The Price, page 28
‘There, see,’ George said.
‘Mummy, are we now sharing a heart?’ Tabatha asked in amazement.
‘Yes, baby, we are.’
‘Always?’
‘Always.’
I hugged my girl, and as I did, I mouthed a ‘thank you’ to George. He smiled back, his eyes full of tears.
George and Tabatha stayed the full hour. We sang happy birthday to her, along with most of the other people in the room, George and I singing our hearts out with everything we had. As we smiled and chatted, I thought of everything we did just to be able to have this day.
When the bell sounded telling everyone that visiting time had ended, Michael came over and said we could have an extra ten minutes. As the other visitors and inmates left, Tabatha told me about school and her friends and her teachers, and once the room was empty, with just the three of us and Michael remaining, I knew it was time to say goodbye. Tabatha kissed me and as we hugged, she began to cry.
‘I miss you, Mummy. I want you to come home.’
‘I do, too. But remember, now we have the same heart, we will always be together.’
‘I love you,’ she said, holding on to my neck.
As I held my daughter, I looked at George. ‘This is so much better than I could have imagined.’
‘What is?’ George asked.
‘This, her fifth.’
‘Is it? Even with you here?’
‘Yes, even with me here. This is better than I could have hoped for. Look at our daughter, look at our girl.’ I squeezed Tabatha tighter.
‘All thanks to you,’ George said, and even though he smiled, I could see he still wished it was him in prison instead of me. He had told me it a thousand times, but this couldn’t have happened any other way, and I had made peace with that.
‘See you next week?’ he said.
‘I can’t wait.’
‘Say goodbye to Mummy.’
‘Bye Mummy.’
‘Bye darling, happy birthday.’
George then kissed me on the cheek, and I kissed Tabatha on the head one more time, taking in her smell.
I sat down; my heart ached and I had to fight back the tears. It wasn’t all sadness about not being able to go home with my baby. Some of it was joy. I said I’d do whatever it took, and I knew I wouldn’t change a thing.
‘She’s precious,’ Michael said.
‘She is.’
‘Do you need a minute?’
‘Please.’
‘Take your time,’ he said, walking away to give me some space as I fiddled with my necklace, my incomplete heart.
I would do my time without complaint because I promised I would do whatever it took.
Whatever the cost.
Whatever the price.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing The Price has been the single most difficult undertaking of my career to date. When I set out to tell the story of Clara, George and Tabatha, I didn’t fully understand how challenging it would be to tell the story in the right way. This book made me doubt myself as a writer, but somehow, we got there. Without the help of people in my life, I wouldn’t be writing theese acknowledgements now.
First, I need to thank my agent, Hayley Steed at the Madeleine Milburn agency. Hayley, as ever, I feel truly grateful you are in my corner. You’re insight, guidance and support has helped me through this journey. Thank you to Elinor Davies too, I’m so glad we get to work together, and I’m thankful for the energy you give.
Thank you to my editor, Katie Seaman, for steering the ship and helping me find the right story when it got muddy. Between us we have examined over a quarter of a million words to find this book. We got there!!!!
Also, thank you to the team at HQ for the work you do behind the scenes in helping me find readers. It is something I’m so grateful for, I just wish I could tell you more often.
Thank you to Cari Rosen for such wonderful work on the copy-edit of this book and thank you to Phil Norton for helping me create the fictious FundMyCause which features in this book.
To my author buddies, John Marrs, Lisa Hall, Cally Taylor, Lynn Fraser, Alice Hunter, thank you for being around, offering advice, sharing stories and helping when things have got tough. How lucky am I to know you guys.
To Darren Maddison and Alex Forster, thanks for listening to me talk about this book incessantly, and for offering ideas when I couldn’t see a way through.
And finally, as always, the final thank you is to my amazing son, Benjamin. Without you, there is no motivation, no determination, and no inspiration. And I will forever try to repay you for this.
