Danger's Edge

2 Hours

“Alesha, I know what I have to do now. I can’t thank you enough for your help, but I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me. You’ve been away from your desk for ages. You’d best go back.”

“I will not let you face this alone. You need someone to stay with you, and unless you have any better ideas, then I’ll be the one, for now at least. But you’re right, I can’t just walk out from the office without saying something and I need to pick up my bag and jacket at any rate. Will you be okay if I leave you for a few minutes while I tell the witch what’s happening?”

I nod.

“I don’t care if she likes it or not, I’m coming with you,” she adds. “So, don’t go anywhere until I come back. I won’t be long.”

“Okay, thanks, I really appreciate it,” I say, forcing the edge of a smile. It’s meant to reassure her, but I fear it may make my face look more like a horror mask, thereby having the opposite effect. “While you’re away, I’ll try phoning Jenny to see what she knows.”

Alesha gives my shoulder a squeeze then rushes out the door.

I stand again, placing my handbag on the worktop and I rummage, looking for my mobile. I lift out the phone case and open it only to find that my phone has been dismantled. The back of the case has been removed and the battery and SIM card are lying loose in the case. As my thinking is becoming more coherent, I realise the implications. Being ill and passing out somewhere causing me to sleep off the last few days is no longer a credible possibility. It wasn’t likely in the first place, but it was preferable to the alternative. Someone has dismantled my phone, which means what’s happened to me over the last few days has been inflicted on me by someone else. To avoid dwelling on what else they might have done, I try to consider why they took the phone apart. Perhaps it was to stop me making calls or sending messages, or to avoid receiving any, but surely, they could have achieved the same result by switching it off? The action was more deliberate; it must have had a purpose. Of course, I think, it would deactivate the GPS to stop the phone or its location being traceable. If that was the intention, then why not destroy it or just dump it? It makes little sense.

I reinsert the SIM and battery and switch the device on, being met by the standard start-up chimes. Good, it seems to work. Next, I notice the icons. The low battery warning is flashing, but it’s also showing there are four voicemails, nine text messages, six w******p messages and an indeterminable number of emails and f*******:, Twitter, Pinterest and LinkedIn notifications. The latter five don’t concern me as I normally receive loads of notifications every day. They must have accumulated as I haven’t logged on for almost a week; there might be hundreds. I need to prioritise the other messages; maybe they will tell me something about what’s happened.

I want to call Jenny, but first I need to do this. I click on messages and thumb through the chronological list. I want to start with anything that’s come in since last Friday.

The first three on the list are all from Jenny, all written in text-speak.

Timed on Friday at 7.55pm. So, so, sorry, running late, will explain later, should be there by 8.30.

So, so, sorry, running late, will explain later, should be there by 8.30.Next, Friday 8.42pm. Where are you?

Where are you?Then 9.03. Looked everywhere, you’re not here! What’s up, you pissed at me being late? I’ll call tomorrow when you cool down.

Looked everywhere, you’re not here! What’s up, you pissed at me being late? I’ll call tomorrow when you cool down.Does this help? I wonder. It confirms my arrangement to meet Jenny and, from what she’s said, I know she turned up late, and I’d already left, but it doesn’t actually confirm that I was there. I try to concentrate and visualise what happened. I can see myself sitting at a table, on my own, nursing a glass of Merlot. I’ve been to Alfredo’s often enough so I can draw a clear picture but, try as I might, I can’t be certain if it’s a memory from Friday or a mental reconstruction. If only I could be sure, then I’d have a solid starting point.

The next message is from Dad, timed at 9.21 on Saturday morning.

Mum and I are having a wonderful time. We celebrated actual day of anniversary yesterday with a fabulous dinner on board. Thanks for the champagne and flowers, delicious and beautiful in that order. We docked in Naples this morning and we’re about to leave on a trip ashore to visit Pompei and Vesuvius. We’ll keep you updated. Don’t work too hard. Love Mum and Dad xx

Mum and I are having a wonderful time. We celebrated actual day of anniversary yesterday with a fabulous dinner on board. Thanks for the champagne and flowers, delicious and beautiful in that order. We docked in Naples this morning and we’re about to leave on a trip ashore to visit Pompei and Vesuvius. We’ll keep you updated. Don’t work too hard. Love Mum and Dad xxI’m pleased their holiday is going well. They’ve been planning it for months to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. A memory returns. I made arrangements online to send flowers and champagne to their cabin on their special day, but then I realise that as I set it up days beforehand, it doesn’t fill in any gaps for me.

Timed at 10.27, there’s a spam message warning me time is running out for me to make a PPI claim.

Then Saturday at 10.51, Jenny texted again. Tried calling and left message. Are you still pissed? I’m sorry, please talk to me!

. Tried calling and left message. Are you still pissed? I’m sorry, please talk to me!I must call her back, I think. I guess she suspects I’ve cut her off because she let me down. We’ve been best pals since secondary school. I must confess, over the many years we’ve been close, there have been times when I’ve lost it with her and gone into a strop. She’ll think that’s why she hasn’t heard from me. I need to let her know what’s happened, or, more to the point, I need her to help me find out what’s happened. The battery is showing only 2%; I can’t call now, or it will almost certainly cut off. I must get the phone recharged as soon as possible. I need to go home to get my charger. I’m desperate to get some fresh clothes, too. I’d better check if I’ve cash for a taxi.

