Before I Let You In

by Jenny Blackhurst

  ‘Oooh, did you win the lottery?’

  ‘It’s not as expensive as you might think,’ Eleanor replied, handing Bea her green tea and placing Karen’s coffee on a coaster. Get her, she was even using coasters again these days! It was amazing how having the house clean encouraged her to keep it that way – suddenly chucking a few things in the washing machine and rinsing off the breakfast dishes didn’t seem like climbing a mountain. ‘And anyway, I switched my energy providers and cancelled Netflix and my gym membership – oh don’t look like that, Karen, I wasn’t using it anyway – and saved myself nearly sixty quid a month. That pretty much pays for her to do a couple of hours a week. You wouldn’t believe what she can get done with no kids to look after. Well, okay, you two probably would believe it.’ Eleanor wondered for a second why she felt like she had to justify how she was spending her own money. ‘She’s a bloody lifesaver.’

  ‘So what have you been doing with all your new-found free time?’ Karen asked. Was it Eleanor’s imagination, or was her voice a shade cooler than it had been earlier? Surely someone who could do exactly as she pleased the whole time didn’t begrudge her a few hours a week?

  ‘I, um …’ What was wrong with her? She’d been steeped in desperation to tell her friends about her new venture – after all, they were the ones who had encouraged her to take back something for herself. So why did she suddenly feel as though her tongue had been pasted to the bottom of her mouth? ‘I took your advice,’ she said, putting extra emphasis on your, as if trying to remind them that what she was about to say was their idea. ‘So whilst Noah was napping and Lesley was ironing, I was putting together a plan. A business plan, I suppose. I’m thinking of going freelance.’

  In the silence that followed, Eleanor realised why she’d felt so nervous about saying out loud what it was she’d been doing since their last meeting. She’d thought about little else ever since the idea had taken root in her mind and spread like ivy, obscuring everything that had seemed so important the previous week, yet she’d not actually told anyone about it. She hadn’t even said anything else to Adam after his disparaging remarks about having her hands full already. Maybe her hands wouldn’t be so full if he lifted a finger every now and then. If it were that easy to start your own business, she could imagine him saying, everyone would do it. You’ve done very well at work, but do you really think you have what it takes to get a whole marketing business off the ground? And where are you proposing we find the start-up costs?

  ‘That’s fantastic.’ At least Bea sounded enthusiastic, even as she reached for her mobile phone, probably to check on more interesting people. Karen had stayed oddly silent, and Eleanor wondered what was wrong with her today.

  ‘What does Adam think about it all?’ When her friend finally spoke, her words were tinged with an inexplicable hostility. ‘His wife the entrepreneur, and this lifesaving cleaner?’

  Eleanor’s throat constricted, desperate not to allow the words she really wanted to say to spill out unguarded. What is your problem today?

  ‘Oh, I haven’t mentioned it to him yet. I wanted to tell him about it properly when I had it all planned out. You know what he’s like, glass half empty and all that.’

  ‘He must love the idea of a cleaner, though?’ Karen pushed. ‘The house looking so immaculate and you getting some rest?’

  Eleanor threw Bea a look, one that said ‘What’s wrong with her?’ in the hopes of a conspiratorial shrug or grimace to tell her she wasn’t imagining Karen’s sudden change in attitude. But Bea was tapping at the screen of her mobile, her mouth curled in a half-smile at whatever smartarse status she was posting. Eleanor was instantly annoyed. When did it become socially acceptable to sit in someone’s house and hold conversations with people not even in the room? How would they react if she got out a book and started reading it in front of them?

  She was being unfair, of course; she was just as bad when her mind was a million miles from reality. It was just that right now she needed Bea to leap to her defence, to tell Karen to stop being so confrontational. Presuming of course she wasn’t imagining the sting in the other woman’s tone.

  ‘I haven’t told him about that either,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice breezy. ‘Let him think I’ve suddenly found the key to domestic goddessness. I’ll tell him when I’m ready. Like when I win the small business of the year award or something.’

