The Girl Across the Street

by Vikki Patis

  Isla looks at the pale skin of Beth’s arms. ‘Surely you have to be careful?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I turn into a lobster.’ Beth laughs, and Isla joins in. Beth can see her slowly starting to relax, her guard coming down. Progress.

  Back inside, Isla opens the wine and sets out a plate of biscuits, which Beth nibbles her way through. She tells Isla carefully constructed stories about herself, about her job and the customers she has to deal with. Something passes across Isla’s face as Beth talks, and Beth wonders if she’s remembering that night, Jake’s hand on Beth’s thigh, Isla turning away. She feels something harden inside her, then tries to remind herself of the reason she’s here. Focus on the future, not the past.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ she asks, sipping her second glass of wine.

  ‘Oh, three years, I think.’ Isla fiddles with a loose thread on her top. ‘I like it, it’s a nice neighbourhood. Quiet.’

  You’ve never spent any time on my side, Beth thinks sardonically. It’s not so quiet over there.

  A noise comes from the hallway, and Isla sits upright, eyes wide. Beth sees her look at the clock then leap out of her chair, ripping her hair down from its bun and fluffing the curls around her shoulders.

  ‘Wha—’ Beth begins, but Isla is scurrying into the kitchen with their dishes, stacking them noisily in the dishwasher.

  ‘Hello?’ a male voice calls out, and then Isla is in the doorway, blocking Beth’s view. But she knows who it is. She’d know that voice anywhere.

  ‘Hi,’ Isla breathes, her voice so low Beth can hardly hear her. ‘You’re back early.’

  ‘Yeah, the conference was a complete waste of time. Decided to come back and head into the office early tomorrow morning.’ A pause, some rustling. ‘Is someone here?’

  Isla’s reply is whispered; Beth strains to hear. The man strides through the hall and into the living room, and Beth stands up.

  ‘Hi, I’m Jake,’ he says, holding out a hand. His grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes, doesn’t manage to cover the surprise in them.

  Oh, I know who you are. Beth reaches out and takes his hand. ‘Hello,’ she says. Isla bustles in behind him.

  ‘This is Beth,’ she says hurriedly. ‘We met that night, you remember, when the man…’ She trails off, apparently lost for words.

  Jake frowns. ‘Oh, the hit-and-run? Awful.’ He still has hold of Beth’s hand. She wants to pull away, but his eyes are trained on hers, glittering, and his grip is firm. She marvels at his acting skills. Awful. She feels the urge to laugh hysterically bubbling up inside her.

  ‘How about a pizza for dinner?’ Isla chirps, looking from Beth to her husband. Jake finally drops Beth’s hand and she steps back from him. ‘I have one of those fresh ones in the fridge.’ Isla sounds hesitant, her eyes flitting between Beth and Jake.

  Jake’s eyes are still locked on Beth as he nods. ‘Good idea. Beth, will you be joining us?’

  Beth shakes her head. ‘Oh no, thank you. I’d better be going.’ She stumbles back towards the sofa and picks up her handbag. She suddenly feels uncomfortable, as if she has walked into the lion’s den without anything to defend herself with. He’s just caught me unawares, she thinks, trying to calm herself. He wasn’t supposed to see me yet. ‘Thanks so much for the tea, Isla.’ Her voice sounds formal, strained. Isla blinks at her.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she says slowly. She looks as if she’s going to say more, but Beth cuts in.

  ‘I’ll text you,’ she says, and with a wave, she hurries out of the front door and into the warm evening air. Blinking in the sudden brightness, she takes a deep breath, pausing to light a cigarette, and blows it into the bruise-coloured sky.

  She wants to kick herself. It was too soon for Jake to see her. But all isn’t lost, she tells herself as she trudges back to her poky flat. There’s still plenty of time.

  Nine

  Isla

  Later that night, I sit in the living room with the lights off, a glass of red wine at my feet. Jake is in bed, no doubt dreaming sweet dreams. I trace the red mark around my left wrist with my right forefinger, pressing a fingernail into the bruised skin. I remember Beth’s reaction to Jake. Did he do something to her, other than that night at the restaurant? I know he’s been to that restaurant more than once, with clients and colleagues. I am not surprised to find that I believe him capable of something worse than touching a waitress’s leg. I know he is.

