Bring Me Back

by B. A. Paris

  ‘Layla!’ Her name tears out of me, half-sob, half-cry. ‘Layla!’ I snatch up the doll and turn in a circle, calling her name over and over again, Layla! Layla! Layla! willing the breeze to carry it to wherever she is. I call until my voice is hoarse, but she doesn’t come.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Before

  I’m going to have to finish this letter, Layla, because Harry is coming to pick me up to take me to the flat in London. I’m leaving the cottage, you see. You’ve been gone for six months now. I’m not giving up on you, please don’t think that. It’s just too hard being here without you.

  Now that you’ve read my letter, I hope you’ll understand how sorry I am for what happened that night and find it in your heart to forgive me. I’ll be close by, waiting for you. If I move on from London, Harry will always know where I am. So come and find me, Layla, and when you do, we’ll get married.

  I’m leaving you a ring, the ring I was going to give you on your twentieth birthday, when I asked you to marry me. I love you. I always have, I always will. No matter how long you are gone, I’ll never stop loving you.

  Finn

  PART TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  Layla

  I should never have gone back to St Mary’s. If I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have come to this. I blame Finn. If he hadn’t decided to marry Ellen, I would have stayed away.

  The truth is, I could have returned to the cottage any number of times over the years; I had the keys. But I hadn’t, because it had been enough to know that Finn had never sold it. In my mind – and I’m the first to admit that my mind isn’t what it used to be – it meant that he wanted to hang on to a vestige of our life together. But about to embark on a new life with Ellen, the thought that he might sell the cottage without me ever seeing it again was unbearable.

  After, as I sat on the station platform, my heart beating crazily from the near-miss with Thomas, it seemed incredible that I had just risked everything for a fleeting look at the place where I’d spent a relatively short amount of time. But I had been happy there. That’s not to say I’m not happy now, because I am, happier than I deserve to be. All I’d wanted was a glimpse of a past long gone. But Fate had been waiting for me in the form of Thomas. It was only when he’d come hobbling towards me, saying ‘Layla, is that you?’, his rheumy eyes wide with surprise, that I realised my mistake. How could I have known he would still be around? He’d already seemed ancient all those years ago.

  Even then, I could have saved the situation. I could have bluffed my way out of it, told Thomas that he was mistaken. But lost in the past, I forgot that I no longer look like I used to. So what had given me away? As I’d stared, mesmerised, at the cottage, had I reverted to my old way of standing, my left hand grasping my right elbow? Or, as I remembered the life I used to have, had the look on my face betrayed me? Whichever it was, Thomas seemed to know it was me.

  Stupidly, I turned and ran, no doubt confirming his suspicions. I found myself back at the station, my heart pounding with fear at the thought that Finn might find out I was alive. I tried to calm the agitation I felt. Even if Thomas were to tell the police that he’d seen me, they probably wouldn’t believe him. Even if he somehow managed to contact Finn, he would probably dismiss it as the ramblings of an old man. I was glad he would never know. I tried to imagine how he would feel. Happy in his new life with Ellen, it would surely be the worst possible news.

  But then I remembered the way the cottage had looked. I’d expected to find it neglected, abandoned, yet there had been flowers in the garden and geraniums at the windows. If Finn had been tending it for all these years, maybe it was because he harboured a hope that one day, I’d come back. I knew that he loved Ellen – how could he fail to when she was perfect? But if I were to suddenly reappear, what then? Was it possible that after all these years, Finn still loved me? If it came down to it, would he choose me over Ellen? Surely he wouldn’t – but what if he did?

  In that instant, everything changed. Suddenly, my greatest fear wasn’t that Finn would find out I was alive, but that he wouldn’t. If my return was what he had been hoping for all these years, didn’t I owe it to him to let him know I was alive? Before he went ahead and married Ellen? Before it was too late? Recognising the danger of false hope, I reminded myself of all I’d achieved and everything I’d be risking, if I chose to come back now. But the need for Finn to know I was alive wouldn’t go away.

