The Choice Page 9

  They pulled up outside Chamberlain Hall.

  ‘Righto,’ his dad said. ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘You want me to stay? We could go for a pint?’

  He hesitated, then his dad laughed.

  ‘I’m only kidding. I’ve got to mow the lawn. You go and find that girlfriend of yours. Love you, Matt.’

  ‘Love you too, Dad.’

  He picked up his rucksack and got out of the car. He’d been planning to drop it off in his room, but he changed his mind. He was going straight to find Annabelle.

  Sunday, 8 March 2020, 4 a.m.

  Matt

  Somehow he had fallen asleep. Not for long – twenty minutes, maximum – but one minute he was sitting on Norman’s bed, in the place he had read countless stories to his elder son, and the next he was opening his eyes.

  And remembering why he was in his son’s empty bedroom at four in the morning.

  They were waiting for instructions from the person who had kidnapped his children, and who was demanding his wife as a ransom.

  His wife, Annabelle.

  Not money. Not a huge news story so they could make a political point.

  Annabelle.

  They wanted her to exchange herself for her children. And then what? What did they want to do with her? Kill her? Keep her in captivity? Was this someone who hated her and wanted revenge? Or a crazed fan who was obsessed with her?

  Whoever it was, they must be insane. There was no way he and Annabelle would go along with this. It was ridiculous.

  At least, that was his initial thought. But the more he thought about it, the harder it was to see any viable alternative. They could involve the police, but Annabelle had ruled that out. They could refuse, but then what would happen to the kids? Or they could do as the kidnapper asked – which was unthinkable.

  Three alternatives, none of them acceptable.

  And so, for now at least, there was nothing to do but wait. He stood and walked out of Norman’s room into his and Annabelle’s bedroom. He lay next to her and stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long few hours.

  Sunday, 8 March 2020, 6.03 a.m.

  Annabelle

  1

  She was lying in bed next to Matt, neither of them able to sleep, when the next message came.

  Again, a new phone number. Again a photo.

  Annabelle stared at it, studying every detail.

  In it, the children were lying under a blanket. Norman was holding an iPad and he and Keith were looking at the screen, their faces lit by the glow from the screen. Molly was asleep next to them. It was hard to see where they were; the wall behind them was not well lit, but it looked like it was metallic.

  A van, then. Or a warehouse. Or something else. A shipping container.

  Matt put his hand on her shoulder. ‘They’re alive,’ he said. ‘At least they’re alive.’

  It was cold comfort. Before she could reply, the next message followed. She held the phone up so they could both read it.

  As you can see from the photograph, your children are safe and unharmed. For now. If you wish to keep them that way, this is what you will do.

  They waited, dots scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

  At 5.30pm today, you and Annabelle will come to the location for the exchange. Details will be sent at 5pm, along with further instructions. I will be monitoring the surrounding area and if there are signs of anyone else, the exchange will be cancelled and your children will be gone for ever. There will be no second opportunity.

  The dots scrolled again.

  Once the exchange is done, Matt will leave with the children. Please indicate your acceptance of these terms immediately. The offer will expire in one hour.

  Matt put his arms around her and pulled her towards him. She could not bring herself to respond. She felt hollow and broken.

  ‘Let’s go downstairs,’ Matt said. ‘Talk to Mike and Tessa. I think I heard someone moving around.’

  2

  Mike was sitting on the couch, a mug of coffee in his hands. Annabelle sat next to him. Matt stood by the window, looking out into the dark morning.

  The door to the living room opened and Tessa walked in. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘I heard you all down here.’

  ‘We got another message,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘What is it?’ Mike said. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Take a look,’ Annabelle said. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a sensation of utter hopelessness. This was getting worse and worse. ‘Take a fucking look.’ She passed him the phone and folded her arms around herself. ‘Sixty minutes to decide what to do,’ she said, as much to herself as to others in the room. ‘Five of them gone already. What do I do? It’s impossible.’

  She turned to Matt. She barely recognized him; his eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, his forehead creased. He looked as though he was suffering intense physical pain.

  ‘Matt,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand what’s happening. I have no idea what I should do. Tell me what to do.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Matt said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s only one option, isn’t there?’ she said. ‘There’s only one thing I can do. It’s what any mother would do.’

  ‘No,’ Matt said. ‘No.’

  ‘But what choice is there?’ Annabelle said. ‘Our children are in danger. And if this is the only way to make them safe, I have to do it.’

  ‘There’s another way,’ Matt said. ‘There has to be.’

  ‘What?’ Annabelle said. ‘What way?’

  Matt stared at her. He didn’t know what way, but he didn’t want to admit it. Saying it would make it real.

  Tessa cleared her throat.

  ‘There could be a possibility,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if it will work, but we could consider it.’

  ‘What is it?’ Annabelle said.

