Saving Sophia Part 8

One step, two step, three step, pause.

One step, two step, three step, pause.

aOne more, Lottie!a yells Sophia, and my foot grates on a wider piece of metal.

aThis is the fire staircase,a she says, her hand on my back as my legs fold. aYou absolutely canat fall off here.a aReally?a I say, although I donat think Sophia can hear me a" the windas doing its best to steal my words.

The wall in front is still concrete, but just at the level of my feet it changes to gla.s.s. I sag to the metal platform and wait for my heart to steady.

Sophia talks right into my ear. aReady for the next bit?a I suppose Iad hoped we could just stay here, but I half stand, although my legs feel soft and unreal. She turns and I follow her down a metal staircase that seems to go on forever.

We start slowly, but I begin to get into a new rhythm and Sophia speeds up.

One two three four five six seven, turn, three paces, one two three four five sixa I lose count, but the ground comes up to meet us, and soon cars are whizzing by underneath, and street lights glow warm and welcoming. Weare probably still three storeys up, but it feels like weare reaching the ground.

Sophia stops. There are lights on in the windows at the bottom level.

aThey wonat see us,a I say. aNot if we stick to the outside of the staircases.a We run the last six sets of stairs, and then thereas a tiny ladder that I race down before following Sophia into the darkness at the end of the alley.

The j.a.panese receptionist covers her surprise when Sophia counts a pile of twenty-pound notes on to the counter.

aAnd,a Sophia says, as if sheas done this a hundred times before, acould someone go out and get us some clothes? I imagine there must be a supermarket somewhere thatas open. Size four shoes for me.a aOh, and mine are five and a half,a I say, as carelessly as I can.

We head for the lift, catching a disapproving glance from a middle-aged couple arriving at the hotel with expensive luggage.

In silence, we head for the fifth floor, open the door to room 507 and throw ourselves on to the bed.

aWhoa,a says Sophia.

Iam actually too tired to say anything at all.

She bathes first, while I try to ring home.

Thereas no answer and no way of leaving a message. Theyare either out looking for us, havenat heard weare missing or theyare feeding the chickens.

I lay the phone back in the cradle. I feel horribly homesick.

Ned must be home by now. Miss Sackb.u.t.t must be back. I imagine all of them at home, worrying about us. I try the number again, but thereas still no reply and I just make myself miserable by imagining the phone ringing in an empty kitchen, all the plants listening to it sounding in the darkness. The old black phone ringing quietly next to Mum and Dadas iron bedstead. The office phone, buried under piles of paperwork and newspaper cuttings. I imagine the rain beating on the windows, and the hens sheltering under the coop.

I reach into Nedas bag. My fingers rest on a book and I pull it out. Itas not the SAS survival guide. Itas The Severed Foot. I open the cover. Thereas Ireneas name, but inside there are signs of Mum among the pages. Leaves and sc.r.a.ps of the parish magazine used as bookmarks, tickets from the National Humus Society Museum.

I hold a dried hornbeam leaf against my face and think about Mum.

Although I thought I never would, I miss her, and Iam beginning to think I might have got her wrong. That she doesnat just like nature and science, that maybe she craves something else, like I do. Perhaps thatas why they go moth-hunting without a phone, alone in the elements? Perhaps she, or maybe she and Dad, need excitement in their lives. Perhaps what goes on inside Mumas head isnat at all like the person she seems on the outside.

And what about Irene? Did she crave excitement? Is that why she had all those books for when she was too old to have any more adventures?

aYour turn,a says Sophia, throwing herself on the bed trussed in white towels. I stuff the book back in the bag, but leave the hornbeam leaf on my pillow.

For the first time in nearly a week, I enter a bathroom.

Itas the bathroom of my dreams. White, sparkling, loaded with fluffy towels, glittering with mirrors and downlighters. A shelf of small plastic bottles under the mirror. Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, all the things Iave ever dreamed of.

Heaven.

But it isnat home.

I bet when I flush the loo, it doesnat make the pipes sing.

I bet there arenat woodlice under the bath.

I turn on the shower. Sophia has left it on exactly the right temperature.

