Finding Eva: a thrilling psychological suspense

by J. A. Baker

  Blood drains from Celia’s head and she wishes there was somewhere nearby so she could sit down – a bench, even a doorstep would do right now.

  Eva is finally calling her. At long last. After all this time, with the worry and heartache Celia has endured, all the running around and endless messages, Eva is about to break her silence. And not before time.

  Celia’s heart practically crawls up her throat as she drags her fingers across the screen and tentatively answers the call, her voice weak and scratchy with shock.

  ‘Eva?’

  She is greeted with a drawn out silence, then a barely audible sigh.

  ‘Celia, what exactly do you want?’ The ice in Eva’s voice catches Celia unawares. It takes her a couple of seconds to reply. Her eyes are wide with shock and the words when she says them feel disjointed and disconnected, as if they’re coming from somebody else.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d moved? I went to London looking for you.’ She doesn’t want to plead with her but can’t seem to help herself. She is feeling desperate. This is her chance to break through Eva’s armour, to penetrate the steel bars she has surrounded herself with. It’s now or never. She has to get this right.

  ‘Look, Celia, I can’t keep doing this with you. Not any more. You know this. We both know it.’

  Celia feels a sickness take hold in the pit of her stomach. She needs to take back control of this situation. This is typical Eva. This is what she does. She commandeers situations and twists them around to suit her own ends. She doesn’t even realise she is doing it. It’s a self-preservation thing that she has mastered over the years to keep her secrets safe and her sanity intact.

  ‘Eva, I’m outside your flat. Please let me in and we can talk about what’s going on.’ Her breath puffs out in front of her as she inhales and exhales rapidly, a tiny element of fear setting in. Celia is losing her. She can sense it.

  ‘You’re lying,’ Eva whispers. ‘You don’t have my new address. Ask yourself why I didn’t tell you I had moved, Celia. Ask yourself that question.’

  ‘I know exactly why you didn’t tell me that. And we both know why you came here as well, don’t we?’ Celia is panting slightly, her nerves getting the better of her. She needs to calm down. She has to be composed and unruffled if she is to help Eva. Charging in there like a whimpering wreck will solve nothing. Celia has to be the strong one; strong enough for the both of them. Eva needs her. She just doesn’t realise it. She never has.

  ‘I’m looking outside my window and I can tell you’re lying. There’s nobody there.’

  Celia moves along the street again, counting the doors, mentally trying to work out where the door to Eva’s flat is. She stops in front of number thirteen, scans the nearby area and rapidly spots it. She has no idea how she missed it earlier. It’s so obvious – the narrow alleyway. She can see the sage-green door with its grey slate number sitting above the letterbox from here; 13a right there next to her. Bingo.

  The gasp down the phone is so slight, so whisper-like that at first she doesn’t even detect it. Celia lets her gaze roam over the front of the house. White painted shutters cover the inside of the windows. It looks empty, as if the place is shut up even though it’s coming up to peak season. Perhaps Eva is the one who is lying and she isn’t even here. She could be anywhere right now, wandering through the town, on the beach, in her parents’ house.

  Celia isn’t sure what makes her do it but she looks up to the bay window directly above the shuttered window and there she is – Eva – phone to her ear, staring down at Celia, her eyes dark and unforgiving. Celia lifts her hand to wave, unsure of what her movements should be. Even from here, she can see the look of horror and anger on Eva’s face.

  This is all wrong. Why does she suddenly feel as if she is a nuisance when all she is doing is trying to help her?

