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‘It won’t be just your dad they’ll kill, it’ll be all of us. You know that.’ Sam said this in a very calm voice. Beth recognised it as the one he used after having one of his shouting fits in the bathroom. The calm voice was a good thing.
‘They will have been tracking the mobile,’ Sam continued. ‘For all we know they may be only a few miles away.’
‘They said they would kill my father.’
‘They won’t,’ he replied. And then Sam did something very un-Sam-like. He reached out his hand and placed it on the woman’s shoulder.
‘Stop it,’ she said, but Sam’s hand didn’t move and he continued to talk in his super-calm voice.
‘Maggie, your father is a bargaining chip. You know that. Either they will have killed him already or they will keep him alive for as long as they think he is useful.’ Sam removed his hand. ‘If we had kept the mobile turned on, they would have caught us all. Your dad wouldn’t want that. He would want you to live. It’s what dads do. They want their kids to live long an
d happy lives. And if anything threatens their kids, they’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. Absolutely anything. I know that only too well.’
‘And I know something too,’ the woman said. ‘You’re a bastard.’ But at least she wasn’t shouting any more. Mind you, Beth thought, it would be a lot safer if she kept her eyes on the road, rather than keep looking at Sam as she drove.
‘Shush!’ Sam said glancing behind him. ‘Remember we’ve got Matt in the back.’
Beth could have pointed out that she’d heard Sam swear lots of times, but she didn’t. She wasn’t going to diss Sam in front of this woman. Besides, she was feeling tired. In the front the two adults fell silent. She was relieved to see that the woman now had both hands on the steering wheel. As for Sam, his right hand was resting on the woman’s shoulder again. Now that, Beth thought as her eyelids flickered shut, was very odd. Very unlike Sam indeed.
* * *
‘I need to spend a penny,’ Arthur said. It was the first time he had said anything since they had got into the car, nearly two hours previously.
Elgar, sitting in the back with the old man while Bridget drove, turned to look at him. He had been lost in his own thoughts and for a moment he wondered if he had imagined it. The old man was looking straight ahead, eyes open wide, mouth firmly shut. He looked like he was lost in his own world. Elgar wondered what that world might be. Was it one of confusion and chaos? Where am I? Who am I? Or was it a world of memories? Childhood. First love.
‘I don’t want to wet my trousers,’ the old man said, more loudly.
Bridget swore. ‘Can’t you wait?’
Arthur didn’t reply.
‘Just pull up somewhere, for God’s sake,’ Elgar snapped. It was him sitting next to Arthur, not her. ‘Or the whole car will stink of piss.’
He half expected Bridget to snarl back, which was her usual modus operandi. She merely gave a gasp of irritation and a flick of her head. She began to slow down.
She pulled into a field entrance with a locked metal barrier across it. Arthur got out and urinated by the barrier, while Bridget slipped under the bar and disappeared behind the hedge. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ she ordered needlessly. Elgar felt a surge of resentment. Why wouldn’t he keep an eye on him? And even if he didn’t, what were the chances of the old boy high-tailing it while his back was turned? Nil! As if to prove his point, Arthur clambered back into the car and strapped himself in, a vacant smile on his face.
Elgar took his turn to relieve himself and then began a few stretch exercises. When Bridget reappeared, she leaned against the barrier, allowing the breeze to ruffle her hair. Elgar went and stood next to her. He spoke in lowered tones. ‘Maybe kidnapping the old man was a mistake.’
Bridget said nothing. After several seconds he glanced sideways at her. Almost immediately she turned and gave him one of her stares. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘He’s an encumbrance,’ he replied.
‘He’s a card we may need to play,’ she said, turning her face back towards the wind.
‘He’s gaga,’ Elgar insisted. ‘He’ll be pushing up the daisies soon enough anyway, so why would his daughter risk everything to save him?’
‘Why?’ She gave a hoot of derision. ‘That is the reason, you idiot,’ she continued. ‘Because she’s his daughter. She’ll want to save him. She’ll capitulate.’
‘If we need to move fast, he’ll be in the way.’
‘If he’s in the way, we’ll get rid of him.’ She spoke slowly, one word at a time, like a teacher explaining something to a particularly stupid schoolboy. He hated it when she did that.
‘We could set him free somewhere remote,’ he went on. ‘Like here. He’s never going to remember us.’
Bridget’s only reply was the slightest shake of her head. Then she walked over to the car and got in. Elgar shrugged and followed. The lady’s not for turning. The expression should have been coined for the hard-nosed bitch he had to work with. Margaret Thatcher was small fry in comparison.
* * *
