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He stood by the door, his arms folded.

‘Don’t do that again,’ he said. ‘Got it, Fruitcake?’

Wednesday, 20 June 2018

Three Days to Go

1

Max sat on the end of the mattress, trying to balance the tinfoil ball on top of a Duplo tower. It was a precarious situation; even if he got it to stick, as soon as he moved, the mattress shifted and the ball fell down.

Every time it fell, Max burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Maggie wasn’t sure why he found it so funny, but she was glad he took so much joy in it. It wasn’t unexpected; Max was one of those people who always saw the light side of everything. Whatever happened, however simple the pleasure, he was almost always happy.

That was how she would remember him. Despite the tininess of his world, the lack of fresh air and friends and sweets and ice cream and all the things a child should have, despite everything he had to put up with, he was happy.

He had a constant smile and bright, inquisitive eyes, and at the slightest provocation – a tickle or a song or a funny face – he would let out an explosive laugh. She could see the man he would have become: charming, engaged and warm. He would listen and smile and laugh and make people feel good about themselves. He made her feel good about herself; if his guffaws were anything to go by, she was the funniest person in the world.

He reminded her of James. He had been prone to fits of giggles; a memory came to her of him, aged about six, clutching his stomach, bent double with laughter at the sight of their dad miming to the song ‘Daddy Cool’.

Max would never get the chance to watch her dad miming. In a few short days he would be gone.

She picked up her pencil and the calendar and put a line through the date. More than halfway there. More than halfway through the last week of Max’s life.

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1

2345678

9101112131415

16171819202122

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30

The image was with her always, now. In her dreams, at night, in her thoughts during the days. All she saw was herself, sprawled in the corner of the room, beaten back and powerless, while the man stood in the doorway, Max in his arms, screaming and looking at her, pleading for him to save her.

Pleas that she could not answer.

And then the door shutting. Max’s screams fading. Silence.

And after that? What would happen to Max, to her laughing, gentle, beautiful boy? The same as happened to Seb and Leo, no doubt. She didn’t know what that was, exactly, but she was sure it was nothing good.

She’d asked the man where Seb was. He had left her alone for two nights after Seb had been taken, but when he came down, wearing his blue robe tied at the waist, she had fought back the tears and asked him.

Where is he? she said. I want to see him. Please.

He shook his head.

That’s not possible.

Why not? Is he OK? Please, tell me he’s OK.

The man didn’t reply. He loosened the belt of his bathrobe and pointed at the bed.

Lie down.