Page 31

CHAPTER 31

OLIVIA – D AY T HREE

‘Right. So make yourselves at home. We’ll be here for a bit.’ My father is standing by the door and locks it from the inside. It’s dark and he uses the torch on his phone at first, then pulls two camping lights from his rucksack and switches one on.

I glance around the caravan. It’s old. Dirty and neglected. Remote too – at the end of a bumpy and windy track. We haven’t been here in years. I had no idea my father still had it. That it was still here even.

Chloe moves closer, eyes full of fear and confusion. She clings to me as Amelie stands alongside us, head bowed and silently crying. The horror of our new situation and the weight on my shoulders suddenly feels crushing. Dry mouth. Pulse increasing.

The lights look battery powered and I’m immediately worried how quickly the batteries will drain.

‘It’s OK, girls.’ I try to keep my tone calm. Cough to clear my throat. I can’t let them see how afraid I am. ‘This is going to be fine. Like a little adventure.’ I reach out to take Amelie’s hand to find it’s clammy. Trembling. I give it a squeeze, all the while my father watching so closely.

‘So, the girls are probably hungry,’ I say. ‘So what were you thinking we do about food? Maybe a shop? We could all go to a supermarket together. Get some supplies? Food. And some cleaning things. Maybe torches and batteries too?’

I smile at my father to play along as if this is a little holiday, scanning the caravan and trying to remember the last time I was here. As a small girl. My mother standing at the little sink and cooker, making food. When was that? Ten years ago? No. More.

I need to somehow coax my father into a calmer place. Unpick this madness. I’m hoping if we take Amelie to the shops someone will recognise us and this hell will be over. ‘We could get sandwiches for tonight and some things for breakfast. Maybe some bacon?’ Dad loves bacon sandwiches. And shops will have CCTV. ‘There must be somewhere with twenty-four-hour opening.’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he says firmly. ‘Not tonight. You need to sleep. Get to bed.’ He glances around the caravan as I try again to remember the layout. There’s a door to a tiny bedroom. Yes. I remember my parents took that little room. Just a bed with a few fitted cupboards above on one side. One high and tiny, narrow window. It’s coming back to me now; I had to sleep in the sitting area, the bench converted to a bed.

‘When am I going home?’ Amelie’s voice is shaking, tears pouring down her face.

‘It’s OK, Amelie.’ I squeeze her hand again and pull Chloe close into my side. ‘I used to come here for adventures when I was a little girl. And we always went home afterwards. It’s on a farm, this place. And it’s near a lovely wood. We could maybe go for—’

‘Stop it, Olivia. Just stop it. Not another word, OK?’ He looks around the caravan. ‘I’ll go and get some supplies. But you need to stay here and make the beds ready. And first we need to give thanks. All together.’

He looks at us in expectation. Amelie turns to me with panic in her eyes, but Chloe is already on her knees, hands together in prayer. Ready. Practised. She has done this a hundred times before. It’s one of Grandad’s rules.

The floor is filthy but I kneel too and stretch out with my hand to touch Amelie. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘This is just a family thing.’

Amelie looks even more terrified but, to my relief, follows our lead. Puts her hands together. ‘We don’t go to church,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Everyone should go to church,’ my father barks. ‘And we wonder why the world is the way it is. Teenagers having babies. Girls running away to London.’ He stares daggers at me, eyes blazing, and then raises his hands, palms upwards like a priest.

‘Dear Lord. We beg forgiveness for our sins and thank you for your patience. For our health and for this place. And for all that you give us. We are so grateful.’

‘We are so grateful,’ Chloe and I chant together. My father glares at Amelie.

‘We are so grateful,’ she says in a little voice full of fear. Relief courses through me. Clever girl.

‘We rejoice in our father in heaven, and we honour our true and familial father on Earth.’ Still his hands are cupped upwards. Chloe has her head bowed, well used to this. Amelie’s hands are trembling as she holds them together in prayer. She has stopped crying but her eyes are terrified and confused.

‘You can all take the bedroom. There are sleeping bags and blankets in the drawer under the bed. I won’t be gone long.’

No one moves.

‘I said you can take the girls into the bedroom, Olivia.’

As we all stand slowly, I glance at the bedroom door to see there’s a bolt on the outside at the top. A heavy metal bolt with a padlock. I remember again that the window in the bedroom is tiny. No way even Chloe could squeeze through. ‘But they might need the toilet while you’re out,’ I say. ‘And I think they’re hungry now. How long will you be? Why don’t we come with you—’

‘ No , Olivia,’ he bellows. ‘You go to the toilet now. All of you. Chloe first.’ He reaches out his hand and Chloe takes it as he guides her to the tiny toilet cubicle. ‘You be a good girl for Grandad.’