  The sky is lightening as I tiptoe up the stairs. I pause and stare out of the bedroom window, then glance down at my husband, who is snoring softly, one arm flung above his head. He is going away again tomorrow, has to be up early to drive to Sheffield.

  ‘We’ll do a test when I get back,’ he said earlier, leaving me lying on the floor, cheek pressed against the soft rug. ‘This is it, I can feel it.’ He padded past me into the bathroom, and as I heard the shower turn on, I dragged myself to my feet and groped for my handbag. Not if I can help it.

  I am running.

  My ballet pumps slap the ground, creating gunshot noises in the still night. The air is warm, close. Suffocating.

  My silk dress flows behind me as I pass the houses of the neighbours I barely know. A cat startles somewhere to my left, skitters underneath a nearby car. The moon shines down, lighting my path, my possibilities. But where can I go?

  I reach the top of the road and stop suddenly. My breath comes fast; I bend at the waist and put my hands on my knees. Beads of sweat drip down my face in the warm air. A car flies past, racing straight through the roundabout, music blaring from its speakers. I hear the whoops of young men, the high laughter of women, tinkling, light. I feel heavy, drained.

  My breathing begins to slow. My long gown catches the breeze and flutters against my bare legs. I look up, up into the depths of the night sky, at the stars twinkling above. I take a deep breath; it catches in my throat, making me cough.

  I am suddenly aware of noises around me. Cars racing past on the dual carriageway beneath me; a train in the distance; the opening theme of a TV show I recognise, blaring out of an open window. I stand and listen and breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

  I walk up towards the roundabout, then turn right, looping around the top of the estate I now call home. My mind is clouded; too much wine, not enough food, but those aren’t the only reasons. I look up at the houses as I pass, at the dark windows of the first floors, where children lie sleeping, lost in dreams.

  I hear music again, the screech of tyres in the distance. I thought this was a safe place, an area for families. I checked the crime map incessantly before we bought the house. I can’t remember any mention of young people tearing around in cars. It makes me nervous.

  Across the road, the block of flats is dark, quiet. A glance at my Fitbit tells me it’s almost three in the morning. Nautical twilight. I remember a man from my childhood showing me the sky through his telescope, me standing on a box to peer out at the stars above. Was it my father? No, not him, don’t think about him.

  I move silently through the night, ducking slightly to avoid low-hanging branches. I breathe in the scent of lavender, the delicious air of a summer’s night. Hedges surround me, and for a moment, even the moon is blocked out, and I am alone in the dark.

  I hear a snap, a rustle. My breath quickens, my eyes straining to see. I am almost out of the darkness; I can see the stars again now, twinkling above me. The street lights have been turned off to conserve energy. I hold my breath as I emerge.

  A shadow darts around the corner, the bright moon catching it around the edges. Something brushes past me, and I draw my arm back, stumbling against the branches behind me. Low, tinny music reaches my ears. Headphones. The shadow materialises into the form of a person, a man, dressed in black. I hear the soft thud of his trainers hitting the pavement, notice the reflective band around his arm.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he says as he passes, his voice loud in the still night. I force a smile, but he is gone, jogging down the path I hav
e just taken.

  I lean against the tree trunk, the bark cool on my skin. I take a deep breath, in through the nose, and close my eyes. My heart flutters in my chest. He just startled me, I tell myself, trying to slow my breathing. A woman walking alone at night, what was I thinking?

  As I prepare myself to head home, I hear the roar of an exhaust, the vaguely familiar music blaring out into the night. I keep my eyes closed, try to focus on my breathing. In, one two three, out, one two three. In, one two three—

  A screech of tyres, a thud, a yell of surprise. A scream pierces the night. My eyes snap open.

  A car – the same car as earlier? – sits in the middle of the second roundabout, brake lights glaring against the dark night. I blink, trying to force my eyes to adjust to the scene. They must be teenagers, I realise, out for a joyride with their mates, showing off their first car. It looks like a Corsa, but I’m hardly an expert. I barely take an interest in cars, not even my own. Jake sorts everything out.