  ‘It might be a long shot,’ Tessa replied. ‘But there’s someone I know who might be able to help.’

  Birmingham, December 2006

  1

  She lay next to him, her hips tight against his in the narrow single bed.

  ‘I have to go and pack,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe term is over.’

  He rolled on his elbow and kissed her. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Stay here. We can live in my room over Christmas, eating beans on toast.’

  ‘You have a toaster?’

  ‘Beans on bread, then.’

  ‘It’s an attractive offer,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think it’s going to work. Plus I’d miss my skiing trip.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The skiing trip.’

  He was glad she was going skiing; he loved her and he wanted her to be happy.

  But he was also sad. Because he was not going to see Annabelle for twelve days.

  Twelve whole days.

  She was going home today. And then tomorrow she was going skiing for a week in Chamonix. Then she would be at home in Richmond for Christmas, and then at her cousins’ house in Scarborough for Boxing Day and then, finally, they would be reunited on 27 December, when he was catching a train and going to stay with her.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Over the last two years – other than for a few days here or there – they had been inseparable. One night, as they lay together, arms and legs entwined, she had said to him, I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this.

  Me too, he said. I want to be with you all the time.

  I know. I knew I liked you when we met, but I had no idea it would turn into this.

  It was the same for me, he said. As soon as I met you I was drawn to you. What is that? That feeling you get right from the start?

  I don’t know, she said. All I know is it’s real and I love you.

  I love you. The words were like a magic charm. He took them everywhere with him. To lectures, the library, the pub: I love you. She. Loves. Me.

  And now she was going skiing. She had invited him – all he had to pa
y was flights and lift tickets and ski rental – but it turned out those things weren’t cheap, and were not something his dad was prepared to invest in.

  Dad, he’d said, on the phone a few weeks earlier, please. It can be my Christmas present, and birthday present. For the next decade.

  Matt, his dad said. It’s pretty expensive. I would if I could, but I don’t think we can make it work.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Time to go. I’ve not even started packing.’ She swung her legs out of the bed and stood. She picked up a T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘It’s nice and warm in here.’

  ‘I don’t have time.’

  He sat up and put his hands around her waist. He kissed her stomach.

  ‘Do you have time for this?’ he murmured.

  It turned out she did.

  When he had packed, he went to Annabelle’s room. It was empty, her belongings in bags by the door. She hugged him tight when he walked in.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two weeks.’

  ‘Twelve days,’ Matt said. ‘Only twelve days.’

  ‘That doesn’t help.’

  ‘I know.’ For a moment he thought about saying Don’t go. Let’s never be apart. You can come to my house, but he bit his tongue. It sounded too much like Lindsey. She was going skiing, and that was that.

  There was a knock on the door. She kissed him and opened it. Guy came in, car keys in his hands.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Ready?’ He held up the keys. ‘Car’s downstairs. Can I help with a bag?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Annabelle said. ‘Do you want to leave soon?’

  ‘I was thinking of it. My uncle wants me to help him with something later today.’ He smiled at Matt. ‘Sorry to tear you two apart.’

  ‘You guys going back to Richmond together?’ Matt said.

  ‘Yes,’ Annabelle said. ‘My dad’s busy, so I asked Guy.’

  So this was it. Goodbye for twelve days. He picked up the heaviest bag. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  2

  ‘So, how was the term?’ His dad glanced at him from behind the wheel. ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘It was good.’ Matt looked out of the window. He didn’t want to talk. It was worse than he had anticipated. He felt wretched; he knew it was pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. He felt bereft without her. The world seemed pointless.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘It was good, Dad, all right?’

  ‘One more year and you’re done. Hard to believe you’ll have a degree and be heading into the world of work. I’m very proud of you, Matt.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘I said I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Pretty much. You know.’

  His dad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Annabelle’s going skiing?’

  ‘Right. It’s twelve days.’

  ‘That’s not terribly long,’ his dad said. ‘And you know what they say. Tempus fugit.’

  ‘Tempus what?’

  ‘Tempus fugit. Time flies.’

  He turned away. His dad was quoting Latin to make him feel better. This was worse than he had thought.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Tempes Flugit.’

  Back at home, his mum handed him a mug of tea.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Your dad and I got you an early Christmas present.’

  She went into the hall. When she came back she was carrying a black carrier bag. She handed it to him.

  ‘Try it on.’

  Matt frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Take a look.’

  He opened the bag and took out a winter coat. It was brown with light blue patches under the arms.

  ‘See if it fits.’

  He stood up and pulled it on.

  ‘It looks good,’ his mum said. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But what’s it for? I don’t need a coat.’

  ‘It’s warm,’ she said. ‘It was on sale. It’s a second. There’s a slight stain on the shoulder.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s great.’

  ‘Glad you like it.’

  ‘It would be good,’ his dad said slowly, ‘for skiing.’

