The Escape

‘I was desperate! I was in pain. You have no idea—’

‘No, Jo. You have no idea. Did Sharon tell you that Elise wet herself when no one came to pick her up?’

‘No. I—’

‘Or that she had to put her in another child’s knickers because you forgot to take her bag in this morning? And she was filthy, Jo. Her top was dirty, her hair hadn’t been brushed—’

‘Please, Max. Don’t make me feel worse than I already do. I could barely move this morning but I still got Elise ready the best I could. I didn’t mean to forget her. I didn’t do it on purpose!’

Jo continues to try and explain herself but Max has stopped listening. He’s thinking about his dad. He was twelve the first time he found him passed out on the sofa. He’d just got in from school and there was a strange, bittersweet, almost vinegary scent in the air when he opened the front door. He found the tinfoil, sticky with brown liquid, on the bathroom floor.

‘Have you done it before?’ he asks.

‘What?’

‘Taken drugs. At home?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.’

Over the last couple of months Jo’s behaviour has become increasingly erratic. He’d put it down to her agoraphobia and mental health. No, she’d put it down to that. Neither of them could pinpoint why she was getting worse instead of better. Unless she was self-medicating …

His wife sighs. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking me that.’

‘Sharon said you seemed out of it when you picked up Elise the other day.’

‘That was after Paula threatened me! Jesus, Max. Would you listen to yourself? You’re being ridiculous. Just bring Elise home.’

‘She also said you deliberately dropped Elise when she was a baby.’

‘I was breastfeeding and she bit me! I didn’t do it on purpose. Jesus, Max. Why are we even having this conversation? Just bring Elise home or I–I’ll—’

‘Do what? Take her to Chester? Make sure I never see her again?’ Max is shaking with anger. Jo didn’t see the state their daughter was in when he turned up to collect her. The nursery staff had done the best they could to keep her occupied but her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks tear-stained. As if she hadn’t been through enough – being kept indoors all the time when other little kids were laughing and playing in the sunshine. He’d done his best to understand what Jo was going through. He’d supported her, he’d listened to her, he’d put his own needs last, telling himself that all Jo needed was a bit of time. But she was turning into someone he didn’t recognise.

‘Max, don’t. I said I was sorry about that. I sent you a text and—’

‘Have you got any idea how worried I’ve been, Jo? I thought that Paula had hurt you. Have you rung the police yet?’

Jo pauses for a beat. ‘No.’

There’s something about the hesitation in her voice as she says the word ‘no’ that makes Max frown.

‘Why the hell not? Last night you had a go at me because I wasn’t taking you seriously and now …’ he sighs. ‘We’re going round in circles here. Look, we’re in the Holiday Inn and Elise is fine. She can sleep here with me tonight and I’ll take her to nursery in the morning. If you pick her up after work we can talk more then. OK?’

‘I … I don’t know. I really want to see her, Max.’

‘She’s fine. Honestly.’ He watches as his daughter clambers off the bed and toddles towards him, arms reaching for a hug, a huge smile on her face. ‘I’m sorry for going off the deep end but I was worried, OK, for you and Elise.’

‘I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, Max. When I woke up and realised what had happened I …’ She pauses. ‘Can I talk to Elise? Please. I need to hear her voice.’

‘Sure.’ He places the phone against his daughter’s ear. ‘Elise, sweetie. It’s Mummy. Say hello.’

He listens as his daughter has a garbled conversation with her mother then he wrangles the phone away from her again.

‘I need to go. There’s a Tesco down the road and I need to grab some overnight things for Elise and some clean clothes for nursery tomorrow.’

‘You could come home. There are clothes here,’ Jo says, but the fight has gone out of her voice. She’s accepted that they won’t be coming home tonight.

‘Sleep well, sweetheart,’ Max says. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’

‘OK. Bye.’

The line goes dead and Max slumps against the bathroom doorway, completely spent. His daughter, still standing beside him, reaches out her arms to be picked up and he swoops her up. He presses his face into her blonde curls and closes his eyes as her tiny hands wind their way around his neck.

Charter 11

I saw you, Jo. I watched as you slept, flat on your back, your hands folded on your stomach like a corpse. A nice sleep, was it? Restful? You need to stay awake, Jo. You need to watch what’s happening around you because, if you don’t, if you close your eyes for one second, you’ll lose everything that’s ever mattered to you. Oh wait, too late. That’s already happening.