  I needed to be careful. I couldn’t just walk back into his life, not without being sure that he wanted me to. My reappearance needed to be a gradual thing, a possibility before it became a reality. And it would only become a reality if he wanted it to.

  But how could I let him know I was alive without anyone else knowing? Agitated, I rubbed my thumb backwards and forwards over the smooth contours of my little Russian doll, the one that had belonged to Ellen, seeking solace. For the first time, it didn’t bring me comfort. Instead, it gave me an idea.

  The train for Cheltenham came in and without a moment’s hesitation, I got on it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Finn

  It’s a while before I’m able to make my way back down Pharos Hill to where I left the car. I feel disorientated, as if I’ve been taken from a life I knew and plunged into an alien, parallel world. When I finally accepted that Layla – because it had to be her – had been, and gone, that I might only have missed her by a matter of minutes, I’d gone back to the wooden bench, remembering the last time I’d been there, the day of her ceremony, and how I’d pleaded with her – Look, Layla, we have put up a bench in your memory so if you aren’t dead, please give me some sort of sign that you’re still alive. But she never had. Until now.

  There’s no way I can drive back to Simonsbridge, to Ellen, not in this state, so I find a small hotel and check in. Then, from my room, I phone Ellen to tell her I won’t be coming home tonight.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asks. ‘Your voice is all over the place.’

  ‘Migraine starting. Which is why I’d rather not drive.’

  ‘Poor you,’ she says, sympathetically. ‘How did it go with Grant?’

  ‘Fine. Problem solved.’

  ‘Good. Have you taken painkillers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you should go to bed, lie down at least.’

  ‘I’m going to. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  I hang up, already knowing I’m not going to tell her that Layla is alive, not yet. I can’t add ‘not until I’m sure’ because I am sure, 100 per cent sure. I can’t think of anyone Layla would have told about the tree stump shaped like a Russian doll on Pharos Hill. Layla is definitely alive. And I feel terrified – for her, for Ellen, for myself.

  I check my emails, hoping there’ll be one from the Rudolph Hill address, from Layla. There isn’t. Which means the ball is squarely in my court. Because it’s still a game – the only thing that’s changed is that it’s Layla who’s playing it. Why? Why is she hiding? And where has she been for all these years?

  Unable to sit, I pace up and down the hotel room. I think about phoning Tony, telling him everything. At first, he’ll probably think as I had, that somebody is playing me. But once he adds it all up, including Thomas’ sighting of her, he’ll come to the same conclusion as me, that Layla is alive. What then? Well, he’ll close the net on her and she’ll eventually be found. But I can’t let that happen without knowing what the implications will be. Will Tony be able to protect her, at least for a while? Once it gets out that she’s back, the media will be all over her, hounding her, wanting to know her story. Could she be charged with something, perverting the course of justice, maybe? Unless she was being held against her will for all these years, she must have heard the appeals for her to get in contact, to let someone know she was safe. What if she’s sent to prison? Maybe that’s what she’s scared of, why she is hiding. If she is back, what will happen to her?

  In the end, I decide to send an email, not to Tony but to Layla, just to let
her know that I finally understood what she meant.

  I worked it out, Layla. I went to Pharos Hill, I found the Russian doll.

  You should have waited.

  But she doesn’t reply and eventually, I fall into an exhausted sleep.

  I’m reluctant to leave the next morning. I feel close to Layla here in Devon. Yet reason tells me this isn’t where she’s hiding. The Russian dolls that she’s been able to leave with such ease mean she’s more likely to be somewhere nearer to Simonsbridge, Cheltenham maybe. The fact that Ellen saw her there lends weight to this, and I wonder about stopping off on my way home and spending a couple of hours walking around the town. But I doubt I’d see her in the street, or through a shop window, or sitting in a café.

  I don’t remember much about the drive home. I must have driven to Exeter and got onto the M5 because I suddenly find myself driving down the road towards the house. I slam the brakes on. It’s too soon, I’m not ready to face Ellen, pretend it’s just another ordinary day. But much as I want to, I can’t sit here. If I don’t go in, it will seem strange.

