Disappointment replaced with concern, he went into the living room this time, glancing around in confusion. There was no music on; the television was off too.
He checked his phone; there were no new messages. He rang Charley again but her phone went straight to voicemail. Deciding not to leave a message, he sent another quick text.
His sense of excitement replaced by concern, Aaron felt strange to be there all alone, with no sign of Charley. He wondered if she’d lost track of time and maybe nipped out to the shop without her phone. But no, she wouldn’t do that.
His eyes flicked around the room again. Where was her bag? He couldn’t see it anywhere. He looked out onto the road, before noticing the paperwork spread around the table. He picked up a file, smiling to himself. Charley was such a conscientious worker, she even brought it home with her, bless.
Bless? He snorted into the silence, and then grinned, embarrassed even though he was alone. Damn that woman taking over his heart.
A handwritten note caught his eye. He knew the writing was Charley’s. Cassandra Thorpe: The name didn’t mean anything to him. He leaned forward to take a closer look.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Aaron turned to see Ella standing behind him.
‘Christ, you gave me a fright then.’ He put a hand to his chest. ‘I was waiting for Charley – you haven’t seen her, have you?’
‘Why would I have? She’s completely ignored me since you came along.’
As the silence became loaded, Aaron stared at Ella. Her hair hung limply; she had nothing on her feet. She wore a grey tracksuit that had seen better years. With no make-up, she seemed no older than a teenager. But the look was of a wild animal, her right eye twitching rapidly.
‘Have you seen her?’ he repeated.
‘Are you deaf? I said no.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you, Ella.’ Aaron took a step towards her. ‘It’s a little unusual that she isn’t here, considering she told me she was coming home straight from work.’
‘She sent you a message, though.’
‘She did – how did you know that?’
Ella said nothing.
‘Where is she?’ He stepped nearer, hoping to keep the alarm from his voice.
‘I ask the questions.’
Aaron looked down, spotting the knife in her hand at the same time Ella charged at him. Before he could react, she plunged it into his side.
He gasped, for a moment stunned.
Ella turned the blade, then drew it out so quickly he could almost imagine a whooshing sound. She didn’t take her eyes off him for a second.
He dropped to his knees, having no time to cry out further as heat burned through his torso, followed by an icy chill, nauseating him. He pressed a hand to the wound; his palm came away covered in blood.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Ella, what have…have…you done?’
I was fourteen when a support worker called Peter turned up. Peter was one of the good guys, not wanting to take advantage of the younger girls needing to be loved or the older girls with their raging hormones – or the boys, for that matter. Not there to beat the shit out of us kids, either. He just wanted to help.
He was so gorgeous! I swear my heart went zoom whenever I saw him. He was in his mid-thirties, fairly tall to a small teenager. He had dark hair and a fringe that flopped into his eyes every time he moved his head. His smile made my insides go a little squishy and he was so pleasant to talk to. I spent a lot of time with him, sitting drinking coffee, daring to dream about my future and plan for a better life. Peter even helped us kids with our homework – yes, of course we had to go to school, even though we tried our best not to. He helped us with our self-esteem, urging us to realise that we could all become someone to look up to someday. The world was our oyster, and all that.
Malcolm despised Peter because he stuck his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He wasn’t one to clean and tidy up the mess, sweep everything under the carpet away from prying eyes when he knew a home inspection was due from Social Services. He wouldn’t cover up what was going on at all, so things had to be dealt with rather than put away in a box, never to be mentioned again. He even made a couple of staff members leave because he sorted out their bullying ways – either they left or he would report them. He wasn’t scared to whistle-blow. I loved him for that alone.
Malcolm started to watch his every move. Everyone knew he wanted Peter to slip up: Peter didn’t give a shit, though. He knew Malcolm was watching him too; thought he knew too much about the place for Malcolm to ever act on anything. Peter didn’t care what happened to him as long as us kids were treated right.
It was the best year of my life, when I was fourteen. I felt safe, even with the door to my room unlocked at night now. I was still top dog – no one would mess with me. I didn’t even want to run away.
It was totally one-sided, of course. Honest to God, he was a gentleman. One of the best. But Malcolm told my social worker that he’d seen Peter being inappropriate around me.
When I next saw her, she asked me all sorts of questions: was I often alone with Peter, did he touch me, was he ever in my room with me, did he ask me to do things? To. Touch. Him. Nooooooooooo! For God’s sake, there was never any of that.
I kept on telling her that he was one of the good guys. But she didn’t listen. They didn’t listen. Everyone in authority just saw PERVERT stamped across his forehead. Despite his protests that nothing had happened, or ever would happen, between us, in the end Peter was asked to leave.
I knew it had something to do with that bastard, Malcolm. So rather than take it out on his face, I trashed Malcolm’s car instead. Who was laughing then, you sick bastard? Hmm? HMMMM?
