Copyright © 2020 by Paul Watson All Rights Reserved. This Book Or Any

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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The Missing Wedding

A short thriller

Paul Watson

Chapter 1

Polly Park woke at dawn as the June light pierced the thin curtains. She stumbled from her bed and lowered the blind, but her head throbbed, and she fell back onto the mattress. The sheets were crisp and the pillows plump; she pulled the duvet over her head and sank into a dream. Her fiancé, Mike, relaxed in a hot tub filled with custard as she dangled on a bungee cord over him. She dipped her finger into the bath and took a taste. ‘Hey, you can’t taste my bathwater until we’re married, Polly Park.’ Mike said in protest. ‘Don’t be such a prude Mike, it's not like I’m in the bath with you. Tomorrow I’ll be able to join you though.’ ‘I’m looking forward to life with you Polly Park, there’s plenty room in here.’ Polly reached towards the tub, but it slipped away from her on rails. The bath sped up like a crazy rollercoaster ride. Mike waved as the distance between him, and his future wife increased. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Polly reached up to the ties that bound her feet to the bungee cord, desperate to free herself and run along the track towards Mike. Her hands got tangled, and she struggled to free her arms. She wrenched and twisted and fought the bedsheets, and duvet until she woke covered in sweat. She shouted, ‘Mike!’ Darkness surrounded Polly, and this time she floundered to the window to reverse the blind. The sash window stuck, and she jiggled it a little and then forced it upwards. As she inhaled the morning air, she detected a trace of honeysuckle: not the heady smell of dusk but still a noticeable trace. The familiar smell shocked Polly as her eyes cleared. She’d expected to look out into the yard beneath her dismal London flat, but she saw the gardens of her family home and the fragrant borders planted by her father before his death. Polly could not remember travelling to her mum’s house; she couldn’t remember anything. Her headache pounded as she checked the date on her phone: 10:00 am June 27th. The date seemed familiar and Polly realised it was her wedding day. Not her anniversary, but the day she would marry Mike Harvey right here at her family home. Polly thought hard and tried to recollect her last memory. She’d finished work at the hospital on a Thursday late shift and met her friends Phoebe and Sarah in their usual bar. Sarah had insisted on a secondary hen night for just the three of them and phoebe had made sure it was two nights before the wedding before they’d all travel together on the Friday. Polly glanced in the mirror as she threw on her dressing gown and checked the two-guest rooms near her own off the upper landing. Her mum’s had made up neat rooms with her usual lofty standard of housekeeping when expecting guests. Folded towels sat on ironed duvet covers amongst the aroma of fabric conditioner. Recent magazines lay on the nightstands and cushions towered so high that they reached the top of the headboard. She then headed to her mother’s room and rapped on the door before pushing it open a little. Her mum had tidied the room, but not to the same standard as the others. A bookmark flopped from the novel beside the bed next to an empty cup. ‘Mum?’ Polly called into the room. No reply came so Polly entered and peaked into the bathroom but found no trace of her mother. A search of the downstairs yielded no positive result and so Polly showered and dressed in clothes from an overnight bag she had no memory of packing. She found painkillers in the kitchen cabinet and sat in an armchair with a mug of coffee. Polly reflected that by this time the place should buzz with activity. Phoebe had booked make-up and hairdressers to arrive and caterers, which made Polly remember the marquee. She trotted out the front door into the courtyard and roused the two dogs who lived in the porch. Bozer and Tasha joined her as she rounded the driveway to the front lawn where the marquee for the reception should have stood. The lawn was empty and lush, and the dogs looped as Polly wondered what had happened.

She recalled speaking to her mum on Thursday morning who had said the erectors would be along on Friday to get the venue ready. Polly called her mum and then Phoebe and then Sarah, but it went straight to voicemail every time. She hesitated before calling Mike. Polly reasoned that it wouldn’t bring poor luck to speak to him on the morning of her wedding day under the circumstances. Polly dialled and breathed as Mike’s phone rang. It rang six times before the voicemail kicked in, and she left a message. It took an effort for her to keep composed. ‘Hi Mike, Polly here. I’m at my mum’s house and there’s nobody here. I think I’ve got the Amnesia again Mike, I can’t remember passed Thursday. Please call me when you get the message. I love you.’ Polly waited until she’d hung up the call before she cried. The smiling faces of Bozer and Tasha soothed her, and she gathered herself. She’d sworn never to get too drunk again after she’d suffered memory loss the previous year and she’d turned sown Sarah’s requests for late nights. Polly could not believe that she’d blacked out again through alcohol on Thursday night, but she’d surprised herself before and didn’t rule it out. She hoped Mike would ring back soon and sat on the bench on the empty lawn as the dogs chased a pigeon.

Chapter 2

Polly made coffee in the kitchen and waited for her phone to ring, but it remained silent for the next hour. She saw her mother’s elaborate wedding invitation sitting on the kitchen sideboard and checked it for the date:27th June. Today. The care her mother had taken in preparing the design of the invitations gave Polly an idea. She found the wedding binder and placed it on the kitchen table. The binder contained all her mother’s correspondence on wedding planning. Polly and Mike had been more than happy to hand over control to Mrs Park. Polly had even allowed for her mum to use her trust fund to pay for the wedding. Having eschewed her parent’s wealth all her life, Polly had promised her father long ago that she would let her mother spend this money; she owed him that and a lot more. The black folder contained invoices from the caterers, musicians, florists and the marquee company amongst others. Polly called a few of the numbers but got recorded messages that the office hours were 9-5. The marquee company had a mobile number, and a guy answered after a few rings. ‘Hello, Its Polly Park here, I think we booked you for my wedding today?’ ‘I don’t think so, we’re down in Surrey today at wedding for the Fosters. That’s nothing to do with you is it?’ ‘No, please check and see if you’ve got a booking for Polly Park and Mike Harvey.’ ‘Will do, I’ll look through the bookings. Sorry, no bookings for that name. We’ve got it all on a database here, you must have the wrong company, Sorry.’ Polly finished her third coffee and her head felt better. She looked at the picture of her with her brother Toby as teenagers near the elm tree. Her mother had reframed it and replaced the smashed glass. It was around two years now since the police arrested Toby for the murder of their father and the attempted murder of her and Mike. She’d visited him while he waited on remand, but she’d stayed away after the jury convicted him and the judge handed a life sentence. Polly’s mum told her she could not visit as well and that she could never forgive her son. Looking at the photo, Polly wondered whether this was true or if it was how her mother wished she felt. By noon, Polly tired of waiting for the phone to ring and returned to her flat in London and look for clues. She’d normally get the train, but she needed independence right now and opened the roller shutter doors on the garage, hoping to see her mum’s fiat 500 parked on the slab. There was no Fiat, but a car stood polished and prepped with keys in. Her father’s red Ferrari 328 gleamed and the morning sun glinted from its grill. Polly’s remembered her father buying his toy in the late eighties when she was eight years old. He rarely drove it but polished it and waxed it and took her mother for a spin with roof down in summer. The soft top was down, and Polly did not understand how to put it up, but she remembered her mother kept a headscarf in the glove box. She tied her shoulder length hair back and secured it with the scarf. Polly retrieved her overnight bag from the house, locked up and edged the Ferrari out of the garage. She gained confidence halfway down the mile-long looping driveway and increased her speed as the sunlight mottled the acres of grass, dappled by the leaves of oaks and elms. Polly approached the automatic gates which opened towards her and she spun onto the lane and followed it through the village. One minute after she’d left, the gates opened again and a motorbike with a leather clad rider turned out of the driveway and followed the same route. She stopped as she passed the church and reversed back and parked in the churchyard. She remembered her father’s funeral and the eulogy she gave that day: ‘Every person we meet, every conversation we have, changes us just a little. We mourn the hole in our lives left by our loved ones. But we should also celebrate the changes left by everything they’ve touched and everyone

they’ve met. They continue to advise us, caution us, give us inspiration. They are, therefore, with us forever in their perfection and there is no death.’ Polly recalled every word as if she were saying them now. Why could she remember something from over two years ago but couldn’t even recollect what she’d eaten for lunch the previous day or in fact anything from the previous twenty-four hours? She drove away. Some guys in a white transit overtook her on the motorway and whistled. She smiled back at them until one made a lewder gesture which she returned with one of her own. She then gunned the Ferrari past them, dabbed the braked to slow them a little and watched with satisfaction in her rear-view mirror at their displeasure. Polly crossed through the Dartford tunnel and continued all the way to the A1, where she turned off and continued into north London. The traffic was lighter than expected and she pulled up in front of her flat and parked on the road. Polly was uncomfortable leaving the Ferrari outside with the top down, so she wrestled with the canopy. A guy from the coffee shop across the road came out to help her. ‘Not seen you for a while, Polly. Nice motor for a nurse!’ They got the roof fixed and Polly thanked the guy. He beamed back a smile as he crossed over the road. Polly remembered going in for a bite to eat before work the week before and the same guy serving her. She skipped up the steps to the front door of her building and took out her key, but someone had replaced the lock with a coded keypad. A motorbike with delivery panniers cruised along the road and the helmeted rider glanced at Polly as he passed.

