The Demand: A gripping psychological thriller Read online

  She hurried out the fire door, leaving the vicar muttering in her wake. The warm breeze enveloped her like a benign blanket as she hurried down the steps into the car park, letting the door swing shut behind her. She glanced furtively around the area, like a meerkat on high alert, searching for predators. But there was no big black car. No danger. She could even see her house from here. Thirty seconds and she’d be at her front door. One minute more and she’d be in her bedroom. She’d be safe. Raising her head, she hoisted up the straps of her backpack and sprinted the short distance home.

  2

  The train for Teddington was already waiting at platform twelve as Beth hastened up the final few steps of the escalator and ran the final fifty metres, all but diving through the train doors as they slid shut.

  Once safely on board, she steadied herself against the side of the carriage and pulled a piece of hair out of her mouth as nonchalantly as she could. She was sweating profusely, and her tights had slipped down - the material creating a gossamer hammock that hung a few inches below her crotch - but she’d made it. She was also more out of breath than she'd have liked, but that was expected. Her daily ten-kilometre run had recently slipped down to five kilometres and was now less of a daily run and more a when-she-could-be-bothered run or a when-she-had-the-time run. Which was, increasingly, never.

  But sweat and ruffled hair be damned. She was on the train home. A whistle blew, a buzzer sounded, and they set off. Beth tightened the belt on her Max Mara trench coat, an attempt to rebuild an air of calm and decorum. Then, with head raised, she shuffled between the two businessmen, deep in conversation outside the toilet cubicle, and entered the carriage. Most of the seats were occupied, but Beth was eagle-eyed enough to spot a vacant one halfway down, alongside a grey-haired woman with a face like death.

  With her eyes fixed on the empty seat and muttering the obligatory pleasantries as she squeezed past a rotund man standing in the aisle (and making a big deal of placing his briefcase in the overhead compartment), Beth made her way along the carriage. The woman next to the window gave her a nasty look as she wilted into the seat beside her, but Beth didn’t care. She had a seat. She was going home.

  As the train left Waterloo Station, she sat back, happy that for once she’d be home for dinner. All right, late dinner (all right, it would technically be supper by the time she got home) but it meant she and Freya could eat together. They could spend some time together. Beth couldn’t remember when she last had a proper chat with her daughter and the thought she might now get the chance warmed her. This despite knowing all too well the meal would likely be eaten in awkward silence, or with her asking Freya a series of questions to which she received only grunts or sighs in response. But that was fourteen-year-old girls for you. Fourteen going on twenty-four.

  Beth pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and puffed out her cheeks. The glimmer of happiness that had been arising inside of her was already fading to guilt and self-hatred, but that wasn’t unusual. In fact, these days it seemed her default state. She knew she was as much to blame for her and Freya’s fractious relationship, but that only made things worse. She was stuck in the mother of all vicious circles. Couldn’t do right for doing wrong. When Adam had left, she’d vowed to herself that she’d ask him for nothing and do whatever it took, so Freya’s life would remain exactly as it had been. Adam still paid his way, of course, but even with his extensive monthly maintenance payments, it was a struggle to keep her only child in the manner to which she’d grown accustomed. Beth’s recent promotion helped, but it also meant she’d taken on more responsibilities, was working longer hours, some weekends. She worked her arse off to provide for Freya and give her a good life, but in doing so she had no life of her own and no time to spend with Freya. But wasn’t that the same for every single parent? Once this year was over and her position was more secure, she’d stand up for herself a little more at work, explain to her colleagues she had to be home at a reasonable hour. And then maybe, finances permitting, they could book that holiday to New York they’d talked about.

  She switched her phone on and tapped through to the messages, hoping for, but not expecting, a reply from her daughter. There was the message from her, telling Freya she couldn’t pick her up and then another an hour later, asking if she was home safe. That was the last one in the thread. It had been read but not replied to. Beth imagined that was deliberate. Freya’s way of punishing her. But maybe she deserved it.

