Let Me In

by Alison Keane

  Nor is he outside Nathan’s house when I finally turn onto his road.

  Tony Kent, I think, reciting that name over and over in my mind.

  Is it true?

  How can it not be?

  The only other explanation I can think of is Dad knows I’ve been in his office and he sent someone after me to tell me a load of lies—but why? I can’t imagine him asking someone to pretend to be my father.

  I look around before I let myself into the house, though I’m not as afraid as I was before.

  My fear has been replaced by total confusion. Was that man telling me the truth? Is it possible that the man I’ve always thought was my father is a stranger? The mad thing is it sort of fits with what I found out on Thursday.

  Twenty minutes after I left the shop, I’m rummaging in Nathan’s kitchen cupboards looking for a wine glass. Finding none, I settle for a normal glass. It’ll have to do and I don’t much care. I’d drink the wine from the bottle if I needed to.

  I pour a large glass of wine and pop an ice cube in on top to try and cool it. I wander back to the couch and sit down.

  What does this mean? Is he actually my father?

  I sigh.

  I don’t know what’s true anymore.

  I take a gulp of wine and let it sit in my mouth, relishing the way it makes the insides of my cheeks tingle. The events of the past week flash through my mind. I’ve been so tired and distracted it’s a struggle. Everything seems hazy like it happened years ago, not days.

  The man following me.

  Someone breaking into my house.

  My eyes widen. Was that him too? But why? Why would he do that?

  No, that has Mikey written all over it.

  I take another large gulp of wine.

  But this guy Tony was following me.

  The wine is going straight to my head, but I need it. Nothing makes sense anymore and I just want to switch off for a bit.

  But it’s no use.

  Tears well up in my eyes. It’s not from disappointment—it’s something far more complicated than that.

  All along, beneath my fear and anger, there was something else too. This great big sense of shame. Because even after everything—after Mikey put me in hospital and turned everyone I loved against me for daring to report him—I still loved him.

  I sigh and rub my eyes with my coat sleeves. I can’t bear to take it off even though it feels like it’s confining me.

  None of it makes any more sense than it did at the time. There was that awful chairman’s dinner. That’s when it began. I had a few too many drinks and got a bit lairy. Mikey was so dedicated to rugby that I suppose looking back on it I was a bit jealous. I had nothing. So I threw all that extra energy into nights out. Possibly a bad idea, but I can’t do anything about that now.

  I was just letting off steam. I assumed after a year or two, when he got picked up by one of the big clubs, we’d get married and have kids. His success was a sure thing—he had the earning power for both of us. And I’d had such a cold upbringing that I’d always craved a big family to spoil.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’ve suppressed these memories for so long that it’s painful to think about them now.

  Mikey was transferred to a club in France only days after that night out where I made a fool of myself. I missed him like crazy, but I didn’t think anything of it. I certainly didn’t think it was an attempt by the club to get me out of his system.

  He was away for a few months. The first inkling I had that something was wrong was when our friends casually mentioned meeting him for drinks at the weekend. Because he hadn’t contacted me to say he was back. That’s when Graham had someone start following me too. I knew it was Graham’s doing, but it still rattled me. I reported it to the police but of course nothing ever happened. No proof, they said. Like he’d bloody walk in there and just confess to intimidation.

  So when I finally worked up the courage to go to the Builder’s Arms a few weeks after Mikey got back and he still hadn’t been to see me or returned any of my calls, I was a ball of nerves from everything—the intimidation and the non-contact from Mikey.

  I stifle a sob. I wish I could remember that night. What did I say to make him flip? I know I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. I can’t help it. It was so out of character. One minute I was standing with him and the next I was in hospital.

  My glass is empty now so I reach for the bottle to top it up. I stop myself. The washing machine has just beeped so I jump up to hang out my clothes. It’s good to have something to do that’s not sitting around dwelling on everything that’s happened. I know in my heart that I shouldn’t be drinking, but it’s the only relief I can get—my GP prescribed sedatives but they’re so strong that I can’t function when I take them and I need to be able to work.

  I turn on the TV, but instead of absorbing me it only seems to heighten my restlessness.

  My phone buzzes and I pick it up, thinking it might be Nathan—he’s due back soon.

  I unlock my screen and feel a rush of dread when I see I’ve got a new text message from Dad. He never texts.

  That’s the only reason I open his message.

  Ellie, are you coming for lunch tomorrow? We should talk.

  I stare at his message in disbelief. Now he wants to talk?

  What about? How you’re not my real father?

  My heart pounds as I wait for his reply. I realise I’m holding my breath; willing him to tell me that I’m talking nonsense. Even better yet—to call me and scold me for saying something like that.

  We’ll talk tomorrow.

  I stare at his words in disbelief. That’s all he can say? I can’t believe he’d sit on the fence like that—does he have no consideration at all for how I feel? Is he not even curious about how I found out?

  I sigh.

  Sorry. Can’t make it.