  ‘Is there anything I can help with?’

  ‘It’s still just a bullet list at the moment. I spent most of my time researching the technical aspects – tax, website design, market research and all that boring stuff. I figured I didn’t want to get carried away with the fun bits until I was sure I could handle the serious stuff.’

  ‘Just make sure you’re not taking on too much,’ Karen warned, sounding much more like herself.

  ‘I’m not taking on anything just yet,’ Eleanor promised. ‘It’s just nice to be feeling a bit more human again. Thanks to Lesley, I have no FTS at all this week. Bea?’

  ‘No FTS for me this week either. Aren’t we all quite the Pollyannas?’

  Bea hung back as they were leaving Eleanor’s house, letting Karen get almost to the car before she spoke.

  ‘Here.’ She pulled a Jiffy bag from her handbag and shoved it into Eleanor’s hands. ‘Table confetti and three hundred silver and lilac balloons. The restaurant said we could string a net from the ceiling and drop a load on her when we shout surprise. I realise three hundred might be a bit excessive, but I wasn’t sure how many to get, and seeing as it’s pretty much the only responsibility I’ve been given, I’ve also taken the liberty of ordering some foil Happy Birthday ones and a giant cock-shaped one for her seat.’

  Eleanor cringed. ‘That had better be a joke. And you wonder why you’ve only been given one responsibility. We’d be having a picnic in the quarry if I’d left it to you. Now go on, she’s looking at you funny.’

  ‘Right. What’s my next job?’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on the RSVP email account, seeing as I have an actual spreadsheet, not something written on a napkin; you just sort out Karen’s mum. You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Bea replied confidently. ‘Karen’s mum. Drop me a text to remind me in a week, yeah?’

  14

  I’d tried to forget them. It might not seem that way now, but I’d never intended for them to take over my every waking moment. I’d gone years content to listen in, spend the odd five minutes on Facebook flicking through their photographs and then returning to my normal life. Now I realise it had been like gradually working free a bolt, loosening it and loosening it until finally it gave way and raw emotion pumped through the hole it had left behind.

  Now I thought about them constantly.

  It was amazing what people put on social media. I never really understood the need to inform the world what they were having for lunch (complete with pictures), or write cryptic messages to rally ‘friends’ who wouldn’t speak to them if they saw them on the street. Although admittedly Facebook – and more so Twitter, which people rarely made private – were useful tools when you wanted to keep an eye on someone, and I was glad that at least Eleanor and Bea weren’t security conscious.

  Eleanor’s Facebook was mostly locked down, save for the odd parenting article she’d shared with the world and her constantly updated profile pictures, but Bea’s profile was loaded with information: where she was from, where she worked, what she had for lunch and how many stars she would give the restaurant she ate it in. And not one scrap of it private. Selfie upon selfie, preening, pouting, posing and laughing. Always laughing.

  My eyes settled on Bea’s status, still on the screen in front of me: Lunch plans cancelled – what am I going to do without #FTSF? Going to get my shit together and go to the gym #wishmeluck #notcomingoutalive.

  I wasn’t a member of a gym. I’d always considered it a waste of money when it was just as easy to not eat like a pig in the first place. And of course I had experience in n
ot eating – not always through choice, but at least it had taught me that some things didn’t have to be for pleasure: eating for a start, and when I was older, sex. Some things could be used for control.

  When I was younger, my mother had told me – before she practically stopped speaking to me for good – that I should always take good care of my appearance. I’d wanted to laugh at that. Because looking after yourself, with your gym membership and your highlights and your shellac nails, has worked so well for you, right, Mum? Do you think those false nails hide the pain in your eyes? Does your expensive manicure stop your hands shaking when you pour your third glass of red wine? How does your gym pass keep you warm? But I’d taken her advice, and it had stood me in good stead. People responded to you differently when you were well turned out; you were treated with less suspicion. Just because you spent an extra half an hour slicking on some make-up on top of the mask you already wore day after day, it was assumed you knew what you were doing. If you were presentable you must be okay. You could maintain a modicum of control.

