She looked up at him as though only just remembering he was there. ‘When I was a kid, my cousin locked me in a wardrobe and it scared the crap out of me. Made me a bit claustrophobic for a while. This hasn’t happened for ages—I’m so sorry.’ She pressed her palm to her chest. ‘I feel like I can’t breathe properly,’ she said, sinking to the floor, tucking her legs in and resting her forehead on her knees. ‘I really need to get out of here.’
Mo crouched down beside Netta, wondering briefly if he should hug her but settling for a pat on her back. Remembering the emergency exit button he’d noticed next to the locked door, he stood and strode across the room to the intercom and rang the buzzer. Once, twice, three times. No answer.
‘I think our mate Callum might’ve taken a smoko.’
Netta was deep breathing now, her eyes fixed on the carpet in front of her feet, her hands clasped tightly around her knees.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Mo. ‘I’ll get us out of here.’
They’d already worked out the wizard had cast the spell because of a broken heart. He’d fallen for the woman they’d seen through the window, and her rejection had broken his heart so completely, he’d sent everyone in the village except for her into an eternal sleep so that she could feel his loneliness for herself. Talk about revenge.
Mo gave Netta a tentative rub on the back. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said, and stepped towards the shop counter, slipping behind it to look for clues. The narrow door behind it was ajar, and he peeked in to see an upholstered chair and a small side table. A leather-bound book sat on the table, the light from a brass lamp shining directly on its cover. He grabbed it, flicking through pages filled with loopy calligraphy in thick black ink until the very last page, where the ink changed to red and the words read:The tune is sweet and she is the key to break the spell of eternal sleep. The tune is sweet? Mo focused on the music that had been playing incessantly during their search, the same classical piece over and over, and racked his brain. He hummed along with the melody to access his deeper musical memories, the ones buried under his own songs. It was Beethoven, he was sure of it.Für Elise. He searched the room for a piano or a keyboard in case he had to play the song to get them out, but there were none. The only thing he could find with keys was an old typewriter hidden in the back corner, surrounded by dragon statues and bunches of dried herbs.
‘Worth a shot,’ he muttered to himself. ‘“She is the key”.’
He clacked out E L I S E on the ancient keys and the door to the escape room clicked open.
Mo ran to Netta’s side. ‘We’re out. Let’s go.’
She wrapped an arm around him as he helped her up, her legs wobbly as they made their way from the room.
‘Congratulations!’ boomed Callum, standing right outside the door, his beard askew and a distinct smell of weed emanating from his cloak. ‘You have broken the spell! The townspeople are saved!’
‘What the fuck, Callum?’ hissed Mo. ‘Where were you when I pressed the emergency intercom?’ He tipped his head towards Netta. ‘We needed out fifteen minutes ago, mate.’
‘Oh,’ said Callum, taking in Netta’s obvious brokenness. ‘Shit. I’m so sorry.’ He held a piece of paper out to them like a peace offering. ‘Would you still like your certificate?’
‘I’ll take it,’ piped up Netta, standing straighter. ‘I reckon we earned it.’
Mo gave Callum a hard sideways glance and stopped short of the front door to send a text message, its reply coming almost instantly. ‘All clear outside,’ he said in explanation. ‘My driver’s waiting. I use her when I’m in the city. Parking’s a bitch so I leave the Jeep at the car service depot and she takes me from there. Means I can get straight to the door of wherever I’m going without being seen, usually.’ He pushed the door open and held it for her. ‘Probably makes me seem like a bit of a diva.’
They went outside into the weak winter sunlight. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ Netta said, clutching the certificate, the colour returning to her face. ‘Very embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ said Mo. ‘I’ve had a panic attack before. They’re no joke.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Right before I went on stage in Tokyo a few years ago. It was brutal. I thought I was dying.’ He gestured to the shiny black parked car. ‘My driver can take you straight back to the hotel if you like.’
Netta shook her head. ‘I think I need a drink after that. Medically.’
‘Well, in that case, I know just the place,’ said Mo. He looked around at the emptied back street the escape room was tucked away in. If they were quick, they should be able to make it to the restaurant he was thinking of without attracting too much attention. ‘It’s just around the corner. We can walk if you need some fresh air?’ He slid his beanie and glasses on and hooked out his arm so she could slip her hand through. It settled easily in the crook of his elbow and it felt good. Too good.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NETTA
They fell into an easy silence as they walked down the back streets, the razor edges of Netta’s panic growing duller with every step. Mo’s admission about Tokyo had taken any embarrassment she may have felt otherwise out of the equation. It was a comfort knowing he understood. She hadn’t had a panic attack for years and years before today—so long that she’d assumed she’d just outgrown it. But that room had been so small and cluttered and airless andlocked.And, she guessed, if that fear was ever going to return, it’d choose a time when she was already operating on a default mode of high anxiety. She was lucky it hadn’t happened on the plane.
‘So, a wardrobe, huh?’ said Mo.
‘I was in my Narnia phase,’ Netta said simply. ‘And he was a little turd. I was in there for ages.’
‘Childhood, hey?’ said Mo, his tone sombre. ‘It’s a jungle.’
He pulled his elbow in, bringing Netta’s hand closer to his body. Having her hand tucked snugly against him felt wanton and yet also strangely natural, and it struck her that if anyone saw them walking along together, they would probably assume they were a couple. In that moment, she had to fight hard against her age-old tendency to mentally flip forward to a full-blown fantasy relationship. It was a bad habit that had seen her get involved with the wrong guys too many times. And escape-room heroism and philanthropy and inherent kindness aside, this man, with his reputation and tattoos and secrets, was a classic ‘pre-Pete Netta’ choice. Otherwise known as a terrible, terrible idea.
