by Alison Keane
I stare at my phone, deciding what to do. Should I cut my losses now and concentrate on saving to get out of here? Or should I give him the benefit of the doubt—maybe he’s been busy at work and he’s not had a chance to message me since I missed his call.
It’s too early to call so I send him a message.
I tried calling you back after I missed your call. Had to work until 8. How about a drink later in the week after 8 or at the weekend?
Pressing send doesn’t make me feel any better. Deep down I know that I shouldn’t be chasing after him like this; that I must seem desperate.
This is the last time.
Except I’m not sure I’m ready to stand by that if it comes to it.
I force down a dry Weetabix for breakfast, taking large sips of water between bites. I really need to go to the supermarket later.
The three piles of papers catch my eye when I go to my bedroom to get dressed. I haven’t thrown anything out yet. I tell myself to scoop up the pile of photos and tickets and chuck them in the bin but I can’t. It feels like too big a step.
I dress quickly: black shirt and trousers as usual. I consider wearing a dress in case Nathan gets in touch with me, but even thinking that makes me feel wretched: I’ve got to stop planning my life around a man I barely know.
The first thing I register when I step outside the front door is the miserable weather. It’s raining: the kind that lingers in the air and makes your hair frizz up. I reach back to grab my umbrella. It’s when I turn back to walk out the door that I see him.
He’s near the bus stop across the road, but he’s not waiting for a bus. I know that because one’s just taken off and they’re not busy in that direction at this time in the morning. He’s also staring straight at me.
My heart starts pounding. Instinct tells me to go back into the flat and lock the door behind me, but I can’t do that. I’ve got to get to work.
The man turns and hurries away with his head down, going away from town. I stand and watch him for a couple of seconds, absolutely horrified. Was I wrong? Was the bus full? It can’t have been. It never is.
I close the door and check it carefully to make sure it’s locked. I can’t afford it, but I’m going to have to look into security measures. Maybe I can convince Dad to help me pay for a CCTV camera. He’ll have to make an exception for that, won’t he?
I look around. The man is long gone now, but my pulse still hasn’t returned to normal. I walk as fast as I can and that quickly turns into a run because I’ve got to put as much distance between me and him as possible.
As I run, I try to remember anything distinctive about him, but my mind is a blank. He was all bundled up with his hood up and a scarf over the bottom part of his face. He’s older; older than Mikey and me. A friend of Graham’s? That guy never liked me. He was always in Mikey’s ear to get rid of me. But it’s hopeless: it could be anyone. Mikey was always persuasive. People fall over themselves to do what he wants.
My lungs are screaming by the time I turn onto High Street. I walk a lot but I don’t much like running and I like it even less now. My feet feel raw in shoes that weren’t made for exercise. I allow myself to slow down: there are a lot of people around now and there’s no sign of him behind me.
My office is in sight now and I need to get to the bathroom before anyone sees me. I haven’t seen my reflection, but I don’t need to see it to know that I’m a mess. Sweat is rolling down my back and my hair is all over the place. Thankfully the hallways are quiet and I don’t meet anyone on my way to the bathroom. Even better, my makeup bag is still in my handbag where I put it the other day before my date with Nathan.
I reach for my phone automatically, but there’s no reply from him yet. I grimace at my reflection in the mirror. Why does it matter that he hasn’t replied? I shouldn’t even be thinking about him right now with everything else that’s going on.
Who was that man waiting for me on my street?
I close my eyes and breathe, trying to recall every detail that I saw. I don’t have much to go on. No amount of concentration is going to change the fact that I couldn’t see his face. Besides, who am I going to tell? The police?
I shake my head.
I can’t.
Not after last time. It feels like a lifetime ago that I walked into that police station, determined to do the right thing and tell them the truth. It annoyed me that they were too busy to come and see me in the hospital, but I swallowed that annoyance and went to them. It wasn’t just for myself but for any other girl who might get sucked in by Mikey’s good looks and charm. Because by that stage we were done—no question. I didn’t much like thinking about how long it would take him to find somebody new.
I don’t know; I just wanted justice.
I expected a bit of resistance because of how popular he was in town, but nothing could have prepared me for the reaction I got. They wouldn’t even take my statement, it was that bad. I can still picture the face of the Detective Sergeant I spoke to. He looked at me with such disgust that it makes me shudder to even think about it. I got up and walked out when he said I was the one he’d have charged if he could find the proof. I tried to tell him there was no proof of Mikey’s lies because that’s what they were—lies, but I couldn’t even get the words out I was crying so hard.
I stare at myself in the mirror, blinking to stop the tears from coming again. Almost a year has gone by but it still hurts to remember. He didn’t just hurt me physically, he manipulated everyone around me into believing I was the bad one. I don’t know how he managed it—by the time I got out of hospital none of my friends would talk to me anymore.