I rummage again in my bag and pull out my purse. Opening it, I think there’s something odd. I see no paper money in the wallet section and only some smash in the change pouch, £2.33 in total. The five pound note I keep behind my business cards is still there and so is my travel Zone card, driving license, gym membership and credit Mastercard, but my bank debit card isn’t there. I always keep it in the same place and it’s missing. Oh s**t, have I lost it or has someone taken it? I normally keep between twenty and sixty pounds in notes, so where’s that gone? Have I spent it or has someone has taken it? I feel unsteady and I can again taste the acid from my stomach. I clutch the worktop for support as I digest this new information. This keeps getting worse and worse.

I hear the door as Alesha returns.

“Well, here’s a surprise for you,” she announces and her voice is cheerful.

“I don’t think I can take any more surprises,” I reply, unable to share her glee, my voice bitter.

Undaunted, she continues, “You won’t be troubled by this one. I marched into Hamilton’s office to tell her I needed to take time off to look after you. I was assertive and would not take no for an answer. She told me to sit down and tell her what it was about.” Alesha smiled. “You won’t believe this – she told me, of course I must go! She said she’d have preferred to come herself, but she was running late for a client appointment which she couldn’t get out of.

“She said she wanted me to keep her informed and would call you later. She gave me this card for you. It has her personal mobile number, and she said to call any time. She also handed me twenty pounds and said to use it for taxis or anything else you needed. She added that I should say nothing about any of this to anyone else in the office.” Alesha raises an eyebrow. “What do you think, has the ice queen melted?”

“I don’t know what to say,” and truly I don’t. Have we misjudged Margaret, or is she just trying to cover herself in case I make a complaint? I don’t care; the state I’m in, I’ll take whatever help is offered.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alesha suggests, guiding me out of the toilets and towards the elevator.

“I’ve tried to check my phone but the battery’s nearly out. I must go home for my charger so I can see the rest of my messages. I’ve only just started.”

“Where is it you live? I didn’t think to ask before. Do you have family who can help you?” Alesha asks.

“I rent a flat on the South-Side. It’s in Langside. I only took on the lease a couple of months ago, after I started this job. I lived with my parents up until then. The only family I have are my Mum and Dad and my gran. She has dementia and needs full-time care. She lives in a nursing home now. Mum and Dad are great but they’re not around at the moment. It was their thirtieth anniversary the other day and last week they left to go on a Med cruise to celebrate. They’re not due home until Sunday, or Monday more like. They’ve been looking forward to this holiday for months, so I don’t want to tell them anything until they’re home. I probably couldn’t get hold of them easily anyway, ‘cos they keep their phones switched off most of the time and Dad told me the broadband is practically non-existent. I reckon I’ll just have to brave it out until they get back.”

I think for a couple of seconds before adding, “Maybe I could move back into their house for a few days. I know my room hasn’t changed at all since I left.”

Alesha looks pensive. “Are you sure? Don’t you think they’d prefer to know sooner, rather than later?”

I hadn’t considered this. I don’t know what to do. Mum and Dad need this holiday, particularly after Dad’s heart scare last year; they deserve it. They ought to be able to celebrate their special occasion without me spoiling it. On the other hand, if they knew that I was in trouble, then they’d want to be here with me. They’d rush home early, doing whatever it took to be here beside me. They may feel hurt that I hadn’t told them, or feel I didn’t trust them, but it isn’t true. I wouldn’t want to harm them for the world.

Lurking at the back of my mind is also the thought that I don’t know how they’ll react when they hear what has happened and I don’t want to be a disappointment to them, either by letting them know, or by holding back information. It seems like I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t. Although I don’t yet remember what’s happened to me, whatever it is, I’m okay now. At least, I think I’m okay now.

I convince myself not to tell them. I argue that if they’re given the shock of being told something’s happened to their daughter while they’ve been away enjoying themselves, then it could be harmful to their health. If they were told I’d been abducted, or I’d been r***d, then they’d be traumatised. The shock could kill them. However, if I were to wait until they come home to tell them, then even if they are angry because they hadn’t been informed sooner, they at least will be able to see me and know I am okay. Besides, there’s nothing they can do, other than hold my hand and worry, so what’s the point of spoiling the last part of their holiday?

“You’re right, Alesha, they probably would want to know. But, all things considered, there’s nothing they can do, and it would do them more harm than good to be told now.”

Alesha chews on her lip, clearly not convinced, but she says no more on the subject.

“I’ve started looking at texts, but I would like to check the rest of my messages, or at least as many as I can before my battery runs out.”

“What have you found so far?” Alesha asks.

“Nothing major,” I reply. “I’ve confirmed my recollection that I was due to meet Jenny at eight. She didn’t turn up until late and I was gone.”

“Well, at least you know you were there, so you have a starting point.”

I think about this before replying. “Not really. I know I was meant to be there but don’t yet know whether I actually arrived.”