  And there was that word again, control. I’d lost control once and it had cost me everything. I wouldn’t let it happen again. These days everything I did was about the power struggle that existed inside my mind. Me against them. And I knew that I would win. I would have the control I craved; already I could feel them losing it.

  15

  Bea

  ‘Drink?’

  Ian inclined his head towards her and Bea shook hers in return. ‘Not for me, mate. I could use a quiet one.’

  She was going to go home and lose herself in a book – she had a new one that had been recommended by pretty much every blogger whose opinion she respected and trusted, and she’d been waiting for the right moment to get stuck into it. Feeling slightly smug about how much better than her colleagues she was going to feel in the morning, she left the office without so much as a backward glance, but still keenly aware of the sidelong looks her friends were giving one another.

  Being alone in her flat felt safe and reassuring. She didn’t have to put on any airs and graces here by herself. She could just change into her jammies and curl up on the sofa with her book.

  Her furry onesie on and last night’s pizza warming in the microwave, she went in search of the parcel from Amazon. She found it balancing precariously on the bathroom shelf, exactly where she’d shoved it hastily the night before. Reopening the package, she pulled the book out by its spine, frowning at the bright blue cover in her hands.

  Asking For It. Bea was almost certain this wasn’t the book she’d ordered, although the cover and name looked familiar. Probably a one-click impulse buy – ever since joining a glut of Facebook book clubs, she was forever clicking away on Amazon. She turned it over in her hands and paused to read the blurb on the back.

  She barely felt the book falling from her hands. Her mind spun in so many different directions that she felt dizzy and nauseous. The pattern on the grey and white lino rushed up to meet her and she hardly had time to reach out to grab the bath as she realised the floor wasn’t rushing towards her, she was falling towards it.

  The room was too hot and the music too loud. A thick plume of smoke sat like fog above the heads of the partygoers, the smell and taste of it making her feel sick to her stomach. Bea clutched her seventh – or was it eighth? – Malibu and Coke so hard her knuckles were white from the effort it took to stop it spilling over the side of the glass. She had to sit down, but all the grimy student-issue sofas were full of people talking animatedly about subjects they knew nothing about. She couldn’t bear the thought of squeezing her way on to a spare arm and having to pretend she wasn’t as drunk as she clearly was. Every last space was taken up by people: people in the middle of the floor swaying to the music, couples entwined against the door frames, their faces lost in one another as though their tongues were alien probes searching for the meaning of life. Like tonight their existence depended on one another.

  The bottom stair was free, and Bea sank down on the grubby grey tiles and rested her head against the cool wooden banister. She fought to keep her eyes open, to stop herself falling asleep and humiliating herself by dribbling down her chin, but her eyelids were so heavy she had to blink constantly to stop them closing automatically. If only the room would keep still for a second, if only she could pull herself to her feet and get outside for some fresh air, she was certain she’d feel better, less hemmed in and claustrophobic. But whatever signals her brain was sending to her legs, they seemed determined to ignore them, and she stayed where she was. Her face itched from the weight of the make-up she’d plastered on before heading out to the party with her friends. And where were they anyway? Viv and Ruby? She had a vague memory of Ruby grabbing her arm earlier on, shouting something over the music about did she want to go with them? Was she sure? Would she be okay?

  So they’d left then, they must have done. Why had she stayed? Because she’d been having fun, chatting to some guy about using multiple perspectives to break boundaries in art, like one of those students she was now so desperate to avoid. Not for the first time since starting uni, she wished Karen and Eleanor were there with her. They would never have left her behind – Bea could remember nights out at home when Karen had stayed at a club long after it had ceased to be fun for her just to make sure her friends were okay. If we start the night together, we end it together; she could picture her saying it now. But she hadn’t started the night with Karen and Eleanor; she’d started it with her new university friends, people whose loyalty was only to themselves. And now she was alone.

