The Choice Read online

  ‘A guy called Rob,’ Tessa said. ‘He’s a friend of Andy’s. A retired cop. He fitted our burglar alarm system before we got divorced. Andy said he does other private detective type work. We could call him. Get a bit of advice, at least.’

  Matt looked at Annabelle. He could see she was not convinced.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he said.

  ‘I’m thinking he may tell the police.’ She shook her head. ‘That can’t happen.’

  ‘I don’t think he will,’ Tessa said. ‘He has no reason to, and we can ask him to keep quiet before we tell him anything. He might have an idea, Annabelle. We should try. And I don’t see any other options.’

  ‘I think she’s right,’ Matt said. ‘We could at least talk to him. But it’s up to you, Annabelle.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘We can talk to him.’

  Tessa laid her phone on the arm of the sofa and put it on speakerphone. A man’s voice answered.

  ‘Hi, Rob,’ she said. ‘Sorry for the early call. This is Tessa Westbrook, Andy’s wife. Ex-wife, actually. You fitted our alarm system.’

  ‘No problem.’ His voice was clear on the speaker. ‘I’m an early riser. Is there something wrong with it?’

  ‘It’s not the alarm. It’s something else. Something a bit unusual. Before we go any further, I have to ask you if you can promise not to tell anyone what we’re about to discuss. Especially the police.’

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘If you’ve done something wrong and you tell me, I can’t promise—’

  ‘No one’s done anything wrong. It’s not that. It’s’ – she looked at Annabelle, who nodded her agreement – ‘it’s a friend. We need advice on what to do if someone’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘Kidnapped?’ he said, his voice suddenly urgent and alert. ‘Has someone been kidnapped?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tessa said. ‘And we need to know what to do.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’ll put the parents on. You’re on speaker.’

  Matt leaned towards the phone. ‘Hi, Rob. My name’s Matt Westbrook. I’m Tessa’s brother. My wife, Annabelle, is here, as well as my brother-in-law, Mike.’

  ‘Nice to meet you all. Why don’t you tell me what happened?’

  ‘It’s my kids. I have three – Norman, Keith and Molly. I left them in the car while I went into a shop – Holt’s in Stockton Heath – and when I came out’ – he paused, and swallowed – ‘they were gone. The car as well.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ Rob said. ‘You sure it wasn’t just someone stealing the car?’

  ‘No. I got a text message a few minutes later. It said “Do not call the police”.’

  ‘What?’ Rob said. ‘So whoever took them had your number?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matt said.

  ‘Which means this was planned.’

  ‘It seems that way,’ Matt said.

  ‘Look,’ Rob said. ‘This is serious. You need to involve the police. They can deal with this.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Annabelle said. ‘The kidnapper made it clear they would know if we do and we would never see the kids again.’

  ‘How would they know?’ Rob said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Annabelle replied. ‘But if there’s any possibility they could, then it’s too risky. That’s why we called you. Can you help?’

  ‘I can try,’ Rob said. ‘Have you asked for proof of life?’

  ‘We got a photo of the kids. They look fine. Alive at least.’

  ‘OK. That’s good.’ He paused. ‘I’m still struggling to get my head around this, but you want to establish as much contact as you can. Negotiate. Ask for another photo, this time with a clock or something in the background that shows the time. A TV show that’s on right now. A football game.’

  ‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘We’ve tried calling the numbers, but the kidnapper uses a different phone every time, so the previous numbers just go to voicemail.’

  ‘Right,’ Rob said. ‘They’re trying to maintain control of the situation. What about the ransom?’

  They had agreed not to tell him what the kidnapper was asking for. They wanted advice; they did not want Rob thinking he needed to involve the authorities.

  ‘It’s money,’ Annabelle said. ‘A lot.’

  ‘It always is,’ Rob said. ‘I think you should pay. All you want is your kids back – which is actually a reason not to involve the police. The police are going to want to get your kids back, but they’re also going to want to apprehend whoever did it, so they might take a different approach to you. So pay. Try to negotiate so it doesn’t look like it’s easy for you to come up with the ransom, or the amount will increase, but in the end you have to pay. You have to give this type of person what they want. It’s the only way.’

  ‘We have to give them what they want,’ Annabelle said, her voice flat. She was staring into the distance. ‘That’s what you’re saying.’

  ‘I know it’s hard to swallow, but it’s the best option. It’s the only one.’

  ‘How do we know they’ll return the kids?’ Matt said. ‘We can’t trust someone who would do this.’

  ‘No, you can’t. But if you hand over the money, there’s no incentive to keep your kids, because then you would call the cops, and no kidnapper wants that. Too much hassle, plus there’s always the chance the cops will find them. The alternative’s much simpler: return the kids and walk away with the cash. Keeping hold of three kids is way too risky. So I’d say you should pay.’

  ‘And if we say no?’ Annabelle muttered.

