Chapter 24
Poppy didn’t stop to think, stumbling down the road in a blind rush, desperate to put distance between herself and the Pritchards.
The night air was fresh, a brisk wind battering her bare arms, and the cold gravel was biting the soles of her feet, but there wasn’t time to stop and put her boots on.
Not yet.
In the distance behind her, she could hear Sue still calling.
Ian too, she thought, though it was difficult to tell.
She didn’t dare stop and look back.
The blood pounded in her ears and her world narrowed to the uneven track ahead, pale in the moonlight, as she ran towards the coast road.
She needed to get away. From Sue and Ian, from the villa… From the cellar.
Even though she was now out in the open, she couldn’t escape that cool, damp, oppressive odour of stone and cork, or the memory of Ian watching her, the glint of silver in his hand, held just out of sight.
And she could still feel Sue’s presence behind, the sound of her voice in the dark, almost taunting.
This is where he likes to keep his favourite things.
The words crawled over Poppy’s skin, as they conjured up the worst of images, and she picked up pace, even as her breath tore painfully in and out of her lungs.
What would they have done to her if she hadn’t escaped? Had they planned to keep her locked in the cellar?
She had reached the lane that led downhill towards the sea now.
The olive trees on either side were little more than black shapes as she tore past them, their branches stirring restlessly in the wind.
Further below, beyond the darkness, the waves thrashed against the shore; a ceaseless sound as they continued to rise and fall.
They would come after her, she was certain of it. Ian had stayed sober while plying her with alcohol, knowing it would be easier to control her. And she had seen their cellar. Knew what they were intending. They couldn’t risk her getting away.
But there was no one around to help her.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the coast road. There she bent forward, hands braced on her thighs, dragging in air that tasted of salt, cold stone and the sour aftermath of panic.
Down here, it was noisier because of the sea, and although a few scattered streetlights lined the road, they were spaced far apart, leaving long stretches swallowed by darkness.
She looked warily over her shoulder, frightened in case she saw headlights or Ian running down the hill after her. Her whole body was shaking, and she hugged herself tightly, trying to steady the wild beating of her heart, but there was nothing.
The road was empty, the darkness unbroken.
For the first time since she had left the Pritchards’ villa, doubt crept in.
Had she got it wrong?
She thought back to the dinner. Sue sitting uncomfortably close, the moments when both her and Ian had touched her.
Poppy had never been good with people getting in her personal space. Especially when she didn’t know them that well.
Then there were all the questions. About being alone at the villa, about her friendship with Jem.
But had she been too sensitive?
They had spoken about other things too. Her job and their family back home. It hadn’t all been sinister.
Still, it had been odd Ian staying sober – especially for a man who was so into his wine – and it had seemed he was determined to get Poppy drunk.
As for the cellar, she felt she hadn’t overreacted. They had insisted on taking her down there and she had seen the way Ian had looked at her, in a way that had made her skin crawl.
He’d definitely had something in his hand too, and it couldn’t have been innocent, otherwise he wouldn’t have hidden it behind his back.
And she could still feel the shape of that little room under the house. Its closeness and low ceiling. The sensation of Sue standing behind her, pushing her forward, then eager to tell her about Ian’s little playroom.
Had she interpreted it wrongly? Perhaps let her mind leap too far too fast?
She had been double-guessing herself a lot over the last few days, so she should at least consider the possibility. But still, there had been a vibe with Sue and Ian tonight that had felt wrong.
Keeping an eye on the road for any sign of movement, she pulled her boots on with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. Sliding the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she surveyed the coast road, aware that right now she was exposed.
If she was right about Sue and Ian, then she needed to get somewhere she could hide in case they did come looking for her.
It was about a forty-minute walk back to Tom’s villa and out here alone it was creepy as hell. Plus her feet were hurting. If she could get a signal on her phone, she could try calling for a cab.
Spotting a couple of buildings up ahead, she hurried along the road.
Tavernas, she realised, though they were boarded up and closed for the winter.
Nevertheless, they offered shelter, and that was what she needed right now.