But I expected better from the police. I still don’t know why they wouldn’t at least listen to what I had to say.
I sigh and wipe my eyes before I dab powder foundation on my nose to try and take down the redness. There’s nothing I can do about my puffy red eyes. If anyone asks—which they probably won’t—I’ll tell them it’s allergies.
I’ve got to stay focused and stop the past from dragging me back into those old emotions. I already know why he’s doing this. The only thing that’s changed in my life lately is the fact that I’ve started seeing Nathan.
I zip up my makeup bag and put it back in my handbag. This is exhausting and I’m going round in circles. I check my phone one last time before I leave the bathroom. There’s still nothing from Nathan even though he’s read my last message.
The morning drags. I start writing a message to Steph to see if she wants to meet for lunch, but I’m too worked up about the man following me and I’m afraid I’ll just blurt it out if I see her. I wish I’d thought to get a picture of the man, but he was gone before I realised what was happening. It’s probably a good thing: who knows how he would have reacted? Besides, who would I have shown it to? I put my phone away and try to focus on updating the record of my last call.
“Got a minute, Ellie?”
I turn around. Jason is standing there with a weird look on his face. I resist the urge to swear under my breath—this is the last thing I need.
I get up and follow him to his office.
“Big night last night?” he asks when I’ve closed the door.
I shake my head wearily. “It wasn’t, actually. If I look like shit it’s because I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff.”
“Personal stuff?” he asks, looking sceptical.
I must be desperate because the possibility of telling Jason everything and crying on his shoulder seems appealing for a few seconds. But then I put that thought right out of my head. He’s my boss and he already thinks I’m crazy.
I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I wasn’t out last night, that’s all.”
He watches me closely. “Are you sure there’s not something you want to tell me?”
My exhausted brain can’t handle this right now. Should I tell him everything? Will that get him on my side and less likely to fire me? Or will it make him think I’m a loose cannon?
Get a grip, Ellie, I think. He can’t fire you without following the process.
“No, there’s nothing,” I say tightly. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
He sighs. “Consider this a first verbal warning, Ellie. I hate that it’s come to this, but look at this.” He picks up a printed sheet of paper and shoves it in my face. “You’ve been slacking off all week. You’re not meeting expectations here.”
“All week?” I repeat hoarsely. “It’s only Wednesday! That’s three days. I’ve been working my arse off here for years.”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,” he says drily. “Don’t act like you’ve done us all a favour or anything.”
“I wasn’t, I—”
“This is a call centre, Ellie. It might be only three days in your eyes, but that’s three days below target and my boss is going to come to me to ask why my team’s numbers are off.”
My eyes widen. He can’t mean that my performance has impacted the entire team, can he?
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, it’s that bad. Now get to work, please. I’d hate to have to let you go, but I need to do what’s best for the team.”
When I get back to my desk, a light on my phone is flashing. I unlock it and my heart leaps. It’s a message from Nathan. I’m immediately on edge. I hope he’s suggested a time that won’t interfere with my work hours because I can’t take liberties anymore.
I read the message and my heart sinks. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. He’s not asking me out on a date.
Sorry Ellie. I think it’s best if we just leave things.
Tears well up in my eyes and I realise I’ve been lying to myself about just how much I’m depending on a future with him.
What’s happened to make him lose interest all of a sudden?
I text him back before I can stop myself.
What? Why?
A new message appears and I’m reading it before my phone has even had a chance to vibrate.
It seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Maybe you’re not ready for something new.
I shake my head.
No. That’s not true.
I wait, staring at my phone. He sees the message but doesn’t respond.
16
Ellie
When I get outside, it’s dark and deserted. I go back into the lobby and call a taxi. It feels extravagant, especially now that Mikey has no reason to bother me anymore, but it’s going to take time for word to get back to him that Nathan and I aren’t a thing anymore.
I try not to look outside, but I can’t help it. There are dark shadows everywhere—places to hide and watch and remain unseen. I shiver.
It’s over now, I tell myself.
But there’s no relief even though this might stop Mikey’s harassment campaign. The likelihood of meeting one guy was low. The chance of meeting someone else? I have a better chance of winning the lotto.
I manage to hold it together until the taxi pulls up across the road from my house. I jump out, muttering a strangled thank you and bolt across the road. The same sense of unease comes over me again. Anyone could be out there in the darkness.
I realise the taxi is still there, waiting until I get inside safely. I wave, feeling grateful. It’s a nice gesture.
I shove my key in the door and bolt inside as quickly as I can. I collapse against the wall as soon as I’ve flicked on the lights.
I’m tired. So tired.
I fumble for my phone and look at Nathan’s messages again. I shake my head. Did I really give him the impression that I wasn’t ready for a relationship? He’s wrong. I’m ready.
