Millie's Game Plan (13 page)

Coming to, I could feel and smell sticky tape over my mouth. My hands had been tied behind my back with coarse rope. There was a hot, stinging throb on my cheekbone and the taste of blood in my mouth, where the cheek had torn against my molars.

Visions of unspeakable atrocities flicked through my mind, like a horror show at double speed. In that moment, I knew I was relatively undamaged, but who knew what else my captors had planned for me?

I was lying on a cold, stone floor. I could make out stone carvings and plaques on the walls. Light from within the church was coming through a wrought iron gate at the top of a short run of stone steps. Looking further around, it didn’t take much to work out I was in the crypt. A chill deeper than the stonework passed through me.

But today was Saturday. Tomorrow, the church would surely open again for Sunday services and I’d be found…or maybe not. Maybe they’d gone off to commit some other, more serious crime and would be back.

I listened.

Somewhere in the church there was movement. Josh? Could he be involved? Was my judgement of men so out of whack I’d completely misread his motives?

My heart thumped as it picked up speed and my stomach clenched. I dropped my head back down and feigned unconsciousness.

Footsteps approached. Keys turned in the heavy gate. There was the smack of something landing on the floor. I opened my eyes and lifted my head to look round but one of my stupid bunches flopped over my eye. The footsteps retreated and I heard the church door close with a heavy and final
thunk
. Another lock slid into place.

Crunching gravel outside died away until car doors slammed – two – an engine fired, a gear was selected and the vehicle drove away.

Silence. I breathed heavily and closed my eyes.

Oh sweet Jesus. Mary Mother of God and all the Angels in Heaven, I prayed.
Funny how you can find religion when the time’s right.

No, that was nonsense.

Tears sprang to my eyes. Dad, I pleaded silently, please help me. If his spirit had survived, he’d look after me.

I lay still – listening, watching. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen but there were no clouds of golden light or whispers of comfort. Just silence. Finally, I rolled up into a sitting position and let out a muffled cry at the sight of a body lying close by. It was not a celestial body. In the dim light I couldn’t tell who it was or if they were alive or dead.

I held my breath to listen for theirs.

Nothing.

I drew my knees up and prepared to stand. Did I want to find out? Did I have a choice?

I stood, shakily, and braced myself against the wall. Finally, I moved over to take a better look at the crumpled heap in the shadows. It didn’t take long for me to recognise Josh; his hair stuck to his temple by congealing blood. I leaned over, trying to see how much damage there was. The blood was still moist. I knelt right up against him, turning my ear to listen for breathing.

He was alive. I closed my eyes and thanked the universe.

I leaned over and made a noise that came as close to saying his name as possible.

Nothing.

I hovered over his ear, close to the scar and gave it my loudest shot. He groaned, then his head lolled over and our noses touched. I moved back, nudging him with my thigh until his eyes opened. There was a delay as he tried to figure out where he was and probably why I was looming over him with parcel tape across my face. Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows. He frowned and glanced hastily to and fro.

I nodded and hummed, ‘Okay? Okay?’

He frowned some more and tried to move. His hands were also fastened behind his back. Eventually, he sat up but lolled groggily. Worried he might keel over again, I shuffled up to him to support his back – the stone floor scraping my knees. He sighed and looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes focusing momentarily on my taped mouth. He shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he seemed to be saying.

I smiled. At least, I hoped my eyes did.

‘Wait.’ I grunted again, and pressed my forehead against his back to look down at the knots of rope around his wrists. I felt sure I could undo them. I grunted at him and moved myself round so we were back to back, where I could work on the ropes with my constricted fingers. Over and over again my fingers contorted on the tight, harsh knots. I tugged with my nails, painfully snapping one of them. Every time I thought I was close to loosening it, cramp bit into my muscles. In one last ditch effort, I rode the cramp, wincing and grunting through the pain until I felt the loop give and one knot was undone. Finally, the rope loosened completely and I felt his hands move apart. I collapsed against him, tears of relief welling up. There was a noise as he peeled the tape from his face.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get up now, okay?’ I grunted and leaned away. He came round to take the tape from my mouth, placing one hand beneath my ear, his fingers supporting the back of my head and his thumb lightly touching my jaw. I watched his eyes, half-closed with concentration. Carefully, he lifted the corner of tape with his other hand and began to peel it back. ‘This might hurt a bit,’ he said, in a low, soothing way that inspired confidence.

It did, but I gritted my teeth. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’

He nodded and wiped a tear from my cheek. ‘I’m fine.
How about you?’

‘I’m okay. Who were they? What did they want?’

