Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [118]
She pushed her legs out, scrambling away from Sally, flipping herself over and stumbling for the door. Sally followed close behind, her hand raised. ‘No!’ she was crying. ‘Don’t go – don’t go!’
But Zoë was out of the door, tumbling down the stairs, breaking into a run, pelting through the streets. It was Bristol, she realized. St Paul’s. Ahead she saw a doorway, a red light coming from it, a hand beckoning her. Hurry up, someone yelled. Hurry up! This is the way through. In here! And then, suddenly, she was standing on a stage, an audience looking expectantly up at her. In the front row were her parents, her first-form teacher and the superintendent. Do something, shouted the superintendant. Do something good. The lighting man frowned from the box at her, and at the back the maintenance man leaned on his broom, grinning up at her. Get on with it, someone yelled. Do something good. Someone was pushing her from behind. When she turned she saw David Goldrab, as a young man, London Tarn.
Zoë, he said. Lovely to see you again, Zoë!
She woke in the hotel room, her hands clutching the sides of the bed, her eyes wide. Her head was aching. She breathed in and out, in and out, staring at the headlights racing to and fro across the wall. After a while she rolled over. The display on the bedside table said 11:09. She groped for her phone – the signal was strong, but no one in that time had tried to call her or text. She wondered who she’d been hoping for. Ben? It was eleven o’clock. He and Debbie would be in bed, maybe sharing a nightcap or cocoa. Or something else.
Debbie. Clean, clean, clean.
She put the phone into her pocket, swung her legs off the bed, went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Then she straightened and considered her reflection. ‘Damn it,’ she hissed. ‘Damn it and fuck it to all hell.’
She knew what she was going to do. She was going to go back to Mooney’s.
23
‘Millie, go to bed.’ A hundred miles to the west, Sally sat at the kitchen table in Peppercorn Cottage, watching her daughter rummage in the fridge for a late-night snack. ‘You’ve got school in the morning. Go on. It’s late.’
‘Jesus.’ She gave her mother a disdainful look. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re so messing with my head.’
‘I’m only asking you to go to bed.’
‘But you’re acting totally weird.’ She turned from the fridge with a carton of milk and gave the wine glass next to Sally’s elbow an accusatory nod. ‘And you’ve drunk tons. I mean tons.’
Sally put a hand protectively over the glass. It was true: she’d drunk the whole bottle and it hadn’t changed a thing. Not a thing. Her head was still hard and taut, her heart racing. ‘Just pour a glass of milk,’ she said, in a controlled voice, ‘and take it to bed.’
‘And how come all the doors are locked? It’s like being in a prison. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to find us all the way out here, for Christ’s sake.’
‘What did you say?’
‘He doesn’t know where I live.’
‘Who doesn’t know where you live?’
Millie blinked, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether she’d heard Sally right. ‘Jake, of course. You’ve paid him now. He’ll leave me alone.’
Sally didn’t answer. The muscles under her ribs were aching, she’d been so scared all day. It was an effort to hold the panic locked inside. After a while she pushed the chair back and went to the pantry for another bottle of Steve’s wine. ‘Just pour the milk. Take it to your room. And leave the windows closed. It’s going to rain tonight.’
Millie banged around the kitchen, getting a glass, pouring the milk. She slammed the carton down on the worktop and disappeared. Sally stood motionless in the pantry, listening to her clump off down the corridor, and slam her bedroom door. She took a breath, rested her head against the wall, and counted to ten.
It was nearly nine hours since Steve’s plane had taken off in Bristol. Nine hours and it seemed like nine years. Nine centuries. Wearily, she pushed herself away from the door, uncorked the wine, carried it to the table and filled her glass. She