  ‘I’ve found your door,’ Celia says as she attempts to inject an air of authority into her voice without sounding too bombastic and controlling. She needs to be firm but kind, and gain entry into her flat without doing or saying something that will tip Eva over the edge. ‘I’m coming up to see you. This is really important. We need to talk. Please let me in. I’m not leaving till you do. And if you don’t let me in, then I’ll find my own way in. I’m really concerned about you, Eva. Please…’

  There is a moment’s hesitation on the other end of the line, and for one awful moment, Celia thinks she has blown it; broken the spell and lost her forever. She has no idea how she would cope if that were to happen. Their relationship, if she is being honest with herself, is a symbiotic one and she needs Eva as much as Eva needs her. They are a team and always will be. They have a shared history, too much to lose if they drift apart. Too many secrets.

  ‘It’s locked. Look, I haven’t got long. If you insist on talking then wait there and I’ll come down and let you in but I’m really busy today and only have a few minutes to spare.’

  Celia puffs out her cheeks in relief. She’s done it. Once she’s inside, she feels sure she’ll be able to talk Eva round, to make her see sense. This time tomorrow she will be wondering what all the worry and fuss was about. This time tomorrow things will be back to how they were, how they should always be.

  She heads into the dark alleyway, raps her knuckles gently on the door and waits.

  17

  Eva

  My heart hammers out a horrible, dull beat as I listen to her knocking on the door downstairs. For fuck’s sake! How the hell did she find me? This whole scenario is surreal. After the carry on with Gareth earlier, I feel as if I am being stalked. What the fuck is going on here? I make a decision that I’ve been pondering over for years, to come and see my parents, and all of a sudden the world and his wife are here spying on me, tracking me down. Trying to ruin all of my plans.

  I consider closing the curtains, ignoring her, even sending a message telling her to leave me alone, but I know what sort of reaction that will provoke. I need to be cautious here, to step carefully around her. This is a delicate situation. She is mad at me for moving away without telling her. I understand that; I really do, but she left me with no choice. Surely even she can see that? My options were so limited I felt as if I was choking on the intensity of it all.

  I thought I had everything tied down tightly when I left London; that I had managed to slip away into the night unnoticed but with Celia outside my flat, it would appear not. I may as well have a tracking device plastered across my forehead for all the good it did. My stealth-like plans have amounted to nothing and now I’m at the mercy of the two people I have tried to escape from. It was all in vain. It would seem that I can’t even disappear successfully.

  I trudge down the stairs, dreading opening the door to her. I have no idea what I’m going to say anyway. I will leave the talking to Celia. She can ramble on and on about why I have come here and I will remain silent and nod in the right places to appease her. Always the best way. I will do whatever I can to keep her at bay, which won’t be easy but it’s all I can manage right now. I don’t mind admitting she has caught me unawares and I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve to solve this. I’d like nothing better than to send her packing, but knowing how she is, how capricious and unstable she can be, it’s highly unlikely that that will happen. Instead I will do what I’ve always had to do; soothe and cajole her, agree with everything she says and then hope that she buggers off back to where she came from.

  My fingers are like pieces of wood as I fiddle with the ancient lock and slide the chain back off its catch. I pull the door open slightly and do my best to look confident. She smiles at me and her appearance takes my breath away. I try to not show my shock and step back to let her in. A waft of cold air breezes in behind her and I shiver and slam the door closed, leaving the chain off. I have no idea why. I somehow feel safer that way; just that little bit closer to the outside world should things take an unpleasant turn.

  ‘You look different,’ I say quietly as I head back up the stairs. Fear surfaces at t
he thought of her behind me. I had hoped my move would sever our relationship but it would appear that Celia thinks differently, although to be honest, most of the time I have no idea how Celia thinks. Her current appearance tells me she is way off balance at the minute, perilously close to another breakdown.

  ‘Do I?’ Her voice is light, slightly contrived, designed to keep me sweet, no doubt, after she trailed halfway around the country, stalking my every move under the misguided belief that we are close friends.

  ‘Yes,’ I say with more anger than I intend, ‘you look very different, Celia. Very different indeed. You know you do.’