Charter 12

Max leaves the Bristol News building through the revolving glass front door, his laptop bag swinging from his shoulder, his mobile phone in his hand. He’s running late for his interview with an elderly woman who is the most recent victim of a con by two men masquerading as council drain inspectors. One of them ransacked her house while the other one kept her talking in the living room. He’s keen to run a story to warn the public about the scam but, whenever he mentally runs through the questions he needs to ask, he’s distracted by other thoughts: a niggling worry about his conversation with Jo the night before.

He’d dropped Elise off at nursery in the morning, as planned, then gone to work. When he went home afterwards, Elise threw herself at him the second he walked through the door but Jo barely reacted. She didn’t stand up from the sofa when he walked into the living room, and stiffened when he bent to kiss her hello. He wasn’t sure if she felt bad for leaving Elise at nursery the night before or if she was angry with him for the way he’d reacted, but he didn’t force a conversation. Instead he waited until they’d put Elise to bed then he reached into his messenger bag and handed Jo a bottle of her favourite wine.

‘Peace offering.’

‘Thank you.’

He followed his wife into the kitchen and watched as she opened the bottle, poured the wine and handed him a glass.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as they settled themselves on the sofa. ‘For everything. For losing my shit when I saw you’d been looking for houses in Chester. That was out of order. So was my reaction when you said you’d taken your dad’s medication.

‘It’s the investigation,’ he went on. ‘It’s left me feeling wired and jumpy. And I know that’s no excuse but, after spending six months with low-life scum, I assume the worst about people. I overreacted. I’m really sorry, Jo. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

Jo maintained eye contact with him throughout his apology but there was a strange, distant look in her eyes. It didn’t fade once, not even when he offered to move to Chester with her and Elise. He’d expected her to be excited. He’d imagined her face lighting up. But, instead of throwing her arms around his neck and squealing, she leaned away from him and said, ‘I think we both need some space after everything that’s happened.’

His instinct was to panic, to tell her that was the last thing they needed. But he didn’t. He kept calm and told her he understood. It was fine, he’d stay at the hotel for a couple of nights. Only it wasn’t fine, was it? He didn’t want to be apart from his family.

‘Hello, Martin.’

He is vaguely aware of a woman’s voice as he turns right outside the Bristol News building and heads towards the multi-storey car park where his car is, but he ignores it.

‘Or should that be Max?’

He turns sharply. A woman with bleached blonde hair, a black Puffa jacket and plastered-on make-up smiles tightly.

‘You look surprised to see me, Max.’

‘Do I know you?’

‘Nice, I see what you did there.’ The woman makes a big show of looking to the left, then the right, as though she’s checking who’s listening. ‘Or was that for your wife’s benefit? Is she here? It would be lovely to see her again.’

Max grabs her by the shoulders. ‘Stay away from my wife.’

Paula doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t squeal. Instead she looks him straight in the eyes. ‘What did you expect me to do when you’ve been ignoring my calls?’

‘Leave her alone.’

‘Take your hands off me. Now,’ she adds as a middle-aged couple overtake them on the pavement. The man glances back, a concerned look on his face.

‘I’ll make this very simple for you,’ Paula says in a low voice. ‘You give me what you stole and neither of us ever have to see each other again.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Is that what you told your wife?’

‘Are you mentally ill?’ Max glances back at the glass doors of the Bristol News building. Amy is behind the desk at reception but there’s no sign of Scott, the heavily tattooed security guard. He’s probably secretly eating pizza in the back office or watching porn on his phone while he takes an extended shit.

‘You can play this game all you want,’ Paula says softly from behind him. ‘Claiming not to know who I am or what I want, but you don’t know the first thing about me, Max. You don’t even know my last name.’

‘But the police will.’ He turns to face her. ‘Jo’s filed a complaint. Go anywhere near her again and you’ll be arrested.’

It’s a lie, but he’s not about to admit that. God knows why Jo didn’t call the police. Any sane person would have. But Jo’s not well. She starts at shadows. She overreacts. She sees danger where there isn’t any.