  With a roar that startles me, the car suddenly tears off down the road, barely pausing at the junction beyond. The blanket of calm settles back over the night. I push off the tree and am about to turn the corner when a flash of movement catches my eye. A figure, flitting into the road, pausing, dropping to its knees. And then I notice the other figure lying in the road, unmoving.

  Without thinking, I am running again.

  I pull up as I reach them, the two shadows in the road. A voice floats towards me – a woman, breathless, her words edged in fear.

  ‘I-it just happened, in front of me. He’s lying here, he’s not moving, I…’ A pause. The woman’s face comes into focus; she is young, pale-skinned. I can see her eyes shining in the moonlight. Her hands flutter over the body in front of her like a nervous bird.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whimpers, and she looks up at me for the first time. ‘I-I don’t know how…’

  I kneel down and take my phone out of my bra. I feel a strange calm settle over me as I unlock it with my thumbprint, then open the flashlight app. Bright light pours across the road, illuminating the figure in front of me. It’s the man, the jogger. His reflective band catches the light. Blood is seeping from around his head; his legs lie at an unnatural angle, like a discarded doll.

  The woman is still whimpering. I bend my head and hold my breath as I lean over the man’s face. I cannot feel him breathing. I press two fingers against the side of his neck. Nothing.

  I bring my hand away and hold it up in the light. My fingers are coated in blood. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. The other woman is silent now, her eyes shining as she looks at me. Her mouth is open too, stretched wide in a soundless scream to match my own. Fear bubbles up in my stomach. Beneath me, the man twitches, then his eyes flutter open.

  ‘Not good enough, Isla,’ he croaks, and the fear envelops me, sending bright sparks of terror through my body. I try to stand, to run, but I am fixed to the spot. Trapped.

  I look at the woman in front of me, and I see my own face staring back. A hand seizes my wrist; it’s Jake, his face stretched into a smile. His grip is like iron. I struggle to escape, but his fingers crush my wrist; I hear a bone snap, and this time I scream.

  ‘Isla? Isla!’

  I fight the hands holding me, tearing at the skin with my nails. I scream myself into consciousness; my eyes flutter open to see Jake above me, holding me down. Panic sets in again, and I wriggle beneath him, kicking my legs. I finally get him with a knee in his groin, and he releases me, rolls over with a groan.

  I lie there panting, waiting. Realisation dawns on me. I was asleep. Dreaming. I turn my head to look at my husband, who is staring at me with ice in his eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. But it’s too late. The slap leaves a stinging sensation on my cheek; my eyes begin to water

  ‘Crazy fucking bitch,’ he growls as he staggers to his feet and goes into the en suite, slamming the door behind him.

  I sit up, blood rushing in my ears. My face feels hot, sticky. I check the time on my phone: it’s almost seven in the morning. Jake is going to Sheffield today, I remember. For six days. He will spend the time drinking and eating, while I will revel in the quiet. I can’t wait.

  I pull myself out of bed and head for the bathroom down the hall. I run myself a bath, filling the water with fruity bubble bath. I lock the door and slip out of my pyjamas.

  The water is hot when I step into the bath; it covers my body as I sit down, melting into the bubbles. My hair sticks to my forehead; I push it away, reminded too much of the memory that has haunted my dreams since I was a child. The fire that destroyed everything I loved.

  I duck down and push my hair under the water, and then my face, holding my breath. Water rushes in my ears; I am reminded of the sea, waves slapping against the shore. I remember getting up early one morning during a brief trip to Newquay when I was a teenager and wandering down to the beach. I watched my footprints wash away with the tide, then turned and walked into the waves, arms held out at my sides as if expecting an embrace.

  I burst from the water, breathing hard. I hear the handle rattle, then a loud knock. I don’t move.

  ‘Isla?’ Jake’s voice comes through the door. ‘Isla, look, I’m sorry, okay? You scared me.’ I don’t respond; my heart is beating wildly in my chest. ‘I’m going to Sheffield for a few days, remember?’ he says, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. ‘I won’t be back until Tuesday night. Big meeting.’