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RED COAT EXPERIMENT #3
26 January 2019
The Host
7.45 p.m.
The Host watched with anticipation. He was clear in his instruction. The rules of The Game had been relayed and understood. And although The Player, twenty-six-year-old Dean Winters, seemed to agree to them, it wasn’t clear if he would play.
If Dean did, The Host knew that the next phase would begin.
Dean shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes darting from left to right. It was obvious he was nervous; The Host could tell he had never done anything like this. Nerves were good, nerves produced adrenaline, and cortisol, the fight or flight hormones. Nerves told The Host he was taking The Game seriously.
A few people walked by, oblivious that Dean was assessing them; deciding if they would be the one he would confront. But none of them so far matched the specific requirements laid out in the rules of The Game. And so, Dean let them pass and continue with their evening not knowing just how lucky they had been. This went on for nearly an hour. People passed, untouched, because of the instructions The Host had set out.
Then, Dean stopped. His eyes fixed on someone to his right, beyond The Host’s eyeline. His reaction told The Host that Dean had found the one. The Host enjoyed watching his Player ready himself. Dean looked around, making sure no one would see what he was about to do. He took his hands out of his pockets, tightened his fists, as the person came into view. The Host felt his skin begin to tingle with anticipation.
The target was just one hundred feet away.
In a matter of minutes, The Host would know if his Game worked.
When The Host first told Dean about The Game he wanted to play, Dean reacted with confusion. After the rules had been explained and questions answered, quiet excitement began to build. The idea was simple. Dean had to wait until he saw someone with a red coat. Then, he was to attack them. If he was able to render them unconscious, he would receive £500 cash in hand. If he lost his nerve, he would receive nothing. It didn’t matter if the person wearing the coat was male or female, young or old. The only thing that mattered was whether Dean would do it. When asked why a person in a red coat, The Host responded, why not?
The Game was simple, he just had to play.
The Host knew it wasn’t without risk as most people would ring the police on hearing such a proposition. The first two red coat experiments had proved inconclusive. But The Host had chosen his next Player well. Dean was in debt – a payday loan he’d taken out three months ago of just £100 had now spiralled to £500. Dean needed that money, he needed it badly. Financial reward was a strong motivator. The Host just hoped it would be strong enough.
As the red coat drew closer to Dean, The Host could now see the figure was a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties so a similar age to The Player. Dean began to shift again, unable to stand still. The woman in the red coat became aware of the man on the footpath in front of her. She hesitated for just a beat, before she lowered her head and continued advancing cautiously. The Host suspected she felt something was wrong, but she didn’t react, because if she crossed the street, if she turned around and walked the other way, she would appear rude, and as with most people, the shame of appearing rude was more of a motivator than self-preservation.
She was just twenty feet away.
Calm now, Dean turned his back to her, pretending to read something on his phone. The Host understood, he was going to wait for her to pass, and then, attack from behind.
She was ten feet away.
It was about to happen. The Game was hurtling towards its brutal finale.
The woman in red upped her pace. Her shoulders hunched, her head cast down, but her eyes were not looking at the ground, they were scanning to see if anyone else was around to help. She knew something was wrong and still she didn’t cross the road. She knew but she didn’t turn around and walk the other way. The Host didn’t understand that about people. Life was supposed to be cherished, and yet people seldom respected it.
The woman walked past his Player and continued along the path. Three steps, that would be how many she should take before Dean acted – one less would mean she was too close to strike properly, any more would put her out of range. Just three steps. The Host counted them, expecting to watch his Player pounce, but three became five, became ten, became twenty. And still, his Player hadn’t moved.
The third red coat experiment had failed.
When the woman had disappeared, Dean looked across the road to find The Host, but he had already vanished into the night. The Host was disappointed. Despite the desperation for it, money wasn’t enough of a motivator to play.
But if money wasn’t enough, then surely, love would be. Once it had been tested, a new Game would begin, and everyone would be a Player.
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Darren O'Sullivan, The Price