Slipping into the shadows between the two buildings, she reached into her bag for her phone.
The screen lit up, one bar of signal flickering uncertainly in the corner. It disappeared, then returned.
Thank God.
Opening her browser, she googled local taxi firms. The page loaded slowly, juddering in fragments as the signal weakened again.
Come on.
She moved slightly forward, relieved to get a second bar.
The search results appeared and she tried the top number, pressing call, and hoping like hell that whoever answered would know a little English.
There was a beat of silence, then the call failed.
She tried again. This time, it rang once but then dropped.
It was the patchy signal, she realised, staring at the screen.
Shit.
She really didn’t want to have to walk back.
Briefly, she debated what to do.
The exertion of running from the villa, plus her adrenaline spike, had kept her warm until now, but as she worked herself down, she was aware of the nip of sea breeze chilling her skin. She rubbed at her bare arms, realising for the first time she had left her blazer behind. No wonder she was cold.
What about Jem? She could contact him.
The signal was too patchy to call, but she could message him. Hopefully, it would go through.
She opened WhatsApp, but hesitated.
What should she say?
That Sue and Ian had tried to lure her into their cellar, and she’d run out of their villa like she was some frightened victim in a horror movie?
That she thought Ian might have been holding a knife, even though she had never seen one?
That she suspected the Pritchards were Essex’s answer to Fred and Rose West?
Humiliation burned through her. He was going to think that she was winding him up. Or worse, he might pick up on her hysteria and decide she was exactly what she feared becoming: unstable, dramatic and too much to handle.
And could she really blame him?
Poppy swore under her breath, realising she was out of options. Shoving the phone back in her bag, she knew there was only one choice. She would have to walk.
The last time she had travelled this route on foot had been in daylight.
It had felt remote then, but not impossible.
Now seemed very different. The road wound ahead in pale, uneven strips, the gravel washed silver by the bright light of the moon, broken only by the occasional distant streetlamp.
Beyond that, darkness pooled thickly at the edges.
There were no streetlights. No villas with a warm glow in the window.
Just the dark expanse of the sea on one side of her and countryside on the other.
There were the odd buildings. All of them shut up.
She walked quickly, despite her poor, grazed feet protesting as they rubbed awkwardly against the soles of her boots, and the brisk breeze cooling the sweat at the nape of her neck.
Every sound seemed magnified. The scrape of the gravel beneath her feet, the long, low roar of the sea. Somewhere off to her right, a small creature scuttled sharply through the undergrowth, and her heart leapt so violently she let out a yelp, scaring the life out of herself.
She kept seeing the cellar. The narrow steps, the single bulb, and Ian waiting at the bottom, his hand behind his back, while Sue pushed her forward.
We thought you might enjoy it too.
Had Sue really said that? Or had Poppy’s mind twisted the words into something darker? She thought she had, but then the moment had dissolved into panic too quickly. Now all she had was that awful certainty that if she had stayed, something bad would have happened.
She picked up pace, wincing at the pain in her feet.
The stretch of road she was on was wider here, but seemed even emptier, and she was even closer to the sea.
Although it was invisible in the darkness, she was aware of the dampness clinging to the air, the restless pounding drowning out the thumping beat of her heart.
A gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, and she tucked it back behind her ear. Ahead, the pale shoulder of the road curved onwards, reminding her she still had a way to go.
She pulled her phone from her bag and checked it again, but there was still no decent signal. Instead, she continued to walk, determined she mustn’t slow down.
A few minutes later, her ears pricked up at a new noise.
An engine.
It was faint at first. Little more than a vibration, barely audible above the sound of the waves, but then it grew steadily louder.
Poppy froze.
The road behind her remained dark for a second longer, then headlights swung around the bend, bright white and blinding after so much darkness.
Her stomach dropped.
Without second-guessing herself, she stepped off the road and scrambled behind the low trunk of a tree, crouching awkwardly in the scrub beneath it. Twigs and stones crunched beneath her boots as she hugged her arms across her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible.
As the headlights washed over the verge, flattening everything into stark shapes, she held her breath.