Let Me In

by Alison Keane

  “What time did we go to bed?”

  He shrugs and immediately winces, like even that slight movement is too much for him. “I went around seven. I was pissed.”

  I flush. “Why didn’t you wake me? I’m stiff all over from sleeping on the couch.”

  “Wake you?” He laughs. “You weren’t asleep. I said I was tired but you were all on for staying up and getting more wine.”

  The hairs on my arms stand on end and panic washes over me again. I hate to be reminded of my seemingly limitless capacity for alcohol once I get started.

  Nathan pulls me into a hug. “Stop giving yourself a hard time. You’ve been through a lot. You were just blowing off steam.” He pulls away. “Jesus, Ellie, what did you do when I went to bed?”

  I follow his gaze and groan. The panic was starting to ease, but it’s back now and worse than ever. There’s mud smeared all over one side of my jeans, mainly on my right calf. I shake my head. “I don’t know… You said I was going out to get more wine. I…” I shake my head, so overcome with anxiety and shame that I can’t talk. “I’m going to go lie on the couch.”

  I need to talk some sense into myself. I can’t keep doing this. It might feel good at the time to lose myself completely, but that’s purely short term. If my liver doesn’t pack in first, the guilt and shame will kill me.

  “I’ll make breakfast,” Nathan says.

  I say nothing. I’m too wrapped up in trying to figure out what happened last night.

  I open my eyes as Nathan puts two plates on the coffee table. My stomach turns at the sight of the greasy fry-up, even though it’s probably exactly what my body needs right now.

  I’ve got to eat something, though—if only to avoid hurting Nathan’s feelings after he’s gone to the bother of cooking for me. I force down a sausage and a few bites of toast.

  “Is that all you’re having?” he asks, when I put my plate down.

  “I need a shower,” I mutter. “I’ll have a bit more after.”

  He turns his attention back to his phone and I get up. I’ve got to get out of these clothes. It’s bothering me that I can’t remember how the jeans I’m wearing got all muddy. I find the same towel as I used yesterday and shut myself into the bathroom.

  How many times have I stood in the shower and vowed to myself that I’ll never drink again and that I’ll turn my life around?

  I twist the tap and step into the shower, gasping as the hot water hits my skin.

  This time will be different. This time I will change. I’ll start going to the gym several times a week instead of only making it to the occasional yoga class. I’ll start eating better. My stomach somersaults. I can start today: there’s no reason for me to stay away from my flat now.

  I stay in the shower for far longer than I need to and I’m finally starting to feel better when I step out. Finding that my trousers haven’t fully dried yet only dampens my mood slightly—it feels good to be back in my own clothes again, even if they are work clothes.

  I scoop up the clothes I borrowed from Nathan and go through to the kitchen. He’s still sitting in the same position when I pass the living room. I chuck the pile onto the ground so I can put a laundry tablet in first. I’m surprised he uses the expensive liquid ones, but it doesn’t matter: even with home comforts like this, I’m still looking forward to being back in my own space.

  As I pick up the jeans, I notice for the first time just how much mud there is. This wasn’t a splash—it’s literally caked on.

  I cringe, hard. What was I doing? I don’t have any bruises or cuts: I’d have felt them in the shower.

  I sigh and try to accept the fact that I’ll probably never know—and it likely doesn’t matter. The important thing is I’ve made a decision and I’m going to change my behaviour.

  I select the hottest, most heavy-duty cycle and hope the mud comes out. Otherwise I’ll have to buy Nathan a new pair of jeans.

  But that’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll deal with that.

  “Do you think I need to have a relationship with that man?” I ask Nathan as I return to the couch and sit down beside him. “You know, if it turns out he really is my father?” I frown. “That reminds me, have you seen my phone?” I look around. There’s no sign of it anywhere. The last place I remember seeing it was on the arm of the chair, but that was yesterday. Where did I put it?

  Nathan puts his arm around me. “Just relax, would you? If you ask me I think you’re doing the right thing not going to your dad’s today. And you’re probably better off not looking at your phone too.”

  I turn and smile at him. He’s right, I realise. “Thanks, smarty. And what about the other guy?”

  He shrugs. “Today is not the day you should be making decisions like that. Today’s a day for leftover takeaway and relaxing. You can decide all that tomorrow. One more day won’t make a difference.”

  I smile and cuddle into him.

  “Where’s the remote?”

  “I don’t know,” I say into his chest.

  He moves and I swear under my breath because I don’t know how I’m going to get as comfy again as I was just now.

  “I’ll make some tea,” I mutter. I get up and go into the kitchen.