  I think about making a snide comment about his gold-digging bitch girlfriend, but I decide against it. If he accused me of being childish right now I don’t know how I’d react.

  I throw my phone onto the chair and it lands face down.

  Good.

  There’s nobody I want to speak to or message right now.

  The door opens and my heart leaps. I instinctively slam my glass down on the table, but use a lot more force than I intended to and it makes a loud bang.

  “You’re back!”

  “Wow,” he says, dropping some bags on the kitchen table. “That’s a nice welcome.”

  “What’s in the bags?”

  “I picked up some food and wine. I thought we could have a lazy afternoon and watch movies.” He stops. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  I look down, feeling awkward all of a sudden. “I raided your wardrobe. I hope you don’t mind—I took the first things I found.”

  “That’s fine,” he says. “I should have offered.”

  I sigh happily. Despite my earlier frustration at not being able to find stuff, I’m starting to relax here.

  He bends over to kiss me. “How was your day? I hope you’ve not been bored.”

  I can’t help but laugh. I was bored earlier—that was before I ventured out to the shops.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Just that question.” I wrap my arms around him. “I popped out to the shops.”

  His demeanour changes instantly. “You did what?”

  “Relax,” I whisper. “You’ll never guess. The man who was following me appeared in the shop. I thought he was trying to hurt me, but he told me he was my father.”

  “And you believed him?”

  I shrug, feeling foolish. “I didn’t know what to believe until I got a text off Dad—you know, the man I thought was my dad. He wanted to know if I was coming for lunch so I tested him. I asked if it was so we could talk about how he’s not my dad.”

  Nathan’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “And he admitted it?”

  “He didn’t deny it.” I sit back into the couch and stare straig
ht ahead. I still can’t really believe it. I just feel numb.

  “Forget him,” Nathan says passionately. “He obviously doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  It’s painful to hear the truth said out loud like that, but he’s right. And I can’t deny that the way he said it made my heart stir. I was wary of Nathan at first after how he tried to end things, but he cares about me and it feels good to know at least someone has my back.

  “Thanks,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I cringe when I hear myself say that—talk about over-keen. But Nathan doesn’t shrink away or cringe. He just smiles as he gets up to find plates for our food.

  “Come on. You’ll feel better after you eat. Oh and Ellie?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but those shorts look mental on you.”

  I snort.

  “Did you seriously go out to the shops like that?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “I think I have some old jeans that might fit you. I’ll have a look.”

  I start to relax. Things are bad but they’re not the worst. I have this thing with Nathan that’s going from strength to strength.

  “Will you put the food and drinks out?” Nathan calls from his bedroom. “I’m absolutely famished.”

  I get up, smiling to myself. He’s always bloody famished.

  29

  Joy

  Twenty-one years ago

  “Where are you going?”

  I spin around. I’ve been so caught up in getting ready that I forgot to even mention to him that I need him to babysit. “Just out for a bit. Can you mind Ellie?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No,” I say breezily, checking my lipstick in the mirror. “Why would I joke?”

  There’s a loud bang right beside me. My heart races so hard it makes me lightheaded. I turn around, openmouthed. John is not a violent man but he’s just punched the mirror and shattered it inches from my face.

  “John, Jesus! What the hell?”

  I expect him to be embarrassed; to tell me he’s sorry over and over and to ask if I’m okay. I look around l in shock: there’s glass all over the floor, but none of it hit me, thank goodness.

  John says nothing. He just stares at me with a look I’ve never seen before. Then, to make things worse, the baby starts to cry.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, stomping off towards her room.

  “Wait,” John snaps. “Wait. I need to talk to you.”

  “That’s no reason to go shattering mirrors in my face. I need to settle her.”

  “Don’t worry about her. I’ll do it.” He closes the gap between us and grabs my arms. I pull away from him, hating him more in this moment than I ever have done. Judgemental bastard. It’s easy for him to look down on me—he always had it easy.

  “Get off me. You could have killed me.”

  “So?” His face is deadly serious. “It looks like you’re dead set on doing that yourself so what do you care?”

  “This again? I don’t have time for this. I can’t handle you being so protective all the time. You’re not my keeper.” I turn away and walk towards her bedroom. I’m already late as it is and this isn’t helping. “I’m sick of this, John. She’s always crying. You don’t see it when you’re at work. I’m stuck with her and her tantrums. It drives me crazy.”

  “She’s a little girl. How can you say that?”

  “There’s something wrong with her. I’m sure of it.”

  His face falls. “Listen to yourself.”

  “It’s the truth. You don’t see it. I just need… I need some time to myself for once.”

  “She needs you.”

  I clench my fists. I wasn’t expecting that. I knew they were demanding when they were little, but she’s not a baby anymore. She can walk but she still goes apeshit whenever I leave her alone for a minute and she’s still in nappies. It feels like this will never end. “There’s something wrong with her. I can’t handle this.”

  “Yes, there’s something wrong with her. Her mother isn’t doing what she’s supposed to be doing. Can’t you think of somebody but yourself for once? She’s a little girl.”

