The Girl Across the Street

by Vikki Patis

  ‘What’s for dessert?’ Isla asks, eyes wide with anticipation.

  ‘Tarte au citron,’ Beth says in a terrible French accent, bringing one thumb and forefinger together in front of her face.

  ‘Avec de la crème?’ Isla responds, and Beth frowns.

  ‘Erm,’ she says, and Isla bursts out laughing.

  Beth and Isla are sprawled on the sofa, the remnants of their lunch abandoned, cream hardening in their bowls. Steaming mugs of coffee rest on the table in front of them. Beth has just finished telling a story about her two younger siblings, the twin boys she loves to spend time with, when their mother allows it.

  ‘When are you seeing him again?’ Isla asks suddenly, reaching out for her coffee. ‘Your dad.’

  Beth rolls her eyes. ‘No idea. We don’t exactly meet up often.’ She sees the look in Isla’s eyes, and feels the urge to open up.

  ‘All I wanted was to be wanted,’ she says after a moment, her voice quiet. She’s never told anyone this, not even Kyle.

  ‘But your mum?’ Isla asks. ‘You had a good relationship, right?’

  ‘She was fine.’ Beth blows out a breath. ‘More than fine. We had a great relationship, but she was always so busy working, or she was tired from working.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She was a cleaner. A house cleaner mostly, but she also cleaned the primary school. She scraped a living; she worked her fingers to the bone, but she still ended up going hungry some days.’ Beth purses her lips.

  There’s a pause before she speaks again.

  ‘My dad is an estate agent. He started investing in property during the crash, I think.’

  ‘Smart,’ Isla remarks. ‘Jake’s dad does the same thing. Maybe they know each other.’

  Beth’s silence is deafening, Jake’s name a sharp reminder of what has happened, what has been happening to Isla.

  ‘When did he leave?’ Isla asks, shifting in her seat.

  ‘I don’t think I was even a year old,’ Beth says, frowning down at her hands.

  ‘Had your parents been together long? Before you, I mean. Before you came along.’

  Beth shakes her head. ‘They had a one-night stand. Mum had lived in Hertford her whole life, and she got her own flat when she was sixteen. She met Dad while she was out in town – a rare thing, even when she was young. She was always working, from the day she dropped out of school.’

  She is struck by the cycle; the patterns people seem to follow without realising it. She herself has never left the area, moved into a flat in the same block she grew up in. When am I going to break the cycle? she wonders, avoiding Isla’s gaze. Have I lost the chance now?

  She takes a sip of her coffee before continuing. ‘Mum fell pregnant, and Dad moved in. I think he wanted to do the “right thing”.’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Did they get married?’

  ‘No. Mum wanted to, I think, but Dad’s parents weren’t having it. I bet they were relieved when he finally left.’

  ‘Do you have anything to do with them?’

  Beth shakes her head. ‘Never have. They don’t live far away, one of those villages outside Hertford. I don’t remember ever meeting them.’

  ‘God,’ Isla says. ‘They sound nice.’ Beth laughs then, properly.

  ‘What about you?’ She turns to Isla, sick of her own sorry tale. ‘What were your parents like?’

  Isla takes a deep breath. Beth realises that Isla has never spoken of her past before. She’s such a closed book; she keeps everything to herself. Beth recognises that in herself, that need to be independent, to not need anyone. It can get lonely sometimes.

  She draws herself up, ready to hear Isla’s story

  ‘My mum worked in a café once I started school,’ she begins. ‘My dad worked in IT. I still don’t really know what he did.’ Isla gives a breathy laugh. Her eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. ‘My parents died when I was ten,’ she whispers. Beth watches the fingernails of Isla’s left hand digging into her right palm. ‘There was a fire.’

  When Isla stops speaking, Beth is stunned. She takes Isla’s hand, squeezes her fingers. ‘Wow,’ she whispers. She’s speechless. Isla rubs at her eyes, pushing the tears away.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ she says. Beth shakes her head.

  ‘You don’t get over that. Thank you for telling me. For trusting me.’