Chapter 3

Polly couldn’t remember a memo from the landlord informing her of this upgrade to the communal door, but then she couldn’t remember anything of the previous twenty-four hours. A new panel with nameplates for each flat sat above the keypad with a video camera embedded above it. She recognised a few names on the panel but others looked unfamiliar, including the one next to her flat number: Mr Fletcher graced the name plate where Polly Park should have been. Polly rang the buzzer for her flat, but no-one answered. She pressed the buzzers of acquaintances she’d collected parcels for in the past but there was no response. She gave up and walked back to the pavement. Polly noticed the chicken shop on the corner had closed and the old bookmakers was being redeveloped. Sitting in the Ferrari, Polly considered her next options. She’d called her friends, and they’d not called back, which was odd. Someone else occupied her flat, which was even stranger. Polly drove to work and stopped in the car park near the hospital. The video surveillance and the expensive cars in central London reassured her to the Ferrari’s safety. A delivery rider parked in the motorcycle bay on the level below. Polly walked up to the ward and greeted a few colleagues she recognised. Wary at first, Polly relaxed as her colleagues recognised her and asked her why she was in this weekend. Dr Rama, Polly’s friend and long-time confidant was on duty and Polly grabbed him by the vending machine; the guy had a weakness for chocolate. ‘Hey Rama, how are you?’ ‘Better for seeing you Polly, why aren’t you in uniform today?’ ‘Day off, I’ve come in to ask a favour. This will sound strange.’ ‘I’m sure it won’t be the weirdest thing you told me over the years. Go on.’ ‘I woke up this morning at my parent’s home with a headache and expected my wedding day. I invited you, remember?’ Rama’s smiling face changed to one of concern for his friend. His beeper went off and he ignored it. ‘I’ve called Sarah and Phoebe and Mike and none of them are returning my calls. I’m worried I’ve got Amnesia again Rama, do you remember when I drank to much and lost a few days memory. You told me my hippocampus had shut down and stopped recording memories. I think it’s happening again.’ Rama remained silent and opened his arms. Polly fell against his chest, and he hugged her. ‘Listen Polly, let’s sit down for a coffee and I’ll explain what’s going on, at least what I think is happening. I’ve just got to take this call, and I’ll be straight back. I’ll meet you in the café, grab us some good seats.’ Polly waited by the window in a booth that provided the most pleasant experience in an otherwise unappealing coffee shop. Rama did not appear after thirty minutes, and Polly got another drink. After an hour Polly searched for her friend and got the ward manager to page him. By the end of the shift, with still no Rama, they called the police and a uniformed officer and a female detective arrived. ‘Hello Polly,’ said the detective. Polly recognised the woman as Mike’s colleague, Rosie. She’d been a beat PC the last time Polly had the misfortune to meet her, but it seemed Rosie’s officiousness and earnest approach had gained the promotion she craved. ‘We called you earlier when Mike didn’t show for work. Are you not answering your phone?’ ‘I’ve got my phone on. Did Mike put me down as his next of kin?’ ‘Naturally. Let’s deal with this incident at the hospital first, then we’ll talk to you about Mike.’ The ward manager stated that a motorcycle courier had arrived around the time that Polly met with Rama with legal documents to serve. The manager had directed the courier to meet Rama in reception and she’d paged Rama.

CCTV showed Rama go to the ward, get instruction from the manager and then meet the helmeted courier in reception. The pair exited the hospital near Accident and Emergency and disappeared from the camera’s view behind the ambulance rank. After a series of questions, DC Rosie regarded Polly with her humourless eyes. ‘Trouble seems to follow you Polly. We’ve got no further questions for you tonight. Do you want a lift home?’ Polly found the offer of a lift attractive, even if provided by DC Rosie. She accepted but resolved to say nothing during the journey, as she suspected her driver of fishing for clues from an off-guard passenger. The route appeared unfamiliar, but Polly bit her lip and forced herself to silence. She noticed Rosie watching her through the officer’s peripheral vision but didn’t see the motorcycle courier overtake them. Rather than take the brief journey to Polly’s North London flat, Rosie headed South and then West towards Ealing. Polly guarded her expression when Rosie pulled into the drive of a small terraced cottage and opened the passenger door. ‘If Mike calls, please let us know straight away.’ Rosie handed Polly a business card and then drove away without another word. A neat gravel driveway led to the front door and Polly inhaled honeysuckle scent from the climber rambling over the porch. She put her key into the lock and turned. The door yielded, and Polly entered the cottage.

Chapter 4

The front door opened straight into a small lounge which smelled of wood shavings, and Polly suspected vermin were chewing somewhere out of site. She recognised the photos over the fireplace of her and Mike diving in Egypt and the sofa was from her mum’s house via her old flat. Otherwise the contents of the lounge were unfamiliar. A set of steep stairs divided the lounge from a dining area and kitchen, which was also unfamiliar to Polly. She ascended the steep steps and pushed her hands against the walls to steady herself as there was no bannister. She peered through the door at the left, which opened to reveal a neat bedroom. The room on the right had a desk and computer. Papers and birthday cards littered the floor and the drawers from the desk were open. Polly saw one letter on the floor from her brother Toby and she pocketed it. The sash window was open and gave access to the flat roof of the kitchen. Polly heard footsteps and peeped outside. She saw a guy dressed in black leather wearing a motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor. He stood on the flat roof and pressed himself against the wall, but failed in his attempt to blend in. Polly jumped back from the window and ran down the stairs, but slipped on the narrow treads and crashed headfirst towards the bottom. She raced downwards and clutched at the smooth walls on either side, which failed to slow her descent. The hallway floor stopped her, but she hit her head and crumpled in a heap: wedged in the gap between the dining room and the lounge. Colours swirled in Polly’s mind and she saw shadows dancing around her. She heard footsteps on the stairs, which sounded assured and careful. She tried to struggle as she felt herself lifted in powerful arms that smelled of leather. Polly came around on the sofa thirty minutes later. A glass of water stood on the table next to her with some paracetamol. She took a sip and her eyes cleared. The motorcycle courier sat in an armchair by the window, still wearing his helmet. Polly pushed her hands against the sofa, trying to rise and make her way to the exit. The rider held up the palm of his hand and the calmness and firmness of the gesture forced Polly to remain seated. The guy in the black leathers then beckoned someone from the dining room before sitting motionless in the armchair. Rama entered with a medical bag and sat on the sofa with Polly. ‘Rama, you’re OK. What’s going on?’ ‘I can’t tell you Polly, but they’ve let me check you out to make sure you’re OK.’ Rama shone his torch in Polly’s eyes and asked her a series of questions including: ‘What day is it today?’ ‘Saturday.’ ‘Are you sure Polly?’ ‘Yes, it’s Saturday 27th June. I know because it’s my wedding day.’ A tear trickled down Rama’s cheek. ‘Polly I’ve got something to tell you that will be hard for you to listen to, but please promise me you’ll hear me until I finish.’ He held her hand and Polly nodded. ‘Today is 27th June, but it’s Sunday 27th June. It’s your first wedding anniversary. You married Mike last year, but you didn’t dance because you couldn’t walk. The wedding took place at your hospital bed because we thought you might die and it’s what you and Mike wanted. Your mum and Sarah and Phoebe and I were there. Two days before you’d been for a second hen night with Sarah and Phoebe and had got a Taxi home from the bar. A drunk driver ran a red light at the crossroad and hit the cab square in the rear nearside passenger door where you sat. Everyone else escaped with minor injuries, but you had severe head trauma. You gained consciousness on the Saturday morning and we thought you wouldn’t last the day. You wrote two words on a piece of paper and handed it to Mike: Marry Me. We arranged for the emergency registrar who married you and Mike the same day. You were in a critical condition for a week, but then showed signs of recovery. Your mother said it was your father’s fighting spirit and that you never gave up. You showed signs of memory loss though and couldn’t remember anything

that occurred since the accident. You’d wake in the morning, and it was as if the previous day never occurred. The condition became more pronounced when you left hospital and the days became less routine. Mike helped you through this time with the help of this journal.’ Rama produced a thick A4 diary and showed Polly weeks of entries from the previous year. Polly noticed that someone had cut the pages from the diary out from about ten months ago. ‘Why do the entries stop about ten months ago Rama?’ ‘I researched your condition and hypothesised you had functional Amnesia similar to that seen before in a patient. The authors published the study, and I remembered reading it and tried the treatment on you. You switched to a new diary on my advice to signal a fresh start. We cut out the remaining pages to show that this phase was complete and to put it in the past. I started you on a different treatment where you set an alarm every 4 hours in the night. We found that using this method you could remember episodes from the previous day. Not all at first, but with time your recall was nearly perfect. When you slept over five hours, the recall diminished and when you slept over six hours, then you had almost no memory of the previous day. You became more confident, and you started back at work six months ago and only those close to you are aware of your condition.’ The rider in leathers signalled Rama to stop talking, stood and strode to the door. ‘Polly, please stay here for the rest of the day.’ ‘Rama, don’t go with him, stay with me.’ ‘I have no choice Polly; I’ll be OK but promise me you’ll stay here and wait.’ Polly nodded, and Rama and the rider departed. Polly hear the rev of a high powered motorcycle which faded to silence.

