The Taken Page 3

  She’d confided in Jessica and was bitterly stung that her so-called friend had spread her private business around the school. She felt stupid now for thinking she could have trusted the girl.

  Desperate to save face, Saskia didn’t give Lauren the reaction she was so clearly waiting for, instead, she just shrugged.

  ‘I’ve only came back here to collect some things from my locker. I was going to pop in and say goodbye—’

  ‘Such a shame that you’re leaving. You probably would have been an okay ballet dancer – with a lot more practice, of course. The girls are a bit busy right now. We have auditions for the role of Juliet at the London Coliseum. Can you even imagine?’

  Lauren had already pushed past Saskia, opening the door of the studio. Now, she turned back and sneered.

  ‘I’ll tell the girls that you popped by though, shall I? Though I’m sure they’ve already forgotten all about you… ’

  Lauren sashayed back into the room with an air of confidence: a gaggle of girls gathering around her as she shared with them her latest snippet of gossip.

  Saskia watched as Lauren, Jessica and the rest of the girls all turned to face her as they whispered amongst themselves.

  She’d stupidly expected looks of sympathy, a friendly wave; instead, they all just stood staring at her before bursting into laughter at something Lauren said.

  Stepping away from the doorway, Saskia felt her face burning, humiliated. She never told her father about how the girls here had looked down their noses at her. She’d just got on with it, desperate to make her father proud.

  He’d always thought that the school was elegant. Becoming.

  A place where dreams were made.

  Only, they had been her father’s dreams, not hers.

  Making her way down the corridor to collect her belongings from her locker, Saskia was glad that she was leaving. This place had never been any of those things for her.

  It was fake, just like the girls that attended it.

  It was all just an illusion, mirroring everything else in her life lately.

  Saskia Frost couldn’t wait to get out of the place. For good.

  4

  Drita was here.

  Lena hadn’t heard the woman let herself in, but she could hear her now. Her low mumbled drone filling Ramiz’s head.

  Drita had a way of doing that. Of goading Ramiz, causing him to work himself up into an almighty rage. His mother was his puppet master; all she had to do was pull the right strings… and Drita always knew which ones they were. It didn’t take much for Ramiz’s temper to get the better of him.

  As Ramiz’s loud angry shouts filled the house once more, Lena closed her eyes in despair, praying that he wouldn’t wake Roza again. The poor child had been terrified earlier. Picking up on the tension building in the house, Roza had screamed inconsolably for what felt like hours until Lena finally managed to settle her.

  If Drita had been summoned to the house tonight, then that only spelled trouble for Lena.

  Knowing Ramiz, her punishment was probably far from over.

  The safest place for Roza right now was tucked away in her crib.

  Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Lena busied herself in the kitchen, stirring the chomlek that bubbled away on the stove.

  Ramiz and Drita’s thick Albanian accents floated through the thin cottage walls as they continued their loud, animated conversation.

  Catching her reflection in the broken mirrored tile on the wall, Lena winced. Her fingers reached up to her swollen right eye, flinching, as she pressed the dark purple bruise that circled it.

  The wrath of Ramiz.

  The man lived like a caged animal, constantly pacing the house, resentful and irritated by everything.

  Lena tried her hardest to keep out of his way: keeping herself busy with the chores, cooking, cleaning, but trapped here like a prisoner, confined inside these four decaying walls, staying out of the man’s way was proving an impossible task.

  Besides, today’s attack had actually been all her fault for once.

  Lena knew that she was never to venture out of the house; she wasn’t even allowed to go as far as the main gate. She’d learned her lesson the hard way.

  She should never have gone down to the village, knowing that she would never get away with it, but it had been like a moment of madness, born out of pure desperation.

  After a whole year of being kept here against her will it had been her first real attempt at trying to escape, and she had failed miserably.

  Ramiz had been asleep, passed out on the sofa, drunk on the Rakia that he spent most of his days drinking.

  He’d been drinking more and more lately.

  Lena had been watching him, biding her time.