  Beth closed her eyes, trying her best to shut out the hum of people and the clatter of the train tracks. This time, she succeeded in putting the troubles of the day behind her and drifted into a semi-trance. She focused her attention on her breath, attempting to clear her mind of strategy meetings and the impending budget review. By the time the train pulled up at Wandsworth Town station, she was feeling almost herself again. Better, at least. Beth Lomax had no idea what feeling ‘herself’ felt like anymore. She hadn’t felt like herself in a very long time. And even if she had done, she suspected she would no longer recognise that person.

  “Freya,” she called out as she opened the front door. “I’m home.”

  There was no answer.

  She went into the hallway and bolted the door behind her. The heating was on, but it was controlled by a pre-programmed app so that meant nothing.

  “Freya?” she tried again. “Are you in your room?”

  When no reply came, she went through into their large kitchen-diner - the part of the house where they congregated most frequently - and placed her bag down on the kitchen table. She’d always liked this table. They’d found it in a vintage furniture shop in Finchley when Adam and she were still newlyweds. Beth had dreamed of it being the centrepiece of their family home. And it had been, for a time. These days all meals were eaten at the island, or in front of the TV. The table once reserved for family mealtimes, was now where she sat alone, hunched over her laptop with a glass of wine close to hand.

  Speaking of which, she slipped the bottle of Chablis from out of her bag and moved over to the fridge, laying the bottle down between an unopened box of artisan cheeses she’d bought for Christmas and a stack of Waitrose microwave meals. She’d bought these for when she got home too late to even think about cooking, but she saw now the top two were already past their use-by-date. She stared into the fridge for a moment longer before taking the wine back out and pouring a large serving into the solitary glass she found on the draining board. Having had only seconds to chill, the wine was lukewarm, but it was necessary, and she drank two-thirds of the glass in one go. Along with Chardonnay, Chablis was one of Beth’s favourite types of wine, but Adam had always scoffed at her choices when they were together. Every time she had a glass of it now it felt like a tiny victory.

  She put the glass down. “Freya, if you are home, will you please answer me?” She waited. “I’m making pasta, okay? Ready in twenty minutes.”

  She listened, no response. No sound of any movement whatsoever. She grabbed up her phone to check the time. 8:22 p.m. Where the hell was she?

  She placed the wine glass down next to her bag and went through to the hallway, clutching her phone to her chest.

  “Freya, if you’re ignoring me…”She hauled her tired limbs up the stairs. “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up. But I’m here now. We can have dinner together.”

  She walked along the landing towards Freya’s room. The door was closed, but it always was. It had been that way since she was twelve years old. Beth knocked once, pushed the door open, and stepped inside, bracing herself for a blasting. But the room was empty.

  “Freya?”

  The first frisson of panic bubbled in her guts. Typically, if she wasn’t downstairs, she was in her bedroom. Always.

  “Freya!” she called louder, employing her serious tone. “Where are you? Answer me!”

  She gave her daughter’s room a final once over and moved along the corridor towards her own room. There was no reason Freya would be in there, of course, but something felt wrong. Beth’s sense of reason was shaken. As she opened the door she saw here too the lights were off. With no sign of her daughter.

  Despite a growing concern tightening the skin around her eyes, she told herself to stay calm. Asking, what was the most innocent explanation here?

  Well, that was easy. Freya would have gotten a lift with Mia like Beth had suggested, and her parents would have invited her to have dinner with them. Yes. That would be it. They were probably all sitting around the family dinner table right now, eating a delicious home-cooked meal. An idyllic scene, with a full complement of parents and probably dessert too. Beth raised her phone and was swiping through her recent call list when she saw a sliver of light under the door at the far end of the corridor.