Chapter 5

The kitchen cupboards were lightly stocked, and Polly found only instant coffee sachets and an old kettle. This surprised her, but perhaps the accident had dulled her love of caffeine. She sipped the thin brew and watched daytime tv until her second headache of the day subsided and she was ready to explore again. Polly treated the narrow, steep treads with more respect on her return upstairs. She entered the bedroom this time and found a few of her clothes and one of Mike’s suits. There was another picture of them on the nightstand, but Polly frowned at the room’s plain decoration. She hoped that they’d only recently moved, which would prove an excuse for drabness. The makeshift office across the landing was now tidy and the desk drawers contained the scattered papers. Polly flicked through the documents and found a few of Mike’s payslips and some old birthday cards that she’d kept in an old shoebox. She remembered the letter she’d retrieved from the room’s floor earlier, unfolded it and read it:

Dear Polly,

I don’t seek forgiveness for poisoning Dad and trying to strangle you. I desire only to suffer, but I want you to know the depth of my remorse. The therapy that I’ve received in prison has opened my eyes to the selfish way I lived my life and brought me to the realisation that I deserved nothing.

I took everything from you and mum, driven by greed for our inheritance and my misguided hatred of our father.

I now feel only love for you and Mum and Dad’s memory. Please realise that you were the most wonderful family and I accept my actions were because of my own warped greed and psychotic narcissism. Please forget me now Polly, I won’t write again and my penance is welcome and the longer I endure this hell, the more I welcome the pain.

Yours,

Toby.

Polly read the typed letter three times and then folded it and replaced it in the drawer. This was the first letter she’d ever received from her brother and the first he’d ever written to her knowledge. Her mother had failed to get him to write even as a child to thank grandparents and aunts for birthday cards. Although aware of the wonders of modern behavioural therapies, Polly doubted the sincerity of Toby’s note. She hadn’t believed a word Toby had told her since her late twenties, and now a decade later she was even more cynical. Toby was trying to manipulate her. He was so clever that he’d never state his aim, but Polly realised that she wanted to see him and ask him about the letter. He must want her to visit him in prison. Polly wanted to ask him how he could have hated their father so much to poison his tea after all the money the old man had given their son over the years. How could he have plotted to kill her, his sister who had shown him only love and understanding as he navigated his selfish mess of a life? Polly realised that Toby was controlling her, but she could not resist the pull to call the prison and arrange a visit. She found the online booking system for the prison service and sent the form.

Sunlight flickered through the lounge window and threw shadows across the sofa, which tempted Polly into the driveway. Limewash coloured the house a faded green, and the bricks had crumbled around the mortar. She hated the dilapidated feel of the place and wondered why she’d chosen such a run-down house for her starter home with Mike. Polly guessed that they’d gone for somewhere convenient for both their jobs, but out of the town centre. She resolved to speak to Mike about repointing the brickwork should their savings allow. Across the road and past a small parking area, a railway embankment rose, and a train slunk along, slowing to take the corner. Mike must have twisted her arm to buy this place. She imagined the annoying grind of the carriage wheels on the rails keeping her awake at night. She doubted she would get over four hours sleep between the late-night trains stopping and the early morning service starting up. Perhaps they’d chosen the location to ensure the prescribed sleep deprivation Rama had spoken about. Polly saw some guys working on the rail in high visibility overalls. She noticed one man glance at her and she smiled at him, her natural response when discovered peeping. The guy looked away; she’d have expected at least a wave. As Polly returned to her lounge, her phone rang. ‘Is this Polly Park?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘This is the prison service. I notice you tried to book in to see your brother Toby.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m not sure what’s going on Miss Park, but your brother Toby is dead. Looking at the records, he died a few days after your visit three months ago.’ Polly stood in silence. ‘Miss Park, I’ve asked around and you were at his funeral. Are you OK?’ ‘Yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry for bothering you I won’t call again.’

Chapter 6

The bare bulb in the lounge glowed white and banished the creeping shadows as the sun dipped over the railway embankment. The guys on the rails switched on arc lights but appeared. As Polly watched through the window, she noticed light reflecting in the glasses worn by a railway workers. On closer inspection, Polly saw that they were not glasses, but binoculars, and that he was staring at her house. But was it her house? Polly regarded the bare light bulb and doubted she’d tolerate this for even one day. She walked through the kitchen to a grotty downstairs bathroom that smelled of mould and became certain that she’d never lived in this dive. Why would Rama lie to her? Perhaps the courier in the black leathers had threatened him, or more likely threatened Rama that he would hurt Polly. She took her chance to get out of the house under cover of nightfall. Neighbouring gardens surrounded the yard on all sides. She would have to hop through thirty gardens to make it to the road if she went out the back door, and she’d heard a vicious dog barking. Unless her suspicions were paranoia, Polly suspected the railway workers would give chase, and she planned her route by surveying the road from the upstairs window. A pedestrian bridge rose from the parking area in front of the embankment and crossed a stream. Polly gathered her things and bolted from the door like an animal from a cage. She raced up the steel steps, which rang as the frame bounced and shook. The railway guys were already halfway down the hill as she approached the landing at the top of the flight. One guy shouted at her to stop, but Polly increased her pace. She crossed the bridge and was jumping down the treads as her pursuers started the climb across the stream. A thorn snagged on Polly’s trouser leg as she jumped from the bridge onto the cobbled path. The route was dark, and the next streetlight glowed in the distance. She grabbed the thorny undergrowth and dislodged it from her clothing, but then pulled the vine across the bottom of the steps about a foot above the floor. She tied it to a post to create a tripwire before slinking back into the woods that bounded the river. The railway workers were side by side as they reached the base of the stair and both running at full speed. They sprawled and hit the ground hard as the knotty vine bit into their shins, but both jumped up and continued, quickening their pace towards the streetlight in the distance. Polly waited for the men to turn the corner and disappear behind the trees before she retraced her steps over the bridge. As she crept along the raised walkway, she saw the railwaymen running along the cobbled lane which weaved towards a maze of residential roads. One of them pulled out a phone or a radio and spoke into it as he ran. A guy walked towards her on the bridge with an enormous dog that snarled and tugged at the lead. The owner smelled of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Polly was about to warn the guy about the tripwire that awaited, but before she could speak the dog lunged towards her. The owner laughed as the dog scratched and bit at Polly. ‘He likes the smell of you, I like the smell of you,’ said the guy and licked his lips to expose yellow and black teeth. Polly pushed passed him and shook the dog off; it pulled its owner onwards, keen to continue its walk. As Polly made it back to the driveway of the terraced cottage, she heard the odious dog guy trip and swear amidst frantic barking. She didn’t return inside the house, but continued along the road, under a bridge to a high street next to a green. A few restaurants edged the park and were still half full of diners finishing their deserts and wine, and Polly envied a couple sat outside on decking under fairy lights. The last time she’d seen Mike was a similar scene in an expensive restaurant. A few days before the wedding they’d chatted late until the night over the dregs of their drinks, had kissed and then Mike had dropped her back at her flat. They’d agreed the next time they’d meet would be at the wedding.

A police car with blue lights flashing stopped next to Polly and drew her thoughts back to reality. A young uniformed officer jumped from the driver’s seat and grabbed Polly’s arm. ‘Easy Jack,’ said DC Rosie, who emerged from the passenger seat. ‘Polly, would you come to the station please? You’re not under arrest and your free to leave, but I’d appreciate it if you’d answer some questions.’ ‘And if I refuse?’ ‘Mike trusted me, Polly. Is that enough for you?’ Polly reflected on the statement and stepped into the car; Mike didn’t like Rosie, but her diligence and her integrity impressed him. The police car rolled into the station about ten minutes later and Polly entered the custody suite through a cage. Rosie let her into an interview room and brought her a cup of tea. ‘Polly, I’ve got some questions about your brother’s death. Just to confirm that you’ve requested no legal representation and that you’re not under arrest and are free to leave.’ Rosie didn’t start the tape recorder. ‘I understand, but I only realised that my brother was dead today, as I thought he was in prison until I found a letter in that house you took me to. I tried to arrange a visit with him, and they told me he was dead.’ ‘Do you remember anything to do with your brother’s death?’ ‘I can’t remember anything from the past year; the last thing I remember is drinking in a bar two days before my wedding. What’s going on Rosie, that house you took me to. Mike and I never lived there, and you know that.’ ‘We’ll get to that Polly, but first I need to ask you a few more questions. Do you remember visiting your brother in prison a few days before his death?’ ‘No, but the prison service confirmed that I did. I’m not surprised, even though I’d decided never to see him again. That note I found in the house earlier made me try to book a visit. Toby was super manipulative, only my father could resist Toby getting his way, and Toby killed him. Rosie, when did you last see Mike?’ ‘Not for a few days, but I spoke to him about an hour ago. He asked me to pick you up, bring you here and keep you safe.’ The interview room door opened, and the courier dressed in black leather entered. He sat next to Rosie while unbuckling his helmet.