‘The police?’ Paula tilts her head to one side and smiles. Beneath her plump red lips are tobacco-stained teeth. Straight, but yellow. ‘That was a gutsy move, Max, considering they’ll arrest you too once they see the CCTV footage.’

‘CCTV footage? Really? Do the characters on EastEnders give you messages from God too? Perhaps I should give your carer a call? Or a doctor? See you, Paula.’ He raises a hand as he walks away.

She may have scared his wife but she doesn’t scare him. Delusional or not, she can’t be more than five foot three and nine stone whilst he’s six foot two and thirteen stone.

‘You’ll regret ignoring me,’ Paula shouts after him as he steps into the car park. ‘I’ll get what’s mine, even if I have to destroy your family to do it.’

Max takes a sip of his pint and sits back in his chair. The glass judders on the table as he sets it back down. His interview with Mrs Jacobs went well. He got some nice quotes and the photographer who met him at her house snapped some emotive shots of her – vulnerable but brave – but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his encounter with Paula outside work. Her shouted threat as he walked into the car park has unsettled him. At the time he shrugged it off but it’s worked its way into his body and it’s sitting under his skin making him feel prickly and uncomfortable.

He takes another swig of his pint then reaches for his phone. He needs to discuss moving back in with Jo – personal space or no personal space.

He calls her number but it’s engaged. He waits a couple of seconds then tries again. Still engaged. He could text her instead, but texts can be misconstrued. They need to talk. Max logs into Facebook to while away a couple of minutes while he waits for Jo to finish her phone call. As he scrolls through his news feed, he sees the usual humble bragging, food shots, health updates and political rants but nothing that piques his interest. He scrolls, scrolls, scrolls through his friends’ updates then pauses at one of Jo’s posts. Elise gazes up at him from the screen. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her and ketchup smeared all over her mouth. And she’s laughing, really laughing. He checks the time stamp – 7.31 a.m. – and his heart twists with pain. While his wife and daughter were bonding over breakfast he was waking up in a grotty hotel room, alone.

As he continues to stare at the photo an unsettling thought pricks at the front of his brain. It’s been nearly 24 hours since he mentioned moving to Chester to Jo and she hasn’t said a thing about it. He had a text that morning to say that she’d dropped Elise at nursery on her way to work, but nothing else. What’s going on in her head? She should be thrilled that he’s suggested moving to Chester. Isn’t that what she’s wanted all along? Or was it only ever the plan for her and Elise to go? Jo had asked for space and he’d agreed to it – they both need to cool down after everything that’s happened – but it’s killing him, not knowing how she’s feeling.

He logs out of Facebook then logs back in, using Jo’s email address and password instead. He’d watched her tap it into her phone well over a year ago, when she was checking Facebook in a restaurant they’d taken Elise to for lunch one weekend. LiLi1108 – his daughter’s name and the first four digits of her date of birth. He’d almost told her to change it, that it was too easy to guess, but he’d kept quiet instead.

He holds his breath as he presses the blue log in button. She’s bound to have changed it.

But no. The screen refreshes and he’s in. He exhales loudly as he taps the messages icon and feels a surge of adrenalin as he looks through the messages. He shouldn’t be doing this, spying on his wife, but he can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut and—

He inhales sharply. She sent a message to her friend Helen at 9.27 that morning. The first five words are in the preview panel.

I’m going to divorce Max.

Charter 13

‘Where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy, Mummy?’ Elise wanders from room to room, poking her head around the kitchen bar and peering into the downstairs toilet. She’s convinced that Max is playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek. Her face crumples as she completes her second circuit of the kitchen and she plonks herself down on the tiled floor.

‘He’ll be here soon, sweetheart. I’m sure he just got caught up at work.’

On Tuesday night I asked Max for some space. I was going to talk to him about a separation but he threw me when he mentioned moving to Chester. It broke my heart, the way he was smiling at me and the way that smile slowly faded to confusion. There was a time when his suggestion would have thrilled me but so much has changed over the last few years. We’ve both changed. I’m a needy basket-case. He’s a workaholic. I never would have believed that he’d put us at risk but he has. Whatever he did or didn’t do to Paula has to be connected to his work. He’s covered so many court cases it’s inevitable that there are people out there holding grudges against him. Against us. I spent all of yesterday going back and forth with my decision but when I woke up this morning my head was clear. I knew what I had to do.

