by Alison Keane
I grab my phone and tiptoe towards the door.
“I’ve got to get up for work anyway,” he groans, his voice hoarse from sleep. He flicks on the light.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” I say.
I throw myself down on the couch after I’ve flicked on the kettle. This whole thing is so big I can’t think clearly.
When I unlock my phone, I see that I have four missed calls from Steph. I have new messages in WhatsApp too—no doubt from her. I open the app and then pause.
Do I really want to read them? What can she possibly say to justify what she’s done?
In the end, curiosity wins out. I haven’t looked at my phone since I got back from work yesterday. I didn’t want to—I was sick of them all. I’m surprised there’s been nothing from Dad. Hasn’t he seen his home office since I was in there on Thursday?
I shake my head. I don’t care. He’s not the wronged one here. If he hasn’t called, it’s because he feels guilty—like he should.
I sigh and open Steph’s messages.
Hi Ellie, haven’t heard from you in a while. Do you want to meet for a drink?
It was sent at half six. Did she not have plans with my dad last night, I wonder bitterly.
I’m leaving work now.
Sent at seven.
Helloooooo?!?
Sent at eight. I grimace when I see that. She’s not in a position to give me shit after what she’s done. Why does it matter to her if she has me onside—she’s got what she wanted.
The kettle clicks off and I get up. I’ve got to stop thinking about Steph and Dad. When I think about it, it’s not that unusual, is it? It’s greed and stupidity, that’s all. He met her, he was flattered by the attention and she convinced him to sign the company over to her.
Before I realise what I’m doing, I’ve squeezed the cup in my hand so hard that the handle comes clean off and the body goes smashing to the floor.
“What’s happened?” Nathan comes barrelling into the room.
Despite my anger, I can’t help but smile at the protectiveness and aggression in his voice. It feels good to have him on my side.
“Sorry,” I say. “I broke your cup. I’ll get you a new one.”
“Hmmm.” He takes the broken china from me. “I don’t know. It was Mum’s.”
I gasp as the horror of what I’ve done hits me. “Oh Nathan, I’m so sorry.” I shake my head. “I had no idea.”
“You wouldn’t, would you? I’d not said anything.”
I turn away, ashamed of myself for breaking something so important to him—I was indulging my anger, that’s all it was.
“Oh Ellie, come here. It’s fine, honestly. I have other ones. Look.”
But I barely hear him. It’s not the bloody cup I’m crying for but his mum and my mum and him and me.
He squeezes me into a hug and I’m dimly aware of the strength of him. Everything else is a fug of such deep sadness I don’t know where one part starts and one part ends.
“Why won’t he just leave me alone?” I gasp, struggling to get the words out between huge racking sobs. “I don’t have the headspace to do my job, let alone figure out what happened to my mother.” I groan. “Oh God Nathan, I’m so sorry. I broke your mum’s cup and here I am sobbing about my mum.”
He pulls away. “For fuck’s sake, Ellie, if you apologise for the cup one more time I’ll start crying myself.”
I look up to see him grinning and it has a strange effect on me: suddenly I can’t stop laughing either. He leans over to grab some kitchen paper from the holder by the cooker and that makes me laugh even harder. I must look like such a mess, sobbing my heart out in this man’s kitchen.
“I’m so—”
“You’re not allowed to apologise anymore,” he teases.
I snort.
“I’m serious.” He pulls me into his arms again. “You know I’m messing with you. But look, I need to leave for work in a few minutes. Do you want me to call them and say I’m ill?”
I shake my head. I’d love for him to do that, but I’ve messed up my own career enough—I don’t want to jeopardise his too. “No. Please don’t do that for me.”
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Okay.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “The least I can do is make you breakfast.”
I smile. I’m not going to argue with that.
A shadow comes over Nathan’s face as he’s cracking eggs into the pan.
“What is it?” My heart starts to race. What if he’s having second thoughts about getting involved with me?
He turns to me. His face is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve been thinking, Ellie.”
No, no, no, my heart screams.
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way or anything…”
My pulse roars in my temples. This is it. I knew it was coming, didn’t I? “What?”
He turns back to tend to the pan. “Are you sure you won’t go to the police about your ex?”
“Eh?” Even though it’s a topic I don’t even want to get into, I can’t hide my relief. He’s not fed up of me—not yet, anyway.
“What’s the harm in trying? You’re so wound up. They can’t just ignore you if he’s a threat.”
“They can and they will,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t you get it? Last time I went to them, I had broken bones and bruises all over my body.”
He winces. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I’ve tried. I told you that.” I sigh. There’s one thing I haven’t really told him—the thing that’s been eating away at my soul for the last year. I’ve got to tell him now. I need to get it off my chest because the guilt and shame are killing me. “They took the fact that I’d been drinking and couldn’t really remember what had happened and they used it against me.”
There.
As wretched as I feel, it’s a relief to have finally said it to someone else out loud.