Chapter 7

The courier placed his helmet on the floor and Polly recognised his face. Mike looked thinner than she remembered, with a few shades of grey around the temples. A diagonal wound ran across his cheek, recently stitched but inflamed at the edges. Mike looked at Rosie; she rose and left the interview room. He held out his hand to Polly, who grasped it without speaking, and a single tear rolled down Mike’s cheek. ‘Mike, what’s happened?’ ‘Before I tell you Polly, I want you to know that everything we’ve done has been to protect you because we love you. Me, your mother, Sarah, Phoebe and Rama. You believe that, don’t you?’ ‘I believe you Mike. I’d trust you all with my life.’ ‘And we’d trust you with ours because we’ve had to, and you’ve always been there for your friends.’ ‘Friends? We’re married, aren’t we?’ ‘Yes. Polly, what Rama told you back at the safe house was true. You had a car accident two days before our wedding and the emergency registrar married us in the hospital. We never lived in that house though as I think you suspected; it was a safe house we used to house protected witnesses and the railway workers were police officers watching out for you. I asked Rosie to put you there while I spoke with Rama and convinced him to help us help you. I watched over you while you stayed at your mum’s house, and I tucked you in the night before, as your mum returned from France. When you went to see Rama, I had to improvise, and you caught me planting the few photos and clothes in the safe house.’ ‘Mike, why did you want me to think we lived in that safe house?’ ‘Your old flat had too many reminders of the past. It was impossible to stop you remembering if you’d stayed there. Sarah and Phoebe and your mum and me had tried to erase the memories, but you always recorded the past and hide it away: notes behind ventilation grates with loose screws you’d investigate, usb sticks hidden in apple cores that you’d bite into. You plastered hidden timers in the walls to beep every four hours to prevent you forgetting. The only way to let you forget was to change your environment, and we had to do it fast.’ ‘What did you want me to forget Mike?’ ‘This is where I need you to trust me Polly, and if you don’t trust me, then trust Sarah and Phoebe and your mum. There is something that would endanger your life if you remembered and we can’t bear to lose you. Can you do that? Come home with me, Polly. That’s a start, the people outside that will advise you the same.’ ‘I’ll come home with you Mike, why wouldn’t I?’ Mike stood and led Polly from the room. They walked out of the custody suite, into the station yard and onto the street where Mike had parked his civilian car. A group gathered around: Sarah, Phoebe, Rama and Polly’s mother. They embraced and hugged and agreed to postpone the questions, at least until tomorrow. Mike drove Polly to his flat in Kennington and they sat outside on the roof terrace with only the city lights and the aircraft overhead for illumination. ‘I’ll wake you in four hours Polly, so you remember today; keep a journal from tomorrow. You can restart your life.’ Polly reached to hug Mike, but he pulled away and kissed the top of her head. She followed him downstairs into the flat. ‘Sleep in here tonight, I’ll take the sofa.’ ‘I want to be close to you. Where did you get the wound on your cheek?’ ‘Let’s take it slow, Polly. We’ll get there.’ Mike hugged her and left her in the bedroom. Polly observed her spartan surroundings. She remembered Mike’s flat and little had changed: a few suits hung in the tiny wardrobe, no pictures on the walls and a single shelf with non-fiction books. The room showed no trace of Polly Park.

Polly set her phone alarm for four hours’ time but couldn’t sleep. She took a pen from her bag and recorded her recent life in her tiny address book. She would transpose the contents to a proper journal the next day but could not risk losing her memories overnight. As she described the room in which she lay, she drifted into a dreamless sleep. Mike shook Polly’s shoulder gently at five am and roused her so she sat up in bed. ‘Are you OK, know where you are?’ ‘Yes Mike, I’m in your boring bedroom. Did we not move in together after we married?’ ‘The first months after the accident were tough, and we had more pressing issues. You lived at your mum’s house during that time. I’d stay with you on my rest days and after a few months you moved back to your place and we’d stay over with each other depending on our shifts. We started looking for a place to buy together about six months after the accident but couldn’t find anywhere perfect. You refused your family’s money for the deposit as usual, so we were waiting for the next property crash. I’m sure your father would have still respected you Polly; he always wanted you to buy a place with his wealth.’ ‘I think it’s because of Toby; I always wanted to be different to him, perhaps I took it to the extreme by refusing all my family’s help.’ ‘Get more rest now Polly, we’ll speak more in the morning.’ Mike kissed her head again and left. Polly hugged the pillow, desperate for him to hold her.

Chapter 8

After breakfast, Mike kissed Polly, but not with the passion she remembered, more like a brother to a sister. They chatted about the previous day and Polly remembered everything. Phoebe arrived mid-morning with her new baby, Isaac. She’d left her daughter Daisy at home with husband Greg. Phoebe had agreed to take the early shift of Polly sitting before Sarah, and then Polly’s mother arrived. The friends had agreed it best not to leave Polly alone for a few days. Mike departed for his late shift and Phoebe put Isaac in his travel cot for a nap in the bedroom and fixed coffee. She made it strong like Polly liked. ‘This secret Phoebe, the one that’s dangerous for me to remember, is it to do with my brother Toby? He died a few days after I visited him in prison.’ ‘If I answer yes or no then you’ll soon get to the truth. You still know what you’re like Polly Park, a human lie detector. You’re a wonderful nurse, but you’d have been a better detective. I’m just a mum now, that’s my identity.’ ‘Will you have more children?’ ‘Greg says not but one more will do me I think.’ ‘That’s what you said when Daisy was born and well done for changing the subject, but can’t you tell me anything about the last year. I could always deal with most things, my father’s death, my own attempted murder, kidnappings and serial killers. I’ll be able to handle it.’ ‘You’ve got to trust us Polly, some things are just too much for anyone to bear. Your amnesia was a curse after the wedding, but now it’s a blessing. Focus on the mundane now and get back on your feet. Rama and the medical professionals are all agreed that’s it best just to forget; few people have that option.’ Phoebe made avocadoes on toast for lunch and the pair flicked on the tv to check the weather. They caught the last news story about a brutal gangland killing. Someone had broken into the Surrey mansion of suspected crime Fyodor Kolinski and killed him and his wife in their sleep. The boss was on bail awaiting trial on people trafficking charges and the son had found the bodies on his return from Europe. ‘Did I kill my brother Phoebe?’ ‘Polly stop, I’ll not confirm or deny anything. Do you want a glass of wine? I chilled a bottle when I got here and expressed some milk earlier in case you got problematic.’ Polly nodded her agreement, and they switched of the news and moved out onto Mike’s balcony with two glasses and a bottle of Sancerre. Isaac purred away in his cot. The summer sun glinted from the chrome rail at the terrace edge and Phoebe put on her sunglasses. A heat haze blurred the road below and the tarmac shimmered as tiny folk in shorts and summer dresses bustled around. Polly found her sun hat, savoured the crisp notes of her drink and smiled for the first time since she’d woken at her mum’s house the previous morning. ‘I can see why they sent you round first for Polly control Phoebe, a simple plan but well executed.’ ‘Yes. We’ve got your mum on the night shift to put you to bed, that will be a tricky slot. Sarah volunteered, but we knew you’d both be up all night and you need some rest even if we’ve got to wake you every four hours.’ ‘So, the night before last you all let me sleep over four hours to make me forget?’ Polly’s tone became serious but not harsh. ‘Mike took you to your mother’s house; we thought it best if she broke the news to you as Mike wasn’t in good shape and we wanted to keep you calm. His facial injury looks much better now. The delay to your mother’s flight meant that you’d left before she got home and the rest you know. Sorry for not returning your call, but we agreed to silence, so you didn’t squeeze the truth from us.’ ‘What happened to Mike’s face?’

Isaac woke and his cries provided a welcome distraction for Phoebe, who prepared his bottle in the kitchen as he continued to cry. Polly found the noise difficult to listen to and picked up the baby. ‘Is it OK if I hold him while you’re warming his bottle, Phoebe?’ ‘Yes Polly, thanks.’ Polly bounced Isaac on her knee and tried to distract him with a soft book with embroidered characters. As Polly read, the baby’s cries got louder and louder and Phoebe tensed in the kitchen and stared at the expressed milk warming in a jug. After a minute of crying, Polly felt a tingle in her nipples. She sensed wetness in her bra and noticed a slight stain appear on the front of her t-shirt. Phoebe lifted Isaac from Polly’s arms and sat opposite, feeding the hungry boy his bottle, unaware of Polly’s situation. As the infant settled, Polly went to the bathroom and checked herself. She wiped the milk from her bosom and changed her top before gathering herself. When Phoebe had finished with Isaac, the women played with him for an hour and then put him back in the cot. He settled after Polly sang him a song, and the friends resumed their positions on the terrace. ‘Phoebe, I’ll ask you a question and all I ask is that you don’t lie to me. Did I have a baby?’ Polly watched her friend’s expression and Phoebe knew that she’d confirmed Polly’s suspicions with her body language. ‘How did you know Polly? I’m sorry, but we’re all doing this for you?’ ‘Isaac’s crying caused a let-down reflex in me and I lactated. It can happen in women who’ve never had a baby, but unlikely. I think you’d better tell me everything, Phoebe. I will handle this again. You know I’ll get to the truth and I promise to stay calm. Please tell me Phoebe, where’s my baby?’