Max said he’d be home tonight at the normal time but it’s 6.45 and there’s still no sign of him. Elise should be bathed and in her pyjamas by now but I held off a bit so she could spend some time with Max first.

My phone pings. It’s a text from Helen:

Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m a shit friend. I thought I’d replied to your text. I just got your Facebook message. What’s happened?! I can ring you now if you want?

‘Where’s Daddy, Mummy?’ Elise asks again but this time her question is interrupted by a sharp knocking at the front door. Her face lights up and she picks herself up from the floor, hands on the tiles, bottom in the air, and toddles down the hallway towards the front door.

‘Max,’ I say as I release the catch. ‘I didn’t double-lock it. You could have used your—’

But it’s not my husband standing outside the house.

‘Mrs Joanne Blackmore? My name is DS Merriott from Avon and Somerset Constabulary.’ He flashes his badge at me. ‘Could I come in, please?’

There are four police officers standing outside my house: three men and one woman. The man standing closest to me is bald, with thick, black-framed glasses and a dour expression.

‘What’s this about?’ I touch a hand to Elise’s shoulders to reassure her and fight to keep my voice steady. There’s something about the way DS Merriott is looking at me that makes me feel uncomfortable. ‘Is it about Paula? I told the other police officer I’d changed my mind about reporting her.’

‘If we could talk inside, please, madam?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

I usher Elise into the living room and am followed by DS Merriott and the female officer. The two male officers remain in the hall. Elise immediately rushes towards her box of toys by the bay window. I sit down in the armchair. DS Merriott takes the sofa and the female officer squats down by the toy box. She engages Elise in conversation, asking her which is her favourite toy.

‘Mrs Blackmore.’ DS Merriott inches forward on the sofa and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I have a warrant to search your property. We have reason to believe that you may be handling or distributing illegal drugs and this warrant gives us the authority to look in your rooms and outbuildings.’

He hands me an official-looking piece of paper. My name and address are at the top and it’s been signed at the bottom by a magistrate.

‘Drugs?’ The word comes out sharply. When Elise turns to look at me I lower my voice. ‘There has to be some kind of mistake. No one in this house does drugs.’

‘There’s been no mistake, madam.’ He gestures towards the hallway where the two male police officers are hovering. ‘PC Beare and PC Bagnall will conduct a controlled search now. They’ll endeavour not to make a mess.’

‘They’re going to look through all my things? All my personal things?’ The thought makes me feel sick.

‘They’ll look through everything.’

‘There’s a wooden box,’ I say. ‘In the cupboard over there. It’s got … there are mementos inside, of a baby we lost. Handprints, footprints, a little hat. Please,’ – I glance at the two men in the hall – ‘please be careful with it.’

They look at DS Merriott who nods.

‘We’ll get started then, Sarg,’ says the younger of the two.

I sit in my seat, rigid with shock, as they head next door into Max’s home office. Their boots traipse back and forth on the wooden floorboards as they move around his study. Drawers are opened and closed, papers are riffled through. It’s like being burgled whilst you’re still in the house. This is my home. This is where I feel safe. I want to run into the office and tell them to get out.

Instead I say, ‘Can I ring my husband?’

DS Merriott glances down at the notepad in his hands. ‘Max Blackmore,’ he says, more to himself than me. ‘Journalist at the Bristol News. The information we received specifically pertains to you, although, if anything is recovered, we will need to talk to your husband too.’

I feel a pulse of panic. ‘Please! I need to tell him what’s going on.’

A muscle twitches in his jaw. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’

The two young police officers move from Max’s office to the kitchen. Cupboard doors open and shut, glass tinkles and crockery clatters as they continue their search. There has to have been a mistake, that’s the only explanation for what’s going on. Max is vehemently anti-drugs and I haven’t taken recreational drugs since I was in my twenties. This has to be down to Paula.

‘I think I know why this is happening,’ I say and DS Merriott give me a sharp look. ‘Did someone called Paula tell you I was dealing drugs?’

‘I’m not at liberty to reveal details, Mrs Blackmore. All I can say is that a warrant wouldn’t have been granted without good reason.’

Exasperation makes my chest tighten but I keep my voice low and controlled as I tell him about Paula. As I speak, DS Merriott watches me intently but he doesn’t move. His hands remain in his lap, one on his thigh, the other covering his notebook.