  I shift the car into gear and drive through the gate. I’m still not ready so I take out my mobile and pretend I’m on a call. I hear Peggy barking and out of the corner of my eye, I see Ellen at the window. I turn my head, showing her my mobile, and understanding, she gives me a little wave and disappears.

  I sit with the phone clamped to my ear until I can’t delay any longer. I get slowly out of the car and make my way to the front door. As I open it, Peggy wraps herself around my legs, and I crouch down and bury my face in her neck, telling her how beautiful she is.

  ‘If I didn’t love her as much as you do, I’d be jealous,’ Ellen says, and for a moment, I wonder who she’s talking about. I feel a sudden rush of guilt. This is my life, I tell myself fiercely. Ellen is my life now, not Layla.

  ‘You’re my life,’ I tell Ellen, taking her in my arms. Surprised by the urgency in my voice, she laughs softly and tells me that I should go away more often. Peggy scrambles up onto her hind legs, trying to get between us. ‘I’ll take her for a walk,’ I say. ‘I need to stretch my legs after all that driving.’

  ‘How’s the migraine?’

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘Good. I don’t suppose you could pick up some milk, could you? And something for tonight?’

  I set off, Peggy at my heels, and as I walk I wonder how Layla traced me to Simonsbridge, and when. Maybe she’s been looking for me for years, maybe it was the article in the newspaper about Ellen moving in with me that finally led her to me. How must that have made her feel, to know I was with Ellen?

  I buy milk at the village store then go to the butcher’s to get some steak, and some homemade pâté for lunch. Suddenly hungry, I ask Rob to cut me a few slices of German sausage, realising I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday. A lifetime ago. I almost ask him if he’s seen anyone hanging around the village. But the newspaper article last year had been accompanied by a photograph of Layla, her distinctive red hair flashing like a warning sign. If I give a description, he might guess I’m talking about Layla. I can’t risk it.

  At the river, I share the sausage with Peggy, and allow my mind to wander. If Layla turns up, what will happen? Ellen is her family, we couldn’t turn our backs on her. And I wouldn’t want to. So where would that leave me and Ellen?

  I call Peggy from where she’s rooting under a bush and head home. As I walk past The Jackdaw, Ruby comes out.

  ‘You look as if you could do with a coffee,’ she says, so I follow her inside and sit at the bar while she pours me a mug from the glass jug that sits on the counter.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, closing my hands around the mug, appreciating the warmth.

  ‘Rough night?’

  ‘You could say that.’ The need to confide in someone is overwhelming and anyway, Ruby already knows most of it. ‘I misunderstood the email address—’

  ‘No kidding,’ she says dryly.

  ‘Layla is alive, Ruby.’ The words sound strange on my tongue.

  ‘What?’ She looks at me, stunned.

  ‘Did you see anybody with red hair in the pub last Friday, at the bar?’

  She shakes her head, still trying to process what I’ve just told her. ‘Not that I noticed. Finn, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I went to St Mary’s to meet her.’

  Ruby’s eyes grow wide. ‘You’ve seen her?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘She wasn’t there.’

  ‘So how do you know she’s alive?’

  I take the little Russian doll from my pocket. ‘I found this on a tree stump on Pharos Hill.’

  ‘Pharos Hill?’

  ‘It’s near where we used to live in Devon, not far from St Mary’s. Doll number five.’ I stand it on the table between us. ‘This, coupled with the email address, can only mean she’s alive. Rudolph Hill. Russian doll, Pharos Hill.’ She frowns, not getting it. ‘I found the doll on Pharos Hill, standing on a tree stump Layla used to say looked like a Russian doll,’ I explain. ‘Nobody else would know its significance.’

  ‘It could be somebody pretending to be her,’ she points out carefully.

  ‘No. She was there, Ruby, I know she was.’ Something must show on my face, maybe the frustration I feel at having arrived too late to see Layla, because she lays a hand on my arm.

  ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ she says, giving me the benefit of the doubt.

