I sensed she was a good person, but ill-equipped to deal
with me. I thought about George and the hold Sheridan
had over him. The woman was not stupid. She manipu-
lated everyone. Sheridan knew I would no longer hand
over my baby willingly and she had no intention of let-
ting me go. As Juanita walked away, she was taking any
hope I had of escaping with her.
I balled my fists, stamping my feet like a five-year-old
who has just been told she can’t go to the playground.
‘If you won’t listen to me then I’ll scream until you do!’
It was stupid. A last resort. But what else could I do?
I inhaled a lungful of air, but the scream was silenced as
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Juanita properly met my gaze for the first time. Shaking
her head, she pressed her finger to her lips.
‘Shhh,’ she said. Taking a step backwards, she stepped
into the lift, mouthing the word, ‘No.’ The doors closed,
and all I could see was her face.
I stood like a statue, grateful for that one second of
contact. She could understand English –well, a little bit,
anyway. I watched as the lift rumbled up on its runners.
The old Roz would have screamed the house down until
Juanita said more. But that small gesture was made to
silence me and instantly I complied. I was cage-bound.
Weeks in captivity had turned me into someone I no
longer recognised.
I dragged my feet back to the table, picking up the
sandwich and placing it back on the plate. Was this pro-
gress? Would Juanita say more the next time? Robotically,
I took my supplements, transferred the food from the tray
to the table to eat. I moved the plastic spoon along with the folded napkin, blinking to clear my vision as I saw what
was nestled beneath. A knife. She had left me a weapon.
I stared at it, knowing I should hide it before Sheridan
came down. But my body would not move. A part of me
was too scared to pick it up in case Sheridan had installed CCTV. But surely whoever left it would know if that
was the case? It was small, the kind for peeling potatoes.
But if I used it, someone could seriously get hurt. My
breath quickened as I imagined the consequences. What
if the knife were turned back on me? On my baby? Was
I willing to take that risk?
Upstairs, the murmur of conversation came to an end
and Sheridan’s heels clicked against the tiled floor. She
was coming for me. I had to hide the knife. But where?
I thought of the one place they were likely to keep me
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bound. My bed. But there was no time. My hand hovered
over the cutlery. Could I really do this? I could not risk
Sheridan knowing I had help on the outside. For now,
my baby was keeping me alive. Juanita would be in more
danger than me. Holding the knife pointed down, I strode
to my bed and put the knife under my pillow – where I
could reach it if need be.
I held my breath as the lift began its journey down.
Pursing my lips, I made it back to the kitchen table, as if my small interaction with Juanita had never happened at
all. But a spark of hope had lit inside me. I had an ally.
I picked at my sandwich, forcing down a mouthful of
tuna and mayo.
‘We’ve got a friend,’ I whispered to my baby in re-
lief. But how far was she willing to go to help me? The
magazines, the weapon – they were equipping me with
what I needed, but I was still on my own.
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Roz
‘Come up.’ Sheridan beckoned me to join her in the lift.
But my feet were rooted to the spot. Everything felt out
of kilter. She was dressed for business, her lips showing
the after-effect of recent fillers.
‘Oh, you’re back.’
I tried to act surprised as I joined her, offering her a
half-smile. In the confines of the lift I felt the low thunder of her anger from deep within. I stood there, my stomach
churning as I remembered our altercation: me sinking
my teeth into her hand to make her release the lift doors.
The taste of her blood on my tongue. Was that why she’d
stopped asking me about the baby? I could feel her hatred
into the living room, and my internal warning bells rang
as I saw Daniel and George sitting there. Anna closed the
door firmly behind us as she left.
‘What’s going on?’ I said, trying to muster some
bravado.
Turning towards the marble fireplace, Sheridan picked
up a prayer book and threw it at my feet. I jumped at
the sudden act of violence, emitting a terrified squeak.
Dread washed over me as I realised I had been betrayed.
George must have seen me slip the note into the book
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and picked it up as we left the church. How could he? He
knew what Sheridan was like: the danger he had placed
me in. As Sheridan read out the note, my shame grew.
‘Why?’ Sheridan said. ‘After everything we’ve done
for you?’
‘I’m sorry, I … I just wanted to let my friend know
where I was.’
‘I trusted you.’ Daniel’s voice was steady, but his ex-
pression was one of hurt. ‘Anyone would think you were
being held hostage. If you wanted to leave, you only had
to ask.’
My mouth dropped open. I could barely believe what
I was hearing. My gaze fell on George. Surely he knew
this was not true?
