innocently through to where Joyce must be lying.
She wasnât there. The tills were pulled out. He looked in the lavatory. She wasnât there either. While he was in the cupboard, hesitating, she must have gone off to get help. Without her coat, which was also in the cupboard, but you donât think of rain at a time like that. Over and over to himself he said, I was out at lunch, I came back, I didnât know what had happened, I was out at lunch . . .
Why had she gone instead of pressing one of the alarm buttons? He couldnât think of a reason. The clock above the currency exchange rate board told him it was twenty-five past one and the date 4 March. He had gone out to lunch, he had come back and found the safe open, half the money gone, Joyce gone . . . What would be the natural thing to do? Give the alarm, of course.
He returned to his office and searched with his foot under the desk for the button. It was covered by an upturned drawer. Kneeling down, he lifted up the drawer and found under it a shoe. It was one of the blue shoes with the instep straps Joyce had been wearing that morning. Joyce wouldnât have gone out into the rain, gone running out without one of her shoes. He stood still, looking at the high-heeled, very shiny, patent leather dark blue shoe.
Joyce hadnât gone for help. They had taken her with them.
As a hostage? Or because she had seen their faces? People like that didnât have to have a reason. Did any people have to have a reason? Had he had one for staying in that cupboard? If he had come out they would have taken him too.
Press the button now. He had been out at lunch, had come back to find the safe open and Joyce gone. Strange that they had left three thousand pounds, but he hadnât been there, he couldnât be expected to explain it. If he had been there, they would have taken him too because he too would have seen their faces. He looked at his watch. Nearly twenty to two. Give the alarm now, and there would still be time to put up road blocks, they couldnât have got far in twenty minutes and in this rain.
The phone began to ring.
It made him jump, but it would only be Pam. It rang and rang and still he didnât lift the receiver. The ringing brought into his mind a picture as bright and clear as something on colour television, but more real. Fittonâs Piece and his house and Pam in it at the phone, Pop at the table in the dining recess, drinking tea, Jillian coming home soon and Christopher. The television. The punk rock. The doors banging. The sports jacket, the army takeover, the gas bill. He let the phone ring and ring, and after twenty rings â he counted them â it stopped. But because it had rung his madness had intensified and concentrated into a hard nucleus, an appalling and wonderful decision.
His mind was not capable of reasoning, of seeing flaws or hazards or discrepancies. His body worked for him, putting itself into his raincoat, stuffing the three thousand pounds into his pockets, propelling itself out into the rain and into his car. If he had been there they would have taken him with them too. He started the car, and the clear arcs made on the windscreen by the wipers showed him freedom.
6
They took Joyce with them because she had seen their faces. She had opened the safe when they told her to, though at first she said she could only work one of the dials. But when Marty put the gun in her ribs and started counting up to ten, she came out with the other combination. As soon as the lock gave, Nigel tied a stocking round her eyes, and when she cried out he tied the other one round her mouth, making her clench her teeth on it. In a drawer they found a length of clothes-line Alan had bought to tie down the boot lid of his car but had never used, and with this they tied Joyceâs hands and feet. Standing over her, Marty looked at Nigel and Nigel looked at him and nodded. Without a word, they picked her
She wasnât there. The tills were pulled out. He looked in the lavatory. She wasnât there either. While he was in the cupboard, hesitating, she must have gone off to get help. Without her coat, which was also in the cupboard, but you donât think of rain at a time like that. Over and over to himself he said, I was out at lunch, I came back, I didnât know what had happened, I was out at lunch . . .
Why had she gone instead of pressing one of the alarm buttons? He couldnât think of a reason. The clock above the currency exchange rate board told him it was twenty-five past one and the date 4 March. He had gone out to lunch, he had come back and found the safe open, half the money gone, Joyce gone . . . What would be the natural thing to do? Give the alarm, of course.
He returned to his office and searched with his foot under the desk for the button. It was covered by an upturned drawer. Kneeling down, he lifted up the drawer and found under it a shoe. It was one of the blue shoes with the instep straps Joyce had been wearing that morning. Joyce wouldnât have gone out into the rain, gone running out without one of her shoes. He stood still, looking at the high-heeled, very shiny, patent leather dark blue shoe.
Joyce hadnât gone for help. They had taken her with them.
As a hostage? Or because she had seen their faces? People like that didnât have to have a reason. Did any people have to have a reason? Had he had one for staying in that cupboard? If he had come out they would have taken him too.
Press the button now. He had been out at lunch, had come back to find the safe open and Joyce gone. Strange that they had left three thousand pounds, but he hadnât been there, he couldnât be expected to explain it. If he had been there, they would have taken him too because he too would have seen their faces. He looked at his watch. Nearly twenty to two. Give the alarm now, and there would still be time to put up road blocks, they couldnât have got far in twenty minutes and in this rain.
The phone began to ring.
It made him jump, but it would only be Pam. It rang and rang and still he didnât lift the receiver. The ringing brought into his mind a picture as bright and clear as something on colour television, but more real. Fittonâs Piece and his house and Pam in it at the phone, Pop at the table in the dining recess, drinking tea, Jillian coming home soon and Christopher. The television. The punk rock. The doors banging. The sports jacket, the army takeover, the gas bill. He let the phone ring and ring, and after twenty rings â he counted them â it stopped. But because it had rung his madness had intensified and concentrated into a hard nucleus, an appalling and wonderful decision.
His mind was not capable of reasoning, of seeing flaws or hazards or discrepancies. His body worked for him, putting itself into his raincoat, stuffing the three thousand pounds into his pockets, propelling itself out into the rain and into his car. If he had been there they would have taken him with them too. He started the car, and the clear arcs made on the windscreen by the wipers showed him freedom.
6
They took Joyce with them because she had seen their faces. She had opened the safe when they told her to, though at first she said she could only work one of the dials. But when Marty put the gun in her ribs and started counting up to ten, she came out with the other combination. As soon as the lock gave, Nigel tied a stocking round her eyes, and when she cried out he tied the other one round her mouth, making her clench her teeth on it. In a drawer they found a length of clothes-line Alan had bought to tie down the boot lid of his car but had never used, and with this they tied Joyceâs hands and feet. Standing over her, Marty looked at Nigel and Nigel looked at him and nodded. Without a word, they picked her
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