  “Jesus,” Nathan mutters.

  I sit the kettle back into its housing. “What?”

  “Look at this. A woman killed.”

  “Oh,” I say, only half paying attention. “What happened?”

  He turns back to me. “Ellie. It was right here in town. Look.”

  I hurry over and lean against the back of the couch.

  A local reporter takes up most of the screen. It looks like she’s really having to shout to be heard and she’s losing a battle trying to control her hair in the wind. I stare at the words at the bottom of the screen.

  Breaking: woman’s body found. police suspect foul play.

  “Murder?” I gasp.

  “Yeah. What did you think I meant?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, hurrying back around and sitting beside him. “That someone had been killed, you know. An accident or something. Who is it?”

  “They’ve not said.”

  I sigh. “Poor woman. Turn it up will you?”

  He turns up the volume. It takes me a few seconds to tune into the frantic voices of the reporter on the scene and whoever is speaking to her from the studio. The reporter takes up ninety percent of the screen. The camera moves a bit to capture two police officers in white overalls as they walk past in the background. Police tape flaps in the breeze behind her.

  “As you can see behind me,” the reporter is saying. “The forensic team are making their way into the building now. The police have so far refused to release a name. All we know is the body of a woman was found this morning in suspicious circumstances.” She stands aside and the camera zooms out a bit. “As you can see behind me,” she says as more people in white suits walk towards the door of a modern building. “More forensic officers have just arrived here at the Rose Court complex.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss as I realise exactly where she is. “That’s Steph’s building.”

  “It’s a big complex,” Nathan says. “It’s probably someone else.”

  “It’s not.” I shake my head, still unable to fully take it in. “I recognise the door to her building. It’s blue, see? They’re all different colours.” I shiver as I think about it properly. There are only eight apartments in each of the low-slung blocks. “Jesus, Nathan, what if it’s her?”

  “Relax. The chances of it being her are tiny.”

  “No, they’re not!” I snap. “I can’t remember who she said lives in all the apartments in her building, but I know two of them are rented by single male doctors. Out of eight apartments, there’s a one in six chance it’s her, Nathan, that’s big.”

  He rolls his eyes. “It could be a girlfriend of one of the doctors. It could be anyone. Come on, Ellie, what does it matter even if it is her? You’ve only known her a few months and you’ve been curs
ing her name ever since you found out she’s involved with your dad.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “How can you say something like that?”

  He pats my knee. “Please, Ellie, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just don’t want you to freak out when there’s no need. If it was her, someone would have called you.”

  I stare at him and I see the realisation dawn on him at the same moment it hits me: I haven’t checked my phone today. I jump off the couch and look around the room. Where the hell did I leave it?

  “Can you please call me?”

  He looks like he’s about to object but he says nothing and takes out his phone. I hold my breath, waiting to hear a faint buzz—I always have it set to vibrate.

  But there’s nothing.

  “It must be dead,” he says, looking worried now.

  I pull the cushions off the couch, getting more and more desperate by the second. I hiss out the breath I’ve been holding. It’s there, hidden under one of the big cushions. I pull it out and press the button at the side that activates the screen.

  Nothing happens.

  I hurry over to the kitchen and shove it into Nathan’s charger. I turn it on and wait—every second feels like an hour. I need to know. I need to know if it’s her.

  Finally, after what feels like forever but can only have been twenty seconds or so, my phone loads up fully. I stare at the home screen, waiting for dozens of missed calls to register.

  But they don’t. There are no messages either.

  “That’s weird.”

  “See?” he says. “Nothing.”

  I stay standing over my phone. Even though Nathan thinks I’m freaking out about nothing, I can’t relax.

  An elderly woman appears on the screen and my heart sinks. I recognise her from visiting Steph. She lives downstairs and is always complaining about Steph thumping around on her ceiling in heels.

  “Fuck,” I mutter as it becomes real for the first time.

  The old woman—I can’t remember her name, and she’s only identified on-screen as victim’s neighbour—clutches a tissue in one hand, which she dabs her eyes with every few seconds.

  “She was such a nice girl,” she sobs. “She’d always say hello.”

  “And you heard noises upstairs last night?”

  “Oh yes,” the woman says. “It was early on in the night and I hadn’t taken out my hearing aid. It was an awful racket.” Her face screws up. “I only wish I’d thought to call the police or noise control now. It might have saved her.”

  The camera switches onto the reporter and I stand there staring at the screen, in absolute shock.

  “It’s probably not—”

  “It’s her,” I snap. “That’s her neighbour.”