Chapter 9

Phoebe cried, and Polly shuffled around the table to console her friend. ‘Polly, it’s my fault you’re in this mess. I can’t tell you for your own safety.’ Phoebe held firm until Sarah arrived, and Polly realised that her friends would keep the secret. When Isaac woke again, Polly suggested a walk in the Park before Phoebe returned home. Sarah seconded the idea as she wanted to buy more wine from the off license. The three strolled in the evening sunshine and chatted about Sarah’s job and Phoebe’s dance classes just like the old days. When Isaac woke and Phoebe popped her head in the pram to sooth him, Polly took her chance. ‘I love you both,’ she said as she sprinted away towards the tube station. Sarah attempted to pursue but would never catch Polly and she stopped, gasping for air, after twenty metres. Phoebe was faster than Polly, but her heels were no match for her friends trainers, and she had little appetite for another confrontation. With the snippet of truth revealed, Polly would pursue the leads and discover all the facts. Polly took the tube and crossed North under London back to her old flat. This time the neighbours clicked open the communal door. She jogged upstairs, fuelled by adrenaline. The key to her apartment door still worked, and she entered the tiny unit. Someone had painted the walls grey and there was no trace of mould or mushrooms growing from the carpet, an enormous improvement on her last memories of the place. She flopped on the sofa and listened to the familiar chirps of the birds outside the window. After a minute’s rest, Polly searched all the drawers in the house for papers, journals and diaries, but found only old birthday cards and love letters. Her computer search history contained only online shopping orders and there were no files of interest. Polly remembered Mike’s comment that she’d hidden clues everywhere, and after coffee she started the search in the bathroom. She unscrewed the cover to the extractor and removed the fan inside. Polly stood on a chair and forced her hand into the duct but retrieved only dust and ants. She checked the walls for wobbly tiles and the cupboards for loose veneers. The tiny size of the flat helped with the speed of the search. Polly knew that Phoebe would call Mike and her mother and that she wouldn’t have long before someone interrupted her. She started in one corner of the lounge, pulled back the carpet from the grips and worked around the perimeter, but revealed nothing. The finials to the curtain poles look unfamiliar and Polly unscrewed them, but no reward lurked within. Polly tapped the walls but didn’t know what to listen for. Some bits felt more solid than others, but not an excuse to break them apart with a sledgehammer. Perhaps Mike and the others had overestimated her ingenuity because after a fingertip search of the entire apartment, all Polly had found was a screwed-up foil wrapper for a chocolate egg, under the sofa cushion. Polly rolled the foil ball between her fingers as she thought of anywhere to look for clues. She smoothed the wrapper back to a sheet and rubbed it between her thumb and index finger. She folded the foil into a dart and threw it at the wastepaper bin, but it turned left and ascended and landed on the bookshelf. Polly had already searched the shelf and flicked through all its contents, but as she retrieved the dart, she realised a book was missing, the perfect book to hide a secret. As a teenager, and on the instructions of her English teacher, Polly had asked her father about his favourite book. He had replied in an instant: ‘Ulysses by James Joyce; try it, Polly. I’ll never read it again.’ Later that day he handed her the hardback. ‘It’s yours Polly, don’t hand it back until you’ve finished it.’ Her father smiled, and she made a start but didn’t get far. The book stayed on her shelf for a few months before she found another use for it and hollowed out a substantial cavity through the pages in the central third of the book.

The tome provided a generous storage space for cigarettes at first and then, in the years before she left home, condoms and birth control pills. Polly had taken the book with her when she’d left home, and it should have been right there on the shelf. She remembered hiding gifts for Mike in it before the accident. He had laughed when she’d revealed his wrapped birthday present of cufflinks from its concealed storage. Mike knew this perfect hideaway, that’s why she’d moved it. Polly imagined what she would do if she needed to hide the book now, and plain sight was always her preference. Where can you hide a book in plain sight? A library or a book shop. Polly didn’t have a library card, but she had a favourite bookshop. She changed her clothes and rushed down the stairs back to the street just as she saw Mike’s car turn the corner and approach. Polly ducked behind the wall running between the front yard and the pavement and hid behind the bins. Mike rang the bell and when no-one answered, he punched in the code and entered the building. Polly bounded the wall and returned to the tube station, and fifteen minutes later she strolled down Tottenham Court Road to her beloved book shop. She strode to the correct shelf and found two modern hardback copies of Ulysses nestled next to an older edition with faded binding. She slipped her old hardback from the rack and ordered a coffee from the shop assistant, who also doubled as a Barista. Polly picked her usual chair by the column near the stairs and lay her old book on the table. She flicked open the cover and thumbed through the first third until she got to the hollow in the centre. She retrieved her bounty from the cavity, a bundle of folded sheets of paper, and laid them on the table next to her coffee. She unfolded and smoothed the ripped diary pages.

Chapter 10

Of the jumbled sheets, Polly had dated only four, and the others had tears where the date should have been. The papers were extracts from a journal. Polly sorted the sheets into chronological order and put the undated pages to the side. She noticed that she’d written the journal in three different inks: blue, blue/black and black. This helped Polly to rearrange the pages into three sections, one starting the previous August, the next beginning in November and the last section only three months ago in March. Most of the saved entries were from March onwards.

August 15th

I took a pregnancy test today, and it proved positive. I called Mike at work, but he was busy on a case and he asked if I could call back later. Waited until he came over to my place after he finished his shift. Mike seemed delighted, and we talked about buying somewhere again. I’ll let Mum help with the deposit if she’s still offering. Dad would have wanted it and I need to swallow my pride and accept the support that I’ve always shunned.

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Started back at work today and coped OK. I could remember what to do, but pleased I’m starting back on just two days a week this month. Feel more tired than I remember though and wish I could sleep through the night. Lots of colleagues asked me how I was but don’t think they are aware of my condition.

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December 20th

Had the twenty-week scan today and I’m having a boy. I feel a little guilty that I’ll be leaving work again soon and I’m just getting back in my stride. Mike thinks I need the time off. We looked around a compact house in Isleworth, but neither of us wanted it. Mum says we can stay with her if we don’t find anywhere in time and it's looking like that may be an option; I don’t want to take a baby back to my flat.

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I went out with Sarah and Phoebe. It frustrates Sarah that I can’t drink but Phoebe made up for me. She said that my pregnancy made her want another baby. Greg had to pick Phoebe up as she wasn’t safe to get home. He was cross that he had to leave Daisy unattended so don’t think Phoebe will get her wish tonight.

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March 30th

Received a letter from Toby today. It’s the first one he sent since he’s been in prison. I know it’s full of lies and that he just wants me to visit him, but I’ll go. I’ve booked a visit in three days’ time using the online booking system. Mike insisted that he’d drive me.

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I visited Toby in prison today, and his appearance shocked me. He’s had a full sex change operation, and he looks well. I always wanted a sister but didn't imagine it would happen in these circumstances. Toby seemed changed in other ways and appeared concerned for me when he saw my bump. He didn’t show surprise but warned me to be careful and take care of myself. Toby told me to be careful when I’d had the baby and make sure someone was always with it. He sounded like dad with not a hint of malice in his voice. I think he was genuine, but Mike warned me. Toby is so clever that I don’t know what to believe.

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Mum called and told me Toby died in prison. Toby had slit the throat of another prisoner with a weapon he’d made himself from a toothbrush. A day later, guards found Toby hanged in his cell. Someone had switched the CCTV cameras off and there is an investigation into his death.

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I attended Toby’s funeral and stood with mum and Mike. Many people from the village attended: dad’s friends. Mum cried, but I felt no emotion. I noticed a tall guy good looking guy that looked familiar standing with a woman a little apart from the rest of the mourners. The woman wore a black veil and hat. The pair looked at me for longer than a glance. Or maybe I’m paranoid.

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My last day at work today and I’ll miss everyone here, but I’m finding it more difficult and getting tired. I wish I could sleep through the night, but I still set three alarm clocks to make sure I wake and don’t wipe my memory. I thought I saw the tall guy from the funeral again today when I left the maternity unit after an appointment. When I approached him and asked if I knew him. He said, ‘No, but perhaps you now my brother, most pretty girls do. He looked at my bump and sniggered.’

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Spoke about baby names with Mike on the way to the hospital. He likes Andrew and I prefer Joseph, but neither of us are sure. My contractions started about midnight and I’m writing this at four am. No need for an alarm clock tonight. Mike is with me but goes on a course next week. I’ll stay with my mum while he’s away, and she’s already readied the guest room as a nursery.

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May 2nd

I gave birth at seven am. The baby is big and healthy, but we’ve still not decided on a name. Mum has given me until tomorrow to decide, and Mike has given me the casting vote; I’ll sleep on it tonight. I’m looking forward to going to mum’s house and her cooking. Mike woke me mid afternoon, as I slept through most of the day. The nurses thought better that I sleep, but Rama helped Mike convince them I needed waking to prevent my amnesia from returning. A male nurse has looked after me well and I’ll run his name past Mike as an option for the baby name. I think I prefer it to Joseph.