  ‘There may be one more opportunity to pay,’ Rob said. ‘Or not. And your kids will be at huge risk. With no cash on the horizon there’s no incentive to hang around, or keep the kids alive.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Annabelle said. ‘This has been very helpful.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rob said. ‘But if you do this right you can get your kids back. Call me if you need more advice. Maybe when you get the instructions. There might be something I can help with. And good luck. This is a tough situation.’

  ‘We will,’ Matt said. ‘And thanks.’

  He cut the call.

  ‘Well,’ Annabelle said. Her lips were quivering and her voice was on the edge of breaking. ‘That was quite clear. We have to pay the price.’

  Matt put his arm around her and held her tight. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s no way we can do that.’

  ‘Matt,’ she said. ‘If we don’t and I never see the kids again, I’ll never forgive myself. If it’s a choice between me and them suffering, I’d take me every time.’

  He closed his eyes. She was right, he knew she was. But that didn’t make this any easier.

  ‘If we do,’ he said. ‘I’ll never see you again.’

  ‘You’ll have the kids. And they’ll be safe.’

  ‘But I love you, Annabelle.’

  ‘I know. And I love you too. But they’re our children, Matt.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not ready to accept this. Not yet. We’ll come up with something.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if we don’t, we’re going to pay the ransom. It’s the only option.’

  Annabelle

  Annabelle walked out of the back door and into the garden. It was dark and cold but she needed fresh air, and some space to think. Now she had made up her mind she felt oddly calm. The panic and the fear were still there, but at least she had clarity. There were no more decisions to agonize over; she had resigned herself to what was going to happen. Someone wanted her – who, she could not imagine – and they were going to get her. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Matt was hoping to come up with something to stop this, but that was unlikely. It was obvious whoever it was had planned this for a long time, and they were going to make sure it worked.

  Well, let them.

  She had a plan, too.

  Nothing specific – how could there be, when she didn’t know who this was or what they were expecting? – but a plan nonetheless.

  She would give
them what they wanted. She would hand herself over to save her kids.

  And then they would find out that maybe she wasn’t what they wanted after all. With nothing left to lose, she would do whatever it took to get back to her family, and she would make them pay for this.

  One way or another, she would make them pay.

  In her pocket, her phone buzzed. It was a text message, from Guy.

  I was in Brighton yesterday at a literary thing and bumped into the woman who runs the Standwich Literary Festival. She wants to know if you want to do it. It’s in early May. You’d be perfect. Interested? No hurry, but let me know when you have a chance to think about it. I’m going hiking today but we can talk later.

  Guy – as well as being one of her oldest friends – was her agent. After they had left university he had joined a small agency, and – with a little help from Matt – had sold her first book. It had been odd working with him at first, but she was used to it now.

  She typed a reply:

  Don’t know if I can. Will fill you in later.

  Are you busy?

  Kind of. Something came up.

  Everything OK?

  She paused before replying, but then decided she wanted him to know.

  Not really.

  The phone rang seconds later.

  ‘Hi,’ Guy said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s pretty fucked up, Guy.’

  ‘Is it Matt? Are you guys OK? Is someone ill?’

  ‘No. It’s the kids.’

  ‘What about them?’

  Now she was about to say it, it sounded absurd.

  ‘They’ve been kidnapped, and they’re being held for ransom.’

  He did not speak for a few seconds.

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘No. Someone took them. Last night.’

  ‘Someone took them? How?’

  ‘They were with Matt. He went into a shop to get some bits and bobs, and left them in the car – he didn’t want them running around touching stuff, with that new virus – and when he came out, they were gone.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a car thief?’

  ‘Yes. We got a ransom demand.’

  He inhaled sharply. ‘How much? Pay it. I’ll pay. I can mortgage the agency. I can get whatever you need. We’ll sort this out, Annabelle.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But it’s not money. It’s me.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘They want me, in exchange for the kids.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ He made an exasperated snorting noise. ‘You can’t swap people like that. This isn’t the Mayor of fucking Casterbridge!’

  ‘That’s what they want.’

  ‘They won’t get it!’ he said. ‘How’s Matt?’

  ‘Thinking of options.’

  ‘Good. I’m on my way. I can help with this.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s no need. I’m just glad of someone to talk to. See if I’m insane for doing this.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘There’s only one choice.’

  ‘No!’ Guy said. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘If I don’t, the kids are dead and then I’ll have to kill myself. This way they’ll be alive. It might be a terrible choice, but that’s the way choices work, right? You take the least worst one, however bad.’

  ‘Look,’ Guy said, ‘there has to be another way!’

  ‘I don’t think there is. I need the kids to be safe, and this is the only way I can get that. I’ll deal with whatever comes afterwards.’

  ‘I’m coming to your house,’ he said. ‘And that’s final.’

  ‘No. I want to spend this time with Matt.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But call if you need anything. OK?’

  ‘I will.’ She put the phone down and went inside. Matt was standing by the fridge, pouring milk into a cup of tea.

  ‘Who was that?’ he said.

  ‘Guy. I’ve been invited to a literary festival in May. I was telling him it isn’t an option.’

