‘Didn’t he?’
I can’t tell if Charlie is trying to prod my conscience or poke holes in my latest theory but, to be safe, I ignore his question. ‘He keeps what he does with Ellie a secret while making a show of being a devoted son and boyfriend. It makes perfect sense.’
‘Maybe … But you know what this means, don’t you?’
I lean against Charlie, my energy gone as quickly as it arrived. ‘We have no way of finding Ellie unless she phones again, and when the helpline closes, that will be it. He wins. Again.’
30
Ruth
There’s a collection of stunned expressions as staff file out of the conference room on Wednesday morning. Geoff and I had been hoping to contain the news of our impending retirement until Oscar had made a firm offer, but the press release I’d sent out on Monday announcing the closure of the helpline in two weeks’ time had raised eyebrows, and Oscar’s reappearance the day after had fuelled speculation.
I’ve done my best to pitch the buy-out as a fresh opportunity for all of us, but as I follow Geoff back to our office, I don’t think Jen will be the only one with a newly polished CV by the end of the day. She’s already sent off her details to some of the contacts we’ve made through the foundation, and as I pass by her desk and catch her prodding a teetering pile of filing, I’m glad she’s setting her sights on a job that will challenge her. She should be helping people find their rightful place in the world, not shuffling bits of paper.
As Geoff and I step into the office and the door closes behind us, I feel unexpected relief. We can all look to the future now. No good will come of resuming an old war when our most recent battles have been lost, except I still don’t know what to make of the latest setback.
After Jen’s confrontation with Iona on Friday, she had been waiting at her desk for Geoff and I to return from lunch. She had been shell-shocked, as were we all, but her argument that Lewis has two girlfriends hadn’t convinced Geoff, and I have my doubts too. I’ve never spoken to Ellie so I don’t know exactly what she’s been saying. I don’t doubt she needs help but it’s entirely possible that Jen has jumped to one too many conclusions. What if Lewis isn’t implicated? Iona was quite feisty by all accounts, not the victim I’d imagined, and she might have a point accusing us of harassment. I have to let this go.
‘I’ve had an email from one of the estate agents,’ Geoff says as he settles behind his desk. ‘She wants to call around tonight.’
‘If she’s planning on taking photos, you’re going to have to do a quick tidy up before she gets there.’
‘Me?’
‘I’ll be on the helpline tonight with Jen.’
‘But I’m supposed to be catching up with Oscar at the golf club later.’
‘I thought all the hard work had been done. You must have been working on him for months to get him interested in a takeover so quickly.’
Geoff shrugs. ‘I might have sounded him out, but it was never a forgone conclusion that you’d agree, my love,’ he says. ‘And we’re still a long way from signing on the dotted line.’
I’m not as annoyed as I might be. I don’t particularly mind that Geoff took the initiative in our lives for once but I’m not about to give him full rein. ‘If you can’t be there, Geoff, you’re going to have to rearrange the viewing.’
‘She can only do tonight. Please, Ruth. Be reasonable.’
There’s a creak as the door opens behind me.
‘Sorry, I’ll come back,’ Jen says, sensing the atmosphere.
Geoff beckons her in. ‘No, no, I’m glad you’re here. We’re having a bit of a domestic and you’re the cause of it.’
‘Why? What have I done?’
‘Nothing,’ I reply. ‘It’s Geoff’s fault. We’re getting valuations for the house and we’ve already arranged for two estate agents to call at the weekend. Another wants to visit this evening and Geoff thinks I should do the honours but I’ll be here with you.’
‘I can do the helpline on my own, Ruth.’
‘Not necessarily. It was ridiculously busy on Monday and I wouldn’t want you missing any calls.’
It was bittersweet that on the same day I announced that the helpline had reached the end of its useful life, it should be inundated with calls. Most were well-wishers wanting to thank us for the help we’d offered in the past, but a couple were from women who had been hoping for something more than the contact numbers of organisations who weren’t about to fold.