Chapter 11

The journey to the prison was unmemorable, Polly re-read the pages from the journal as she sat on the train and sped through the countryside. The governor had agreed to meet her when she’d threatened to start a campaign against the safety standards in the prison. She lied that she had footage shared by Toby from an illegal smartphone he’d had smuggled in by a corrupt guard. A prison officer showed Polly to the governor’s office, and she waited in a visitor’s chair and looked out on the yard. In mates exercised below and she pictured Toby in the drab garb walking around the perimeter, keeping away from the other convicts. The governor brought tea with milk and no sugar, as Polly had advised his secretary. She sipped from the china mug and waited for his host to introduce himself. The guy was bald with a thickset, tough build, and his gaze was gentle yet firm. ‘Hello Polly Park, I’m governor Dean and let me please start by saying how sorry we are for you. Our investigation has led to the arrest of a former prison officer who the police charged yesterday for conspiracy to murder along with an inmate who they charged with the murder of your brother. The corrupt prison officer disabled the CCTV and unlocked your brother’s cell. This allowed the murderer to enter the cell, strangle your brother and fix the scene to look like a suicide. We would never have caught the criminals if we weren’t already suspicious of the corrupt guard. We had him under surveillance as part of a continuing operation against organised crime in prison. My deputy became suspicious of this guard when a colleague noted the frequent visits he made to the cell of a Victor Kolinski. Do you remember Victor Kolinski? He had a scar from a bite mark on his cheek and was serving a long term for kidnapping your friend’s baby. You caught him as he was trying to escape in a helicopter, I believe?’ Polly remembered Kolinski and his sister Maria. She had tracked them and caught them after they’d abducted Polly’s baby Daisy during a shopping trip. They would have sold Daisy for adoption. ‘I remember Kolinski, though I didn’t know his name back then. Was Maria his sister’s actual name?’ ‘No, they had multiple aliases, but Kolinski is the family’s actual name. You may have seen on the news that someone killed the father, Fyodor Kolinski and his wife in their mansion a few days ago.’ Polly remembered the news, and she thought back to the tall guy from the funeral. His handsome face reminded her of Victor Kolinski: she saw that now. ‘Did Maria or whatever she’s called go to prison, she was on remand the last time I remember?’ ‘I’m surprised you didn’t keep up with the case. The jury acquitted her when they found that her brother Victor had coerced her. They released her nine months ago. We never saw her visit her brother; I think he blamed her for his capture. Why do you think your brother murdered Kolinski?’ Polly forced her mouth shut and avoided blurting out her surprise. The governor was unaware of her amnesia and she saw no benefit in alerting him to it. She steered the conversation back to fact finding. ‘Did my brother associate with Victor Kolinksi?’ ‘Guards saw them conversing in the canteen a few weeks before Victor’s death. The exchanges became heated, and we suspected Victor bullied your brother about his sex change operation. But we’ve concluded the investigation now, and I don’t know why your brother killed him, but I realise the Kolinskis ordered your brother’s death as retribution. The corrupt guard had agreed to inform for immunity from prosecution. The authorities are reviewing the situation now after Fyodor Kolinski’s demise, but there is still useful intelligence that the guard can provide regarding the eldest son. He’s the head of the family now and back in business with his sister. If they can bring this guy to trial, it will cause a huge dent in the UK’s organised crime.

I’ve told you more than I intended Polly, but I trust you believe I’ve told you the truth and you won’t release certain video footage that I understand you possess?’ ‘Thank you, governor. I appreciate your candour and I assure you I won’t post any defamatory material on social media. I would like to speak to the guard that plotted my brother’s death though. As you know, my brother tried to kill me but I believe towards the end of his life his tried to help me and I would get some closure if I could speak to the man that will never stand trial for his murder.’ ‘You’re extracting a heavy price for your silence; how do I know you’re not bluffing? Show me the footage you’ve got.’ ‘I choose not to. You’ve got contacts in the police; you’ve seen that trouble follows me and those who cross me end up in grim places. It’s a risk you must take.’ The governor had received a briefing on Polly Park prior to her arrival and had seen the reports on her brother’s capture, the arrest of Victor Kolinski, the disruption she’d caused to arms dealers, crime bosses, serial killers and hostage takers. He knew she could cause an entire load of problems. ‘I’ll take my chances and stay on your side Polly and arrange for a transport to take you to the prison he’s held at if you’d like. I can’t guarantee he’ll talk to you, but you can take it from there. We’ve a low security transfer taking place in one hour. Would you like to ride up front in the cab?’ Polly accepted, and the governor escorted her to the yard where she jumped into the front double passenger seat of the transfer vehicle. The driver and his companion locked a single prisoner into the rear and joined her upfront. The gates opened and Polly rolled out of the prison yard and out onto the road that cut through the rolling hills like a jagged wound.

Chapter 12

The driver joked with Polly but his younger, pale-faced colleague sat stony faced and staring through the windscreen as the security van pounded towards its destination. They travelled on major roads but after half an hour the driver cut through a pass into dense woodland. Polly imagined a black range rover pulling up ahead of her and a second blocking them at the rear before gun men forced her from the vehicle. Her previous experience with the Kolinskis had put her on permanent alert. The journey passed without incident, however, until they ascended a slope at the exit to the forest and a deer ran out into the road. The driver hit the brakes and ground to a standstill. His colleague took his opportunity, reached over and plunged the stun gun first into the driver’s neck and, as he recoiled back, into Polly’s. The Pale guard unlocked the back of the van and released the prisoner. ‘It's your lucky day, run.’ The low security prisoner hesitated at first but then walked and then jogged away from the van and continued along the road. The guard left the van driver in a bush by a tree, cuffed Polly and put her in the vehicles cage. He jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned up the hill onto the dual carriageway and headed South. Polly woke as a jolt rattled her. She realised that she was a prisoner and searched the cage with her eyes for any means of escape. The guard had cuffed her hands to the rear to a steel loop on the bench. She forced her back against the wall to stop herself bouncing as the journey became increasingly bumpy. She tried to count time in her head to estimate how far she’d travelled but gave up when she was sure they’d been going for more than an hour. They slowed and stopped and then rocked and bobbed up and down for twenty minutes. She heard Seagulls squawk outside. The vehicle slowed, the rear doors opened and the pale guard held Polly’s wrist firm as he released her from the steel loop and reset her cuffs. The guy pushed Polly from the van and she squinted against bright sunlight as she established her surroundings. Polly stood in a courtyard surrounded by barbed wire atop twelve-foot-high brick walls. A forbidding concrete fortress ruptured the earth in front of her and Polly heard waves crashing against the rocks below. The air smelled cool, and a breeze ruffled her hair. A tiny figure walked towards Polly, silhouetted. Before Polly could distinguish the person’s features, the stranger smashed Polly in the cheek with a tiny fist. Polly rocked sideways and then crashed to the floor, semi-conscious. The force of the below surprised Polly, but then she saw the brass knuckles glinting above her on Maria’s hand. As Polly gathered herself and rose to her feet, Maria spoke. ‘That’s for the headache you gave me last time. When I’ve finished with you, your brain will be Jelly.’ ‘Do your worst Maria, or whatever you’re called, my brain is half mush already.’ The tiny woman drew back her fist again, but a tall guy emerged from steps that led down to a jetty. He caught his sister’s hand. ‘That’s enough Maria, this may be fun for you, but it won't be fun for me if she’s a vegetable before we get started. My brother said you were very free with your affections, Polly, before you bit him. Will you do the same for me?’ The tall guy dismissed the pale guard, and the youth descended the steps back to the Jetty. He boarded a small modular Ferry where the prison van sat. Polly heard the boat’s engine start as Maria pushed her towards rusting steel steps that led to a door in the concrete tower. Inside the tower, the walls were stained brown where water leaks had corroded the concrete and exposed the steel reinforcement bars. Someone had pushed a plastic chair up against a workbench vice. They had stacked tools the bench: saws, screwdrivers, nails and hammers. ‘Do you like your accommodation Polly, I’d like to say I built it for you but I’ve had other girls here before. You don’t mind, do you?’

Maria pushed Polly towards another door inside the tower; this one was unpainted but sanded to a fine finish. The tall guy walked through first and then Maria bundled Polly after him. ‘Maria leave us now.’ The guy’s fierce eyes burned into his sister and her face while defiant at first melted into a fearful submission and she left. He bolted the door. Full length glass surrounded the circular room over three quarters of its perimeter. A king size bed with opulent linens sat in the centre and a freestanding bathtub against one window. A rich rug covered the polished wooden floor slats and tea and coffee and a small kettle perched on an ornate table. ‘I recreated this room from memories of my favourite hotels. The builders are away today, but they’ll start work on the lounge and kitchen tomorrow. I’m hoping to have the entire place ready by the end of the year. I’d originally wanted a place of my own to escape from the family and my father but you’ve changed things for me Polly and I thank you. You put my brother in prison and he’s dead because of you. That pleased me, but you became my favourite when you killed my parents last week. The best criminals and police in the world have failed to hurt my father, but a pretty nurse felled him all by herself. I’m looking forward to spending time with you Polly. I’d prefer to let you live and play with you for a few months before I got bored, but you’re too clever for that so I’ll be quicker. This is what will happen. I’ll take your cuffs of in a minute, and then I’ll have some fun. You’re free to fight back, in fact I encourage it. When you want me to stop, all you’ve got to do is tell me where your baby is.’