He moved around the back of me and began working on the knots of rope. ‘No idea. But they’ll have taken the silver and the cash from the collection.’

‘Do you have a key to the gate?’ I asked, more in hope than expectation.

‘Not on me. Our best bet is somebody coming into the church,’ he said, finally loosening the rope.

I shook my arms free and rubbed the muscles. Then I dug the phone out of my pocket and switched it on. ‘I think I heard them locking the door but we can ring the police,’ I said, all fired up until I spotted ‘No Signal’ flashing across the screen. I stood and went over to the gate, pushing my arm through the bars.
Still no signal. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘The village is in a dip. I barely get reception at the vicarage.’

His hair was dishevelled and the blood was congealing above his brow. He was still wearing his long, black frock; the white smock was gone, as was the embroidered scarf, but he still looked unsettling in a
Thornbirds
forbidden fruit kind of way. I moved to the far edge of the steps.

‘Maybe there’s somewhere in here where it’ll work.’ I wasn’t going to give up until I’d tried every corner of that wretched crypt. Josh watched while I went from side to side, thrusting my hand up against walls and tombs in the futile hope of a result, until finally, I conceded defeat. ‘What about the gate?’ I asked. ‘Can we pick the lock or rattle it loose?’

‘Not unless you’ve got a very big hairpin.’

The lock was huge. You’d need a handbag for the key alone.

I went over and grasped two of the bars. Like a caged animal, I shook it. There was barely a movement.

Josh spoke. ‘I’m afraid we might have to miss out on Classics at Clavering.’

Of course. Lex would give up on me completely if I didn’t make it tonight. ‘It’s the perfect evening for it, too,’ I said, dropping my forehead against the gate.

‘Yes, it is.’ There was a note of sympathy in his voice, which made me feel like the spoilt little madam I was turning into. There he was, like Reverend Green who’d been coshed on the head with a candlestick, and I was Miss Scarlet – worrying about missing out on a fancy picnic.

I turned towards him and noticed a bottle of water on the floor. Maybe the robbers had had a pang of conscience. ‘Here, you could probably do with a drink.’

He thanked me and took a sip. ‘Best not drink it all at once,’ he said.

‘Why? How long do you think we’re going to be here?’

He shrugged. ‘If the church is locked then I’m afraid, unless one of the church wardens comes down, we’re here for the night.’

‘Noooo!’

He gave me a sympathetic look, completely misinterpreting my frustration.

Lex would think I’d stood him up. And there was nothing I could do about it.

So we were locked in a crypt, surrounded by dead people. How many times had I watched Ghost Hunters and wondered why people willingly spent long, dark nights in spooky places, just to goad the spirits into their fifteen minutes of fame?

Josh must have read the look on my face. ‘We’ll be okay.
Although it might get a bit chilly later.’

Chilly?
Later? My blood was running cold just thinking about it. So cold, my jaws had locked.

‘It’s one night, Millie. Sixteen hours, tops.’

Sixteen hours? I looked around me. Sixteen hours in a burial chamber? I gulped. There was no comfy bed, no TV and no mini-bar but the main concern pressing on my brain was: no toilet.

Josh offered me the water. ‘Do you want a drink?’

I shook my head.

He placed the bottle on the floor and, as he straightened up, staggered towards the wall. I shot forward and caught hold of him. ‘Hey there, big fella,’ I said as he leaned heavily against me. I managed to sit him down with his back against the wall.

‘Is there a light in here?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but the switch is on the panel by the main door.’

Fortunately, we were in a pool of light opposite the gate, so I could get a better look at his head. The gash was a couple of centimetres and had stopped oozing blood but his forehead was hot. I poured some water onto the hem of my skirt and cleaned around the wound, mopping his forehead as I did so. And it’s strange, but the brain can cough up the oddest phrases when in extremis. My particular gem on this occasion was: ‘Thank goodness I wore a circular skirt.’

To which he replied, ‘As the actress said to the bishop.’

And it was at that point, the prospect of sixteen hours with Josh Warwick didn’t seem quite so tedious, after all.

Remembering what I’d learned on a first aid course for dealing with concussion, I asked him to tell me how many fingers I was holding up, what was his date of birth
(Pisces), did he feel sick and could he recite the alphabet? So, he took a deep breath, looked me in the eye and recited it backwards.

‘Smartarse,’ I muttered and he smiled back at me.

We sat, side by side, for a while and discussed whether or not we should scream for help but since there was half a metre of stone between us and the outside world, and the church was isolated from the rest of the village, decided it would be a waste of energy. We were a good three hundred metres from Marshalhampton House, with hedges and trees between, and the nearest house was the empty vicarage.