27
Ellie
I stare at Nathan, waiting for the judgement to come. How can I forget something that’s had such an impact on my life? I remember the hours leading up to the pub. The way I debated with myself whether or not I should just leave it. Going to the Builder’s Arms was a statement: that was our place. I should have accepted that he was done with me; that the team was always going to be more important than me.
I was so frustrated with him. In my warped frame of mind, I thought I’d go in there and everything would be right again. Instead, I stood on the edge of the group, not really having anybody to talk to. That’s probably why I got so hammered: I was knocking back the pints of cider mainly so I’d have something to do.
And that’s it. That’s my memory of the night my life changed forever. One minute I was drinking a pint of cider trying to edge my way into a conversation with some of the lads and the next I was waking up in hospital.
Nathan sighs and shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Ellie. Just because you were drunk, it doesn’t mean he had the right to hurt you.”
I grit my teeth. Logically I know that’s true, but I’ve been living with the pain for almost a year. Everyone else seems to think it was my fault so I’ve accepted that too.
“I really think you should go to the police, Ellie. I’ll come with you. For support.”
I grimace. How can he even say that after what I’ve just told him? I tell myself to stay calm. There’s no point in having a go at him. “Maybe later or tomorrow.”
“Good.” He kisses me. “I’d best get going.”
“You’re not going to eat?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll grab something on the way.” He jerks his head towards the toast and eggs he’s prepared. “Enjoy.”
As soon as I’ve eaten, I become more restless than I’ve ever been—and that’s saying something. I just want to do something instead of being cooped up in here, but what? It’s not even been two days since Nathan rescued me from
that man.
Ugh.
I cringe as I look down and catch sight of yesterday’s clothes. No, they’re not even yesterday’s, they’re from the day before.
I’ve never felt so grubby. I’ve been in some low places in my life, but I’ve never felt this bad. Thank goodness for Nathan. I barely know him and he has so much patience for my craziness—I still can’t believe it.
The TV isn’t distracting me, not when I feel so unclean. I decide to have a shower and put my things in the wash. I’ll borrow some of Nathan’s clothes until my own things are dry—I’m sure he won’t mind.
I get up and return to the bedroom. I pull open the wardrobe and stare into it, looking for anything that’ll fit me. T-shirts aren’t the problem—he has lots of those. And boxers. It’s trousers I’ll struggle to find. In the end, I grab two pairs of gym shorts, unfold them and choose the longest one with drawstrings. It’s not like I’m planning on going out so what does it matter what I’m wearing.
I’m going to have to ask Nathan to come back to the flat with me before the weekend is over. I need more than one outfit for next week.
I check my phone. There’s nothing from Dad or Steph. I still haven’t replied to her messages from last night and I’m not sure I will either. Isn’t it easier if I let them realise that I know what’s going on? Surely that’s better than keeping up the pretence that everything is fine between us.
When I eventually find a fresh towel, I wrap it around myself and throw my clothes in the washing machine. I can’t go on like this. This isn’t my home. I don’t know where anything is. I hate rummaging around his house to find things.
I double-check the front door is locked before I get in the shower. Thankfully the hot water is on so I don’t have to faff around trying to figure out how it works.
I step underneath the torrent and my exhausted body finally starts to relax. That feeling lasts until I start to lather my legs and realise they’re like two hairy forests.
I cringe. What must Nathan think of me? I look around but instantly dismiss the idea of using his razor. That’s just too nasty. I’ll pop out to the shops and buy one later.
I brighten at that thought. Nathan won’t be back for hours—I can go to the shops and get some essentials like shampoo and shower gel that doesn’t smell the same as Nathan’s teenage boy body spray.
I end up leaving the house sooner than I’d planned. I sat down in front of the TV after I showered, but Saturday daytime TV just doesn’t appeal to me today. I don’t want to watch anything. I have enough drama going on in my own life. The moment I sit still I start to get back into the loop of thoughts that have been plaguing me lately: Mum, Dad, Steph, Mikey. I can’t bear to think about it anymore.
I jump to my feet and go to Nathan’s bedroom. I didn’t think I’d seen a full-length mirror in there and I don’t find one now. I glance down at myself. I must look ridiculous in his t-shirt and shorts, but my coat is long enough to almost hide the shorts and my hideously hairy legs. It’s not as if I have to go very far either: there’s a shop a few streets over. With any luck, I can get there and back without anyone I know seeing me.
I grab my bag and shove on my coat.
I lock the door carefully with the key Nathan gave me. It’s so freeing to walk up the path and into the open without having to be afraid there’s someone watching me, but I warn myself not to relax too much: this is a small town. Mikey could easily track me down and I’ve got to remember that.
I clench my fists. He’s obviously keeping tabs on me if he reappeared as soon as I started seeing Nathan. Why? What’s his problem? Why hasn’t he moved on by now?