Chapter 13

The tall guy stared from the window and watched a Ferry chug across the blue stretch of channel that surrounded his Island getaway. ‘I never wanted curtains here. I’d planned to tint the windows from the outside, but I like the idea that anyone can peek in in. But they can’t because we’re a mile offshore. Does it excite you?’ ‘What do you know of my baby?’ Polly crept towards the ornate table, shifting her feet a few inches at a time. ‘Have you lost your memory again Polly? That is convenient. We had a similar conversation only a few days ago. I like your games though, so I will play along. You impressed me and helped me by condemning my brother to rot in an English jail. Maria also lost no sleep by losing Victor. She hates you though because you beat her and because you’re stronger and tougher than she is. I can’t wait to see how rough you are. We frown upon any weakness in my family. Victor underestimated you Polly when he first met you and then again from his prison cell. He was proud and arrogant, but also cunning and observant. He learned that your brother was in the same prison and he watched him for months to glean any information that he could to use against you. One day your mother visited and told your brother Toby that you were expecting a baby. Victor passed this news to my mother and father through our corrupt prison guard. Dad was against the plan, but mother spoke to my grandparents back in the homeland. They judged to serve vengeance to protect the family honour, and the women hatched the plan. They knew that death was not the worst thing for you Polly, so they planned to take your son back to the homeland and raise him as one of us. One day he would return to you and kill you himself. My grandmother, mother and sister are worse than any of us men. Can you think of a worse punishment?’ ‘It’s cruel, I’ve got to give to them,’ said Polly. ‘But your mother and father are dead now and I’m still here, and it sounds like you can’t find my baby, so I guess they weren’t that smart. I can’t remember any of this, but I can remember who I am, and I’ll kill you too before the day’s done.’ Polly waited for the tall guy to laugh, and as he did so he looked out to sea. Polly flicked her thumb onto the kettle switch on the table behind her and hoped it had water inside. ‘Dad stopped the women executing the plan. He was a wise man, and he convinced everyone to leave you alone. Victor could not deal with the rejection and so he goaded your brother to get some sense of victory. He told Toby what our family had planned for you and Toby killed him; I guess we are not the only family to have a psychopath. After Victor’s death, the grandparents in the convinced Dad, and he agreed to the plan. We arranged Toby’s death in prison and watched you and waited for you to give birth; I first saw you at Toby’s funeral and liked what I saw. The kidnap was easy: we used brute force and broke into your apartment building. We just smashed through the buildings front door lock and forced our way in. Your husband put up a good fight until I cut his face. Maria stunned him and we took you by surprise as you were feeding your baby. Our next enormous mistake was to take you back to the family mansion in Surrey. Mum wanted to tell you the plan, so you’d live the rest of your life in fear of your son. It sounded good, but too risky. That’s why I’ll kill you today as I know how dangerous you are. We only left you alone with Mum and Dad for ten minutes and we came back to find them both garrotted. Your husband had tracked you to the mansion and got you out of there, but he didn’t report the murders and left that to me.’ ‘So if I’m so dangerous then why don’t you just shoot me and spare us both this trouble.’ Polly heard the kettle bubble on the stove and appreciated the size of the room; the tall guy stood by the window, ten metres away and wouldn’t hear the water heat. ‘I would have killed you already but I don’t have control over the family assets until my grandparents sign them to me. Can you guess what they want first?’

‘My baby?’ ‘That’s right, Polly. Where is he?’ The tall guy strode over to Polly and removed her cuffs. He slapped her hard across the face, and she rocked back into the window. The tall guy smiled as he pulled back to launch another blow. But Polly had kept fit during her rehabilitation and kept up with her martial arts classes. She rolled across the floor towards the bed. The tall guy rushed towards her, but Polly was back on her feet and used his speed against him. She sprang from the balls of her feet, twisted her hips and put all her force into the diamond engagement ring that she gouged into the guy’s cheek. ‘That’s was a present from Mike.’ The pain sent the guy crazy, and he grabbed Polly from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. He licked her cheek and nuzzled into her neck with his head tight against her to prevent her headbutt.. He smelled of expensive Cologne, and whispered into Polly’s ear, ‘I hadn’t expected to mix my blood with yours on the sheets but I can always burn them afterwards.’ Polly pulled in her arms and dropped to one knee before she chopped her hand back into his groin. He hit the floor and rolled on the rug. The kettle switched off just before Polly picked it from the stand and emptied it over the tall guys face. He shrieked as his skin blistered, and he covered his eyes with his hands. Maria banged on the bolted door but couldn’t budge it. Polly waited for Maria to appear in the floor to ceiling windows before she tied a knot in the kettles electrical cord. The tall guy crawled over to his sister and faced her through the window. He cried and begged for help, still doubled up on his knees with a split scrotum and his face peeling. Polly made two loops in the kettle flex and looped it around his neck. She forced her knee between the man’s shoulder blades and tugged on the cord, but not too hard. Polly fixed Maria in her gaze through the glass as she increased the force until Maria’s brother’s blood- soaked face collapsed against the window and Polly let him slide to the floor.

Chapter 14

Maria and Polly stared through the glass as the tall guy lay dead at Polly’s feet. Polly searched the body and found a ruby-encrusted dagger tucked behind his waistband; she it held it so the sun glinted from its edge. She also pocketed the guys cigarette lighter and the handcuffs. A rainbow appeared over the mainland before thunder struck and rain lashed against the window and soaked Maria’s hair as she stood paralysed by Polly’s medusa gaze. Maria ran towards the jetty, and Polly followed. A Jerry can sat next to a petrol generator near the workbench and Polly emptied its contents over the floor. Maria was descending the top steps as Polly emerged from the concrete tower and Polly picked up a rock from the ground. She hurled it at the centre of Maria’s back but got lucky as her aim was high and it clipped the smaller woman on the head. The stone stunned Maria, and she tripped on the step and fell four flights to a wooden deck. Polly flicked the lighter’s cap and then its wheel until a two inch flame blazed in her hand. She hurled it into the stone tower’s door and descended the steps. By the time Polly reached the deck, Maria was back to her feet but groggy and she too had a knife. This one had no jewelled decorations like Polly’s but was a brutal ten-inch blade with serrations. Polly had never fought with a knife before, but her blade was shorter. Her instincts made her attack, and she lunged towards Maria who stepped back into the railing that protected against a ten-foot drop to the shingle beach. Polly reset and took a boxer’s stance. She passed the knife from hand to hand to put confusion in Maria’s mind. Maria launched the next attack. She caught Polly in the abdomen with knife and then cracked the brass knuckles into Polly’s temple. ‘No more baby’s for you Polly and I’ll find your only son and take him.’ The wound felt like a punch but was deep, and blood oozed through Polly’s top. She remained conscious but Maria blurred and she knew she had little time. Her adrenalin surged as she stepped towards her prey. She slashed at Maria’s face and the smaller woman raised her hands to defend the blow. Polly raised her knee and smashed her heel into Maria’s chest and knocked her over the railing and crashing into the pebbles and gravel beneath. Maria crawled across the shingle, trying to reach a tiny red motorboat that bobbed in the deeper water at the end of the Jetty. As Maria climbed the jetty’s beach ladder, Polly reached her and squeezed the cuff’s onto Maria’s tiny wrists. Flames burst from the concrete tower and smoke blackened the rust stained walls. The bedroom blazed, and the windows glowed orange. Heat reached the beach as the fire engulfed the timber within the tower’s structure. The brief summer storm subsided and proved insufficient to suppress the fire spread to the scrub and twigs outside. A dry wind rose, and scattered embers into the trees that lined the boardwalk down to the beach. The small trees burned first and provided kindling for their larger neighbours, fuelled by nature’s bellows. As the charred branches fell, the wind blew them into the enormous trees, which burned with a heat that Polly could feel on the beach. The boardwalk and the wooden steps to the jetty ignited as the trees shed their flaming canopies. ‘Your choice Maria, I’ll leave you on the beach on this burning island or you can join me in the boat.’ Polly gripped Maria her by the cuffs and steered her towards the dinghy. Maria slumped in the boat's bow as Polly started the outboard motor, untied the bowline and then climbed in. As Polly pulled away, a burning ball of ash, leaves and twigs landed in the dingy and singed its rubber floor to create a tiny hole. The small outboard motor span up and the boat cruised away from the jetty before more debris landed. Polly stared at Maria opposite and didn’t see the flames spread to the wooden pier behind her as she headed out into the channel. The flowering red Mark on Polly’s belly

continued to grow, and she sensed her perception narrow. She focussed on the mainland about one mile away and on Maria. Polly’s captive attempted to rise, but Polly held out her bejewelled dagger, which quelled any further sudden movements. The tiny boat with its two occupants chugged across the narrow stretch as the Island blazed behind them. A group gathered on the mainland beach, including lifeguards and police officers. As Polly drew close, she saw the crowd pointing at the blazing spectacle behind her. Maria turned and saw the police on the beach in their Land Rover and gasped for air. Before Polly could stop her, Maria launched herself over the side of the boat, still cuffed. She kicked her legs and disappeared into the murk. Polly felt her life ebbing but kept her craft on course. She was unconscious as her dingy hit the beach.

Chapter 15

The clink of the trolley faded, replaced by coughing. Mike sat on the pebble beach as Polly reclined in her bathtub, bobbing on the waves. ‘Will she return,’ someone said. ‘Will you come back to us, Polly,’ said Mike. ‘But the water’s so warm in the bath Mike, why don’t you join me in here.’ ‘I’ll stay on dry land thank you. I’m not the best swimmer, as you know.’ ‘Stay safe in here with me Mike, I crossed the channel in this faithful tub.’ ‘But Polly, the water’s rising, there’s no plug in your bath and the level is almost to the overflow.’ ‘The bubbles sooth my neck, I’ll plunge my head under.’ ‘Don’t Polly, keep above the bubbles, and talk to me. I’ll hold your hand.’ Mike rose from the shingle and sat on the edge of the tub. He clasped his wife’s left hand and stroked the ring he’d placed there. ‘It’s time to get dry now Polly, I need you back and our son needs you.’ ‘Our son, we have a son?’ ‘Yes, and he needs his mum.’ Polly’s head slipped beneath the water and Mike’s hand slipped from her ring and pinched into her arm. ‘Mike, stop, you’re hurting me.’ An ambulance sped across the beach and parked opposite the bathtub. The blue lights blared, and its siren blurted out a repetitive alarm. Polly wished the noise would stop and slid deeper into the bath. Mike tried to haul her to the surface, but a chill wind blew on the beach now and Polly took refuge in the suds' warmth. But the ambulance crew seized her with powerful arms and dragged her out. They lay her naked on the shore and Mike threw her a towel. The tub sank below the ripples and Polly saw the water tinged red. She pulled the towel tight around her shoulders and saw Mike walking to the ice-cream van at the edge of the beach. She hoped he’d bring back a tub of vanilla with strawberry sauce and nuts for her. Phoebe and Sarah arrived with camping chairs and a cool box. They talked for hours and offered Phoebe Prosecco and Strawberries. At first Polly refused the drink, but her resistance slipped. ‘Take you medicine like an obedient girl Polly,’ said Sarah. Phoebe snorted bubbles through the nose and Sarah giggled. Polly sipped, then glugged. Sarah and Phoebe blurred, but they still spoke to Polly with rational voices. ‘Not too much of that Polly, you’ve got a hungry mouth to feed. We’ll bring you some fresh clothes in the morning.’ And they were true to their word. At first light Phoebe arrived with a Victorian bathing machine and Polly entered the wooden structure, pulling her towel tight around her shoulders. The night had been cold and lonely. She shivered but then felt warmth as her mother spoke to her from the bench inside. ‘I’ve brought your favourite T-shirt Polly, and a clean pair of jeans. It's time to come home. You’ve responsibilities now and you can’t live forever on this beach. I’ll leave you with your father and see if he can talk sense into you?’ ‘But mum?’ ‘Polly are you decent?’ said Polly’s father from the steps of the machine. Polly dressed in a rush and got her T-shirt on back to front. ‘Come In.’ Her father entered the wooden cubicle dressed in a pair of flannel chinos, a crisp white shirt and a tweed jacket. ‘Dad, I thought you were dead.’ ‘Poppycock Polly, I told you we never die. You said as much at my funeral if you remember.’