Yet again, I had found someone to trust and they had been taken away from me. What was wrong with me? Would I always be left to my own devices?
Ella stood quietly in the doorway until she watched Aaron pass out. She wiped the knife on her trousers, cleaning it of his blood, and took it into the kitchen. The smell of takeaway roused her. She picked it up to take back with her.
I hope you’ve killed him. He deserves to die.
Just about to leave, she checked on Aaron one last time. His eyes were still closed; he hadn’t moved. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be soon, she was certain. She couldn’t wait to tell Charley what she had done for her.
Why not put him in Charley’s closet?
Ella grinned – what a great idea! It would be poetic justice to leave him there to die, for Charley to find him.
If she ever let her out of the closet upstairs.
She put down the takeaway, grabbed both of Aaron’s hands, and dragged him across the room. Christ, he was heavy. It took over a minute to get him a few feet towards the door. She decided to give up on that idea.
Sensing someone, her eyes were drawn upwards, across the road. She glared into the darkness at the upstairs light of number thirty-eight, seeing only an empty chair in the window.
Had nosy Jean been watching her?
She saw what you did!
Ella slapped at her face. That stupid bitch. She’d ruin everything.
Jean had moved away from the window as soon as she’d witnessed the attack. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Ella had put a knife into Charley’s young man! She had, hadn’t she?
And she would know she’d been watching her, wouldn’t she?
She held onto her chest, hurting as she struggled to breathe. She had seen some things in her time of snooping on people but she had never witnessed anything sinister until today. First the attack on Jake from next door when Ella had hit out at him. And now, she’d assaulted someone else – or even murdered him! Jean didn’t know whether the man was dead or alive, but she didn’t want to look again. She’d seen how quickly he’d dropped to the floor.
People-watching, that’s all she d
id; she didn’t mean anyone any harm.
Jean needed to call the police. There was no time to write anything down in her notepad. She looked around the room for the phone. The handset was here somewhere: where had Ruby put it so that she would remember where it was?
Still unable to accept as true what she’d seen, she moved forward slowly to check again. She had to! She didn’t want to be witness to something so terrible but she had to know.
In the darkness, the light beamed out from Charley’s living room windows, allowing Jean a clear view of an empty room. She looked up and down the avenue; no signs of life there, either. But why would there be? It was a dark and cold November evening. Other neighbours would be in their warm houses now, engrossed in The One Show or Sky News, no doubt, eating their evening meal, or catching up with the kids’ day. Normal stuff that people do. Not this!
Jean looked down again. Wait a minute, what was that? She bent her head a little lower, thus lowering her vision too. The man was flat out on the floor now, near to the door. She gulped: he didn’t seem to be moving.
A shadow crossed the window and Jean screamed. It was Ella.
There was no mistaking whether or not she had been seen this time because she was looking straight up at her.
And not only was she looking at her, she was pointing up at her too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Once Peter had gone, I felt abandoned again. There was no one to talk to, no one to have a laugh with, and certainly no one who treated me like an adult. Malcolm tried to take control of me, make me scared of him. But it was too late for that. If he couldn’t do it when I was running away, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do it now.
And as always in these types of homes, staff came and went. With Peter gone, I was alone for ages until Brendan came along when I was fifteen. Brendan was young, an average-looking guy, so once I got to know him, I let him screw me. It’s not something I’m ashamed of. I’d learned by then that sex was a powerful tool and I could use it to my advantage.
I reckon it was about that time that I learned if I screwed around with my body, no one screwed around with my mind. I could take control – use someone rather than be used.
I tried to enjoy sex but I couldn’t. For me, it was a means to an end. It still is. It always will be. That’s why I have one-night stands. That’s enough, sometimes.
Until the guilt takes over – the humiliation, the rejection, the hurt. No one has ever loved me. I fucking hate that, you know. Why didn’t anyone love me? I had so much to give.
Me and Brendan screwed lots of times. I’d let him screw me for a fiver, a few fags, a drink; whatever I could get my hands on. We’d been sleeping together for a few months when Malcolm caught him in my bed one night. Brendan was often on nights, so he’d creep into my room and sleep on the job. We’d never come close to being caught as he’d always screw me and leave, but this night the silly idiot fell asleep.
I woke up to find Malcolm laying into him before dragging him out of my room by the hair, naked and bleeding where he had punched him. Brendan fought back; they continued outside in the corridor. I screamed for them to stop, I ran out of my room naked too. I didn’t care who saw me. I was wild and trying to pull Malcolm off Brendan, calling him names and digging my nails into his face. But it didn’t work.
Apparently one of the other staff had reported him to Malcolm a week earlier. He hadn’t wanted to get involved at first but knew he’d get into trouble if anything came out. So when he caught Brendan in my room, he was sent packing then.
I was alone again when he left. I didn’t love him, knew he was using me, but I needed him. He said he would take care of me. I wanted someone to trust, to look up to, to be with.
