Before I Let You In

by Jenny Blackhurst

  But when she swung open the door to her flat, it wasn’t Geoff the handyman waiting to check her pipes – it was Karen. And she had pizza.

  ‘Special delivery.’ Karen grinned and handed Bea the box. She held it up to her nose and took a huge sniff.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Michael’s working away. I was lonely.’

  Bea eyed her friend suspiciously. ‘And this wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a conversation I had with a certain Eleanor Whitney the other day?’

  Karen had the good grace to look guilty.

  ‘Okay Bea, she told me. Don’t give me that look! She was worried about you. She said you’d taken it hard. And don’t worry, I’m not upset that you told her and not me.’ Her words were light and jokey, but Bea knew Karen well enough to know she was annoyed. ‘Although you two have been spending a fair bit of time together lately.’

  Bea cringed. She couldn’t tell Karen why the pair of them had been getting together without her, and she wasn’t quick enough to think up an excuse. It wasn’t that they never saw one another separately anyway – Karen was here on her own now, wasn’t she? But thanks to the party planning, Eleanor and Bea had been together without Karen more than usual. Luckily Karen wasn’t waiting for an excuse, just letting her know she’d noticed, she supposed.

  ‘Eleanor thinks you should tell Fran what happened.’

  Bea couldn’t help but catch the tone. The fact was, Fran hadn’t been wrong about Karen. Her best friend had had little good to say about her sister since they were teenagers, and never missed an opportunity to point out Fran’s shortcomings in the big sister department. It had been Karen who had convinced Bea not to tell her sister about what had happened with Kieran Ressler, saying that she didn’t want Fran doing anything reckless and getting into trouble because of Bea. It worked both ways, though. Fran always had a certain tone of voice when she mentioned Karen, and the conversation usually involved eye-rolling. Karen thought Fran was a loose cannon and Fran thought Karen was a goody-goody with a stick up her backside. Bea had always put it down to the pair of them being jealous of one another, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was more to do with the death of Karen’s sister when they were just children. Understandable that she should be jealous of Bea having Fran, but that was no reason to dislike her. Bea couldn’t help having a sister any more than Karen could help not having one.

  She shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance.

  ‘It was just a shock. I was expecting a book about a woman who finds out the book she’s reading is about her, and I pulled out a book about me.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Huh, that’s ironic, right? I never even thought about the book it was supposed to be.’

  ‘Did you get it?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘The other book?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, it came the next day. I haven’t started it yet, but you can borrow it when I’m done.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Karen was in the kitchen now, pulling out sauces and napkins, but she stopped to look at Bea. ‘I was thinking, if you got the book you ordered, then it wasn’t just a mix-up of the two, was it? I mean, they didn’t just put the wrong book in the envelope.’

  She carried the tray into the sitting area and placed it on the coffee table, then sat down on the sofa, folding her legs underneath her, and leaned over to take a slice of pizza.

  Bea paused, her own slice already halfway to her mouth.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. God, do you think someone sent it to me on purpose?’ She had a sickening thought and threw the pizza back into the box. ‘Do you think it was him?’

  ‘No,’ Karen said quickly, leaning forward and placing a hand on her friend’s knee. ‘No, Bea, I don’t. One,’ she sat back again and checked off a finger, ‘he doesn’t know where you live.’

  ‘I live in the same town I grew up in, about four streets from my parents. I’m hardly Osama bin Laden.’

  Karen held up a second finger. ‘Okay, two, it’s been sixteen years and you’ve not once heard from him. Three,’ she continued before Bea could interject, ‘you and I both know what happened to Kieran Ressler. The accident he had left him severely brain-damaged. He will never walk again. The last thing on earth he’ll be thinking about now – if he even has one cohesive thought a day – is sending you reading material.’

  It took a second for Karen’s words to sink in, although it wasn’t so much her words that made Bea relax as the way she said them. She wasn’t speaking to convince or reassure; she was stating facts in a take-’em-or-leave-’em kind of way, confident that she was right beyond reproach. When a person was that sure in their convictions, it became much harder to argue with or disbelieve them.

