Free A Long Walk Home: One Woman's Story of Kidnap, Hostage, Loss - and Survival by Judith Tebbutt Page B

pathway heading down, which led us past a house – a small single-storey structure with two little windows shedding yellowish light. The thought of people inside, so close to us now, was so strong that I had a sudden impulse to do something, to shout out for help. Marvin clearly read this, for he looked hard at me, made the cut-throat gesture with his index finger straight across his neck, then pressed the finger to his lips. The message was unmistakable, and menacing. I put my head down and pressed on. We continued on the track at a steady pace, onto softer sand and down to the shoreline. I began to feel my feet sinking into what felt like wet, spongy seaweed, the cuffs of my pyjama bottoms getting soggy again. The Navigator had moved on ahead and I couldn’t see where he was going, the darkness just enveloped him. Then Marvin dropped sharply to a crouching position and pulled me with him, holding onto me tightly. We stayed like that, in silence, for fifteen long minutes.
    Something in me was sick at heart to see the lights in the little houses dotted round the bay – the evidence of other lives, of ordinary people going about their daily business, oblivious to the stranger in their midst. I thought of families who perhaps had just put their children to bed, of women sewing or cooking, safe and assured in the ordinary world. And here was I in the dark outside, a hostage, crouched and shivering, waiting for god knows what.
    I made out the shape of a boat slipping silently into view, and then three torch flashes in quick succession, blink–blink–blink. That was the awaited signal, for Marvin hauled me up and led me into the shallow water. I could see the Navigator ahead. Then Marvin beckoned me to climb onto his back and bore me in this way up to the skiff. It was clear to me now: Leader and Money must have sailed the boat around to this cove earlier in the day,then most likely waited under cover of darkness for Marvin and the Navigator to bring me here at an appointed hour.
    I was manhandled back aboard. Money was manning the rudder, the Leader in his customary place at the prow. As ever I hated the sight of him, the silent keeper of whatever was the plan for me. Where were we going now? The engine was started and we lurched off and away out to sea.

6
    For a time in the darkness it had seemed as though we were just ploughing the open waters of the ocean, with no land in sight anywhere – until I became aware of coastline, on my left and perhaps half a mile away in the distance. Gradually I could make out the lights of a large coastal town – bright, numerous, and uniform, like a string of street lamps running along a promenade. I turned to the Navigator (who had, of course, now handed navigating duties on to Money).
    ‘Those lights, where is that?’
    ‘Malindi,’ he replied.
    I knew that Malindi was on the Kenyan coast. But had we really turned round and headed back into Kenyan waters? I didn’t know what to believe, but the idea was exciting. We passed by the town’s lights and ploughed on. I was sitting up amid my captors, but only because I had flatly refused to remain hidden on the sodden mattress under the usual coverings, since the combination of the skiff’s breakneck speed and the pervasive stink of petrol had left me nauseated and battered about on the floor of the boat. My protest had earned me a seat on a yellow container, but there was little relief from the boat’s turbulent progress, and the pain and nausea persisted.
    We travelled through the night. I wearied, my head began to droop, yet I was doggedly determined to hold on to some sense of where we were going.
    As dawn light broke we were sailing at a gentler pace on a calmer sea, and the coastline in the distance had changed to one of pristine white-sand beaches, completely deserted. If this hadbeen Kenya, I was almost sure we would have seen sun beds and swimmers.
    The boat began to slow, and I saw ahead of us a bizarre sight: an oil tanker,