  This was fucking unbelievable. They knew how he felt about Annabelle going skiing without him and now they had bought him a ski jacket, just to rub it in.

  ‘I’m not going skiing, though,’ he said. ‘So maybe you should return it. I don’t want you to waste money.’

  ‘I can’t return it,’ his mum said. ‘It’s a second. And it was a bargain. You can have it for Christmas.’

  He bit his lip. It was a lovely, thoughtful present and he didn’t want to be ungrateful, but part of him wanted to scream, I don’t want it! I don’t need a new coat to remind me where my girlfriend is!

  ‘Gosh,’ his mum said. ‘Look at him. Look at that face.’ She laughed and hugged him. ‘You’re thinking we’re a bit cruel and insensitive, aren’t you? Do you honestly think I’d waste money on a coat like that for no reason? Tell him, Colin.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Matt said.

  ‘You’re going skiing,’ his dad said. ‘Two days from now. I found a cheap flight, and a friend has skis and boots you can borrow. He said they won’t be perfect for you, but they’ll be good enough.’

  He realized after a second that his mouth was open.

  ‘For real?’ he said.

  ‘For real,’ his mum said, with a wide smile. ‘Like we said, it’s an early Christmas present.’

  ‘And birthday,’ his dad said. ‘For ten years. That was what you agreed to, right?’

  ‘Twenty years,’ Matt said. ‘This is amazing. Thank you! Does Annabelle know?’

  ‘Not yet. Her dad does. We arranged it with him a few days ago, but we agreed we’d keep quiet. Make it a surprise. You can tell her.’

  3

  He stood on a moving runway which took him, and the gaggle of four- and five-year-olds he was with, gently up a shallow incline.

  If he was totally honest, he did not enjoy skiing at all. He felt guilty about it, after his parents had paid for the plane tickets and bought him the ski jacket, but he just didn’t really like it.

  It didn’t help that he had two choices: spend the days pottering about on the baby slopes, or try to join in with Annabelle and Mike and some French friend of theirs called Jacques and spend the days terrified of dying.

  The day before, he had joined them for a run. By the time he had finally emerged at the bottom, they were waiting by a log hut, sipping coffees. Annabelle had said, Why don’t you get a bit of practice in before coming with us again?

  I’ll be OK, he replied.

  It’s not you I’m worried about, she said. There are kids up there.

  Great. She was worried he was going to flatten a child. Either way, he was stuck down here while she and her ski buddies zipped from peak to peak. Not only did he feel guilty; it was embarrassing, and it would only get worse when they sat in a bar drinking beer and talking about what they had done during the day.

  Oh my God, the powder was amazing today!

  I’m thinking of telemarking tomorrow. Anyone interested in going off-piste?

  What could he add? I managed to overtake a toddler this afternoon? I’m making real progress! So he’d sit there, not really understanding what they were all talking about.

  At least there would be beer.

  Speaking of which, it was nearly 3 p.m. Maybe he’d get started early.

  4

  ‘There you are!’

  Annabelle walked through the crowd to the table he was sitting at. Her cheeks were flushed and tanned from the fresh air and sun, although there were white circles around her eyes where her goggles had been.

  ‘Hi,’ Matt said. ‘Have a good day?’

  ‘Fantastic. It was amazing. You?’

  ‘Oh, you know. I was one of t
he fastest in my group.’

  She laughed. ‘Are you feeling sorry for yourself?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘You’ll get better,’ she said. ‘Everyone starts somewhere.’

  ‘I suppose. I feel a bit left out. And a touch inadequate.’

  She sat next to him, her boots clumping against the table. ‘You know one of the things – one of the many things – I love about you?’

  ‘Go on,’ Matt said. ‘Tell me. Maybe a few of them.’

  ‘It’s your honesty. Lots of guys would sit there feeling their masculinity had been challenged, then they’d get drunk and try to prove how tough they were by punching someone.’

  Matt held up his beer. ‘This is my third. And I think that guy at the bar is looking at me funny.’

  She giggled. ‘You tell me you feel left out and inadequate – which we all do sometimes – but you don’t take it as an affront to your manhood. It’s so refreshing.’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’d rather be able to ski, but at least that’s something.’

  ‘It’s everything,’ Annabelle said. ‘You’re mature and smart and funny and I love you. And – in case you were wondering – I want to spend the rest of my life with you, even if your skiing leaves something to be desired. Does that make you feel better?’

  Better? Had she just said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? Better didn’t cover it.

  ‘A bit,’ he said. ‘And I feel the same way. Do you think we will spend our lives together?’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we will,’ she said. ‘Nothing could keep us apart, Matt. Nothing.’

  Sunday, 8 March 2020, 6.15 a.m.

  Matt

  ‘So what’s the idea?’ Matt said.

  Tessa pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know if it’ll work, but it could be worth a try.’

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ he said. ‘Who do you know?’