I pause for breath. ‘Why aren’t you writing this down? It could be important.’

‘Possibly. What did your husband say when you told him about these incidents?’

‘Well I … I only told him about the first time it happened. I didn’t tell him about the second time because … because …’ What do I say? I can’t tell DS Merriott about me pushing Paula or taking Dad’s medication and then forgetting to collect Elise from school. ‘Because Max didn’t take me seriously when I told him about the first incident. He said he didn’t know a Paula. But he’s a crime reporter. I imagine lots of people have a grudge against him. Whoever she is she knows him and she’s been threatening me and my daughter.’

‘And you didn’t think to report this?’

‘No. Well. I did. I spoke to someone but I … I changed my mind. I thought Paula would leave me alone. But she hasn’t. She’s done this.’

One of the young male police officers appears in the doorway to the living room. He holds out a gloved hand, his fingers almost completely enclosing whatever lies in his palm, but not quite. I can see the corner of a clear plastic bag protruding from beneath his curled little finger.

‘Sarg,’ he says. ‘We’ve found something.’

Charter 14

‘Please.’ I have to fight to control my breathing as DS Merriott leads me towards a black Ford Focus and opens the door. ‘I told you. Paula’s behind this. I don’t do drugs. Neither does my husband.’ I look up into the detective’s expressionless face. ‘Please, if we could just wait until Max gets home he’ll back me up.’

‘We’ll talk at the station.’

DS Merriott puts a hand on the top of my head and lightly pushes me towards the back seat of the car. I twist around and look over my shoulder, searching for a glimpse of my daughter. She’s got to come to the station with me because there’s no one else to look after her. I was allowed to put her coat and shoes on as one of the male officers took Elise’s car seat out of my car then the female officer took over.

‘Mummy!’ The door on the other side of the car opens and my daughter’s curly blonde head appears. She scrabbles across the seats and parks herself in the car seat in the middle as the female officer gets in beside her.

Elise watches me intently as I strap her in. If I give into the fear that is building inside me she’ll become scared too.

DS Merriott, in the driver’s seat, glances back at us and I feel myself grow hotter and hotter under his appraising gaze. The metal frame of the car feels like it’s closing in and the air feels too thick and cloying to breathe.

‘Could you open it?’ I gesture at the closed window to my right. ‘I need some air.’

‘Mummy?’ Elise’s tiny fingers weave their way through mine. ‘Mummy?’

‘Are you going to be sick?’ DS Merriott asks over the electronic drone of the window being lowered.

I’m too panicky to speak so I incline my head towards the window, take a deep breath of cold February air and count to three in my head as I inhale. I do the same as I exhale. I imagine myself on holiday in Rhodes with two friends, a long time before I met Max. I am lying on my back in the sea, sculling with my hands. My eyes are closed and I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I can hear the muffled sound of my friends’ laughter. I feel safe, peaceful, relaxed, happy. An intrusive thought pops into my mind, of the two police officers staring at me, judging me, thinking I’m mad, but I push it away. I am not in any danger. Nothing bad is going to happen to me.

It feels like for ever before I am calm enough to speak. I sit forward in my seat, the back of my shirt clinging damply to my back, and make eye contact with DS Merriott in the rear-view mirror. I’m too ashamed to tell him what just happened.

‘I’m OK now.’ I reach an arm around my daughter’s shoulders and pull her into me. ‘Mummy’s OK.’

In the last two hours I’ve been interviewed, photographed and had my fingerprints and DNA taken. I nearly had another panic attack when the female officer said she was taking Elise to a separate room but DS Merriott put a steadying hand on my arm and said, ‘The calmer you are the quicker we can do this. You don’t want your little girl to get upset, do you?’ So I played along; I gave Elise my best ‘happy, excited Mummy smile’ and told her to have fun with the nice lady while Mummy had a quick chat with the policeman.

I felt like I was in a film, or a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from, as the Duty Sergeant told me that I was under arrest on suspicion of the possession of controlled drugs. The questions came thick and fast. Do you want a solicitor? Do you have any illness or injury? Are you suffering from any mental ill health or depression? Are you taking or supposed to be taking any tablets/medication? Have you ever tried to harm yourself?