  Isla looks up, catching Beth’s eye, and Beth wonders at her luck. She didn’t come here for Isla, barely considered Isla, but she cannot stop the vines of friendship coiling around her heart. Suddenly she feels as if she’s known Isla for ever, as if she’s lived with her through her past, a spectre in the corner of the room, watching her grow from child to teenager to adult, live through the grief of losing her parents, the loneliness that followed. The years Isla spent hiding at the bottom of a bottle, expelling her pain with every joint she smoked, every pill she took, every boy she let into her bed. And then the years with Jake, her hopes of a normal, happy life dashed when she realised who he really is.

  Thirty-Three

  Isla

  A strange feeling settles over me as I tell Beth my story. It begins with a knot in my stomach, the fear of being rejected, I suppose. But as the words tumble out of my mouth, the knot begins to untangle, the strands scattered to the wind.

  ‘I ran away from every foster home they ever put me in,’ I continue. ‘After my parents died. There was nowhere else I wanted to be, nobody who could replace them.’

  ‘Was it bad?’ Beth asks after a beat.

  ‘Not as bad as it could have been,’ I say quietly. Memories flash through my mind, the headlines screaming from the front pages of the newspapers. By the time Victoria Climbié was found dead, I was already in the care system. When Baby P was killed, I was on my way out of it, spending more time in friends’ grubby flats than with my foster parents. Yes, it certainly could have been worse.

  Beth shakes her head. I can see the knowledge in her eyes too, the memory of those headlines splashed across the front of the newspapers. ‘Why didn’t you run away from here?’ Her question is unexpected. I feel my eyes widen in surprise.

  ‘I…’ I start, falter. ‘I don’t know.’ A pause. ‘I suppose I got drawn in. Jake was great, in the beginning.’

  Aren’t they always? The unspoken words hang between us.

  ‘I moved in with him and his parents, and although we had our difficulties, it felt like a home, a family.’ I sigh. ‘I hadn’t had that for such a long time. I wanted it, craved it. Closeness. I’d been drifting for so many years, since my parents died, since I was left alone…’ I trail off. My hands are trembling in my lap. Beth reaches over, covers my fingers with her own. I’m grateful for their warmth. ‘I just wanted to be wanted,’ I say finally, echoing her words from earlier. How well they fit us both. Beth squeezes my hand.

  ‘You’re wanted,’ she whispers, and I feel tears spring to my eyes.

  We sit together in silence, hand in hand, as the room grows dark around us.

  ‘How long did it take?’ Beth asks when I pull away, wiping my eyes. ‘For Jake to change?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Not long,’ I admit after a moment. I stand, grabbing my cigarettes and heading out into the garden. The night air is still, the sky clear. ‘Looking back, it was always there. That need for control, and my need to please him.’ I light my cigarette, the flare of the flame bright in the twilight. ‘And then I was in too deep. I was living with him. I was married to him. I am married to him. We own this house. Well, he does.’ I shake my head, bitter laughter escaping. ‘His parents gave him the deposit, and the mortgage is in his name. I own nothing.’

  Beth lights her own cigarette. ‘I’ve been looking at Ireland,’ she says. ‘We could get the ferry tomorrow morning.’

  I stare at her. ‘Tomorrow?’ I repeat dumbly. I shake my head. ‘No, we couldn’t. We—’

  ‘We could, Isla.’ Beth’s eyes are wide, her mouth set into a grim line. ‘We just need some money, eno
ugh for the tickets. We’ll make new lives for ourselves. We can get jobs, any jobs.’ She takes a deep breath, sits down heavily on the bench. ‘Anything would be better than this, surely?’

  I stand in silence for a moment, blowing smoke into the sky. Would it? I imagine us sleeping rough, curled inside a filthy sleeping bag for warmth; begging for loose change, being moved on by the police, our hair tangled and wild, our faces streaked with dirt. Would that be better than this? The roof over my head, the fridge full of food? The warm bed and clean clothes and—

  The husband who hurts you?

  I sigh, sit down next to Beth. I turn to her, try to read the expression on her face. Do I trust her enough to go through with this plan? Can I actually do it?

  ‘The Republic of Ireland?’ I consider for a moment. ‘Do you need a passport?’ I don’t have one, have never needed one. I realise suddenly how stupid I’ve been, how I have failed to properly plan my escape.

