The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (great book club books TXT) 📕

calls out again. ‘There are other people out here who need to use it.’

I’m guessing this guy works on the train in some capacity. Maybe he’s a ticket inspector, or perhaps he’s just a guy who sells the crisps at the shop in carriage four. I’ve never visited that shop because I didn’t want to start another bad habit that I wouldn’t be able to break on my commute after the whole G & T phase, but I know it’s there. Or maybe it’s just a passenger who really needs to use the loo. But the last thing I need right now is a busybody sticking his nose in.

Whoever it is, I don’t care.

I’m not coming out until we get to Brighton.

‘Use another toilet!’ I cry, shaking my head and looking back at the phone.

Is James going to call back? I’d rather he sent a text because then at least I would know what he is thinking. Either way, I just need to find out if Louise is okay. Maybe I should have answered the call.

Am I just making things worse?

‘Open up now!’

The man outside is clearly not going away. But I’m not budging either, and I decide that the best thing to do is just ignore him. He can’t get in until the door gets unlocked in Brighton, and by then I imagine the man I’m trying to evade will be fleeing the train.

The phone vibrates again in my hand, and I look down to see I have received another text.

It’s James.

“What’s happening?”

I type a quick reply.

“Police officers on the train. I can’t risk it. Have you left the flat?”

I hold my breath as I wait for the reply.

“No. Still here. Louise is a problem.”

The message sends a shiver of dread down my spine because I don’t know what he means by that. But I’m also a little proud of my daughter for not making it easy for her captor—just like I haven’t made it easy for mine.

Maybe we’re not as different as I thought.

“Forget about her. Just leave her and get out. Text me when you’ve left.”

I press Send again and wait.

There is still some commotion on the other side of the toilet door, but I ignore it and keep my focus on the phone.

A minute goes by without a response, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe James is leaving, which is why he hasn’t replied. Or maybe Louise is still causing him problems.

I admire my daughter for obviously putting up a fight at the flat, but I pray she hasn’t gone too far. From what I can tell with these men, they need us far more than we need them. If they hurt either of us before they get the code to the safe, they’ll never get the money, so I’m confident that Louise won’t be in real danger unless she pushes James too far.

But knowing my daughter, I wouldn’t put it past her.

Finally, the phone vibrates again. It’s another text from James.

“How do I know it’s really you?”

Damn it.

“Of course it’s me. Stop wasting time. We’re almost in Brighton.”

I hope my quick reply will do the trick.

But I’m wrong. James is calling me again.

This time I decide to answer the phone, but I make sure to say nothing.

‘Is this really you?’ James asks.

I can hardly impersonate a man’s voice, so I stay quiet, but I feel like my plan is falling apart at the seams with every silent second that goes by, and I get confirmation of that when James speaks again.

‘I know this is you, Amanda. Well, guess what? Your daughter is going to pay for this now.’

That’s when I hear Louise scream in the background again. At least I know she is still alive. But this has gone too far now. I’m out of options.

‘Wait!’ I beg. ‘I’ll do it! I’ll give you the code!’

This is it. It’s over. I tried my best, but I can’t keep the contents of that safe secret forever.

It’s time for the truth to come out.

33

AMANDA

ONE MONTH EARLIER

I try to enter the flat as quietly as I can. It’s eleven o’clock, and Louise might be in bed now. I’m certainly hoping that she is. I doubt she would have bothered waiting up for me, and I wouldn’t blame her. But I’m glad not to see her as I creep through my front door, and I’m hoping I can make it all the way into my bedroom without running into her. That’s because I’m currently in possession of the contents from Charles’s safe, and the last thing I need is to see another person before I can shove them into my own safe and lock the door.

I’m halfway past the sofa when I hear a sound from my daughter’s bedroom. It sounds like the television. She is still awake, but it’s no problem as long as she doesn’t come out and…

Louise’s bedroom door suddenly swings open, and my daughter spots me just before I can make it to my room.

‘What time do you call this?’ she asks me, but it’s not in a sarcastic tone that would be suitable for a child scolding their parent about staying out late. It’s done in her usual argumentative manner, which tells me she is annoyed at the fact I’ve been out all night.

‘Oh, you’re still up,’ I reply, feigning surprise and doing my best to stay calm. ‘I was trying to be quiet. I thought you might be asleep.’

‘I’ve been waiting up to see if you were ever going to come back.’

‘Of course I’ve come back. Don’t be silly.’

‘Is it silly? You’ve hardly been here these last few months. You keep leaving me alone with nothing to eat and nothing to do, yet you go mad if I ever dare to stay out late during the week.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. Work’s been crazy today. We’ve got a deadline for the end of the week and—’

I hate lying to my daughter, and it’s only