Friday evening, when his parents are at the cinema. Not much else.’

‘What are they going to see? I’ve lost track of what films are on right now.’ I had to find out what time they’d be leaving the flat. I’d be able to check the times in the Evening Post if I knew what film they’d be watching.

She named some obscure art house film playing at the Arnolfini. I made a mental note of the name.

‘Not my kind of thing,’ the nanny said.

‘Not mine either. How’s the job-hunting coming along?’

‘I’ve found a new nanny job. I start right after Daniel’s parents leave for London.’

‘I’ve got a new job as well.’ I kept my tone deliberately casual. ‘Over in Bath. This is my last week working here. So I guess,’ I said, kneeling down in front of Daniel, ‘this may be the last time I see this cutie-pie.’

I bought the Evening Post later on. The film started at seven in the evening, so I figured Daniel’s parents would have to leave by half past six at the latest. Then the nanny might take a while putting Daniel to bed. I decided I’d attempt to enter the flat just after seven.

That day was Wednesday. I had two days, two long drawn-out days, to wait.

On the Friday, after my last day at work, I walked quickly back to my shabby bedsit for the last time, nerves tearing away at me. What I was intending to pull off was risky, incredibly so.

I had to do it, though.

Because, if it worked, I’d be getting back the missing part of my life that had been gone ever since the morning I found my baby dead. The Daniel-shaped hole in my life would be filled. I never doubted I’d be able to get him to accept me as his mummy. He’d seen me enough times, after all. He obviously barely knew his real mother; and he was young enough to adapt when he had me to look after him and soon he’d call me Mummy. I couldn’t wait for the moment when my beautiful boy smiled at me and called me that for the first time.

I glanced at my watch. Time to get going.

I took one last look around my cramped bedsit, now almost empty of my possessions. The place had served its purpose for me, providing a refuge when I needed one, but I wasn’t the same girl who’d fled to Bristol four years ago.

I grabbed my rucksack from the wardrobe, and slung what few possessions I had into it; some clothes for Daniel, a warm blanket for him and the cheap shoes I’d bought.

I put on the dark-coloured jacket and pulled the hood over my face. Finally, I grabbed the pushchair and threw my rucksack into it. I was ready.

24

STRAIGHT TALKING

Daniel smashed his hand down on the alarm button, cutting off the shrillness slicing through his hangover. Pain spiked behind his eyes. Shit. He’d forgotten to turn the damn thing off, having got to bed barely four hours ago.

He’d not been able to escape the hell of last night. No getting out of the joint party his parents had organised to bid farewell to Katie and to celebrate his safe return. He'd had to be in the same room as Katie again for the first time since they'd broken up.

Up to then he’d been lucky in managing to avoid her; she'd not been over to either his parents’ house or that of his grandparents. He’d heard his mother mention how the hospital had been overburdening her with double shifts; she’d been sorting out packing, etc.

He’d started on the booze as soon as he arrived at his parents’ house. His second beer had already hit his bloodstream by the time Katie walked in, tight jeans squeezing her ass and a clingy top hugging her breasts. She wore some jewellery he’d not seen before, obviously made by his mother. The familiar waft of her perfume, all musk and memories, drifted in with her, and his stomach dropped as their eyes met. Mirrored in her face was the same hell he was going through. Then she turned away to hug her sister and her parents and the moment was over. He released the pent-up breath hammering against his ribs.

He turned away to pour himself another drink. Alcohol would serve as his crutch tonight and boy, did he need every drop of help it offered.

‘Daniel, Daniel! Katie’s here! Come and give her a hug and say sorry for cheating at hide and seek all those years ago.’

He turned around, forcing his arms around her, their bodies tense against each other. Finding out she was his aunt had done little to dampen his feelings for her; those tight jeans made her ass look smoking-hot, he thought. Christ. There was at least another three hours of this hell to go. They were both trying their best to do the right thing here, but sexual passion of the intensity that had flared between them didn't die down overnight.

Katie had been right. Her going to Australia was the only solution to this nightmare.

He found himself making some banal comment about her forthcoming departure.

‘Yes, bad timing, isn’t it?’ He detected the faked jollity, her voice too high-pitched like his own. ‘Life’s been manic at the hospital – lots of double shifts – otherwise I’d have been over before. Not every day your long-lost nephew gets found, safe and well.’ Her gaze shifted to her sister. ‘You sounded ecstatic, didn’t you, Sarah, when we finally spoke on the phone and you confirmed what you’d said in your message, how Daniel had been found. I was so delighted for you and Howard.’

‘The miracle I’d been praying for the last twenty-two years,’ Sarah Cordwell said. ‘Let me get you something to eat, Katie. I’ve made those cheesy canapés you like.’ She steered her sister towards the food table.

Daniel spent the rest of the party fielding questions about his kidnap from the other partygoers, grateful for the diversion. Katie floated past from time to time, clutching an ever full wine glass as her chosen crutch. Most of her friends were there, though, meaning she had plenty of other people with whom to occupy her time. He’d not met any of them, thank God; nobody could rat on him as being Katie's former boyfriend. They’d been too wrapped up in each other during those intense first weeks.

He carried on with the beer. The alcohol took the edge off his pain, although a pang stabbed through him at the end of the party when Katie, her coat on and ready to leave, leaned towards him for a hug.

‘Be happy, Dan. Take care of Sarah for me.’ Her voice ran a forbidden caress over his cock and he’d needed to down a finger of whisky in one after the door closed behind her. At that point, the room started to swim around him.