  He’d drunk himself into his usual stupor and, knowing that he’d be out cold for hours, Lena had seized her opportunity.

  Only, when she got down to the village, she had felt overwhelmed with fear, scared of who she could actually trust.

  If she spoke to the wrong person, the Gomez’s would know. They would find out. Drita always found out everything.

  Then they would kill her, or worse, they would kill Roza.

  Ramiz had threatened it often enough.

  Filled with panic, Lena had wandered around the market in the end. Begging for scraps from the stall holder so that, at least, she wouldn’t have to go home empty-handed. If Ramiz had already woken she’d have some kind of an alibi. Ramiz might believe that.

  * * *

  By the time she’d reached the farmhouse, Ramiz had long awoken from his afternoon nap. Prowling the house like a lion ready to pounce on his prey, he’d attacked her as soon as she walked through the door.

  His punishment had been brutal as always. He’d been consumed by it; she had seen it in his eyes. He got a sick kick out of the sadistic violence he inflicted on her.

  ‘You will obey me. You will show me respect!’ he had screamed as the blows had rained down on her body. ‘You do not leave unless I give you permission.’

  Despite her bruises, Lena had carried on as normal, feeding and changing Roza, even though it had taken ages to settle the hysterical child.

  Lena had stayed in the kitchen after that, desperate to stay out of Ramiz’s way.

  She’d kept herself busy: chopping vegetables and small cuts of the fatty lamb she had managed to haggle for nothing from the street market.

  Chomlek. It was Båbå’s favourite dish.

  Closing her eyes, Lena was suddenly overcome with emotion as the familiar aromatic scent of garlic and onion-infused lamb filled the room; the smell instantly transporting her to memories of back home.

  She thought of Néné standing in their family kitchen, cooking the stew for them all.

  Båbå would be sitting at the table laughing at one of Tariq’s jokes.

  A heaviness pulled at her chest. Oh, how she missed them all.

  It had been a whole year since she had been taken.

  She thought of her family always. Wondering what her parents would think of their little granddaughter, what Tariq would think of his only niece.

  Tariq.

  The image of him lying on the ground, injured, unmoving, haunted her.

  She had to believe that he was okay. That he’d survived that fateful day.

  Right now she would give everything she had to be back there with them, back home with her family. Tariq, Néné and Båbå. Surrounded by love, laughter.

  Anywhere but here, stuck in this neglected farmhouse with Ramiz. Locked away like his slave.

  It wasn’t a life; it was merely existing.

  ‘Lena.’

  Jumping at the sound of her husband’s shrill voice, his tall, burly frame looming in the doorway, Lena tried to compose herself. He’d caught her off guard.

  ‘Get a bag for Roza’s things. Drita’s taking her.’ Speaking through gritted teeth, Ramiz glared at her, his eyes still flashing with anger.

  ‘Your mother is taking her? Where?’
>
  Holding onto the kitchen worktop, the quiver in Lena’s voice betrayed the bravado she displayed as she answered her husband back.

  ‘Do not question me. Just do as you are told!’

  Lena could hear the nursery door opening along the hallway as Drita went in to the baby’s bedroom.

  She listened as the woman padded back down the hallway towards the kitchen.

  ‘Please. No.’

  Unable to stop her hands from shaking as Drita entered, Lena stared at Roza snuggled in the crook of the woman’s arm.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Lena begged.

  ‘That is where you are wrong, Lena. Ramiz is your husband. He owns you. He can do as he pleases.’

  The stony expression on Drita’s face was final. Glaring at Lena, the permanent scowl etched on her face highlighted the mass of deep-set wrinkles: the remnants of every sneer, every harsh word the woman had ever spoken.

  ‘You caused this, Lena, and now you must be punished.’ The older woman didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. When Drita Gomez spoke you shut up and listened.

  The woman was tiny, five foot nothing, her bony frame making her look almost skeletal, but her frail looks were deceiving; if Lena had learned nothing else this past hellish year it was that Drita was a force to be reckoned with.