‘Surely, they’ll notice we’re missing and come looking for us?’ I suggested. ‘After all, my car’s outside Vonnie’s house and…oh no. I was leaving it there, anyway. But Lex and all the others will be worried when we don’t turn up, won’t they? They’re bound to raise the alarm. Don’t you think?’

His head tilted to one side and he smiled. ‘Unfortunately, just because they notice we’re missing, doesn’t mean they’ll come looking for us. For all they know, the car broke down.’

‘But surely, someone will see your car outside the vicarage and know we haven’t left.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I usually keep my car in the garage.’

Of course.
His pride and joy. I dropped my head. Lex would probably still have a great evening without me…especially with the supremely gorgeous Serena being stood-up as well.

‘Won’t Serena try to call you?’

‘I expect so. But she knows how poor the mobile service is around here.’

We sat for a few moments while I thought about Lex and Serena consoling each other – as they surely would – and Josh no doubt thinking the same.

‘Did they hurt you?’ he asked, studying my face.

I could feel my cheekbone throbbing. ‘No.’

‘It looks very red, is that where you fell?’ he asked, smoothing hair back from my face and focusing on my cheek. It was a platonic gesture but after months of repression, the recent shake up in my hormones had turned them feral, and I could feel a molecular reaction brewing.

‘No.’ I inched back and put a hand up to feel how tender it was. ‘One of them hit me.’

‘Bastard!’ he spat out, which shocked and yet impressed me. Then his hand touched my face again, very tenderly, as he steadied it to take a closer look. He smelled warm, clean and male.

I swallowed. ‘But I think I might have bruised one of them. I was kicking like mad.’

He frowned. ‘Good job they didn’t do you any more damage.’

My mind replayed the scene and my heart thumped. ‘What if they come back? They might just be moving the silver to a hiding place and come back in the dark to bump us off and stick us in one of these tombs. Nobody would think to look there. It’d be the perfect crime.’ I could hear the pitch of my voice rising. ‘Or they might take us to that building site outside Churchill and drop us in concrete. Maybe when I kicked him, I made it worse...’

Josh took hold of my hand and held it in both of his. ‘Millie, they won’t come back. They’d have nothing to gain. For all they know, we could have been found by now, so the last thing they’ll do is return to the scene of the crime and get caught.’ I looked down at his strong hands holding mine. One of his thumbs was stroking my wrist.

‘But what if they’re watching the church?’

‘Why would they? Millie, they hit me because they wanted to immobilize me and steal the silver. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

Everything he said made sense, but it was frightening how vulnerable I felt. All the adrenalin had now dissipated and the full horror of what could have happened began to dawn. I started trembling, and the trembling accelerated to shaking until I was juddering like an old washing machine on spin cycle.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Josh said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing my hand. ‘You’re okay. We’re both absolutely fine. And we’re safe.’

I’ve already mentioned one of his most appealing qualities is his voice, but it became particularly soft and soothing as he continued to talk me through my fears until, gradually, I calmed down. I leaned into him and absorbed the warmth and safety of his arms, and focused on his hand wrapped around mine; the slightly squared nails, and the curved muscle at the base of his thumb; the tone and texture of his skin more weathered than mine. How might those hands feel, touching other parts of me? As I felt my insides begin to melt, he said, ‘The worst thing that can happen is spending the night in St Saviour’s crypt.’

‘True.’ My voice came out thick and croaky.

‘And how bad is that?’ Right at that moment, not bad in the slightest. ‘It’s a listed building. You could do worse. At Romwick, you’d have to listen to the traffic on the by-pass, all night.’

I giggled. He was right. There were far worse things than having a warm strong arm round your shoulders and absolutely no risk of Sacha or Serena muscling in to take the limelight.

Serena. That brought me back to reality. In any case, Serena or no Serena, I was not intending to form an alliance with a vicar. No matter how he might be making me
feel at that moment.

I edged away from him a little. ‘Thanks. I think I’m getting a better perspective on it now.’

‘Good.’ His arm slid away from me and he gave my hand a final squeeze before letting go.

I stood up and began to investigate our surroundings, which were pretty much what you’d expect in a crypt. My greatest discovery was a fire bucket full of sand…I hoped it wouldn’t become essential but it beat peeing in the corner. Josh had slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. He was breathing steadily so I decided to let him sleep. He needed to rest…for a while, anyway. If he was still out when it got dark, I would rouse him for another medical check.

I bunched up the petticoats and skirt behind me for cushioning, and sat next to him. Through the gate I could see the evening sunlight playing on the carvings of the font. It was nearly six-thirty; the orchestra would be tuning up, the pink champagne flowing and, with any luck, Lex and Serena would soon be starting to worry.