  ‘So you’ve made up your mind, then?’ Matt said. ‘You’re going to do it?’

  ‘I don’t see another way.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Matt said. ‘But I don’t think it has to end there. I’ve got an idea.’

  The clock is ticking. That fool of a husband will be desperate, searching for some way to keep his wife safe.

  There is no way. Because the choice is hers and there is no doubt what she will choose. She will come to me. I have given her everything she needs.

  She will be able to say – truthfully – that this is what any mother would have done in the circumstances.

  Well, maybe not any. Not mine. Mine would have done nothing. That’s what she did when I asked her for help.

  She could have chosen self-sacrifice. She chose to leave me to my fate.

  But the overwhelming majority of mothers would choose their children.

  Not Annabelle Westbrook, though, she is like my mother. Her children are a burden; pretending to love them is a chore. Only I know that, which is why I am doing this for her.

  Anyway, in the eyes of the world, she does the honourable thing. Such an act of self-sacrifice! A martyr to motherhood! An inspiration to us all.

  When the story comes out, she will be a hero.

  And she will have what she has wanted all along.

  How could she have had it otherwise? She could not leave her family. She would never truly get away from them. She was trapped.

  But now I have created the one situation in which she can leave them and remain free of any guilt or blame.

  A situation in which she has no choice. In which she has to pay the ultimate price for her children’s freedom.

  And she knows this.

  And I cannot wait to see her gratitude.

  Grappenhall Library, 2009

  1

  The boy – maybe ten years old, copper-coloured hair, dark, almost black eyes – put his hands on the desk.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Do you have all the Harry Potter books?’

  ‘Are you looking for one in particular?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘The Order of the Phoenix,’ he said. ‘That’s where I’m up to.’

  ‘We do have it,’ Annabelle said. ‘We have quite a few copies, and they’re very popular, but I think one just came back in. If it did, it’ll be on the returns cart.’

  ‘Oh,’ the boy said. ‘Can I take it out?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what we’re here for.’

  ‘Do you know where the returns cart is?’

  Annabelle smiled. ‘I do. Would you like me to show you?’

  The boy nodded, and she walked to the end of the counter. There was a cart with all the returns on it, ready to be put back on the shelves. She ran her finger over the spines.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘Let’s check it out. Do you have your library card?’

  The boy handed it to her. She scanned the barcode and called up his account. The list of books he had taken out covered the screen. Oscar – she read his name on the card – was an avid reader.

  ‘There you go,’ she said, and handed him the book and his library card. ‘Enjoy your reading, Oscar.’

  2

  It was her dream to see her book on the shelves of a library. Her dream, and the dream of thousands – tens of thousands – of other people who were writing novels and poems and plays.

  It was a dream she did not think would ever come true. The first novel she had written, during her last year at Birmingham, was in a drawer in a desk in the house she and Matt were renting while he finished his legal training. It had been the most inspiring and the most dispiriting thing she had ever done. The feeling of holding a completed manuscript in her hand had been amazing. She had written a novel, one hundred thousand words that all, more or less, fitted together to make a coherent whole. Semi-coherent, at least. It had taken over a year and she had poured everything into it.

  It was thrilli
ng to hold it in her hands.

  It was also incredibly depressing, because no one was ever going to read it. Never mind getting it published; not even her friends and family – not even Matt – were going to read it.

  Because it wasn’t any good. Worse, it was boring. She’d read it a few times, and each time it got worse. The main character – a woman in her early twenties – came across as whiny, the plot was thin, the ending weak. But the problem went deeper than that. It was forced; it didn’t sound like her.

  She hated it. She loved that she’d done it, but she hated the novel itself.

  And so she started again, and this time it worked. The first line came to her unbidden and then the rest followed.

  I told them I was trouble.

  She loved it at every stage. Sketch, rough draft, final draft. The main character, Janet, mid-twenties, was mysterious and intriguing. She was engaged to Marcus – they had got engaged soon after they met, to the shock of her friends, because, on the face of it, their relationship was not a healthy one.

  Marcus was cold and distant and rude to her and to her friends; they all assumed she would see she had made a mistake and break up with him.

  But she claimed to everyone she was happy and had no intention of ever leaving him. They joked she must be trapped.

  It wasn’t a joke.

  She had a secret, and Marcus had discovered it when they met. If she ever left him, he would tell the world.

  And she could not let that happen.

  But she could not marry him. Which meant – although he did not yet know it – Marcus was not as safe and secure as he thought he was. Janet had a plan to escape, and she knew the perfect person to help her with it.

  She loved it. So did Matt. And she sent it out to the three agents she had selected – after hours of research – as the most suitable to represent her book.

  Only one replied, with a cursory: Thank you for sending your novel. We receive a lot of submissions and unfortunately yours is not something we think we can take on at this point.

  So she tried some more. Months went by, and then they too politely declined. It wasn’t what was selling at the moment, or they had another book too similar to it, or it was promising but not for them.