  Beth shakes her head. ‘No, you just need…’ She trails off, getting her phone out and scrolling down the page. ‘Ah, here. You just need… Shit.’ She turns the phone so I can read the page.

  ‘Valid ID,’ I read. ‘Don’t you have a driving licence?’

  ‘It’s out of date,’ she says, shamefaced. ‘Ran out last year. Since I don’t have a car, I never bothered to update it.’

  I sigh heavily. ‘So, the UK then.’

  She looks up at me, her eyes alight. ‘We’re going?’ she asks, breathless. I smile, the knot of fear in my stomach loosening slightly. I consider how my life has changed since meeting Beth. What were the odds of us both witnessing that accident, on that sultry summer night? So many things have happened since then. Before I met Beth, I’d never imagined leaving Jake, leaving this house, this life. I never imagined there was a different life out here for me.

  I straighten up, feel my resolve strengthen. ‘Yes. We’re going.’

  She throws her arms around my neck, squeezing tightly. I let out a laugh and return the hug.

  ‘But not yet,’ I say as we pull apart. ‘We need time. We need money. We need a plan.’

  Beth nods, her face serious, then she grins. ‘Where should we go? Scotland? Or Wales? We could get lost in the woods somewhere, build a little cabin.’ She laughs.

  ‘I’ve always fancied living by the sea,’ I muse. ‘Not in a touristy bit, but somewhere rugged, cut off.’

  ‘Cornwall?’ Beth suggests. The word invokes the memory of my dream, of Beth and me standing on top of the cliff, looking down at the waves below. At Jake’s body, broken on the rocks. I suppress a shudder.

  ‘Cornwall,’ I agree. She lets out a quiet squeal and starts googling once more.

  ‘How much will we need?’ I wonder aloud. ‘How much more can I take out of Jake’s account before he notices?’ Beth looks up at me sharply, and I realise I hadn’t told her about my secret account. It will be our account now. Our escape fund. I feel the familiar anxieties rise inside me, the fears that have always stopped me going further than dreaming of escape. ‘What if we don’t get enough?’ I can hear the panic in my own voice. ‘What will we do when the money runs out?’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ Beth says softly. ‘Whatever happens, wherever we end up, we’ll manage. Together.’ She smiles at me, an infectious smile that begins to spread across my lips too. I catch a glimpse of our future between us, the possibilities, the hope.

  Thirty-Four

  Isla

  I dream of my parents again, but this time the dream isn’t of the fire. No, this is far more painful. It is a memory of our lives together, the simplicity of my dad helping me with my homework at the kitchen table, and Mum cooking in the background, calling out answers and giggling when Dad reprimanded her. The love I feel from them is so strong, so certain, that I wake with tears on my cheeks. I will never have that again. I will never feel that way about anybody else. I searched for it when I was younger and thought I’d found it with Jake, but I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was.

  Grief washes over me as the memory of what I did clouds my mind. It isn’t regret exactly, but more a strange kind of sadness. Something inside me broke that day when I was forced to make that decision – a decision I might not have made, if the circumstances were different – and I know it can never be fixed.

  Easing myself out of bed, I pad to the toilet. The sun is coming up outside the bedroom window; I can hear the birds tweeting their morning calls, car doors slamming, the footsteps of children. I am relieved to find that I am no longer bleeding, can feel only the slightest cramp in my stomach. It’s over. This part, at least.

  My phone begins to ring as I re-enter the bedroom. Jake. I snatch it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Isla.’ Jake’s voice is muffled, far away. It sounds like he’s in a car.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m coming home early,’ he says. A car horn blares, and he swears. ‘The stupid fuckers completely wrecked it. We lost the fucking deal.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I breathe, but it isn’t the deal I’m upset about. Jake is coming home today. I sit down heavily on the bed.

  ‘Fuck you as well, buddy!’ he shouts as another car horn sounds. ‘Yeah,’ he says in a quieter voice, but no less angry, ‘I’m driving back from Stansted now. Traffic is shit, but I shouldn’t be more than an hour.’ He hangs up before I can respond.

  I throw the phone on to the bed and resist the urge to scream. I remember the conversation with Beth the night before, the plans we made. I thought we’d have more time. Fuck.

  I look up to see her standing in the doorway.