Chloe steps inside the cubicle but then stops. ‘It stinks. And there’s no light. I don’t like it.’ My father moves forward and pushes her inside, holding the door ajar for her. I can’t bear to watch. Chloe’s getting really scared.

‘It’s OK. Grandad won’t shut the door fully,’ I say. ‘It’s like camping, Chloe. Only it’s better than a tent because we have a roof and won’t get wet.’

We wait. I watch my father holding the door ajar and wonder if he has my phone in one of his pockets or if he left it at the house. How the hell am I going to get help for us? Pull him back from whatever this madness is?

After Chloe, Amelie is encouraged to use the toilet. At first she refuses but I press her, worried about how long we’ll be trapped in the bedroom. Will he actually lock us in? I tell her I will guard the door if she’s embarrassed. Several minutes pass with her inside.

‘You OK in there, Amelie?’

‘Yes. Fine. It’s just hard to see.’

The noise of the flush as my heart starts to race. I need the toilet myself but don’t want to leave the girls with my father. Not with him in this weird state. He has been up and down over the years but nothing as bad as this. I close my eyes briefly, thinking suddenly of what happened in the cellar recently and realising that I am at fault; that I should have seen this coming ...

I take a breath. I have no idea how long he will be gone to get food. Or if he will even come back. I have no choice but to use the toilet until I work out what’s going to happen next. I’m assuming the bolt means he is going to lock us in the bedroom and so I’m already trying to figure out a plan to escape. Caravan walls can’t be that solid, can they? I frown, wondering which window might break most easily, the one in the bedroom or the bigger one in this part of the caravan?

‘Here,’ I say finally, taking a small book from my backpack and handing it to Amelie. ‘Will you read this to Chloe while I use the toilet? Can you do that for me? She loves this book and I’ll be really quick.’ I widen my eyes, pleading with Amelie to cooperate.

How I wish now I’d had more time to pack before we left. There were just minutes to get a backpack ready. My father insisted we leave immediately. I grabbed a few books and juice cartons and wipes. Unbeknown to my father, I also have a packet of biscuits and three tiny boxes of raisins. It was all I could manage as he hurried us out of the house. I realise now I should have been more methodical. Thought of a torch. What if he’s gone for ages? Abandons us? What if I can’t break out of the bedroom?

‘Sure. I can read to her,’ Amelie says. ‘I’m a good reader.’

‘Good girl.’ I watch them sit together on the bench close to the battery light. Then I use the toilet as quickly as I can. Chloe was right. The flush works – must have some kind of battery back-up – but it still stinks.

When I emerge, my father’s holding a large bottle of water, presumably from his own backpack. In his other hand he has a big bar of soap.

‘Right. We need to do our cleansing now. Before I go out.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I say. ‘Girls. Come here so we can all wash our hands.’

There’s a tiny red plastic bowl in the caravan’s stainless steel mini sink. My father pours some of the water into the bowl and I go first to show Amelie what to do.

‘I wash my hands in the name of the Lord,’ I say. ‘To cleanse my flesh and to cleanse my soul.’

Amelie again looks as terrified as she is confused.

I help Chloe next, coaxing her to repeat the words in her small voice. ‘I wash my hands in the name of the Lord. To cleanse my flesh and to cleanse my soul.’

I dry her little hands on a grubby old tea towel by the sink.

‘And you,’ my father barks, nodding his head towards Amelie, who steps up to the bowl. I move closer to help her. ‘Say it after me. I wash my hands in the name of the Lord.’

‘I wash my hands in the name of the Lord.’

‘To cleanse my flesh and to cleanse my soul.’

Tears are once more rolling down Amelie’s cheeks, her bottom lip trembling as she pauses to take a deep breath before finally continuing, ‘To cleanse my flesh and to cleanse my soul.’

My father then opens the bedroom door. ‘Inside.’ He holds out one of the lights and flicks the switch on the other.

‘No. Please. There’s no need to lock us in,’ I try, taking the light all the same. ‘We can wait for you out here.’

‘You do as I say, Olivia. Right now! ’ His tone is furious once more. He grabs my arm and shoves me roughly into the bedroom. Both terrified girls follow, clinging to me and crying again. So that as he slams the door and bolts it from the outside, I hold them tight, trying again to soothe them but fearing that by challenging my father, I am simply making things worse.