‘Dad, I remember now.’ ‘No point in remembering me, the question is: Do you remember the important things? Your family and I mean the family that I never met. You’ve got responsibilities now. I may have never seen my grandson, but he’s all that’s left of me, and your mother and you. Return to him, you’ve been moping here too long.’ ‘I remember Dad, how could I forget him.’ ‘You needed to, to heal, but you’re better now. The world needs the strength of Polly Park and you need the world, your friends, your mother, Mike and your son.’ ‘If I return, I’ll never see you again. Not this real, not this vivid. I’ll remember you but you’ll just be a memory.’ ‘Everyone you’ve ever known is just a memory to you and no less real than I’ll be. You already know I’ll be with you forever and I believe your idiot brother has redeemed himself?’ ‘He tried to protect me dad.’ ‘Well it was worth being murdered by the silly sod if it led him to do something selfless in his life. If an oxygen thief like Toby can show such courage, then I think our hero Polly Park can open those doors and face the world again. What do you say to that my beautiful, brave daughter?’ ‘I love you Dad.’ ‘Well you show me that love through what you do when you get back, like you always have done. You’re the best of us Polly and life is dimmer with you hidden away on this beach.’ Polly hugged her father tight and squeezed her nose into his shirt and inhaled the fabric conditioner that her mother always plied laundry with. She felt seven years old and then fifteen, thirty and then halfway to forty as her father kissed her head and walked towards the sea doors in his swimming trunks. He descended the steps and swam in the now crystal blue waters towards the sun. Polly turned her back on him and strode through the other doors.

Chapter 16

As Polly opened her eyes, she heard the clink of the trolley again, but this time it approached rather than faded. The coughing from the bed in the next bay had subsided and Polly rolled on her side to investigate her surroundings. The bed to her left remained empty and a woman on a ventilator lay to her right. Polly rocked and wiggled her toes. She pushed her hands against the mattress and rose into a slump against the pillows. She felt the catheter pull below and stopped her struggle to sit. A clean shaved, dark and handsome male nurse turned towards Polly. Polly figured him for Portuguese or Spanish, but he spoke with an English accent. ‘Hi Polly, take it easy there. We were waiting for you to wake. Your condition stabilised last night, and we reduced the drugs that kept you in the induced coma. You had a bleed on the brain and we needed to reduce the swelling. We fixed your abdomen and you’re still good for more babies; do you remember me from the last time? I transferred from the maternity ward to the intensive care unit a few months ago.’ Polly could not remember the guy but she remembered the note she’d retrieved from the bookshop:

A male nurse has looked after me well and I’ll run his name past Mike as an option for the baby name. I think I prefer it to Joseph.

Polly looked at the nurse’s name badge. ‘Did you look after me when I had my baby?’ ‘Yes, and you said you’d invite me and my boyfriend to the christening. What happened Polly, I thought we were best friends!’ The guy laughed and smiled, and Polly wanted to chat to him forever. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember you, but I believe you. Do you know Rama, did he tell you about my amnesia?’ ‘Yes Polly, he did. The coma we induced is not like sleep, I bet you feel exhausted. You’ve not slept to wipe your memories for the whole two weeks you’ve been here. Rama will pop in on you later, but he thought you’d still remember the last few days.’ ‘I remember them. What happened to Maria?’ ‘Mike told me a lobster fisherman found her body floating a few days later, still cuffed. Looks like she killed her brother on that Island. No-one will ever know; the fire burned the evidence. But lets not talk about your recent grim past. The last time we met, you promised me I could join you and your friends Phoebe and Sarah for your Thursday night drinks or at least let me babysit from time to time and then no word from you. Your husband told me about your troubles but come on Polly that’s no way to treat your new best friend.’ The guy’s energy made Polly laugh, and she felt her blood pressure rise. She sat up in bed, and she improved throughout the day. Mike visited late afternoon and sat on the bed’s edge. ‘Mike why did you leave the letter from Toby in the safe house; it led to the Kolinski’s.’ ‘I wanted you to relax and stay in the safe house for a few days while I found the Kolinksi’s, I brought a box of old letters and birthday card’s from your flat to make it seem more like home. But I checked through them and saw the letter and planned to take it with me. The room was sweltering though, and I’d opened the window to cool down. A breeze scattered the papers. I was looking for the letter from Toby when you surprised me, and I went out onto the flat roof to hide from you.’ ‘Mike, thanks for looking out for me, I’m sorry I ruined your plan.’ ‘You’ve taken down the biggest criminal gang in Britain Polly, I’m just a humble detective, I should have known I’m not match for you. You’ve not asked about our baby Polly, do you remember?’

‘I remember from waking at my mum’s house on our wedding anniversary and learning from Phoebe that I had a baby but the year before is blank until my hen night.’ ‘Why haven’t you asked me out our son?’ ‘Because I know where he is, and I know what you did to protect me. You gave my son to someone you trust to shield so I could forget for a while and not hunt the Kolinski’s who were searching for him.’ Mike smiled at his wife and kissed her on the lips. ‘You always amaze me Polly Park, do you think you’ll take my name?’ ‘Polly Harvey has a delicate ring to it but I’d like the Park name to live on for a little while if that’s OK; I dreamt of my father whilst in the coma. I realised that Toby killed Victor Kolinski in prison to protect me. The only unselfish act he’d ever done.’ ‘He surprised me Polly and I’m rarely surprised. Toby must have known the Kolinski’s would kill him, but he did it anyway. Toby was a psychopath though, and maybe he didn’t fancy another fifty years in jail. Perhaps he did it for himself, anyway.’ Polly laughed. ‘You’re such a cynic Mike, but you could be right.’ The male nurse returned to the room and said, ‘You two are so dark, I hope you will cheer up for our night out next month, Polly. I’m going home now and they’ll transfer you out of intensive care by the time I’m back in a few days. The next time I’ll see you will be when I come over to babysit my namesake so you can both spend some time together.’ The nurse’s colleague called over to him, ‘See you next week Isaac, enjoy your days off.’ Mike said, ‘Phoebe will bring our Isaac to see you tomorrow Polly, she’s looked after him as her own.’ ‘I know Mike, she’s a wonderful friend. I’ll be strong enough to see him tomorrow.’

THE END

Thank you for reading this beta version of The Missing Wedding.

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Please feel free to make any comments, but the following questions below may be of help to you.

#1 Did the story hold your interest from the very beginning? If not, why not?

#2 Did you get oriented fairly quickly at the beginning as to whose story it is, and where and when it’s taking place? If not, why not?

#3 Could you relate to the main character? Nonfiction: did you understand the authors reason for writing the book? Did you feel her/his pain or excitement?

#4 Did the setting interest you and did the descriptions seem vivid and real to you? Nonfiction: Did the topic seem exciting if you had no prior knowledge of it?

#5 Was there a point at which you felt the story lagged or you became less than excited about finding out what was going to happen next? Where, exactly? Nonfiction: where did the book get boring? What parts could be cut out?

#6 Were there any parts that confused you? Or even frustrated or annoyed you? Which parts, and why? Nonfiction: did any of the research seem far fetched?

#7 Did you notice any discrepancies or inconsistencies in time sequences, places, character details, or other details? Nonfiction: were any details repeated or redundant?

#8 Were the characters believable? Are there any characters you think could be made more interesting or more likable? Nonfiction: could some of the stories and ideas be more punchy? If so, how so?

#9 Did you get confused about who’s who in the characters? Were there too many characters to keep track of? Too few? Are any of the names of characters too similar? Nonfiction: was there too much information, research, or not enough? Was the information helpful or did it drag?

#10 Did the dialogue keep your interest and sound natural to you? If not, whose dialogue did you think sounded artificial or not like that person would speak?

#11 Did you feel there was too much description or exposition? Not enough? Maybe too much dialogue in parts?

#12 Was there enough conflict, tension, and intrigue to keep your interest? Nonfiction: was the narrative interesting and did it move along? Why or why not?

#13 Was the ending satisfying? Believable

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