  I feel her footsteps falter behind me and hold my breath in anticipation of her reply. Instead she lets out a small giggle and I am flooded with relief. I don’t want to upset her. Knowing Celia’s capabilities, that’s the last thing I want to do. I’m just furious at being found. I was hoping for some peace and solitude, and the last few days have been anything but that. All I want is to be left alone.

  ‘A change is as good as rest sometimes, isn’t it? Plus, I wanted to look my best for you.’

  I know this is a lie but I say nothing, instead I fill the silence with a low, tuneless whistle as I show Celia into the living area and beckon for her to take a seat on one of the cream leather couches. She slumps into it and the creak of the leather under her body unnerves me more than it should. Today, everything about Celia unnerves me more than it should.

  I watch as her eyes rove around the room, taking in every minute detail, her mouth tightened in concentration while she looks for pieces of me in the ornaments and knick-knacks that are placed strategically on the surfaces in every corner of the living space. She won’t see anything of me in them because none of them are mine. My things are still in storage and will stay there until I find my own place. This entire area is neutral, devoid of me. None of my personal touches have been applied and now she is here, I am glad of it. I want to keep myself back from her. If I could, I would remove myself completely, but it’s highly unlikely that is ever going to happen. God knows I’ve tried.

  ‘Coffee?’ I ask and am surprised by the forcefulness of her reply.

  ‘Tea. You know I prefer tea, Eva!’

  I clench my teeth and furl my fists into tight little balls of fury.

  ‘Tea it is,’ I say softly as I head into the kitchen, hoping she hasn’t detected the slight shift in my mood. Neutrality is the key when dealing with Celia. She is like a mirror, reflecting the moods of those around her. On the odd occasion, when I have dared to stand up to her, she has erupted with such magnitude, I have been forced to apologise immediately, retracting everything I have said to avoid her spiralling into some sort of demonic state. However, today I am feeling slightly frail and less able to put up with one of her moods. Today she may well get short shrift from me if she tries to manipulate me or use any of the devious techniques she often applies when she wants to get her own way.

  I leave her sitting there while I watch the kettle boil, the steam billowing out in small curling clouds. I open a packet of biscuits and arrange them neatly on the plate then pour the tea and head back in, taking my time, putting off having to sit opposite her and discuss why I made the choice to leave London without telling her.

  I place the tray on the coffee table in the centre of the room and hand Celia her cup. She takes it from me and puts it on the floor at her feet. I am mesmerised by how measured and precise her movements are. While I am sweating and wondering what to say next, she is sitting up straight and taking in every aspect of the room, scrutinising my clothing, staring directly into my eyes. I shift my gaze elsewhere, her stern expression making me hot and uncomfortable.

  ‘What’s going on, Eva? Why have you come here? This is a bad idea. You know it is. Sometimes I despair at your decisions. I really, really do.’

  She sounds like a Victorian school ma’am. My head pounds and I want to scream at her to leave me alone, to get out of my flat and to keep her feeble and unwanted opinions and probing questions to herself. But I don’t. Of course I don’t. I know all too well what the repercussions of such a move would be. So instead I sit down in an armchair opposite her and think long and hard before giving my reply. I can feel my nostrils flaring as I try to stay calm and keep a level head.

  ‘Celia. I’m fine here. I am managing perfectly well. It’s good of you to think of me and I understand you’ve travelled a long way to come here, but you didn’t need to. You really didn’t.’

  I hope I’ve pulled it off, said just enough to convey what it is I want to say without sounding too callous or dismissive. It’s all about getting the balance right, you see.

  She continues to watch me closely, her eyes concealing her thoughts perfectly. She has never changed. She looks positively regal, sitting there, passing judgement on me. Celia always did prefer having the upper hand, making up ludicrous stories about her family, telling people they were wealthy and that pretty soon she would be returning to them. It was nonsense, of course. We all knew it. I told the odd lie about my family and background simply because I was embarrassed by it all. I felt as if people knew about my parents just by looking at me. But Celia… her stories were so outlandish and embellished upon it was laughable. And, of course, she never wanted me to find mine. She was convinced I would form a bond with them and it would drive us apart. What she doesn’t realise is, Celia and I were never together to begin with.

