positively screams out that it’s come out of a bottle – and a very cheap bottle at that. What with her clothes, her hair and her make-up – very heavy and overdone – well, I just knew she wasn’t like any nursery nurse I’d ever met. And the way she talked – very quickly, as if she was incredibly excited or really nervous – just amplified the impression. All those instincts and sixth senses, and the little something inside my head which had been nagging away at me since I’d landed, all combined and tried to shout at me ‘get away from this woman – now.’
God, how I wish I’d listened.
Instead, I followed her. Sally said John Reece was waiting in the car outside. He was on a yellow line and we needed to move quickly so he didn’t get into trouble for parking where he shouldn’t. And so I trailed after her through Schiphol airport.
Sure enough, there was a car just outside. And there was a man standing beside it, looking at his watch as if we were late, and then urgently beckoning us to hurry up. This must be John Reece, I thought. But as I got closer I was surprised to see three other girls squashed inside the car. What were they doing there? Neither John nor Sally had said anything about any other girls; they’d made me think I was the only nursery nurse being employed.
But I didn’t have time to ask them any questions. John jumped into the driver’s seat – I remember being surprised that it was a British-style righthand drive – and at the same moment Sally pushed me into the back of the car, then got in the front next to him. As the other girls and I squashed together, the car took off at what seemed a dangerously high speed.
By now I was really scared. What was happening? Who were these other girls? As I turned to get my first good look at them – a real shock: they looked even rougher than Sally – I heard John shout my name. I turned round and found a big black metal barrel pointing at me, just a few inches from my face.
‘Shut up! Don’t move or do anything stupid. Get your passport out. Hand it to Sally. Shut up!’
John was twisted round in the driver’s seat. He was holding the steering wheel with his right hand, weaving through the traffic. In his left hand was a gun – a big, shiny, evil-looking gun. The barrel was pointing directly between my eyes.
Today, 13 years on from that dreadful day, what happened in the car still plays in my mind like a film or a videotape. In slow motion. I can still see John’s lips moving. I can hear every word he said, every curt instruction he barked at me. But the image and the words are somehow disconnected: they don’t seem to be in sync, as if someone had somehow put the film together wrongly.
Or maybe that’s just because I went into shock at the moment I saw the gun, and the whole terrible scene has stuck in my mind the way I saw it then. Certainly I remember feeling as if this wasn’t really happening to me; it was all happening to someone else and I was just being made to watch. And then the mental video speeds up and I’m back in the car and I’m shaking and John is yelling at me to hand over my passport – right now.
I reached into my handbag and pulled out the precious little red passport, then put it into Sally’s outstretched hand. As I did so, I thought, ‘She was in on this from the start. Whatever this is, she was a part of it from the very beginning.’
As soon as she’d got the passport Sally turned back to the front and wouldn’t look at me. John lowered the gun and for a few minutes seemed to focus just on driving the car. He didn’t say anything for some minutes. My mind was racing – what was going on? Where were they taking me – and why? The other girls didn’t say anything either. We all rode along in complete silence. You might wonder, why didn’t I struggle, why didn’t I make a scene or try to get out of the car? But I was so shocked and the car was going so fast that I just sat there. As each
God, how I wish I’d listened.
Instead, I followed her. Sally said John Reece was waiting in the car outside. He was on a yellow line and we needed to move quickly so he didn’t get into trouble for parking where he shouldn’t. And so I trailed after her through Schiphol airport.
Sure enough, there was a car just outside. And there was a man standing beside it, looking at his watch as if we were late, and then urgently beckoning us to hurry up. This must be John Reece, I thought. But as I got closer I was surprised to see three other girls squashed inside the car. What were they doing there? Neither John nor Sally had said anything about any other girls; they’d made me think I was the only nursery nurse being employed.
But I didn’t have time to ask them any questions. John jumped into the driver’s seat – I remember being surprised that it was a British-style righthand drive – and at the same moment Sally pushed me into the back of the car, then got in the front next to him. As the other girls and I squashed together, the car took off at what seemed a dangerously high speed.
By now I was really scared. What was happening? Who were these other girls? As I turned to get my first good look at them – a real shock: they looked even rougher than Sally – I heard John shout my name. I turned round and found a big black metal barrel pointing at me, just a few inches from my face.
‘Shut up! Don’t move or do anything stupid. Get your passport out. Hand it to Sally. Shut up!’
John was twisted round in the driver’s seat. He was holding the steering wheel with his right hand, weaving through the traffic. In his left hand was a gun – a big, shiny, evil-looking gun. The barrel was pointing directly between my eyes.
Today, 13 years on from that dreadful day, what happened in the car still plays in my mind like a film or a videotape. In slow motion. I can still see John’s lips moving. I can hear every word he said, every curt instruction he barked at me. But the image and the words are somehow disconnected: they don’t seem to be in sync, as if someone had somehow put the film together wrongly.
Or maybe that’s just because I went into shock at the moment I saw the gun, and the whole terrible scene has stuck in my mind the way I saw it then. Certainly I remember feeling as if this wasn’t really happening to me; it was all happening to someone else and I was just being made to watch. And then the mental video speeds up and I’m back in the car and I’m shaking and John is yelling at me to hand over my passport – right now.
I reached into my handbag and pulled out the precious little red passport, then put it into Sally’s outstretched hand. As I did so, I thought, ‘She was in on this from the start. Whatever this is, she was a part of it from the very beginning.’
As soon as she’d got the passport Sally turned back to the front and wouldn’t look at me. John lowered the gun and for a few minutes seemed to focus just on driving the car. He didn’t say anything for some minutes. My mind was racing – what was going on? Where were they taking me – and why? The other girls didn’t say anything either. We all rode along in complete silence. You might wonder, why didn’t I struggle, why didn’t I make a scene or try to get out of the car? But I was so shocked and the car was going so fast that I just sat there. As each
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