Our reversal of fortunes might have tempted me to reconsider if I hadn’t gone to see Gemma last night. She remains in a coma and my visit was ostensibly to offer whatever practical support Annabelle might need. I was unpacking the supplies I’d brought when Evan arrived. He’d been too shocked on the day of Gemma’s attack to comprehend what part I’d played, but his eyes had darkened the moment he saw me.
‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked Annabelle.
‘I wanted her to come. She helped Gemma.’
‘Is this what you call helping?’ he asked me, pointing at his daughter whose body was held together by metal rods and plaster of Paris. Her eyes didn’t as much as flutter at the sound of his raised voice. ‘I’m glad that helpline of yours is being closed down before you kill someone.’
I could offer no defence: he was voicing my own worst fears and it was Annabelle who jumped in.
‘If Ruth hadn’t helped me get Gemma away from Ryan, we’d have lost her anyway. That monster would have stopped her seeing us and then he would have killed her, maybe not overnight but over years and years of abuse. Ruth saved her.’
‘Funny how I can’t see that,’ Evan replied with a bitter laugh.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered as I backed out of the room. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Maybe you should leave it to the professionals next time.’
And that’s what I intend to do. But it would be so much easier if I could be sure there was no one left crying out for help.
‘Ellie won’t phone,’ Jen says, reading my thoughts.
‘I wasn’t suggesting she would.’
‘Listen to Jen, my love,’ says Geoff. ‘She won’t phone.’
My husband’s intense gaze wears me down. ‘Fine, I won’t stay if Jen thinks she can manage. But don’t think you’re spending an evening in the golf club, Geoff. It’s a school night.’
‘I could do with a drink now,’ Geoff mutters, reaching for his empty mug.
‘That’s why I came in,’ Jen replies.
Geoff picks up my cup as he passes my desk then takes Jen’s too before she can object. ‘I’ll make them, Jennifer. You stay here and calm my wife down.’
There’s an awkward pause as Jen and I wait for the door to close behind Geoff.
‘If you do speak to her again,’ I say once we’re alone, ‘will you ask her directly if it is Lewis? Forget all the rules about not demanding information. I’d rest easier if she would at least confirm that it isn’t him.’
‘But it is,’ Jen insists.
I don’t argue. It’s going to be a moot point if we never hear from Ellie again. Chances are she’ll become another of life’s imponderables that will torture me through my retirement. When the helpline closes a week on Friday, I intend to draw a line under the past. I have to for my own sanity.
‘Are you sure you should be putting the house on the market so soon?’ Jen asks.
‘Not entirely but Geoff makes a compelling argument. If we sell the house before the business, we can always rent an apartment here for as long as necessary.’
‘And if the business deal falls through?’ Jen asks wistfully.
‘There are other options on the table. It’s possible we could promote from within and become sleeping partners. It’s not ideal but there are one or two people out there who would jump at the chance if we put it on the table,’ I tell her. With forced cheeriness, I add, ‘Meanwhile, Geoff and I have been scouring the internet for properties in Stratford, and Sean’s come up with a few possibilities.
Chances are we’ll end up buying something that’s a bit of a project. It’ll keep us busy and, more importantly, it’ll keep Geoff out of trouble.’
‘There’s no going back, is there?’
‘We can’t stand still, Jen. The world changes around us whether we like it or not, and we adapt, whether we realise it or not. It’s going to be hard making a home somewhere that doesn’t have memories of Meg woven into its fabric, but it’s not impossible. I’ll carry her with me, wherever I go.’
‘Will you tell the girls about Meg?’ Jen asks as she follows my gaze to the new photo on my desk. It’s the one of the twins sitting on my knee in the kitchen.
I smile. ‘She’ll be a part of their lives too, I’ll make sure of that.’
‘I really do hope this works out for you both,’ Jen says. ‘You deserve to be happy.’