Delicious. But I canat enjoy it.

Hot water, gallons of it, pours from the showerhead and I look down by my feet to see the week of twigs and mud and sweat sweep in a river down the plughole. This should all be happening to Ned, I think.

The water beats on the top of my head, scouring my scalp, turning my skin red.

I imagine Ned rolling on the floor next door, hooting with laughter about our escape from the rooftops. Head have loved it. Head have been good at it. And this, the posh hotel with all the shiny stuff, all paid for with Pinheadas money. He would have loved the idea of that.

I think back to the moment in the miserable manas office.

I squeeze a huge dollop of shampoo on to my hand.

I wish we hadnat fallen out.

I stay in the shower for so long, the effort to leave it seems too much. If the hot water could go on for ever Iad sleep here.

Sophia is dressed in badly fitting jeans and a sweatshirt. Somebodyas been to the shops and bought us a selection of nasty clothes.

I struggle with some trousers, but settle on a black skirt, black tights, trainers and a hoody. The hoody has aPrincessa embroidered across the chest and down the arms in purple sequins but I donat honestly care, Iam just glad to leave the tracksuit behind. I brush the tangles from my hair and use the glittery hairbands provided to jam it all into a bun.

aFourteen, maybe fifteen?a says Sophia.

aWhat?a I say, peering at myself in the mirror. I look like a stranger.

aHow old you look. And tell me, what do you fancy from the menu? Iall call room service.a We order burgers and chips with ice cream and chocolate fudge cake to follow.

aSo whereas your mum?a I ask. aDid you find out?a aI did.a Sophia grabs the remote control, flicking over to a film.

aAnd?a I say.

aAnd sheas performing in London.a aLondon?a My stomach lurches.

aWe could catch the train. Would you mind?a I would mind but I donat say it. aOf course, weall go tomorrow. So sheas not dead then?a Sophia shakes her head, staring at the screen.

aWe could watch the news,a I suggest, asee if theyare still looking for us.a She shakes her head. aI really like this film a" can we watch it?a I sit and stare at the telly. Itas an unlovable film about a dog. I donat care about the dog or its owner, and Iam slightly cross about not being able to watch the news. I donat say anything, though.

Instead I flick through the mobile phone we took from underneath Pinheadas desk. Itas got loads of numbers, times of calls. But none of the numbers are labelled adodgy blokea or ahired guna.

I press the red b.u.t.ton and the screen goes dead. I sit staring at the dog on the telly.

Knock knock.

I freeze.

aRoom service,a says a manas voice.

This is the bit where the hired a.s.sa.s.sin comes in and shoots us.

But itas just a man with a trolley. A trolley heaped with chips and burgers and salad and iced tea. A trolley of complete bliss.

And guilt.

I take Pinky and Perky to the bathroom, wash out their box, and give them two large pale lettuce leaves.

At least they got to stay in a hotel. Iall take them back to Ned, like a souvenir. If we ever make it home.

My dreams are filled with images of Mum and Dad setting off on an expedition. Nedas with them and they all look really excited, but I canat hear any of them, I canat hear the words, I can just see their lips moving. They reach out to me, and I reach out to them, but Pinhead and Miss Sackb.u.t.t stand between us, waving golf clubs, and Sophiaas way off to the side, singing loudly and dancing with a tennis racquet.

I pull at Mumas hands but they shrink from mine, until sheas nothing more than a tiny speck, vanishing into the dark.

I wake before light, trying to work out where I am. Sophia is fast asleep. But something has woken me.

I look outside the window. Itas raining, but thereas a police car parked down by the entrance to the building opposite.

Poo.

aSophia.a I nudge her awake. aWe need to go. Now.a aWhat?a Sheas still asleep.

aNow a" letas get out of here.a I stuff the remains of last nightas food into Nedas bag along with the spare clothes.

Sophia slides off the bed and on to her feet. She leaves two twenty-pound notes on the side, stuffing the rest of the bundle into her jeans.

I open the door, fully expecting to find a policeman out there, but the corridoras empty. We tiptoe away from the lift towards the stairs at the end of the pa.s.sage. Everything is utterly silent.