  “She’s a monster!”

  “Joy!”

  “What?” I snap, grinding my teeth so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they started to crumble. I feel like a caged animal, trapped here at the mercy of his moods. He doesn’t get it; he just doesn’t. “I just want to have a little fun. Is that too much to ask? A night out with the girls, that’s all.”

  He shakes his head. His expression’s full of disappointment. It’s a look my dad used to give me when I was a kid and it turns my stomach that John thinks he can control me like I’m a little girl. I’m not a child. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  His voice is so cold that I don’t turn around. I’m not telling him the whole truth, but there’s no way I’m going to admit that. I just need some time to myself, that’s all. What’s so wrong with that? I fiddle with my sleeves. I hate this. I hate being judged. I’m also terrified of what he’ll do.

  “You’ve got to try harder, Joy. You promised you would.”

  “I know,” I say, sniffing into my sleeve. I’m an emotional wreck these days and he’s the one to blame. I look like shit too. Things have changed. I miss my old life. It’s not the same now.

  “You’ve been seeing him again, haven’t you?”

  “Who?”

  His eyes narrow. “You know who. Tony.”

  My blood runs cold. How does he know? “He’s my husband, John.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it.”

  “Things are different now.”

  John stares at me for a long time. I think he’s going to start lecturing me again, but he doesn’t. “Why don’t you take off your coat and I’ll order us a takeaway. Eh? How does that sound?”

  I’m about to turn around and tell him where to shove his takeaway when an idea starts to form in my mind. Recently he’s become very careful about hiding his money from me. It’s just another way of controlling me and making sure I can’t do anything he doesn’t know about. I’d search his office, but he always keeps it locked during the day. He’s so regimented that way. Now, though… this isn’t like him. He’s not the type of bloke to get takeaway dinners every week. He’s just come downstairs from his office. There’s a good chance he’s not locked the door.

  Seizing my chance—maybe the only chance I’ll ever get—I put on the performance of a lifetime. I smile and shrug off my coat.

  “Mammmmma,” the child screams, and I do my best not to wince. Instead I giggle. “That sounds great, John. You know what, I’m so tired. You’re right. If you get food I’ll go settle her and then we can relax.”

  I want to shoo him out the door but I turn away and go to the baby’s room instead. He’s too clever: if I show too much enthusiasm he’ll know I’m up to something and he’ll lock that damn door. I can’t let him do that. He’s got a stash of cash somewhere in this house and I’ve searched everywhere else. It’s got to be in his office.

  It’s got to be.

  I need that money. It’s the only hope I’ve got. I don’t need much. Just enough to get away from here and make a new life for myself.

  The child cries again and it’s all I can do not to scream back.

  “Okay, I’ll pop out now. What do you want?”

  I think about it for a moment. “We haven’t had Chinese in a while. I’d love some sweet and sour chicken.”

  I will him to agree with me. The Chinese takeaway is the furthest away from here and there’s never parking outside it. If he goes there he’ll walk. That’ll give me time.

  “Great,” he says. He walks out the door.

  I turn and stare after him. It’s a strange feeling to know that this might be the last time I ever see him.

  30

  Ellie

  Sunday

  I open my eyes and immediately regret i
t. I close them again but it’s too late. The pounding in my head makes it feel as though my whole body is pulsating. As soon as I swallow I realise it’s worse than I first thought. I sit up and blink. I’m in Nathan’s living room. That’s all I have time to register before I have to dash to the bathroom. I sink to my knees in front of the toilet just in time.

  Oh God.

  I was so weirded out by my encounter with that man in the shop that any sense of moderation went out the window last night. I think at one point, I insisted on going out for more wine. An uncontrollable sense of self-loathing washes over me at the thought that I allowed myself to get into this state.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Are you okay in there?”

  I can only grunt as my stomach churns again and I retch. All that comes out is bile. It’s so bitter it makes me wince.

  “Do you want a glass of water?”

  I lean back so I’m sitting on my feet with my eyes closed. I breathe as shallowly as I can and will the panic to pass. Why did I drink so much? My memory of last night is hazy too, which I can’t stand. I hate the loss of control that comes from not being able to remember the whole night.

  “No thanks,” I murmur, looking around. I want nothing more than to rest my head on the cold floor tiles, but they’re grubby looking. I’ve got the same terrible headache as a few days ago—the kind that feels like it’ll never go away.

  I shake my head. This is pathetic. I get to my feet on shaky legs, ignoring the swell of nausea it causes—not to mention the pounding in my head. I can get through this—I’ll happily put up with it if I can just get rid of the panicky feeling that something terrible is going to happen.

  I open the door. Nathan is leaning against the wall opposite, bleary-eyed and pale. “What have we done to ourselves?” he mutters.

  I scan his face for any trace of judgement, but there’s none. Just exhaustion—the same as me. I can remember us deciding to watch the Godfather trilogy, but at that stage it was still bright outside.