‘But I’m going to miss you,’ I admit. ‘Why don’t you and Charlie come over for dinner on Saturday evening? It’ll give us a chance to talk through all your exciting plans for the future.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Jen replies without enthusiasm, leaving me wondering who is trying to fool whom.
31
Jen
Ruth and Geoff leave early to give themselves time to spruce up the house before the estate agent arrives, and as soon as they’re out of the door, the level of chatter in the office rises up a notch. Concerns for the future are voiced and it appears that Oscar is not a popular choice. As Ruth predicted, there are a number of senior architects who express disappointment at not being given the opportunity to take the company forward.
There are one or two furtive looks in my direction and I want to reassure everyone that I’m not going to repeat anything I hear, but I’m not the keeper of secrets I once was; you only have to ask Ellie. I make a show of tuning out their conversations by picking up my mobile.
‘Are you busy?’ I ask when Charlie answers after the third attempt to get through to him and not his voicemail.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I just wanted to say hello.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘It’s ten to five.’
‘Hmm, hmm,’ Charlie replies, having switched off now he knows there’s no emergency. This is how Mum must feel when I do the same to her.
‘The helpline’s about to open,’ I say with emphasis. ‘It’s my second to last shift, Charlie, and I have this awful feeling I’m going to spend the next three hours being disappointed every time the phone rings and it’s not Ellie.’
‘She’s not going to call, Jen.’
‘I know, I’ve just said that,’ I snap.
There’s mumbling as Charlie covers the phone and talks to someone before replying to me. ‘Sorry, Jen. What were you saying?’
‘Should I go?’ I force myself to ask.
‘Do you mind? I promise we’ll talk later but right now I’m in the middle of something. I’ll try to get home before you and cook us a nice meal, or at worst, pick up a takeaway. You can tell me all your worries and I’ll tell you mine.’
I feel instantly guilty for my self-absorption. ‘You’ve got problems?’
‘You could say that,’ he replies with a sigh. ‘There’s a crisis with the rotas but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Now go and make yourself a drink before the helpline opens. You’ve got five minutes.’
I put down the phone feeling more anxious than I was before, but I take Charlie’s advice and make myself a coffee. The first call comes through as I’m returning to my desk.
‘Hello, you’re through to the Lean On Me helpline.’
‘Is that Gill?’
‘No, it’s Jen,’ I reply, already knowing where this conversation is heading.
‘You probably don’t remember me,’ the caller begins.
She’s wrong. I do remember her, and it’s the same with the next three callers. I’ve spoken to each of them in the past and my response to their kind words is a gradual build-up of emotion that has to come out, and it does when the last caller passes the phone to her daughter who insists on saying hello. She’s four years old and hadn’t been born when her father mentally abused his pregnant girlfriend.
‘I’d best let you go,’ the girl’s mum says when she comes back on the line to find me sobbing.
‘I’m so glad you called,’ I tell her. ‘These are happy tears, honestly.’
There’s only a sliver of a lie in what I say. I am happy about what we’ve achieved in the last seven years, but I’m miserable that it’s coming to an end. What am I going to do when Ruth leaves? I don’t want to be left behind.
Someone places a hand on my shoulder. It’s one of the architects, a middle-aged man who looks distinctly uncomfortable being the only one left in the office to deal with a hysterical member of staff. ‘Here,’ he says, offering me a tissue. ‘I was about to leave. Will you be OK?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I promise. ‘We all will. New opportunities and all that.’
‘I’ve watched you on the helpline over the years,’ he says. ‘I might not hear what you say but then, you don’t say much because you’re a good listener, Jen. Don’t spend the rest of your life stuck here, listening to us drone on about bricks and mortar. If you’ll forgive the pun, be the architect of your own destiny.’
My smile trembles. ‘Don’t be nice to me, you’ll only set me off again,’ I warn.
‘I’ll take that as my cue to leave.’
I’m watching him disappear through the exit doors when the phone rings again. I take a breath and as I prepare myself for another emotional onslaught, my ears are trained for any background noise. There’s no chatter, no TV, and no children squabbling.