The fire door to the stairs is heavy, so I hold it for Sophia, and pull hard so that it barely thumps back into place. Sophia points down, but I point up.

aNot the roof again?a She opens her sleepy eyes wide.

I shake my head and set off up the stairs. My legs complain; yesterday was the worst of all the days weave had so far and I could have stayed asleep forever.

We climb two flights, our feet tip-tapping on the steps, our breath far too noisy. I pull open the fire door on to the seventh floor. Silence. We tiptoe past a tray of dirty crockery left outside a bedroom door; instinctively I check it for leftovers but itas just crusts, nothing worth having, and we go on until we reach the lift.

Itas clanging somewhere down the shaft. Doors opening? Closing? Sophia shrugs and presses the call b.u.t.ton. We stand outside the doors before ducking out of the way seconds before the lift arrives. It stops and the doors open. I creep back until I can see inside. Itas empty.

aQuick, Sophia.a We stand inside the lift, looking at the b.u.t.tons.

aIf we go to the bottom, we have to go through reception to get out,a she says.

aIf we go to the bas.e.m.e.nt, we probably have to go through the kitchens or something.a We choose the first floor and step out into another silent corridor. At the end is the staircase again, so we take it and tiptoe downstairs. A gla.s.s window in the door allows us to look through into the lobby. It seems deserted. I push open the door. Itas still absolutely quiet.

Our feet donat sound on the thick carpeting, and thereas this soft tinkly music in the background that m.u.f.fles everything anyway.

Sophia heads towards the main entrance. I follow, holding my breath, expecting the police to jump on us at any moment.

The door opens quietly as we approach. Looking back, I see a man in reception, his back to us, shuffling through post, drinking coffee.

aBye,a whispers Sophia and we creep out into the street.

aSophia and Charlotte.a I look up from the shiny black shoes.

Pinhead.

And he looks furious.

I turn to run, but he grabs me by the elbow. Sophia makes it a few metres down the road only to be stopped by Wesson, who leaps from a parked car and sprints after her.

aRight, tie them up,a says Pinhead, gripping my arm so tight that it hurts. aHere a" to the car.a Iam dragged over the pavement, pulled by my elbow, until my arm reaches the bar of the front pa.s.senger seat headrest.

aHelp!a I shout, my voice sharp across the empty streets. A flock of pigeons jump into the air and Pinhead laughs, but nothing else happens.

No one runs to help us.

aNo one around, see. Good timing, by the way. We thought wead have to get you later on, pick you out of the crowds a" but you made it easy.a From his pocket, Pinhead takes a bundle of small black plastic things. I recognise them as cable ties; Dad uses them to hold the car together. Pinhead tightens three around my wrist and loops another three through the front headrest chaining me half-in, half-out of the back seat of the giant car. Seconds later and Sophia joins me, her hand looped to the door handle on the other side.

aYou two have caused me a lot of trouble. But youare not as clever as you think, are you?a I stare at the carpet. I donat want to look up at him, see the satisfaction on his face.

It doesnat seem to bother him. He keeps talking. aI donat know how you got hold of the phone, but it made you easy to find.a I look up and he taps his nose. aSmart phone, see a" not a stupid phone. Right, letas get moving.a Stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid.

aGet in,a says Wesson, a faint sheen of sweat on her top lip. She pushes me up on to the seat and shuts the door. Pinhead slams the other side and clambers into the front, locking all the doors. Weare trapped. No one can see in; the caras tinted windows see to that, although itas irrelevant, thereas still no one around at this time in the morning. I look back towards the hotel. The doors are closed. It looks asleep.

Across the road, the police car seems deserted.

Poo.

I got it all wrong.

We drive out of town along a fast and empty road. Iam so scared that I canat make myself breathe properly. Iam panting, but feel as if I might explode from lack of oxygen. Compared to this, climbing off the roof of the office building was a picnic. This is like a gangster movie a" except itas real.

After a few minutes, the dog sticks its nose over the back seat.

ah.e.l.lo, dog,a I whisper.

He responds by licking my neck and panting in my ear.