  ‘You look like you could do with a kebab and your bed.’

  For a minute Bea thought it had been herself talking, voicing her inner wishes out loud. But this voice was deeper, male. She forced her eyes open to see Kieran, the guy she’d been talking to when Ruby left, standing in the hallway in front of her. She managed a smile, or at least she thought she had – she no longer felt significantly in control of any part of her body.

  ‘You must be some kind of mind-reader,’ she slurred. Her voice was thick, and speech felt alien to her. ‘Don’t suppose you could add aspirin to that list, could you, Genie of the Lamp?’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’ Kieran grinned and offered her an arm. ‘Come on, I promised Rubes I’d get you home safe. I’ve been looking for you for ages – last time I saw you, you were doing shots of 20/20 in the kitchen with Freud.’

  Bea grimaced as a picture of the boy known as Freud – owing to his passion for discussing psychology every time he wasn’t alone in a room – wielding a bottle of 20/20 and talking about attribution theory passed briefly through her mind.

  ‘Eurgh, no wonder I feel like shit. Karen always stops me mixing my drinks.’

  ‘This Karen, she your sister or something?’ Kieran asked as Bea took his arm and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet. She wobbled a little, but walking made her feel less like Bambi, with Kieran’s steady grip holding her upright.

  ‘Or something,’ she muttered, not wanting to think what Karen would say if she could see her now. ‘Look, can we skip the kebab? I just want to crash out, to be honest.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem.’ Kieran bowed slightly. ‘At your service.’

  Bea woke on the cold bathroom floor with the ghost of a scream still on her lips. She didn’t have to wonder what she’d been shouting. She hadn’t had one of the nightmares for a long time, but whenever she did, she woke up gasping the same two words over and over again. Don’t go … don’t go … don’t go.

  16

  Eleanor

  ‘I thought they’d stopped – the nightmares? I thought you were doing okay with sleep and stuff now?’ Eleanor sat down next to her friend and handed her a glass of orange juice and a Pritt Stick. Bea gulped down half the glass in one go, like she’d spent the last week in a desert, and picked up one of the silver foil letters.

  ‘They had. I hadn’t had one since the day you told me about the accident. That was my first dreamless sleep in years
. It’s hard to be scared of someone when you know they’ll be in a wheelchair the rest of their life. This wasn’t like before, though – I literally blacked out. I haven’t done that since the very beginning. It was seeing that book, the book I could have practically written myself, sitting on my bathroom shelf.’

  She started spreading the letters on to the banner they were creating; noticing Eleanor’s frown, she picked up the ruler and began measuring the gaps between them. I’m going to have to redo the whole bloody thing, Eleanor thought. That’s all I need.

  ‘I know, that’s weird, right?’ She slipped down on to the mat next to Noah and flipped him on to his tummy, smiling at his immediate attempt to lift his head, kicking his legs as though he was swimming on dry land. ‘I mean, how could you order that and not know? You think Amazon sent it to you by mistake?’

  ‘I checked my account. Well, not straight away; when I woke up, I felt rough as anything, like I could have slept for a week, but I couldn’t bear the thought of closing my eyes again, so I just lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling. I must have dropped off again because I woke at about two a.m. and climbed into bed, but at least I didn’t dream again. Then at work the next day I checked my Amazon account – I thought if I did it with plenty of people around, there was less chance of me losing it again if I saw the book on there. But there was nothing. Well, nothing but the book I’d originally ordered – the one I thought I was pulling out of the package.’

  ‘Didn’t you check it when it arrived? How come you didn’t realise it was the wrong one then?’

  ‘That’s why it was in the bathroom.’ Bea winced as one of the foil letters stuck to her fingers. ‘Oh crap – I hope we have spares of these things. I’d taken it up to the loo to open it the night before, ripped it open, then heard Game of Thrones starting in the living room and just shoved it on the shelf.’