Just My Luck Adele Parks (if you liked this book txt) 📖

and diminishing my fears, dismissing them. But of course she would. Sucking a man’s dick trumps putting a sunhat on a child’s head in terms of allegiances and commitment. I feel sick with anxiety and can’t be bothered with either of them. Now that Jennifer has put the thought of kidnapping in my mind, I’m delirious with fear. Even whilst I looked for Emily and imagined her choking on her vomit, cold and unconscious, part of me doubted it, couldn’t accept it. She’s not the sort to allow herself to get into that much of a mess. She would have found help, and even if she didn’t want us to see her hideously drunk, she could have gone to her friends or her brother.

“Where is she, Jake?” Jake doesn’t respond or move. I want to rip his head off with my bare hands. Why isn’t he more concerned? “Where is she?” Obviously, he doesn’t know. I realize that, but I want something from him. Anything! “Who has taken her?”

“We don’t know anyone has taken her,” he mutters impatiently, dismissively. He clearly thinks I’m being hysterical. He moves toward Ridley. “Ridley, mate. I know you think you are being a friend to her by covering, but you’re not,” says Jake. I am embarrassed for my husband that he called Ridley his “mate.” On no level is this appropriate, and it’s so obviously a desperate attempt to ingratiate himself and pretend he’s somehow cool and down with the kids. Embarrassment flourishes into disdain when I consider that, specifically, he wants to be down with the kid who broke his daughter’s heart. “Just tell us where she’s hiding out and we can all go home to bed. Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. You’re just not telling us,” says Jake a little more firmly.

“I don’t.” Ridley’s gaze is bolted to the floor.

I sigh. I fear he probably doesn’t. I watched him during the earlier part of the evening, and from what I could gather he didn’t seem in the least bit interested in Emily. She trailed after him like a devoted dog, but he kept moving along. If he was at the Ferris wheel, over she’d saunter, only for him to leg it to the bouncy castle. When she turned up there, he went to get something to eat. Always with the girl he brought along. He seemed pretty focused on her, not interested in Emily at all. It was heartbreaking to watch. I was fuming with Jake for inviting him here and allowing him to rub Emily’s nose in his new relationship or fling or whatever it is. I believe him when he says he doesn’t know where Emily is. It’s just not what I want to hear. My desperation makes me focused, hostile and disapproving all at once.

I glare at him, every centimetre of my body emitting loathing.

“Are you sure you haven’t any ideas, son?” asks Fred, his tone jovial, too. We’re the sort of parents who have read all the books telling us not to get riled with our teens because they simply shut down and you hit a wall. Better to create an environment that suggests safety and belief. Right now, I want to climb down Ridley’s throat and haul out his tongue to force him to spit out any words that might help.

“I’m not her babysitter,” Ridley mutters sulkily.

But I am. His response slaps me. Because, in fact, I am more than that. I am her mother, not even a substitute. I should have been here. Watching over her. Taking care of her. Not with Toma. At that second my phone buzzes. I think it’s going to be a message from Toma, that I’ve somehow conjured him up by thinking of him. I glance at my screen. At first I don’t understand what I am looking at. But then I do.

It is a photo of Emily. I can’t see much of her face—there is duct tape wrapped around her eyes and mouth, leaving just her nose free. Her neat little nose is slimy. Tears, snot. Her hands are tied behind her back, her legs are tied at the ankles, her long coltish legs look bruised, battered. She’s still wearing her purple leotard. It clings to her body and I am beaten by the thought of her vulnerability. “We need to call the police,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

As the words leave my mouth, another message comes through. Don’t involve the police or we will hurt her. There’s an audio clip. I play it.

“Mum, Mum, please.” She’s sobbing, gasping. “Do what they say. I’m frightened, Mum, please.” Then there’s the sound of a scuffle. Then nothing. It goes dead.

CHAPTER 36

Emily

I can’t see anything! I can’t see anything so everything I feel, smell and hear is magnified and terrifying. I feel a man’s rigid grip around my forearm. It’s too tight. He’s hurting me. I can smell his sour breath. I freeze. Recoil. You think your instinct is going to be to kick and fight. But I don’t. I can’t. How can I, blindfolded and bound? How can I escape? Then another man roughly picks up my legs and I have no chance. I know I have no chance. They carry me between them as easily as a bag of shopping.

Are they going to kill me? They are going to kill me.

The second man’s hands on my bare legs is like a slap and suddenly I am flinching, writhing, but the more I struggle the tighter he grips. I’m not thinking straight. A vision of Logan and Ridley as small boys poking caterpillars with tiny sticks for no other reason than the amusement of watching them loop and coil, crashes into my head. They were not usually cruel boys, but I always hated it when they did that. It was nasty. The prodding could hurt the caterpillar, injure it, kill it. I wanted to see it left alone to become a butterfly. Just let it become a