  Bea picked up her pizza again, but didn’t tuck in in the way she’d been desperate to five minutes ago.

  ‘So if someone sent it to me, who was it? There was no note, no “saw this and thought of you”.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Bea stiffened. ‘Do you know?’

  Karen shook her head, but she was lying and Bea knew it.

  ‘You do. Tell me.’ That was why she’d been so sure it wasn’t Kieran Ressler. Because she thought she knew who it was.

  ‘I don’t know, Bea, I promise. But I do have an idea I want to look at. If I’m right, you’ll be the first to know about it.’

  Bea nodded, satisfied. She was used to a certain degree of ‘don’t ask’ with Karen – it came with her job. So much of her day she couldn’t talk over with anyone. Bea wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut – not in the admirable way Karen could. She had never been one for keeping secrets.

  ‘Did you keep the packaging?’

  They’d finished the pizza an hour ago – well, Bea had. Despite her initial loss of appetite, she’d never been one to turn down food. Karen, however, had always been a picky eater and had barely touched her half. They’d watched The X Factor and now Karen was in the kitchen clearing away the rubbish and pouring them drinks. Neither woman was drinking alcohol: Karen was driving and Bea didn’t much feel like getting drunk and maudlin.

  ‘What packaging?’ Bea called back, flicking through the channels. This was why she went out on Saturday nights – the alternative was so bloody depressing.

  ‘For the book. Do you still have it?’

  Bea tensed. She’d been hoping the subject was closed, forgotten.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. It’s in the bedroom, I think – I chucked it in the bottom of the wardrobe. Hold on and I’ll go and have a look.’

  Pack rat, her mum had called her because of her minor hoarding habit. Bea preferred to think of herself as resourceful. She only kept things that could be reused – envelopes, especially the boxy cardboard ones books came in, definitely counted as useful.

  The bottom of her wardrobe, as a consequence of her habit, was a bit of a mess. Bea had only thrown the envelope in there a couple of days ago, and already it was buried under what her mother would affectionately refer to as ‘a pile of crap’.

  The dress was on the top of the pile. At first Bea thought it had fallen off one of the hangers, and she pulled it out ready to throw it in the washing basket – a lazy habit that avoided rehanging. As she did so, she recognised the fabric in her hands. It wasn’t a dress. It was a playsuit.

  29

  Bea

  ‘Okay, Bea, breathe. Breathe deeper. Steady, one, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four. Here, drink this.’ Karen held the glass to Bea’s lips and she sipped greedily, then gagged, the cold water making her nauseous. When she felt her breathing returning to normal, she slumped back against her bed.

  ‘What happened?’ Karen asked.

  The playsuit was lying off to one side where Bea had dropped it when she’d begun to scream. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but her eyes fell on the piece of material and Karen picked it up. Bea looked away; she never wanted to see it again, let alone so close.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s what I was wearing that
night.’ Her voice cracked and she fell silent again.

  ‘Bea, why would you keep this?’ Her friend’s voice was low, trying to soothe her, but her question was forcing back memories Bea didn’t want to let through.

  ‘I didn’t. I threw it in the wheelie bin outside the halls of residence the next day. I couldn’t bear to ever put it on again.’

  ‘But you bought another one the same?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘I never would have.’

  Karen was inspecting the material without holding it up or opening it out. ‘It doesn’t look ten years old.’

  ‘It’s not the actual one.’ Bea forced her eyes to stay open. She wanted more than anything to lie back and let them fall shut, just rest them for a minute, but she couldn’t stand the thought of her mind betraying her, picturing her wearing that other playsuit, in that other life. ‘The straps were thinner, they were spaghetti straps, and the neck was looser, more like a cowl than a V.’