I start to walk faster. I don’t want to think about him now—not when I’m out alone. The shop is further away than I thought and my shoes are uncomfortable with no socks or tights on. I feel the telltale chafe of blisters before I’m even halfway there.
I try to keep up my pace, but I’ve got to slow down: my feet are too sore.
When I finally reach the shop, I’m in a horrible mood, wondering whether it would just have been better to go back to my flat.
I put that thought out of my mind. Sore feet are so much better than… I shudder as I think of what could have happened if I hadn’t managed to get away on Thursday night.
I hurry through the shop, rattled now and eager to get back to Nathan’s. I grab a pack of razors and a bottle of shower gel. I get some crisps and a bottle of wine. I quickly grab another—I don’t care if it’s unhealthy, I want anything that’s going to make me feel slightly better.
As I’m dumping everything onto the counter, I feel a hand on my shoulder and it almost makes me jump out of my skin. I try to jerk away, but I can’t without knocking over everything that’s halfway between my arms and the counter. It’s ridiculous—some strange sense of politeness kicks in harder than any safety instinct and by the time I manage to react appropriately, his grip on my arm is too strong.
I turn. It’s a tall man dressed in black clothes and I just know in my heart that it’s the same man who’s been following me. His face isn’t covered this time but I don’t recognise him—not that that means anything. The rugby club has enough goons hanging around who’d do anything for Mikey.
“I need to talk to you.”
I shake my head and snap my head around to the man behind the counter. “Please help me.”
I stumble backwards and realise the counter is too long for him to get out here and help me in time. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out—it’s the sound of a cornered animal when it knows it’s well and truly screwed.
Why hasn’t he covered his face? Doesn’t he care that I’ll be able to identify him?
The man pulls me closer and I flail around desperately for a weapon, but all I can grab is a can of tomatoes. It’s no use—I swing it, but my angle is all off. He grabs it out of my hand before I can hit him and his grip on my other arm doesn’t waver.
“Enough,” he snarls.
I glance at the guy behind the counter, who’s as rigid with fear as I must be. Do something, I try to tell him, but what?
Is this man armed?
Is he going to kill me?
I turn and look at him, screwing up my face in terror. “Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t hurt me.”
I hear the sound of sirens in the distance and I look at the shopkeeper. I know from the way he blinks that he’s set off a silent alarm and I’m almost giddy with relief.
Until I look back at my attacker.
Does he fear the police? Does he even hear the sirens?
My relief evaporates. He’s watching me strangely and I’m terrified of what he’s going to do.
“Listen to me,” he hisses. “I’m your father.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“It’s true.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because,” he says, shaking me. “Because it’s the truth!”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“I’ve called the police!” the shopkeeper cries and I cringe as I wonder what this man will do to him.
But he doesn’t react in the way I would have thought. There’s no aggression. Instead, his face crumples. “I just wanted to see Joy’s little girl.”
I shake my head. “No. You can’t. It’s not…” I stare into this stranger’s eyes, desperately looking for something familiar. There’s nothing.
“Your name is Kent. Did you know that? Look it up. He changed it when he took you away from me. Do you know how long it’s taken for me to find you?” There’s desperation in his eyes now and as mad as his story is, my gut says he’s telling the truth.
“It was you. On Thursday. Why didn’t you say then? Why did you let me think you were going to hurt me?”
He lets go of my shoulders and mutters an apology as he steps back towards the door. The sirens are getting closer.
“Call them off,” I tell the shopkeeper.
He shakes his head. “I can’t. It’s tamper
proof.”
“Wait!” I say to the man who’s been following me. “Please wait.”
“I can’t.” His face falls. He glances back to the door as if to explain. No police.
“Wait,” I say again, shaking my head. “Why? If he took me away, why are you the one who’s afraid…” I stop. He’s almost gone now. “What’s your name?” I whisper, moving towards him now.
“Tony Kent.” It’s the last thing he says before he bolts.
28
Ellie
I try to follow him, but it’s no use with blistered feet in these awful shoes. By the time I make it out of the shop, he’s disappeared. With the web of side streets around here, I’ll never be able to find him.
I sigh.
I got this so wrong.
The sirens are screeching now and it shakes me to my senses. How can I explain what’s just happened to the police?
“Can I pay?”
The man nods his head, still as shaken as I am, I guess. “You’ll wait for the police?”
I jerk my head. “I can’t. I can’t...”
“Go then,” he says dismissively. “The number of bloody questions I’ll get for a false alarm. You might as well take the lot without paying.”
“Sorry,” I say, leaving twenty quid I can’t even afford on the counter out of guilt.
I hurry out of the shop—well, stumble is more accurate. The pain is my feet is unbearable now and I realise I should have bought some plasters. It’s too late to turn back—the police will be there any moment.
I duck down the closest side street to stay out of sight. I’d love to take off my shoes but there’s likely to be broken glass on the footpath so I leave them on and stumble on as best I can.
I half expect that man to be waiting for me when I turn down the next street, but he’s not.