  Like mother, like son – Drita had brought her son up to be just like her: a monster.

  ‘It’s all a mistake, Drita. I promise, I meant no harm.’ Lena’s voice was a whisper now. She knew that once Ramiz and Drita had made up their minds there would be no persuading them otherwise, but she didn’t know what else to do. They couldn’t take Roza. ‘Please, I beg you… ’

  ‘Silence!’ Drita ordered, her face twisted with revulsion as she spoke, emphasising her ugliness. ‘What you did could have jeopardised everything. So tell me why? Why would you put Ramiz’s life at risk, you stupid girl?’

  ‘I only went there to get us some food,’ Lena lied.

  ‘Your selfishness could have cost Ramiz his life. What if you’d been seen?’

  Roza had started to cry again now. Irritated, Drita stared down at the small baby as if she was nothing more than an inconvenience.

  ‘My milk is running dry. I’m hungry; I can’t feed Roza.’ Lena blushed as she continued to explain herself. Mortified that she had to admit to her husband and her mother-in-law that she wasn’t able to feed her own baby, she felt her tears threatening. ‘I was desperate. I’m sorry. It will never happen again.’

  ‘What sort of a woman can’t even feed her own child?’ Drita smirked as she rocked Roza back and forth in a vain attempt to quieten her. ‘This child has no hope with you as its mother. Roza will be better off with me. Get me a bag, Ramiz.’

  Watching as Ramiz grabbed a straw bag from behind the kitchen door and gathered up Roza’s belongings, Lena caught the twisted sneer that crossed his lips, the flash of malice in his eyes.

  He was enjoying this.

  She knew it was his new way of punishing her; using Roza as his pawn.

  ‘Please don’t do this, Drita? I’m telling you the truth. I went down to the village for food. Look, I’m making Chomlek with the meat I got. You can’t punish me for that… ’

  The Gomezes had taken everything from her. Stripped her bare – her family, her freedom, her life – but she refused to let them take her child.

  ‘Please! I do everything that is expected of me and still it’s not good enough… ’ Lena said bitterly.

  ‘Everything that is expected of you – except to bear me a son.’ Ramiz spoke quietly now, his eyes still flashing with anger.

  Lena shook her head.

  This was madness.

  ‘A son?’ Lena screeched.

  Ramiz didn’t want the child that he had. He’d barely acknowledged Roza’s presence in the four weeks since she’d been born. It was as if he couldn’t bare the sight of her, couldn’t stand her.

  Sons were of value here in Albania. What use were daughters?

  ‘What good would a son be to you, Ramiz? A son to continue the Gomez name? Another victim to add to the list?’

  The fear of her mother-in-law and husband was suddenly lessened by the fear that, if she didn’t speak up, they would take her child from her.

  Drita was leaving. She was taking Roza. For how long?

  Lena was sobbing now, and her body shook. She had to try and fight. ‘All the men in your family are doomed, Ramiz, just like you are. Just like we all are! This is no life; it’s nothing more than a slow death sentence for us all. I hope the Bodis come for you, and soon. Then maybe we can all be put out of our misery!’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Ramiz crossed the room in two strides, slamming his head into hers; the force of his head-butt sending her flying across the room, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

  Placing her shaking hand up to her forehead, Lena could feel the sticky patch of fresh blood. The pain in her skull was intense, as if it had been cracked open.

  Drita loomed over her.

  For a second Lena thought that the woman was going to help her up. Check that she was okay. But the woman took this chance to berate the girl too.

  ‘You think we choose to live this life?’ Twisting her lips into a sneer, Drita spat her words with venom. ‘The ancient Kanun law incites that spilt blood must be met with spilt blood! This blood feud is our fate. We must accept it.’

  ‘Accept it? Why must I accept it? I didn’t choose this life! You kidnapped me. Forced me to marry this animal, to bear his child.’

  They were taking Roza regardless of what she did or said, so what else was there to lose? She was finally speaking the truth.