  ‘He’s coming back, isn’t he.’ It isn’t a question. I nod slowly. ‘Fuck,’ she whispers.

  ‘Maybe it’s a sign,’ I say, throwing my phone on to the bed next to me. ‘Maybe it was a stupid plan. What was I thinking?’ I run a hand through my hair. Stupid, stupid.

  Beth comes into the room, crouches before me. ‘Hey,’ she says softly, trying to catch my eye, but I avoid her gaze. I can feel the panic starting to sweep over me, the dread that I’ve lived with for so many years. The fear that my husband instils in me, has instilled in me with every punch, every kick, every put-down and snide remark. He has destroyed whatever confidence I might have had, has taken everything from me. I am weak. How could I have ever believed that I could run, that he would let me go?

  I stand up suddenly, almost knocking Beth over. She sits back on her haunches, staring at me. ‘Come on,’ I say, sweeping my hair into an untidy bun and turning to rummage in the wardrobe. ‘I’ve got to get this place sorted. It’s a shithole.’

  I hear Beth rise, feel the tension emanating from her. I can almost hear her unspoken words, her thoughts spilling out into the space between us. But I can’t go into this now. I have to get ready for Jake.

  Thirty-Five

  Beth

  I knew she wouldn’t go through with it. I knew she couldn’t be trusted.

  The uncharitable thoughts pulse through Beth’s mind, feeding the fury growing within her. Fucking Jake. Why did he have to come back early? I was so close.

  She runs a hand through her unwashed hair, stares down at the suitcase half hidden beneath her bed. It’s pretty much packed. She could get out of here in a moment, grab her bag and run. If Isla isn’t strong enough to come with her, she can go alone.

  But what about the money? says the voice inside her head. She sits down on the bed, head in hands, mirroring Isla when she got the call from Jake. You have nothing, remember? You need her.

  ‘Fuck!’ she says aloud.

  Downstairs, Isla is hurriedly stacking the dishwasher. Beth joins her, fixing her features into something resembling sympathy. Or something that doesn’t show her disappointment, at least. I can still fix this, she tells herself. I can still salvage the situation.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Isla whirls around, a glass slipping out of her hand and crashing to the floor. The sound fills Beth’s ears, and she jumps back involuntarily.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,
’ Isla groans, and bends to clean up the mess. Beth moves into the living room, searching for the dustpan, but a shriek makes her turn back.

  ‘Ow!’ Isla pulls her hand back sharply, stares down at the blood beading along her wrist. The cut is deep; Beth grabs a wad of kitchen roll and presses it against the wound.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Isla mutters, letting Beth take hold of her wrist and press down firmly. ‘I’m so clumsy. Jake always says so.’

  Beth frowns. ‘Sod what he says. Honestly, Isla.’ She pauses, sighing. ‘I thought we were set. We were leaving. We had a plan.’

  Isla is silent for a moment. Beth can see unshed tears in her eyes, and she feels her irritation dissipate. ‘There’s not enough time,’ Isla whispers. ‘The plan won’t work.’

  ‘So we make a new plan.’ Beth gently lifts the kitchen roll. It’s already soaked with blood; a drop leaks out on to her hand, trailing the length of her arm. She breathes in sharply. ‘Maybe you should go to the hospital.’ She tilts Isla’s hand into the light. ‘I think there’s still some glass in it. Surely you—’ But Isla is shaking her head, reaching out to grab more kitchen roll.

  ‘I can’t,’ she says quietly, moving away from Beth to stand over the kitchen sink. She stares blankly out of the window.

  ‘What? Why not? That needs medical attention, Isla, I—’

  ‘No hospitals,’ Isla snaps, turning back to face her friend. And Beth reads in her eyes what she really means. No records.

  She opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of a car cuts her words off. It’s pulling into the drive. Isla spins back to the window, and together they watch Jake get out, slam the door, and stomp towards the house.

  He’s back. And I’m still here.

  Thirty-Six

  Isla

  He’s back.

  Jake storms into the house, dropping his luggage on the mat and slamming the front door. I push past Beth to greet him in the hall, still clutching the kitchen roll against the wound in my hand. I’m sure the bleeding is slowing. I force a smile as Jake looks me up and down.