I thumped my feet against the side of the chest, banging and banging. The chest was solid and had no give in it, but it was the only thing near enough to lash out at. I was still wearing slippers and after about ten swings at it, I felt like my heels had cracked in half.
‘That’s the baby making a fuss,’ she said. ‘I’d better go to her.’
No – it’s ME. I’m in the cellar. Listen to where the sound’s coming from… I carried on through the pain barrier, making my feet numb.
‘We’ll just need your contact details before we go,’ said the detective sergeant. ‘Just in case we need to speak to you again.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll write everything down.’
I heard the patter of feet, a silence and then the front door opening.
‘Thanks again.’
I gave one final thrust at the chest, but all it did was set off renewed pain in the tender spot on my temple. Clunk – the front door closed. The footsteps disappeared and I was left with silence crushing down on me.
Chapter 50
I curled up into a tight ball. My feet were on fire now. If the pain was anything to go by, I’d beaten them to a pulp trying to get the police upstairs to hear me.
The officers had gone. I heard the engine rev up and then fade away, taking my chance of escape with them. Was I going to die down here? Was Karen just going to leave me with no food or water?
I kept thinking about Stuart; kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye. All I’d wanted was to be with him – and here he was right beside me – but of course he wasn’t here at all. And never would be – ever again.
The finality of it hit me, grief clutching at my insides. His life was over. And my chance of happiness was gone. I could just sink down and give up. Wait for thirst, cold and starvation to claim me – so I’d be able to join him.
A yawning gap of time seemed to pass before a sound outside startled me. A car door, then another. I hitched over to the side wall and pressed my ear against it. I felt like a seal, lumbering around out of water. Voices. Muffled footsteps muted in the snow.
I sat back, lamenting the fact that the only window was on the other side, with bars on, facing the wrong way. The wall I was next to was brick and mostly underground, but there were places near the top where it had crumbled and a botch-job had been done with plaster and thin timbers to patch it up.
With my ankles tied, I managed to roll onto an upturned plastic box and hitch my way onto my knees. Searching the damaged brickwork, I found that at one point, there was a tiny hole. I lined my eye up to it and had to pull away as the blast of cold air stung me. I tried again, blinking to protect my iris.
Karen’s 2CV had gone. She really had left me here to die. After everything we’d been through, this was how much she valued me. There was a police van parked on the track and several figures in white boiler suits were gravitating towards the byre.
Two figures disappeared inside and I pictured the interior. The snow we piled over Charlie would have melted, then maybe frozen again into a dome of ice.
What had we left behind? I didn’t care anymore about any incriminating evidence – I just wanted them to find something. Anything to give them a reason to come back to the cottage. We weren’t due to leave for three more days and Mrs Ellington might not bother to clean straight away, if she was planning renovations.
I thought about Charlie and the awful smell that had come from his corpse, then took a sideways glance at Stuart. My beautiful, kind Stuart. He, too, would start to decompose in the next day or so. How could I let that happen to him?
In that instant, I felt a surge of energy. I sent up desperate prayers to any god who might be listening to help me.
Stuart wouldn’t want me to give up. He’d want me to fight. I was the only one who knew the truth; I had to see it through.
It must have been mid-afternoon and what little light there was, was receding like a fast tide. I needed to find something sharp I could rub against my ankles to snap the washing line. The wire around my wrists wasn’t going to be easy to break, but the washing line was old.
When I’d been down here before looking for the phone, there had been tools hooked onto the wall. Somehow I managed to get to my feet. I hopped to the bench and felt around, my hands still firmly fastened together. I had to do everything backwards as my hands were tied behind me.
I felt the knobbly head of a hammer, a wrench – then a hacksaw. Luckily, it was small and I was able to hook it over my fingers. I squatted down and lined my heels up either side of the blade. It tore a hole in my socks and cut into the skin, but I kept going, up and down, knowing the alternatives were far worse. Before long, the outer plastic gave way, then the rope inside snapped.