The Choice Read online

  Annabelle

  She was reeling from his breathless arrival. She could hardly grasp what he was saying. His words were close to meaningless sounds, but she forced herself to focus.

  He had told her he’d left the kids in the car, and the car had been taken.

  The kids were gone.

  He had not called the police.

  She could make no sense of this. The kids were in their car and someone had taken it and he had not called the police.

  But it was the last thing he had said that scared her the most. He had said there was more, and it was worse.

  How could anything be worse?

  For a moment she was not sure she wanted to find out. She had an overwhelming urge to close her eyes and pretend this was not happening. All she wanted was for this to stop, right now, and be over before it got going. Because whatever it was, it was not good.

  But she had no choice.

  ‘Matt,’ she said. ‘Just tell me.’

  He looked at her, his face a mask of shock and fear. ‘They’ve been kidnapped,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Someone is holding our kids for ransom.’

  The word hung in the air between them.

  ‘Kidnapped,’ she said, the word odd in her mouth, almost as if she did not recognize – or could not believe – what it meant. ‘Did you say kidnapped?’

  ‘Yes.’ His face was pale, the blood drained from it.

  ‘OK,’ she said. It sounded totally inadequate, but what was she supposed to say? This was a total catastrophe: normal language didn’t work. But there was good news in this. Ransom meant you paid the kidnapper’s price and they would release the hostages, which meant there was hope.

  So this was good, in a way.

  ‘What do they want?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know. They didn’t say yet.’ He held up his phone and showed her the screen. ‘These messages came just after I left the shop.’

  She took his phone and read the texts.

  Do not call the police.

  I repeat: tell no one and do not inform the authorities. I will know if you do and you will never see your children again.

  My instructions will follow. Await them.

  He reached over and tapped the screen. ‘Then these came from a different number.’

  This is a kidnapping.

  The ransom demand will follow.

  Remember. Do not contact the police under any circumstances. I will know immediately if you do and you will never see your children again.

  So that was why he had not called the police. It made sense now, but she wanted them to know. They needed help with this.

  ‘Shouldn’t we tell the police?’ she said. ‘How would the kidnapper know? It could be a bluff to stop us involving them.’

  ‘It could be,’ Matt said. ‘But it could be real. Maybe whoever it is knows someone. Or it’s a cop. And if there is a way they could find out—’

  ‘We won’t see the kids,’ she said. ‘If it’s true, we can’t risk it. We have to wait. See what they want.’ She looked at the phone. ‘Were there any other messages?’

  ‘No. That was the last one.’

  ‘Did you call the number?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We should. I will.’ She tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

  ‘Are you calling?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She listened for the ringing to start, but it never came. It went straight to a recorded message.

  The number you have called does not have a voice mailbox set up. Thank you.

  Then the line went dead.

  She put the phone down.

  ‘What is it?’ Matt said.

  ‘An automated message saying no voicemail has been set up.’

  ‘If they’re using different numbers, they probably get rid of the phones afterwards.’

  She pictured someone throwing a phone into a bin then taking a new one from a rucksack and typing in a number.

  Matt’s number.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘They know your number. Which means this isn’t random. It isn’t someone who saw an opportunity and grabbed it.’ She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the panic rising in her chest. It didn’t work. ‘This was planned,’ she said. ‘Someone was watching and waiting.’ She felt a wave of nausea. ‘They’ve been watching us, Matt.’

  Matt stood and began to pace the room. ‘I know.’

  ‘But why? What do they think we have? What do they want?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything,’ Matt said.

  ‘But to go to all this effort …’ Annabelle’s voice tailed off. ‘This is fucking unbelievable. Why would anyone do this? What do they want from us?’

  ‘It must be money,’ Matt said. ‘What else is there?’

  ‘But we don’t have the kind of money that would make this worthwhile,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘Maybe they think we do.’

  ‘But we don’t,’ she said. ‘And if we say we don’t they’ll think we’re holding out on them and’ – she choked back a sob – ‘and they’ll hurt the kids. Matt, they’re going to hurt my babies. We have to stop them. Please, we have to stop this!’

  ‘How?’ Matt said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t have any ideas.’

  And then, in her hand, her husband’s phone buzzed.

  This will be a shock for them. It will be the last thing they’re expecting. They will be thinking the ransom will be for money, because they – in particular he, I don’t blame her so much – are people of very feeble imagination.

  Like the rest of the common herd, snouting around in the dirt for a few scraps, leaving the real prizes for those who can see the truth.

  What else is there, they will think. What else could anyone want from them? The dirty Land Rover Discovery? No – that has already been taken. The three kiddoes? They too, have already been taken. Their house, as modest as his ambition? Impossible. How could they give me their house without me revealing who I am? It’s hardly portable property.

  So what else could I want?

  His resignation? What would be the point? For him to humiliate himself? It’s a pleasant thought, I admit, but please. I am not that sort of petty-minded person. I am not that shallow.