I was chucked out of Ravenside on my sixteenth birthday and moved to a home for young teenage girls. It was hideous – another place I had to fight to survive. I lasted a week before someone nicked all my belongings, but I got wise and stole them back. No one was having my stuff. I might not have had much to call my own but it was mine.
And then I met up with Brendan again. He screwed my life up good and proper for nearly two years after that.
Would I ever fucking learn?
Charley paused when she came to the last page and read the name Brendan again. It had to be Brendan Furnival that Ella was referring to. She knew first-hand that Ella was capable of violence, and it also would explain the blood on the banister. That had been Friday, and the day that she’d spoken to Tanya, which was the morning after the attack.
Was it meeting up with Brendan that had tipped Ella over the edge? If it was, she must have been enraged to see Tanya turn up. Charley’s stomach flipped over.
She stood up again, knocked on the door. ‘Ella, are you there?’
She listened for a moment but there was no reply. She listened again but couldn’t hear any signs of movement either. She glanced upwards to the shelf, looking for anything she could use as a weapon.
Come hell or high water, she was getting out of this room.
Jean almost cried with relief when she remembered the door system: Ella wouldn’t be able to get in. She dared to look again. The window was empty. She took the time to search round for her phone. Where on earth had she put it? She searched in her knitting bag, removing the parts she’d completed. Had the phone dropped inside the bag?
The buzzer on the door went. Jean banged her head on the arm of the chair as she heard it. Rubbing at it, she stood up slowly. Fearful of what she would see, she looked down onto the avenue.
Ella stood back on the pavement. In her arms was Tom. She held on to him firmly by the scruff of his neck.
Jean let out a sob, her hand to her mouth. No, not Tom. If she could injure that man, she could kill Tom with her bare hands.
The buzzer went again.
‘Let me in, Jean!’ Ella shouted through the letter box. ‘I know you’ve seen what I’m capable of.’
What could she do? With Ella unstable, Jean knew she could easily kill her too if she let her in.
She heard a strangled meow.
Tom!
Maybe if she stayed calm, pretended she hadn’t seen anything, then Ella would calm down enough to leave.
A loud screech.
Tom!
‘Let me in!’
Another screech, this time louder and more distraught. Jean couldn’t bear it any longer. She pressed the release button.
Charley reached a hand up to the shelf above the coats, feeling around unable to see it all from her level. There must be something she could use as a weapon – something to knock Ella off balance if she could talk her way out of the closet.
The shoe boxes were empty. She took down the coats and scarf, searched the pockets to find nothing in those either, threw them to the floor in a temper.
The hooks: could she get them out of the wall? There were four of them on a plinth of wood – they would make a pretty good weapon if she could get them down. With all her body weight behind her, she held on to the outer two hooks and pulled. The wood gave out a creak. Charley held her breath but there was no sign of movement from outside the door; no sign of noise from the flat at all.
Putting all her body weight behind it this time, she lifted her feet from the floor and pulled again.
‘Come off the wall. Come off the wall. Come off the fucking wall!’ she cried out in frustration, but to no avail. Shoulders sagging, she slumped to the floor.
Her eyes fell on a patch of light that hadn’t been there earlier. She crawled towards it on her knees. In the far corner of the room was a hole in the floorboards, no larger than a ten pence coin. The light was brighter there.
She pushed her eye to it and looked through. In dismay, she realised she was looking through another floorboard a couple of inches lower and then down at the floor of her bedroom. It was right in the corner of the room.
Was it a camera? Had Ella been into her flat, set up it up, and been watching her? Watching her and Aaron, in bed, making love? No…that was sick.
She shook her head to rid it of the images she was seeing, herself and Aaron on the bed, Ella sitting here. The calculating cow!
The conniving, devious, fucking bitch!
What the hell was she up against?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ella plopped the cat down onto the step and went into the house. The downstairs area was in darkness; she looked around for a light, switched it on. The hallway felt aged but stately, wooden panelling halfway up the walls, deep red tiles on the floor. A few winter coats and a hat were draped over a mahogany coat stand in the corner; a large mirror hung next to it.
The carpet on the stairs was old, threadbare, and hard to the feet. Ella moved around the stair lift and crept upstairs. She knew the layout: it would be the same as her house, before it was converted into flats.
Keeping her back to the wall, she took one step at a time. She didn’t trust the nosy cow – she could easily throw something at her. Jean would want to hurt her. She hated Ella just as much as everyone else. That’s why she’d been spying on her, telling everyone what she was doing. That’s why that social worker had come after her.
You’re right. It was Jean’s fault.
‘I know you saw what I did,’ Ella spoke loudly, her voice echoing on the stairs as she inched her way up. ‘So now is the time that your neighbourhood watching ends, do you hear me?’
Watching Over You Page 25
