‘It’s all a lie. I don’t know if I can—’
‘You can. For me.’
‘But what about the logistics? How would it happen? When?’
‘You leave that to me. The less you know, the better. When you stand in front of the camera and plead directly to the abductor, I want the shock on your face to be genuine. The more the public root for you, the more they’ll feel inclined to donate.’
‘What if it backfires?’
‘It won’t. It’s foolproof. I’m surprised no other families have done this. I’m sure in years to come they will. I’ve planned it so meticulously nothing can go wrong. We’ll be back on our feet financially. I know it’s a disruption for the girls but a few days is better than ripping their lives apart long-term. They won’t have to change to state schools or live on a rough estate where they’d probably end up on drugs. I know it seems extreme but I’ve given it so much thought. We can go to Florida afterwards, make it up to them. Even have family therapy if you feel it’s needed, but I genuinely believe they’ll be fine. They’re young. In time they’ll forget it ever happened. It will be just one small event in their long and happy lives.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. Trust me.’
‘I do,’ said her mum but Marie wasn’t sure who she trusted any more. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Although she didn’t know what her dad had planned, she knew it was bad, very bad indeed – and she was the only one who knew.
The only one who could stop him.
Chapter Forty-Four
Marie
One week ago
Marie drifted around her flat after her sisters had left. Although they hadn’t been here for long, their absence was noticeable everywhere; from the dip in the sofa where Carly had sat, to Leah’s untouched tea on the table, and the pangs in Marie’s heart. They hadn’t agreed to the TV interview but it hadn’t gone as badly as it could have done. Despite their initial outrage – the awkwardness that always seemed to settle around them whenever they met – there was something else. Hope. This year, Marie hadn’t tried to justify the unjustifiable – absolving herself of the blame that pressed on her shoulders like a concrete cape – by steering the annual conversation in its usual direction – the it wasn’t as bad as we thought, was it? and it’s made us into the people we are today – as though the abduction had been a good thing.
It hadn’t.
And that knowing. That godawful knowing – crawling across her skin – that she could have stopped it. That she should have stopped it. The constant itch of guilt that she couldn’t scratch, that alcohol couldn’t numb. That couldn’t be sated by the stream of men that woke up in her bed. She didn’t trust any of them and she wondered if she had ever been really loved by the many hands that had touched her. She didn’t believe she had.
But her sisters had loved her once. They still did. She knew this from the way they would drop everything to sit in a freezing theatre while she overacted for a barely-there audience, Leah’s hands slapping together like an over-enthusiastic seal, the way they had done when Marie had put on plays when they were small.
‘Again, Marie, again.’
The way they scolded her when she returned after disappearing on a tour she hadn’t told them about, promising them she’d let them know next time. Not telling them that there hadn’t been a tour, instead a round of dirty bars and faceless men and a pounding headache that she dulled with vodka whenever her hangover crept back in. Whenever her thoughts crept back in.
Sometimes it got too much, their love – and yet she craved it, but not as much as she craved forgiveness. She tried to be a good sister but she was the shadow twin. The darkness to Leah’s light. As much as she needed to be around her sisters, the burden of truth always sent her scuttling away from them again. She wanted them to miss her but equally she wanted them to forget her.
It was all such a mess.
Marie picked up the plate of biscuits before setting them back down again. She was twitchy, unable to settle. Her veins felt empty as her craving built until the thought of a hit was all-consuming, but her stash was as empty as her purse. God, why had she slipped into drugs? It was so much easier, so much more socially acceptable when it was just the alcohol. But she’d gained a reputation as a drunk and once the acting offers dried up she had thought that if she stayed sober but dabbled in substances occasionally just to take the edge off, it would be easier.
She was such a fool.
She’d make herself a cup of tea although she knew her spasming stomach would likely throw it back up.
While the kettle boiled she checked her phone – two missed calls from George. Her body went hot at the thought that Leah could have picked up his call. What had she become? Secrets. Lies. She was an awful, terrible person. Her skin itched. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.
What was she going to do?
If she wanted to repair her fractured relationship with Leah and Carly she couldn’t push them into doing the interview. Understandably, they were shocked that Marie would even suggest going on a live TV show to rip off the scab they were always picking at, knowing how raw it would be underneath. And Marie couldn’t explain it to them, no matter how much she wanted to.
Carly was partly right – initially, Marie had been attracted to the large sum of money on offer. God knows she needed it. She owed her dealer a small fortune. Two weeks ago he’d pushed her up against the wall in the alley next to the Dog and Duck, the slime coating her back, skin grazing her elbows as he pinned her wrists against the rough bricks. Rain plastered her hair to her scalp as he pressed his mouth against her ear. She could smell his breath, coffee and smoke. Panic cut off her air supply. Just being back in an alley again could do that to her, even disregarding what he wanted to do to her.
‘Fourteen days. You ’ave fourteen days to pay or I’m gonna break yer legs. Yer face.’
‘I can’t.’
He shoved his hand roughly between her legs. ‘Lucky yer got sommat you can sell then, ain’t it?’
To her eternal shame, Marie hadn’t fought back. She’d let him shove his fingers inside her knickers before she dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut as she heard him unzip his jeans.
Afterwards he’d tossed a foil wrap on the floor and she’d scrambled for it like a stray dog tossed a scrap of meat.
‘Don’t fink this means I’ve knocked any off your debt, yer skank. I were just trying yer out.’ Her pinched her cheeks between his thumb and index finger. ‘Yer ain’t all that.’ He pushed her roughly and left Marie face down in a filthy puddle, the feel of his fingers still inside her, the sour taste of him in her mouth.
She dragged herself up and stuffed the wrap inside her bra before stumbling home. Back in the flat she didn’t strip off her sodden clothes, she didn’t cram her tainted knickers in the bin, she didn’t even shower. It wouldn’t have made any difference, she’d not felt clean for years. Instead she waited for the hit and wished that alcohol was still enough to numb her.
The following day – despite her good intentions to stay home, ride out the withdrawal symptoms – Marie found herself applying eyeliner with a shaking hand, slicking red gloss on the lips she was prepared to wrap around a stranger for a crumpled note. She stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back. Marie hadn’t known who she was since she was eight years old. She was a keeper of secrets. She could do this. She always was an actress.