‘Hello, you’re through to the Lean On Me helpline. How can I help?’
‘Hello, Jen,’ Ellie says.
‘I – I don’t … I didn’t think you’d call again,’ I stutter.
‘Neither did I,’ she replies quietly.
Something feels different. I thought I’d be able to recognise a call from Ellie without her speaking but not this time. ‘How are you?’
‘Good.’
‘Are you in your apartment?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re safe and well?’
There’s a pause. ‘I am going back home to Romania,’ she says. ‘My flight is a week on Saturday. He has paid for me to go. I told you, he is a good man.’
I don’t believe her, or to be more precise, I don’t believe what he’s promising. ‘Do you have the ticket? Have you seen it?’
There’s another time delay, as if we’re talking via satellite. ‘It will work out. I am happy to go.’
‘Because it’s what he wants?’
‘Yes.’
I’d like to know if it’s what she wants but I say nothing. I’ve worked out what’s wrong with the call. There’s a tininess to Ellie’s voice that shouldn’t be there. She’s on speakerphone but that doesn’t explain the delay … not unless someone is listening in to our conversation and vetting her answers.
‘I’m sorry for being angry with you last time, Jen. I overreacted.’
‘Please don’t apologise, you’ve done nothing wrong,’ I reply.
I lean back in my chair as I wonder how I’m going to broach the question Ruth wants me to ask. How likely is it that Ellie will divulge her abuser’s identity while he’s in the room? I’m not hopeful, so I start with a different question.
‘Remember when you first phoned and said that it wasn’t Lewis who hurt Meg?’
‘I do not know this Lewis,’ Ellie says too quickly. These words haven’t been fed to her but that doesn’t mean the answer is a truthful one. I can hear the fear in her voice.
‘He was Meg’s boyfriend. Are you sure you don’t know who he is?’
Silence.
‘So if you don’t know him, he’s not the one hurting you?’
After a pause, she says, ‘I lied. No one is hurting me, Jen.’
‘We both know that isn’t true,’ I tell her, wearil
y. Ellie’s clumsy attempts to defend Lewis simply confirm that it is him and he’s there. ‘Oh, Ellie, you can’t trust him. You know what he did to Meg. She was going to leave him too and look how he stopped her.’
‘It is not the same.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ I reply. ‘You do know you’re not the only woman in his life, don’t you?’
‘I never meant to hurt …’ she begins but her voice trails off. Is she being told not to answer the question?
‘He keeps you hidden while he puts on a veneer of respectability. He thinks by sending you away, the problem will go away too, but you didn’t make him what he is. He’ll never rid himself of the need to crush and humiliate, and I doubt he wants to. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. Let me put an end to this.’
‘Please, Jen,’ Ellie says but pauses again, seeking permission to continue perhaps. ‘You must stop this. I only ring to say goodbye. Do not worry about me. I will be OK. It will all be OK but you must stop or else …’
‘Or else what?’ I ask. When she doesn’t answer, I add, ‘What has he told you to say?’
The silence that follows is broken only when the second helpline phone rings out.
‘I should let you get the other call,’ she says.
‘I don’t have to answer it. Did you know the helpline’s going to close?’
‘Yes. He said. I am sorry.’
‘I expect he thought we’d given up but I’m going nowhere. I won’t be played and I won’t be threatened,’ I say, enjoying the opportunity to speak through Ellie to Lewis.
‘I will talk to him,’ she says urgently. ‘You do not need to do anything.’
The second phone stops: soon it will never ring again. ‘I’m scared for you, Ellie. I want you to go back home and be safe, I really do, but what happens when the next Meg, or the next you, comes along? There’s another young girl out there who’s going to find out the hard way that he’s never quite sorry enough when he hurts her. That’s not your problem, I know that, but don’t ask me to stop because I won’t. I’d love to meet up with you just once and show you what Meg was like before he got to her. Maybe you have pictures to share of happier times too.’
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