  So I tell her everything, even what I’ve never told her before, the truth behind the holiday in France when it all went so drastically wrong, right up to the letter I left for Layla asking her to marry me, the letter that has now gone.

  ‘If what you say is true,’ she says slowly when I get to the end, ‘it’s horribly creepy.’

  It isn’t the reaction I expected and I open my mouth to defend Layla, then realise that Ruby’s right. Just because Layla is behind the trail of Russian dolls, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t something sinister about it.

  ‘I think the Russian dolls were a way of getting my attention,’ I say, making excuses for her anyway. ‘Now that she’s got it, I don’t think I’ll be finding any more. What I’m trying to do is piece everything together. What made her come back now, what prompted her to leave that first Russian doll? What prompted her to start sending emails, luring me to St Mary’s?’

  She thinks for a moment. ‘Because of the timing, I’d say she – if it is Layla – isn’t happy about you marrying Ellen. Maybe she saw the wedding announcement.’ She pauses, calculating backwards. ‘She started to leave the Russian dolls not long after it appeared in the newspaper, didn’t she? If she’s been keeping tabs on you all these years from wherever she’s been hiding, she must have been pretty shocked to learn that you were with Ellen. Maybe, at first, she thought the only reason you were with Ellen was because she’s her sister, that you were trying to find her – Layla – in Ellen. But to go as far as marrying her means something different altogether. It means you love Ellen for who she is, not because she reminds you of Layla. I know, because that’s how I felt.’ She looks at me ruefully. ‘I thought your relationship with Ellen was because you needed to get Layla out of your system and that once she was, you’d come back to me. It was quite a shock when I heard you were going to marry her. So I kind of get where Layla is coming from.’

  ‘But I was free for years! She could have come back anytime! Why didn’t she?’

  ‘Maybe she was scared of you – you know, after that night.’

  ‘But to stay away for twelve years?’

  ‘Maybe she couldn’t come back before.’

  ‘Why not? I doubt she was being kept prisoner. I used to think that she was, I used to torture myself imagining that she was being kept against her will. But I don’t think that now.’

  Ruby shrugs. ‘Maybe she was ill.’

  ‘For twelve years? So what does she think will happen now? What is she expecting?’

  ‘Maybe she isn’t expecting anything.
’ She pauses. ‘On the other hand—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said that the letter had gone from the cottage, and only recently.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And that in it you told her to come and find you, that you would always love her. Isn’t that what you told me you wrote?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, maybe, in her mind, she thinks it still holds true.’

  ‘What – that if she comes back, I’ll fall in love with her all over again?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And leave Ellen?’ I pick up on something she said. ‘What did you mean, “in her mind”?’

  ‘She’s disturbed, Finn.’

  ‘Disturbed?’

  ‘Fragile. And maybe a little unbalanced.’ I stare at her. ‘Balanced people do not go round leaving little Russian dolls for people to find,’ she goes on.

  I sigh, knowing she’s right. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘I think you’re going to have to be cruel to be kind. Send her an email, refer to the letter if you want, but tell her that twelve years is a very long time and that you’ve moved on.’

  ‘With her sister.’

  ‘She probably knows that already. The thing is, are you going to tell Ellen?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You should. You can’t keep something like this from her. If I were Ellen, I’d want to know.’

  ‘I’d want to know what?’ Turning, I see Ellen standing in the doorway behind me. She’s smiling, but there’s worry in her eyes.

  ‘Where he’s planning on taking you for your honeymoon,’ Ruby says, without missing a beat, while, with as much casualness as I can muster, I sweep the little Russian doll that I’d left standing on the counter into my pocket. ‘He’s planning to surprise you, but I was saying that in your place, I would want to know. I mean, how’s a girl to know what sort of clothes to take with her?’ Ellen laughs at this. ‘Are you coming in for coffee?’ Ruby goes on.

  I pull out the stool beside me. ‘Come on, come and rescue me from Ruby. She keeps telling me I’m doing everything wrong. Would you really prefer to know where I’m taking you?’