Should I have told him the truth? Should I have explained why I’ve been on edge?
I chew on my thumbnail and think about it. For a moment I think I should just call him and explain now, but I know it’s gone beyond that. It’s too late. Maybe he’s heard the rumours and that’s why he wants to stop seeing me.
I sigh.
Whatever it is, it’s over now and I’m just going to have to accept that I’m on my own until I can save enough money to get out of here. Nathan was my one chance to meet somebody and be happy.
And I ruined it.
I zone out for a while, staring down the hall. That saying goes around and around in my head: it’s better to have loved and lost… it’s not like I was in love with Nathan, but still. I’m not sure it’s true. It wasn’t so bad before—I’d gotten used to being on my own. Now? It’s different. He gave me hope again. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the long evenings with nothing to do.
Tears well up in my eyes. I know I’m letting Mikey win, but I can’t help it. I liked Nathan. I’m so disappointed by the thought that this thing between us is over.
I’ve still got Steph, but that’s not the same.
I shake my head. Thinking like that won’t do me any favours. Only a few months ago I couldn’t believe my luck that she wanted to be my friend. I was standoffish at first, thinking she’d soon realise her mistake, but she kept inviting me for coffees and soon I couldn’t think of any more excuses.
I send her a message and briefly explain what’s happened. Then instead of wallowing in the past, I decide I’m going to figure out once and for all what happened to my mother. It’s been playing on my mind and the only way I’m going to find out more is by doing my own research: Dad’s not going to help me. I’ve done a bit of searching at work, but I’ve been conscious of my off-call time this week so I haven’t really been able to focus on it properly.
Joy Cartwright Accident
None of the results relate to her.
I frown. I’ve searched this before. This time, I look past the first few pages, convinced there must be something. I open another tab and bring up the local paper’s website. Within seconds I’ve confirmed what I already suspected: they’ve digitised their archive as far back as the 1960s. So why wouldn’t they report on the death of a local personality?
I try to narrow it down.
Joy Cartwright Actress Accident
Nothing.
I scramble to my feet and move to the living room. What started as an excuse to distract myself has me puzzled now—and ashamed. Why have I not looked into this before? I’ve asked Dad in the past, but I’ve never even searched her name.
I find a pen and paper and sit on the couch. I stare at my screen. There is so much information online about absolutely everything, so why can’t I find anything about Mum?
Joy Cartwright Disappearance
There are almost as many results as before, but nothing relevant. As I think of search terms and they come up with nothing, I jot them down on my notepad so I’m not repeating myself.
I sigh. The poor sleep I had last night is starting to make itself felt.
I try every different combination of her name, Dad’s name, the street he lives on, but there’s nothing. Finally, I type in the thing that’s been bubbling away at the back of my mind.
Joy Cartwright Murder
I hesitate. What if I don’t like what I see? What if this is the reason Dad won’t tell me anything about what happened?
I hit the search button and hold my breath.
When the results come up, I don’t give up after the fourth or fifth page like I did before. I keep going until the results stop pointing to legitimate sites and direct to pages where the summaries are just a collection of words that don’t mean anything.
I clench and release my fists. What the hell happened to her? People don’t just disappear, but I’m running out of words to search. Why is there no record of her accident?
My phone starts to ring, which makes me jump. It’s Steph.
“Ellie?” she says. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m at home. I’m fine.” I pause. The truth is, this search has taken my mind off Nathan. Now, though, the pain comes flooding back.
“Are you sure? I can come over for a cuppa and a chat if you like?”
I glance at my notebook. As di
stracting as this is, it’s pretty dark. “That would be great,” I say, trying not to let my relief come across in my voice.
“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
I jolt when there’s a loud knock at the door. It’s only when I become aware of the drool on my chin that I realise I dozed off after talking to Steph.
I jump to my feet and hurry to the door.
“Steph!”
She pulls me into a tight hug and I feel myself relax for the first time all day.
“You poor thing,” she whispers. “What happened?”
I lead the way back into the flat and gesture towards the couch. Steph picks up my notebook and frowns when she starts to read. She turns back to me. “What’s this?”
I flush as I hurry over to take it from her. “Nothing. I was just trying to see what information was online about my mother.”
She sighs sympathetically. “Darling, you shouldn’t dwell on the past. It won’t do you any good.”
“I know, but I haven’t dwelt on it, that’s the problem. I feel like I know nothing about her. What kind of daughter does that make me?”
“How’d you mean?”
“I never asked questions about what happened to her. My dad doesn’t really like talking about her and I just accepted that.”
“And now you want to know more.”
I shrug. “Yeah. She was my mother. I feel like I should know more about her.”
She unfurls her scarf and starts to unbutton her coat, but then hesitates and buttons it back up again. “Why now? What’s brought this on?”