  She padded softly over to the door and listened. No sound came from inside, but why was the light on? It was never on. This room had been Adam’s study, his ‘sanctuary’ as he called it (pretentious twat that he was) and she hadn’t stepped inside since he left. Initially, he'd set it up as a rudimentary office for when he was working from home, but for the last few years of their marriage, she’d suspected it was the place he came to hide from her. Probably where he came to text Izzie. So maybe Beth should have been thankful. Even Adam would know, taking photos of his penis to send to his much younger PA was disrespectful, done from their shared bathroom.

  Beth eased open the door and poked her head around the side, feeling a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach as she did. She wasn’t entirely sure what her body was trying to tell her by this. It could have been trepidation, unease, at stepping into Adam’s domain after so long, but as she opened the door wider, it felt much more like relief.

  “There you are.”

  Freya was sitting at Adam’s large leather-topped desk with headphones over her ears. Her eyes were closed, and she was listening to whatever music was coming out of the record player sitting on the shelf to her right. Adam had promised, on more than one occasion, that he’d come and clear out the rest of his stuff, but his record collection and costly state-of-the-art music system were still here. No room for it in his new swanky Lambeth apartment, perhaps. Or he didn’t want to put Izzie off with his collection of hoary old vinyl.

  With her eyes shut and engrossed in the music, Freya didn’t notice Beth until she was standing beside her. She put her hand on her shoulder. “Freya?”

  “What the fuck!?”

  Freya jumped up, her eyes snapping open. She stared at Beth like she was a ghost before dragging the headphones off, her dark hair trailing over her face as she did.

  “Don’t you ever knock?”

  Beth stepped back, any relief she’d felt at finding her daughter safe and well morphing quickly to anger.

  “Excuse me. I did knock. You didn’t hear me with those stupid things on your head.” She gestured at Adam’s headphones, castigating the inanimate object with more wrath than they deserved. “And please don’t swear. I’ve brought you up better than that.”

  Freya slumped back down on the leather chair and chucked the headphones onto the desk with a dramatic huff.

  “Why didn’t you text me back? Let me know you were okay?” Beth asked. “I was worried.”

  “Were you?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  Freya snorted dramatically. “Surprised you even had time to text me to say you weren’t coming. Seeing as you’re soooo busy and important these days.”

  “Oh, grow up,” Beth told her. But a part of her was softening. A part of her knew her daughter had a point. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Don’t know,” Freya said, not making eye contact. “Fancied listening to some music, that’s all.”

  Beth nodded, taking in the room for the first time since she’d entered. Nothing had changed since the last time she was in here. Since the day Adam left for good. She turned her attention back to her daughter. She looked tired, but there was something else too. Something Beth couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “Are you okay, Frey?” she asked, her tone gentle now.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You look… I don't know… Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She knew how she felt.

  But Freya just scoffed and got to her feet. “I’m fine.”

  “Hey.” Beth put her hand on her daughter’s arm as she tried to shuffle past her out of the room. They were almost the same height. How the hell had that happened? “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  Freya rolled her eyes.

  “What is it?” Beth asked.

  Freya opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Beth’s phone vibrated in her hand, chiming its intrusive melody into the room. Like it always seemed to do at crucial moments.

  Beth looked at the screen, then at Freya. “It’s fine, I can leave it,” she lied. It was Louise, head of operations at the Royal Farringdon Hospital and Beth’s senior manager. So, she couldn’t just leave it. But this was important, too.

  Beth grimaced, waving the phone around as if doing so would make it stop ringing.

  “Oh, God! Just answer it,” Freya spat the words out as she pushed past her.

  “One minute, I swear,” Beth yelled after her, swiping the phone open and holding it to her ear, adding. “Then we’ll talk. And I’ll make dinner.”

  “Beth? Is that you?”

  “Sorry, Louise. I was talking to Freya. Is everything okay?”

  The line was silent for a moment. “Yes, everything is hunky-dory,”Louise said in her usual breezy manner. “I was just calling to make sure you were around first thing. Damien is coming into the office.”

