Forget Me Never

somehow I didn’t think the men were going to bother with niceties like water. ‘We really are on our own.’
    ‘Bloody useless detectives, aren’t we? Hey – you’re shaking.’
    I gave him a mirthless smile. ‘So are you.’
    ‘Guys!’ Kyle tapped on the window. ‘Less of that.’
    ‘Oh, sod off,’ Reece muttered, but we drew apart and I slid back to my seat. Reece reached for my hand and I let him take it. I didn’t see how they could complain about that. Kyle noticed as he got in, but he didn’t say anything, and the other man was too busy looking at his phone. As the engine fired up, I couldn’t help feeling that we could have used that time alone better – hatching a plan or something. But the moment was gone now.
    We drove along the motorway for what seemed like ages. The road signs told me that we were heading west, away from London and everything I knew. After a while we turned off on to an A-road that seemed to be full of roundabouts, and I lost track of where we were. I’d read a book once where the main character had been abducted. She’d pretended the car journey was making her sick and got the kidnappers to pull over and let her out, and then she’d managed to get away. I doubted I could get that to work – these guys didn’t seem that gullible, and it wasn’t like there was anywhere to run to. The only good news was that they’d given us something to drink.
    Eventually Kyle took us on to quieter roads and through a succession of villages. It was between two of these, in a particularly desolate area of countryside, that we stopped. Our destination seemed to be a little cottage painted a washed-out shade of pink, set away from the road down a bumpy track. I could tell from the state of the garden that it hadn’t been lived in recently. The word to describe this place was ‘desolate’.
    The men bundled us out of the car. The one in charge kicked over a flower pot by the door. Underneath was a key. He opened the door to reveal a bare porch, empty coat hooks either side. Once we were inside he locked the door.
    ‘Keep an eye on them,’ he told Kyle, and disappeared through into a lounge area. I heard footsteps as he moved around, presumably checking the place out. I glanced through the door into the sitting room. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, just a couple of sofas that looked about twenty years old, an old-fashioned-looking television and some prints on the wall. Everything was coated with dust. There was no way this was someone’s house – perhaps it was a holiday cottage of some sort.
    After about five minutes the man returned. ‘I’ve secured the pantry. Best room to stow these two. Nice heavy lock.’
    ‘What a wonderful selling point,’ Reece muttered. ‘Is that what the estate agents tell all the visitors?’
    The man stared at him, clearly deciding whether or not that merited a reply. He probably thought Reece was just being mouthy. I knew better – this dark kind of humour was Reece’s way of facing reality when things got bad. He’d been like this when his dad died. In the end the guy just told him to shut it. We were marched through into the lounge and then along to the kitchen. There was a heavy wooden door leading to what looked like a large cupboard, shelves stacked with cans.
    ‘Help yourselves to the food,’ Kyle said. ‘We’ll bring some water. Wouldn’t want you dying of thirst.’
    ‘Hilarious,’ Reece murmured. He rubbed his arms. ‘Christ, it’s cold in here.’
    ‘I’ll see if I can find some blankets,’ Kyle said.
    ‘It’s not a freaking hotel,’ I heard the other man say as the door closed on us. ‘Quit being nice. What the hell are we going to do with them?’
    ‘Your decision, Patrick.’ The rest of Kyle’s reply was lost as they moved away. Patrick? Unless it was a big coincidence, we’d finally met Patrick from the email messages: Aiden’s former friend, who didn’t trust Aiden and Cherie – and had nasty associates . . .
    I went to the door and rattled the handle, without much optimism. Patrick had been right when he’d said it was a heavy lock.
    ‘No getting out of this one,’ I said, watching Reece as he moved around pressing his hands against the stones. I couldn’t see him very well through the gloom; I’d tried the light switch by the door, but the bulb hanging above us had blown some time ago.
    We sat down together and leaned against the wall facing the door.
    ‘So . . .’ Reece said. The word hung in