In sleep, Josh’s face was relaxed. I studied the angular line of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble beneath. Tilting my head, I checked his scar. Cluedo analogies apart – if they’d hit him harder or a bit lower…I shuddered and swallowed down the realisation. My hand strayed to the crook of his arm and settled there, drawing comfort from its warmth.

After a few minutes of contemplation, I switched on my phone, selected Patience from the Games menu and began to play.

On a clear summer’s evening, the light can last till about ten o’clock, so when it dimmed dramatically, I checked the time. It wasn’t even eight o’clock so maybe the trees were blocking out the light. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of lightening nearly shot
me from my skin and seconds later, a deep rumble of thunder resonated through the building.

‘Whoa!’ I yelped, thrusting my arm through Josh’s and huddling up against him.

He groaned and grimaced as he lifted his head away from the wall, rubbing his neck with his free hand. ‘What…what’s happening?’ he asked.

‘There’s a thunderstorm. And we’re still locked in the crypt.’

He squinted at me through sleepy eyes. Two fine lines briefly gathered between his brows then softened. Despite this disturbing moment under his scrutiny, I couldn’t look away. Finally, he murmured, ‘Don’t like thunder, hey?’

Anxiety had driven me to snuggle up to him. Now, the intimacy was unnerving me in a totally different way. My response was whispered. ‘Normally, I don’t mind. But in the context of a Transylvanian tomb, thunderstorms have a whole different s
ignificance.’

He looked around the crypt as another flash illuminated the chamber with fleeting silver rays. I jumped at the clap of thunder which followed and he instinctively clamped my arm to him and put a hand over it.

As the sound rumbled away, he said, ‘Some people would pay good money to do this. Look how popular ghost walks are.’

‘Don’t say that word.’

‘You believe in them, then?’ he asked, those two brow lines lifting as he looked me in the eye.

‘Yes.’ I hissed. ‘And on a scale of one to ten, I’d say this location rates about eleven for probability of manifestation. So let’s not tempt any.’

‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ he asked with irritating persistence.

‘No.’ I raised my voice, ‘And I’m happy to keep it that way.’

He nodded slowly, like he was weighing me up.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Josh, you can laugh if you want, but I’m relying on your celestial connections to protect me from restless spirits, okay?’

I leaned away from him and got up, on the pretext of wanting a drink. As I lifted the bottle to my lips, a simultaneous flash and thunderclap shook the foundations and me with them – jolting a hefty splash of water up my nose. After the shock, I began to laugh – at the absurdity of our predicament, at my voluminous skirt, and at a man in a long black dress sitting on the floor, who was laughing with me and drawing me in with his charisma.

That sobered me up. Apart from already being taken, he didn’t…I mean he couldn’t…well, he wasn’t right for me. I’d had a basin-full of religious dogma in my
life, I didn’t need a future full of it with him. And in any case, Lex ticked all my boxes.

I wiped my face and looked away, in case I might reveal what I was thinking because, despite my reasoning, I was fast-forwarding through a scenario where I was down on that floor and snaking my body along his; planting my lips on his mouth; peeling off both our dresses and not letting go till I was thoroughly satiated. Clearly, Lex had revved me up to such a
pitch, I’d jump anyone’s bones.

‘Millie.’

I turned. He was holding his hand out to me and – well, you know how it goes – there was a split second between me making a complete arse of myself, and realising that what he actually wanted was the bottle of water. A vision of how he would have reacted if I
had
taken his hand and straddled him – right there, right then – made me blush. I passed him the water bottle and sat on the steps by the gate.

The storm lasted about twenty minutes, no doubt leaving in its wake some very soggy concert-goers and a host of ruined barbecues. ‘Think of all those poor people at Clavering,’ I said, imagining Serena and Lex huddled together under an umbrella.

‘I told you it could be worse,’ he said, with the hint of a smile.

‘Fancy some music?’ I asked, switching on my phone and selecting audio player.

We sat listening to my eclectic playlist – from Mariah Carey, through Snow Patrol to South Pacific. When I sang along to Bali-Hi, he joined in with an impressive harmony, so for my next selection, I skipped to All That Jazz from Chicago, and he joined in on that too. We had a hoot, warbling away to a rather tinny-sounding accompaniment. The acoustics were amazing and it sure beat talking about Clavering and all we were missing there.

Finally, the battery gave up the ghost, so-to-speak, and we were left in the silence and the dark to contemplate another eight or nine hours together. Despite our enthusiastic singing, not a solitary soul had tried the church door.