  Damien Broadhurst. Head of the Farringdon Trust. He was a nice enough guy, but one of those men who seemed to have got where he was purely on charm, familial links and the fact he went to Eton. But wasn't that true of most men in positions of power in this country?

  “That’s not like him,” she replied.

  “Yes, I know. But he wants to be more hands-on apparently. Plus, some new trustee is being appointed. I think he wants you to help with the paperwork or something.”

  Beth cringed inwardly. It was the last thing she needed.

  “Lou, I’m swamped at the moment. I’ve got five new starters needing full work permit audits, and then there’s the budget review…”

  Louise chuckled at Beth's outburst. “I know. It's not what you need. But it's what Damien wants. So… First thing tomorrow. That good?”

  “No problem. See you then.”

  They said their goodbyes and Beth pocketed the phone before striding down the corridor to Freya’s room, which was now very clearly occupied if the music blaring through the door was any indication.

  Beth knocked and waited. Best way rather than barging in. When nothing happened, she knocked again. “Freya?”

  The music was promptly turned down, and the door swung open.

  “What?” Freya asked, holding onto the door with an outstretched arm and a look of disdain crumpling her pretty face.

  “I thought we were going to talk?”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “But…”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you, Mum. Go do your work or whatever it is. I’m fine.”

  Beth swallowed. “Come on, Frey, I was only—”

  “I said, I’m fine. Leave me alone.” She went to shut the door, but Beth blocked her. “What the hell?”

  “Hey. What about dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.” She went to shut the door again. “Stop it.”

  “Come on Frey. Let’s talk. Over a nice bowl of pasta.”

  “I said, I’m not hungry! Now leave me alone. Jesus!” Beth stepped back, allowing her only child to slam the door in her face.

  “Well, fine then,” Beth shouted through the door. “Go hungry.”

  “Fine! Piss off!”

  “Oh, you ungrateful brat!”

  Beth clenched her fist before letting out a guttural groan. Why did it always end up like this? At what point had her dear little Frey-Frey become such a horrible, surly teen?

  She turned from the door and was about to go downstairs when she realised Adam’s study light was still on. As she walked across the wide, L-shaped landing, she also noticed the stereo was still on and as she got nearer, heard the music coming from the headphones on the desk. She picked them up and placed them over her head. Bowie’s dulcet tones filled her ears. The song was Heroes, one of Adam’s favourite songs. They’d listened to it often when they first got together. Then, when Freya was a toddler, Adam would sit the small girl on his knee and they’d listen to it together, both singing along at the tops of their voices. It became their song, but Beth didn’t mind that. She still didn’t. But the fact Freya was listening to it tonight…

  Oh, my baby girl.

  Something was wrong. Beth removed the headphones before switching off the stereo and then the light. But as she closed the door behind her and headed across the landing to Freya’s room, she stopped. She had so many questions, but she doubted Freya was in the right mood to answer them tonight, and she couldn't face another fight. Instead, she went downstairs and back into the kitchen, where she made a beeline for the fridge. The Chablis would be chilled by now, and there was a large glass with her name on it. After the day she’d had, she deserved it.

  3

  Freya was expecting to find her mum in the kitchen when she got downstairs the next morning. She even wondered whether she’d get an apology. She deserved one, after all. But all she found was a note on the kitchen island with a five-pound note paper-clipped to the back. In her mum’s impatient scrawl, she’d written that she was sorry for shouting but that she couldn’t give Freya a lift to school as she had a ‘BUSY DAY’ (the words all in capitals and underlined three times for emphasis).

  “Well, that’s just great, mum. Thanks a lot,” Freya muttered to herself.

  She grabbed a pop tart from out of the cupboard and stuck it in her mouth as she pulled on her blazer and hoisted her rucksack over her shoulders. So, she was walking to school. Again. And if that big scary car was out there waiting for her, then so be it. If she got kidnapped now, it would be her mum’s fault. She almost wished for it to happen. That would teach her.