  Karen said nothing, and for a while they just sat there on the bedroom floor, frozen, as though the slightest movement might trigger another panic attack. After what seemed like an hour, Karen crawled forward and sat in front of her, concern clouding her deep brown eyes.

  ‘Bea? I’m going to ask you something and I want you to not be afraid, and not feel upset, okay?’

  Bea nodded, instantly afraid and upset even though she had no idea what Karen was going to ask.

  ‘Has there been any time lately that you can’t account for? Maybe you’ve woken up and not known where you’ve been, or what you’ve been doing?’

  Bea stared at her, not sure at first what her friend was asking. Or maybe she knew and just couldn’t believe she was being asked the question.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’re sure? No periods when time has seemed to pass faster than it should? When you’ve looked at the clock and wondered where the hours have gone?’

  ‘Well that’s a different question.’ Bea attempted a smile, but the result felt alien to her face. ‘Every time I need to get something done at work, I look at the clock and wonder where the last few hours have gone.’

  ‘I’m serious, Bea.’

  ‘I know you are, and that’s what worries me. Surely you don’t think I’m going crazy? Come on, Karen, you can’t think that.’ She meant it to sound like she was joking, but she wasn’t, and it showed.

  ‘I’m not saying you’re crazy, Bea, I would never say that. It’s just the book, and now this … this was in your wardrobe. You’re the only person who could have put it there. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of forcing you to remember because you never really dealt with what happened to you back then.’

  The thought raised goose bumps on Bea’s forearms, but as quickly as she entertained the theory, she dismissed it.

  ‘The whole idea is ridiculous,’ she told Karen quietly. ‘There has got to be a simple explanation. I just don’t know what it is yet.’

  30

  Eleanor

  Eleanor’s morning had been a complete write-off and it was only 8 a.m. Noah’s arrival had brought out the absolute best in Toby as a big brother – he had grown up in so many ways and was wonderful with the baby. But he had regressed in so many other ways, it was almost unbelievable he was the same child. Refusing to get dressed without her help, not wanting to go to school. Everything was taking twice, sometimes three times as long as it did before Noah came, and it was driving Eleanor crazy. Not just a little grouchy; off-the-wall snooker-loopy. She was impatient all of the time and hated herself for snapping at Toby, often ending up crying at the bottom of the garden.

  That morning was environmental studies day. For the last three days Toby and Eleanor had worked on his project, Adam actually taking care of Noah long enough for her to spend some quality time with the boy. After ridiculous amounts of googling, they’d come up with the idea of making a 3D dolphin picture from recycled materials. It was adventurous – the type of thing they’d done together before Noah had come along – and they had spent their evenings covered in PVA glue and tissue paper. Eleanor was more than a little pleased with the finished article, and she couldn’t wait to hear how it was received by his teachers. But first they had to get it to school.

  ‘A little help, Toby, please,’ she’d yelled, trying to heft the dolphin out to the car. In his car seat Noah let out an impatient squawk.

  ‘Just a second, darling. Mummy is a little busy right now.’

  ‘Yeah, Noah, you’re not the only one in this family.’

  Eleanor cringed, Toby’s words making her hideously aware of how often she’d said them to him. He was used to being an only child, and since Noah had been born had been struggling to adjust.

  They got the car loaded up, and after what seemed like an age they were all in and ready to go, fifteen minutes later than usual – usual at the moment being ten minutes late to start with. Luckily, being late meant they had missed the traffic, and she was soon pulling into the school car park.

  ‘Have a good day, darling.’ She kissed Toby on the cheek out of sight of any other children as per normal, and he pulled a face.

  ‘I can’t carry this in on my own, Mum.’

  Of course he couldn’t. She’d struggled to get the bloody thing to the car; she could hardly expect Toby to haul it across the playground by himself. She shot a quick look at Noah in his seat. He’d obligingly fallen asleep the minute they’d left the house, drunk on milk and exhausted after his 4.45 start to the day (weren’t they both?). His one full night’s sleep had been a cruel fluke, making the broken nights even more unbearable now she’d had a glimpse of what normal life was like.