‘I … I thought…’
‘We had an agreement,’ Sheridan said. ‘You leave
after the baby is born. If you were unhappy you should
have said so. But to do this … to betray our trust. Why?’
‘I want to go home,’ I said, confused. Why were they
acting as if I were here of my own free will? ‘I’ve asked,
so many times. But you won’t let me go.’
‘Because I’m scared of what you might do to yourself …
to my baby.’
Sheridan stepped forward, and I flinched as her hand
fell to my growing stomach, resting on the outline of my
belly button which was evident through the grey material
of my maternity dress. She was in movie mode now, no
doubt playing some character from a past role. It was all
for Daniel’s benefit, to cast me in the worst possible light.
‘Have you written any other notes?’
I shook my head. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself
in it. The note made things a hundred times worse. Only
Daniel’s presence was stopping Sheridan from flipping
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her lid. Her face had healed from our last bust-up, but
the memory still remained.
‘ Quid pro quo. Do you know what that means, Roz?’
she said in the sweetest voice.
I nodded, recalling an old Hannibal Lector movie I
had once watched.
‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?’ I replied,
unable to word it more eloquently than that.
‘That’s right,’ she said, her hand rising to smooth back
my hair. My skin crawled beneath her touch and the look
in her eye told me she was getting a perverse kick from my
reaction. I daren’t step back. There was something about
Daniel’s expression as he watched us both. Something I
didn’t like. My gaze flickered to George, and immedi-
ately, he looked away. A reluctant voyeur.
I could smell Sheridan’s skin. What I once perceived as
exotic now made me feel sick. She continued to speak, her
words like silk as she invaded my personal space. Daniel
watched as she finger-combed my hair. I felt invaded.
Used. I wanted to spit in her face. But from what I’d
read, Sheridan was dangerous, and I was in no position
to retaliate now.
‘Simply put, it means “something for something”,’ she
continued. ‘You understand that, don’t you? It’s what our
relationship has been based on these last few weeks. You
play by the rules and you enjoy the fruits of my labour.
You break my trust and I…’ I winced as she pulled on a
knot in my hair.
‘I repay you in kind.’ Shaking her fingers, she allowed
the blonde strands to fall to the floor. ‘So tell me. What
am I to do with you now?’
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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Roz
April 2019
‘What’s a Chinese cabbage?’ I said, reading about preg-
nancy week thirty-two in my book. ‘Is it smaller than
an Irish cabbage, do you think? Whatever it is, you’re
about the same size.’ I was talking out loud again; these
days I was doing it more and more. Sitting in silence was
getting me down. ‘It says here that you’ve got fingernails
and toenails, and it’s normal for me to be short of breath.
That’s a relief, hey?’ My chin wobbled as I sat alone, deep in a pit of anxiety and loneliness.
I chewed on my nails, which were now reduced to
stumps. Weeks of isolation had frayed my nerves and left
me on edge. I thought about my life in Ireland, of the
myriad communications I took for granted every day. Of
Ronnie, the postie, who always seemed to catch me on
my way out of the flat. Of Maggie, the seventy-year-old
who begged on the street for money to help towards her
electric bill. I missed our chats in the morning as I threw her a euro or two. Then there were the cleaning ladies
at work. Half of them spoke a language I did not un-
derstand, but we still managed to have a laugh. I missed
Dympna’s wild stories, and the voicemails my mother
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used to leave. So much human connection, all before
twelve o’clock in the day. I had taken it for granted and
now I was totally alone.
Now my life was a network of sounds. The pipes woke
me up each morning as the apartment heating kicked
in. Then there were Anna’s heavy footsteps as she drew
the mop and hoover across the floors above. Next came
Leo’s high-pitched squeak as the nanny picked him up
for school. Then came the voices of Sheridan, Daniel and
George. But there was no joy up there. No music, no
dancing, no parties and no TV. Monica had not returned
since she’d seen me in the hall, and Juanita had not been
down since George told Sheridan about the note. I spent
hours trying to work out if her absence was linked to the
knife I’d nestled beneath my pillow. Had she got cold
feet and confessed to leaving it, or was Sheridan being
intentionally cruel? Perhaps she saw Juanita as a privilege that she had now taken away.
I rummaged in my wardrobe, trying to find something
clean to wear. My dressing gown was grubby, the socks
on my feet stale. I was reduced to washing my under-
wear in the bathroom sink with hand soap and drying
them across the back of the chair. Occasionally, I’d hear
Sheridan bark something in Spanish, but I guessed Anna,
not Juanita, was on the receiving end of it. Even Daniel
had stopped visiting me. Work was claiming his atten-
tion; I knew that from the conversations he’d had with
Sheridan upstairs. I hated myself for missing him, and
home seemed a million miles away.