  ‘This is your fate, not mine. It’s you that needs to accept it, Drita. Give Ramiz up to the Bodis, hand him over. Why prolong all of our suffering any longer? If we should accept our fate, why are you hiding him up here in the mountains like a coward?’ Raising her voice, Lena knew that her words would only make her punishment a hundred times worse, but she no longer cared.

  ‘Do not tell me about cowards,’ Drita hissed. ‘I have lived through five decades and in that time I have seen my uncles, my brothers, my nephew all slain by the Bodis. I’m not ready to let them take my only son too. Not yet.’

  Drita shook her head sadly.

  The girl in front of her knew nothing about struggle, about the sacrifices that this family had made. How dare she jeopardise everything that they had done to protect Ramiz’s location?

  ‘It’s my wish that he hides away. Mine! What’s a little more time?’ Drita’s voice quivered as she fought to hide the emotion behind her words. ‘I have watched too many men from this family slaughtered at the mercy of the Bodis. Murdered savagely over a dispute that happened so far back in our family’s history that even my own Néné had trouble remembering how it all started. You are a Gomez now; you owe it to Ramiz to honour his wishes. Without honour for your own husband, Lena, you may as well be dead.’ Furious at Lena’s disrespectful outburst, Drita struggled to control the tremor in the back of her throat. ‘Your husband had forbidden you to go down to the village, yet you disobeyed him. You put his life at risk.’

  ‘Mother to mother, Drita, I beg you, please don’t take my baby from me… I made a mistake. It will not happen again.’

  Drita was quiet. Taking a second to compose herself, she shook her head.

  ‘Sorry isn’t good enough.’

  Waving her hand in the air, she dismissed Lena’s plea.

  Turning on her heel, with Roza clutched tightly to her chest, the child’s bag in the other, she addressed her son.

  ‘I’ll keep the child with me until you have got your house back in order. However long it takes.’

  Lena felt physically sick as she watched the exchange between mother and son. She was leaving now. Taking her baby.

  Roza was crying.

  ‘No!’ Lena ran then, shrieking.

  Leaping off the floor, she grabbed Drita roughly on the shoulder and swung the
woman around, almost causing her to fall as she desperately tried to snatch her baby back from the woman’s grasp. She wouldn’t let them do this to her. They couldn’t.

  ‘Enough!’ Ramiz bellowed as he pulled his distraught wife back from his mother, restraining her by her wrists and slamming her up against the wall behind her.

  ‘You have your work cut out with that one,’ Drita sneered, and with one last look, she was gone.

  ‘No, please, Ramiz, please. Don’t let her take our baby. I’m sorry for what I did.’ Begging now, she saw the glimmer of amusement in her husband’s eyes as he gripped her arms tighter.

  The front door had barely shut behind Drita and Ramiz was already on her.

  Beating her once more.

  All Lena could do now was pray for peace. For her punishment to be over.

  Curled in a heap on the floor, trying to protect herself from Ramiz’s vicious punches, Lena Gomez passed out.

  5

  Wrapping her cardigan tightly around her as she walked down Battersea Road, Saskia scanned the road for a taxi.

  The traffic was at gridlock, as usual: a typical Friday evening in London. Picking up her pace, she decided she’d be quicker walking, despite the bitterly cold wind.

  Passing the endless queue of irritated drivers making their painstaking commute home, Saskia thought it was ironic really, the fact that this time of the evening was referred to as rush-hour, when it was anything but. In fact, at the moment, every vehicle for about a mile was at a standstill.

  Slipping in between the halted traffic, Saskia crossed the road, reaching the ornate Albert Bridge.

  She always found the view of the Thames breathtakingly beautiful. Especially at night when the usual dirt and grime of the city suddenly became invisible – hidden under the blanket of a million twinkly stars set in the darkened skies.

  Stopping for a few minutes so that she could take it all in, Saskia cast her gaze out across the water, hypnotised by the luminous coloured lights that danced on its surface. Across the bank, clusters of people hurried about: the bars and restaurants crowded, buzzing.