  ‘Okay, mate, let’s do this.’ She closed the car door as gently as possible, checked that Noah was still fast asleep and clicked the locking system. The school doors were two hundred yards away, there was no one around and she could see the car. Parents did this all the time, she told herself. She checked again. Still no one.

  Toby laughed as they both struggled to pick up the dolphin, Eleanor pretending that her end was heavier than it was.

  ‘Come on, kid, let’s see if we can find you someone to help you get this to class.’

  There was no one around at the entrance either – probably owing to the fact that they were really quite late by now. Shooting a guilty look at the car, Eleanor nodded at the door.

  ‘We can take it inside, and then you’d better run to registration. Someone will help you get it later.’

  ‘What if it gets broken?’ Toby asked as they hefted it into the gap under the stairs that led to the head’s office. ‘What if one of the big kids steals it?’

  ‘No one will steal it, Tobes.’ Eleanor’s stomach lurched at the sight of her son’s crestfallen face. ‘I tell you what, you get yourself to class and I’ll see if Mrs Fenton will keep it in the office for you.’

  Toby grinned. ‘Thanks, Mum!’

  She kissed the top of his head. ‘They’re gonna love it. Remember how hard you’ve worked and it’ll all be okay. I love you.’

  ‘Love you too,’ Toby mumbled, presumably in case there were hidden recording devices on the stairs.

  Eleanor hauled the project over to the reception, careful not to knock any of the pieces off. There was no sign of Mrs Fenton. She wanted to leave the bloody thing there and get back to Noah – what if he’d woken and was crying? But she’d made a promise to Toby, and their relationship was fragile enough as it was at the moment. Plus experience told her that Noah would sleep soundly now until the minute they walked through the front door at home and she wanted to put her head down for a bit herself. He only ever slept in the day when they were out of the house; any time she wanted to work on her business plan or, God forbid, rest, he was wide awake and needing something. She’d never experienced this with Toby; by the time she’d become part of his life, he’d been sleeping through the night, even the loss of his mother not unsettling him for long. He’d been such an easy baby that this had been quite a shock to the system.


  After what seemed like an hour – in reality a few minutes – Mrs Fenton strolled in, the smell of cigarette smoke trailing behind her like a line of ducklings following their mother. Eleanor took a deep breath, savouring the smell for a minute. Something Adam didn’t know about her was that until they had got together, she’d been a casual smoker. He’d made it clear on their first date that he hated smoking with a passion that came from having lost a parent to lung cancer, so she’d decided not to mention it, and had gradually given up altogether. Until she’d had Noah, she’d never considered taking it up again, but lately she’d been craving the feel of that rolled-up nicotine-filled paper between her fingers like she hadn’t in years.

  ‘Mrs Whitney, is there something wrong?’ Mrs Fenton appraised her casual Monday attire: black leggings covered in formula fingerprints where she’d wiped her hands down the sides and a loose navy smock thrown on to disguise the fact that her stomach still hadn’t completely made it back to pre-baby proportions.

  ‘Toby has this project for his environmental class this morning – is there someone who could help him get it there, please? I didn’t have a chance to walk it with him to his classroom; we were, um, running a bit late.’ She resisted the urge to go into a lengthy description of how stressful her morning had been. Mrs Fenton didn’t have children, and Eleanor doubted she’d understand how long something as simple as a shower and getting dressed could take when accompanied by the howls of a small human and the trials and tribulations of a slightly bigger one.

  ‘No problem.’ Mrs Fenton waved a hand at the dolphin. ‘Just leave it there.’

  She swung to pick up the paperback she had hidden in her desk drawer, and in that second Eleanor truly believed she hated her and her simple day, and her ability to make herself a cup of tea without cringing when the kettle clicked too loudly or to flush the toilet after a wee.

  ‘Thank you, I have to get off.’ She barrelled back out of the school doors and instinctively looked over to the car. Or where the car had been, because now it was gone.