  And he’ll be humiliated enough, as it is.

  Which leaves only one thing. That grubbiest of motives, money.

  Which is, frankly, beneath me.

  They don’t know that, though, so they will conclude that I will be asking for cash. Lots of it. Which confuses them, because they aren’t wealthy. Not poor, but nowhere near rich enough to make their kids the target of kidnappers looking for a ransom. I mean, think about what has gone into this. To pull this off required preparation and time. And a vastly superior nerve and intelligence. Let’s not forget that. Even they will have worked out that the person who took his car and children must have been watching, waiting for an opportunity.

  And they would only do that if there was a significant reward, which means a lot of money.

  Which they don’t have.

  So they’ll conclude it’s a mistake. This is a mistake and someone thinks they’re richer than they are, so they’re going to have to say they can’t come up with the one or two or three million they get asked for.

  This will worry them. They will fear that the kidnapper will be angry if they say they can’t pay. And eventually, if they keep saying it, the kidnapper will realize it’s true and disappear, along with their children.

  They are probably working out what they can offer. Sell the house, ask relatives. Maybe they can come up with half a million.

  Tops.

  But they don’t need to worry. I won’t be asking for money. I want something much more valuable.

  And the time has come to let them know what that is.

  I will tell them what I want, and they will give it to me. It will be a shock to him. A blow, a loss almost beyond imagining.

  Not to her, though. Neither a shock, n
or a blow. It will be welcome.

  Time now, then, to introduce them to their new futures.

  Same method: take out a new phone. Type a new message.

  Press send.

  And wait.

  Annabelle

  The message was from another new number. Annabelle held it so that both she and Matt could read it.

  If you want to see your children again you will do exactly as I say. Understood?

  She squeezed his upper arm. ‘Jesus,’ she whispered. ‘This is actually happening.’

  He glanced at her. ‘I think they want a reply. For us to say we got the message.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. She typed a reply.

  Understood.

  The reply was immediate.

  Good. And I see you have not informed the police. So we can move forward.

  ‘They know,’ Annabelle said. ‘They know we haven’t told the police.’

  ‘It could be a bluff,’ Matt said. ‘Or a guess.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She pressed her head to his chest. This was unbelievable. They were having a text conversation with the kidnapper of their children. Her stomach heaved. She dropped the phone and staggered out of the living room. The door of the downstairs bathroom banged as she slammed it open and threw up in the toilet bowl. She stayed kneeling before it, her hands on the tiled floor.

  Matt appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t left them—’

  ‘Don’t,’ Annabelle said. She didn’t want to go down this route, not now. She didn’t know where it would end, because he was right, if he hadn’t left them …

  But that wasn’t going to bring them back, and at the back of her mind she couldn’t stop the idea that this was coming someday, whatever they did. This person was so determined, so twisted, that they were going to get to their kids one way or another, come what may.

  ‘Ask for proof they’re alive,’ she said. ‘I need to know my babies are OK.’

  He typed a message and showed it to her.

  Please send proof the children are well.

  The reply was immediate.

  Later. First, I tell you what I want.

  ‘This is it,’ Matt said. ‘This is when whoever this is asks for something we don’t have and we have to try and sort this mess out.’

  ‘You still think it’s money?’

  ‘It’s always money. What else could it be? We’ll do whatever we have to, Annabelle. Sell the house. Ask my sister. Your brother. They can have everything we own.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘What if it’s not enough? What if we’re nowhere near having what they want?’

  ‘We’ll offer what we can,’ Matt said.

  ‘And if that’s not enough?’ Annabelle said. ‘If they think it’s too risky to be worth it to them and we never hear from them again?’

  ‘We’ll take the risk anyway. Beg them to return the kids. We’ll promise not to pursue them if they do. We’ll promise not to tell anyone. They can have everything and walk away.’ He got to his feet. ‘But we can cross that bridge later.’ He held out her hand for the phone and typed a message.

  What do you want?

  They stared at the screen, waiting. The silence seemed to stretch forever, then the reply came.

  The ransom is Annabelle. If you want to see your children again, you will exchange them for her.

  The silence stretched on.

  ‘No,’ Annabelle said eventually. ‘No, not this. That’s crazy. It’s impossible.’

  ‘I’m going to call the number,’ Matt said. ‘Talk to them. This is madness.’

  Before he could call, another message arrived.

  You have my demand. It is simple and non-negotiable. Further instructions will come tomorrow morning. You will have one chance to agree. If you accept my terms, your children will be returned to you unharmed. If not, you will never see them alive again.

  Matt pressed call. She watched as his face contorted in agony.

  ‘Shit!’ he said. ‘Too late. Just a message saying there’s no voicemail. The phone’s dead. It’s been switched off, or destroyed.’

  Annabelle barely heard the words. She folded her arms tightly.

  ‘Matt,’ she said. ‘It’s me. I’m the ransom.’