  ‘You told me you were happy living in London,’ she says sullenly. ‘You said everything was going great for you and that you were settled there. So why would you just suddenly up and leave?’

  I don’t know what to say, how to reply to make her understand. She thinks she knows me and can fathom what goes through my head. She doesn’t know me; not at all, and in reality, she never has. Celia is the last person on earth I would confide in and bare my soul to. She sees our friendship as something deep and long-lasting. She is deluded, and she is most definitely not a person I would turn to in times of need. I have other friends in both York and London that I would call should I need to. Celia does not even register in my head as a friend. She slipped off my radar many moons ago. I just wish she had stayed there.

  ‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ I whisper, hoping against hope that this will be enough to put her off. It won’t. I know her better than that but I try it anyway. I desperately try to think of some fabricated story to tell her while she watches me.

  ‘Enlighten me then,’ she says, and I’m not sure if I am imagining it, but I swear I detect a hint of menace in her voice.

  I don’t reply and grasp at my wrist, tugging at my sleeve, feeling a sheen of sweat form on my upper lip as I struggle to find the right words.

  ‘I’m all ears, Eva,’ she whispers softly, making me even more nervous. ‘You know I’m only concerned about your welfare. Always have been.’

  I wince at her words and watch her eyes travel down to my arm then back up to my face and see the flicker of recognition. My bracelet. She has spotted my bracelet; the only thing we have in common. I put it on after my shower. Silly really. After finding it earlier, I thought I would wear it as I haven’t had it out of its container for some time, but now Celia’s here it feels wrong; a reminder of the past. Just another thing to fuel her anger. She tries to hide her expression at seeing it, but it’s too late. I take a deep breath and try to suppress the sickness I feel at her unexpected presence in my new flat. I don’t want her here. If I had wanted her to follow me, I would have given her my new address. Surely she can see that? Even Celia, with her warped ideas of what constitutes normal behaviour, can see I didn’t want her to know where I am now living.

  ‘I broke up with my boyfriend and decided I needed a change.’

  ‘Your soul partner?’ She raises her eyebrows in a disapproving arc and clicks her tongue. My face burns. I want to slap her. ‘So why here? I mean of all the places to come to, why would you pick this town, Eva, with all its horrid memories?’ Her voice is gaining in momentum, and
I don’t like it. Not one little bit. I need to find a way to get her out of here. I think I’ve put up with quite enough of her nonsense over the years. I am an adult and can live my life however I choose. I most certainly don’t need her approval. I am now beyond mollifying her. This is my home; she is a visitor. I control what goes on in here. I surprise myself at how authoritative my words sound as they race across my mind. So why do I feel so scared?

  ‘Look, Celia,’ I say briskly as I stand up and smooth the creases out of the fresh trousers I put on earlier. ‘I know you’ve come a long way and I appreciate your concern; I really do, but I have an appointment that I need to get to so if you wouldn’t mind…?’

  She doesn’t move and for one horrible minute I have a vision in my head of dragging her out of her seat and practically throwing her out of the flat. When she gets in this stubborn state of mind, I know all too well what she is capable of. And it really does frighten me. She can be angry outside on the street if she so chooses but I won’t have any of her volatile behaviour or outbursts here in my home. I need to get her to leave.

  ‘This is silly,’ she says softly, a sudden smile cracking her cool demeanour. ‘We haven’t seen one another for, ooh how long has it been?’ she says brightly, tapping her chin lightly with her index finger, ‘It must be over a year!’ she exclaims loudly, her tone contrived and too hearty for my liking. Something is amiss. My skin crawls with dread as I try to work out what her next move will be.

  ‘Two,’ I reply frostily.

  ‘Really?’ she shrieks. ‘I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?’