  As if I’d forget. ‘Okay,’ I call back, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Have fun!’

  There’s a pause; I see his shadow through the bottom of the door. Then he moves away, and I can breathe again. I hear him moving around in our bedroom, dressing, packing. At last, he bounds down the stairs.

  Six whole days without Jake. I can hardly believe my luck.

  ‘Don’t forget to vote!’ he calls up a few minutes later, then slams the front door behind him.

  Vote. Of course, the referendum. Jake will drop in on his way out of town, I know. He never misses the opportunity to vote.

  I remember trying to engage him in a conversation about the referendum a few weeks ago. It made me nervous, VOTE LEAVE and TAKE BACK CONTROL plastered on the back of road signs and spray-painted on shop windows. I didn’t expect it in my little town, so close to the thriving multicultural city of London. I wanted to talk to Jake about it, get my worries off my chest. Jake is an educated man – he went to Oxford, after all – and he works for a huge marketing company with links to the EU. Surely, I thought foolishly, he would want to discuss such a huge event?

  ‘Nigel Farage is a prat,’ he said around a mouthful of lamb chop. I waited for him to say more, but he only held out his hand for the wine bottle. And that was the end of that.

  The water is turning cold now, the bubbles disappearing. I quickly wash my hair, then stand to rinse off under the shower. I wrap myself in a clean towel, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton against my skin. Despite the start to the morning, I feel calm, free, happier than I have in weeks. Jake is gone, and I am free to live however I want. For a few days, at least.

  I wrap my hair in another towel, brush my teeth, then unlock the bathroom door. I tiptoe over to the window in the hall: Jake’s car is gone.

  I drop my towel and pad back into the bedroom, enjoying the breeze caressing my naked skin. I stand by the open window, the net curtain obscuring my body from any peeping eyes below. The sun is warm already; I can feel my skin drying in the light, the fruity aroma of my shampoo reaching my nose. I breathe in deeply and close my eyes.

  Later, I rifle in the letter holder for my voting card, then grab my handbag. I decide to walk to the community centre, slipping my bare feet into ballet pumps. It’s not far, and it’s such a lovely day.

  My glasses transition to a light grey as I step into the sunlight. I pass neighbours watering their plants, Mike from next door cleaning his car again. I lift a hand in greeting, a small smile playing around my lips.

&nbs
p; At the end of the road, I catch sight of the roundabout, and freeze. I remember the man lying in the road, his blood pooling on the tarmac. My dream flicks through my mind, but I push it away. Concentrating on the bright sunshine, warm against my skin, I cross the road, leaving the memories behind me.

  At the community centre, I join a queue of five or six people. The room is air-conditioned; I feel goose bumps prickle on my arms. I am standing behind an older man, who’s wearing a jacket despite the heat. A long table is set up at one end of the room; two women and one man sit behind it, checking names and handing out ballot papers.

  When it’s my turn, I take my paper and step into the booth. I stare down at the words in front of me. I wonder how many people have been here today, have stood where I am standing, staring down at the options. Did they all know what they wanted to do? Did any of them hesitate, pick one and then cross it out?

  I put a cross against ‘Remain’, fold the paper and pop it in the designated box. I leave the community centre feeling lighter, happy with my choice. I feel a flash of power, wondering if my vote will make a difference. I know what Jake would say to that.

  As my glasses adjust once again to the light change, I notice Beth scurrying across the grass towards me. Her head is down, her eyes concealed by huge sunglasses. She is wearing bright yellow trousers and a white top, her hair tied into a loose braid.

  ‘Beth,’ I say, and she stops, looks up suddenly. She smiles hesitantly.

  ‘Hi, Isla,’ she says. ‘What are you doing over here?’

  I indicate the community centre behind me. ‘It’s voting day,’ I say. Beth frowns. ‘The referendum? The EU?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that,’ she says, scratching the back of her neck. ‘I don’t really follow politics.’

  I am momentarily stunned. I’ve never considered not voting, not once. I stare at her, my lips parted, words ready on my tongue.