  ‘No. That’s not going to happen. It’s ludicrous.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Annabelle said. ‘But it’s happening. This is real, Matt.’

  ‘There’s a way out of this,’ he said. ‘There has to be.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ she said. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’

  PART TWO

  Late July 2004

  ‘You’ll find someone else. You will. I know it. It doesn’t matter what you say, you’ll forget me and find some posh bitch.’

  Matt didn’t want to have this conversation. In the first place, there was no point, because they’d already had it about twenty-five times, and whatever he said to Lindsey – his girlfriend since Christmas – it wouldn’t stop her from telling him that when he went to university he’d meet someone and leave her behind in boring old Stockton Heath, and in the second place, his heart wasn’t in it. He thought it was entirely possible that he would meet someone else, and, the more she talked about it, the more attractive a possibility it seemed.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, aware there was a dangerous lack of conviction in his voice. ‘We already talked about this. I’m going out with you.’

  Lindsey propped herself up on her elbow. ‘There’ll be loads of girls there. And you’ll end up falling for one of them.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise I won’t.’

  ‘You will. I know it.’

  The first time they had gone through this pantomime – you will, I won’t, you will – it had lasted for what seemed like hours, until Matt had realized that there was no way to convince her he had no intention of breaking up with her in favour of someone else. More to the point, he’d learned that she didn’t want him to. What she wanted was a promise that he wouldn’t, which he had discovered when he had asked her what he could say to make her believe him. Now, he went straight to it.

  ‘What can I say to make you believe me?’ he said.

  ‘Promise me.’

  ‘Promise you what?’

  He knew what was coming. It was as though there was a script.

  ‘That you’ll never leave me. That you love me.’

  He rolled onto his back. He didn’t want to tell her he loved her. All he wanted was to go downstairs and smoke a cigarette in her parents’ back garden, then see who wanted to go to the pub that evening.

  ‘See?’ she said, with a note of triumphant vindication in her voice. ‘You won’t say it. You can’t.’

  ‘I’ve already said it. Loads.’ This was always how the conversation ended up: with him swearing undying love to her, and each time it felt a little bit less like the truth.

  ‘You don’t love me,’ she said. ‘You never have.’

  Was she right? He didn’t know. He’d thought he’d loved her, at one point, but how was he supposed to know if what he’d felt was love, instead of lust or just liking her a lot? They’d met at a friend’s Christmas party and kissed, then talked on the phone for about two hours the following Sunday. In the weeks that followed they’d spent a lot of time together after school, and he had thought about her all the time, but now he wasn’t sure what he had been feeling. He’d talked to Jamo about it, but that hadn’t helped. He’d laughed and put on a stupid voice and said It’s the Matty Westbrook gameshow. Love, lust or like? What is Matty feeling?

  And this constant badgering didn’t make it easier to figure out. It only put him off her.

  ‘I do,’ he said, eventually. ‘I do love you.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ She started to say something – probably a request for him to really, truly promise – but he swung his legs out of the bed and picked up his shorts. ‘Let’s go for a cig,’ he said. ‘And then make plans for tonight. I think Jamo and Danny
are going into town.’

  She did not reply. He realized he had said something wrong.

  ‘Into town? Tonight?’ She sat upright and pulled the duvet over her. There was a harsh tone in her voice, like she had had an unwelcome surprise. She shook her head. ‘I thought we had plans tonight.’

  ‘What plans?’

  ‘You said you’d come over this afternoon.’

  ‘I know. And here I am, right now. This afternoon.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, spitting the word out. ‘Go and have your cigarette, then go out with your fucking no-mark mates.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?’

  ‘Come on, Linz. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘I said nothing. Now, go and smoke your fag and then fuck off!’ She shouted the end of the sentence, her face red and scrunched up in anger, then turned to face the wall.

  ‘Lindsey,’ Matt said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. They had recently had a few arguments which had ended with Lindsey screaming at him, almost out of control, while he tried – without success – to placate her. ‘If I did something wrong, I’m so—’

  ‘If?’ she hissed. ‘If? You promised me we’d spend the night in together, and now you say you’re going out in town? How is that if you did something wrong? How?’

  ‘I didn’t promise,’ Matt said. ‘I said I’d come over this afternoon and then—’

  ‘It was a promise to me!’ Lindsey shouted. ‘You think you can come here and get a bit of action and then go off with your shithouse mates? You think you can have your fun and then go into town to find some other girl to chat up? Fine. Do it. Go. Now. Leave.’

  ‘Linz, come on. Please. I guess I misunderstood. If you want to stay in tonight, we can stay in. I’ll get—’

  She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. ‘If I want to stay in? That’s not good enough, Matt. I want you to want to stay in. I don’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who makes her boyfriend do things. If you want to go out, go. I don’t care.’

  She didn’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who made her boyfriend do things? He nearly pointed out the irony of this, given the last ten minutes of their lives, but he decided it probably wouldn’t help matters.