I spent hours talking to my baby, but in reality, I
was rambling to myself. Her kicks were getting stronger
now, and at least I was still getting fed. Once a fort-
night, Anna escorted me to Doctor Blumberg’s surgery
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for blood tests and a check-up. There was no point in
pleading with him; my words fell on deaf ears. Even the
door of the surgery was locked until my visit was com-
plete. Sometimes Sheridan would stand over me. Other
days, she would wait until I was gone. I’d hear her voice
carry through the corridor outside the surgery as I was
returned to my room. It was always about her baby: her
health, her dietary needs and any changes that needed
to be made. Once a day, Anna placed a tray of enough
food to last me twenty-four hours on the floor outside
the lift: one hot meal at lunchtime, with a cold supper
and breakfast provided for the next day. So much for my
schedule. Everything had gone out the window in the
last few weeks. I never thought I would come to miss our
Pilates sessions, or even those stupid chants. It was as if Sheridan still wanted my baby, but I was a shiny toy and
my novelty value had worn off.
Days and nights merged together. Without windows,
it was hard to tell what time it was. I couldn’t even draw
anymore, now Sheridan had removed my art supplies. I
wanted to scream, to thrash about, to kick up the biggest
fuss, but if Sheridan heard me, she would realise that I
could hear her, too. I could not bear for her to block up
the air vent – my only link to the outside world.
Sheridan spent hardly any time with Leo, and when
she did, she was always telling him off. I’d hear her shrill voice telling him to look at the camera in a certain way,
calling him stupid when he failed to comply. Things were
worse for everyone when Daniel was away.
I sat at the table in the basement, biting into a protein
bar that tasted like sand.
Sheridan’s voice came through the air vent. She was
having a heated phone conversation by the sound of
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things. Slowly and carefully I clambered on to the chair,
and listened intently to her words.
‘I need another favour … I wouldn’t ask unless it was
important.’ A pause as somebody spoke on the other end
of the line.
‘Daniel’s on location in Washington. He won’t be
back for another week.’
So that’s why he hadn’t visited me. But if it wasn’t
Daniel on the phone, who was Sheridan talking to? I knew
it wasn’t George, because he had only just called; from
the gist of their conversation, he had cancelled coming
over because his mother had taken a turn for the worse.
Sheridan had spoken to him with a lot more sympathy
than she did to whoever was on the phone now. I listened,
cocking my head to pick up her words.
‘I need you to come here. I have a job for you…’
Another pause. ‘Yes, here, to my apartment. It’s time-
sensitive. It won’t wait.’
I gripped the chair as it wobbled. What job? What
was she up to now? A sinking feeling made it hard to
swallow. Was she talking about me?
‘I need it done before Daniel gets back.’
My hand rose to my mouth as I emitted a squeak of
fear. She’d had enough. She was getting rid of me. What
else could it be?
‘You won’t get into trouble if you keep it to your-
self…’ Her words were sharp, as they always were when
she was met with a barrier of any kind. ‘I’ve been good
to you, Mike…’
Mike. Where had I heard that name before?
I listened as Sheridan’s words softened, as she suddenly
changed tack. ‘You and I, we go back a long way. You
were my first kiss. You don’t forget stuff like that.’
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My mouth fell open behind my hand. Was she trying
to seduce him? Then I remembered: It Takes All Sorts.
Sheridan’s first kiss was with a boy named Mike.
Oh, my God, I thought, was that the case in real life, too? To think she’d lived such precious moments choreographed for the viewing pleasure of others … No wonder
she had such a warped mindset.
‘Thanks,’ she said to Mike on the phone. ‘I knew
you wouldn’t let me down.’ Another pause. ‘You’ll need
a shovel … I don’t know, put it in a bag or something …
Call me when you arrive. I’ll get you in through the back.’
Fear encompassed me as my fate was decided. I could
not believe my ears. They were planning to kill me.
What else would they need a shovel for? But we were in
the middle of New York. My rational brain assessed the
situation. What about my baby? It made no sense.
I could not catch the end of their conversation as
Sheridan walked into another room. All I could hear
were the clicking of her heels and the sound of my own
heartbeat. This was it. Sheridan had had enough. She was
getting rid of me.
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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Dympna
‘Why aren’t you answering your phone? I was worried.’