  My pulse gets louder and louder—it’s like a constant buzz now.

  What the hell is going on?

  Yesterday I thought everything was fine—messed up, but fine. The man following me was my real father, not some thug Mikey had hired. Totally bizarre, but not exactly a dangerous situation. Steph and Dad? Well, I was pissed off at them, of course I was. But this?

  Steph is dead.

  I start to hyperventilate.

  “You don’t know it’s her,” Nathan says, getting up and coming over to me.

  “I do,” I hiss. “There are only eight apartments and that woman talked about noise upstairs. She’s Steph’s downstairs neighbour, for fuck’s sake, Nathan, it’s her.”

  “Calm down. Please.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, gasping for breath. “But someone’s murdered my friend. How the hell am I supposed to calm down?”

  “Your friend?” he says dismissively. “I’ve only ever heard you slag her off.” He pauses. “Oh, Ellie, I’m sorry.”

  I stare up at him. I saw the look that flashed across his face a moment ago. He camouflaged it well, but it was there. I know what he was thinking.

  My heart starts to pound.

  He’s right.

  Only yesterday I was cursing her.

  Now she’s dead.

  And I can’t remember what I did last night.

  31

  Ellie

  It’s like I’m in a terrible trance. I stare at the TV even though the words across the bottom don’t change.

  Steph.

  It can’t be. It just can’t.

  Nathan has retreated into himself and maybe I’m being selfish, but I’m a little disappointed in him. It’s like he’s annoyed at me for being upset about her death just because I’ve been complaining about her for the past few days. But that’s only a few days. We were friends.

  We were.

  And we’d probably have gotten over our differences if this… this…

  My stomach plummets and fresh tears come to my eyes as I remember how angry I was at her and Dad.

  “You still don’t know it’s her, Ellie.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I realise that in all my panic I didn’t think to call Steph.

  I scroll down and find her name, but something makes me hold off on making the call.

  I open WhatsApp.

  Steph’s name is top of the list of my conversations. That’s not a surprise, but what does send a jolt of fear through me is the preview text below her name with two blue ticks beside it.

  Let me in

  My blood runs cold.

  The fact that there are ticks beside it means that I sent it, but I have no memory of texting her that. The last messages I remember were from her trying to get me to go for a drink on Friday night.

  I suck in a breath and tap the conversation.

  I have to scroll a long way back up to get to the messages from Friday night. In my impatience to get them, I end up going back too far; back to when things between us were normal. But there’s no time to get nostalgic.

  I scroll forward slower, trying to read the dates but not the messages. My heart is pounding now and my headache is back, preventing me from being able to think clearly. This is bad. This is really bad. This isn’t hungover paranoia. It’s real.

  Finally I get to the right place. Steph’s message saying Helloooooo?!?. By now my breathing is ragged, like I’ve just been running as fast as I can. It’s like I’ve woken up in a bad dream except it’s not a dream and by drinking so much last night I’ve effectively handicapped myself from being able to deal with it properly.

  Fuck.

  I realise now that my vow to stop drinking might have come too late.

  Focus, Ellie.

  I take a few deep breaths.

  “Are you alright?” Nathan asks.

  I ignore him and sit down at the table. I’ve got to—my vision is starting to blur at the edges.

  The next message is from Steph at around five last night.

  Do you want to meet up later?

  And another just after six.

  What’s going on? Why are you ignoring me? I can see you’ve read my messages.

  My heart pounds and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. I have no memory of reading that, but I must have. I cringe when I see my reply. The timestamp is only a few minutes later and my words radiate bitterness.

  U know what’s going on. Do u think im stupid?

  I can’t remember sending that but it resonates with me all the same. I may have been drunk, but my reaction was in line with how I’ve been feeling.

  There are three missed calls in the app from Steph then, all within the space of a few minutes.

  Ellie, I’m really confused. Can you please just call me?

  I shake my head, feeling annoyed all over again before the sinking feeling hits and I remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters. I’d certainly never have wished harm on her.

  She tried to call me twice more.

  Jesus, Ellie. Please just answer the phone.

  And then a short time later:

  Last chance. I don’t need this in my life.

  I grit my teeth. Just reading that makes my blood boil and I know i
f it pisses me off now it must have really wound me up yesterday if I was so drunk I blacked out.

  U dn’t need this n ur life? Are u fuckin jokin?

  I wince. I don’t normally use textspeak and there’s a stark difference between my first message and the one I’ve just read. I was obviously getting very drunk very quickly. I scroll down quickly, filling with dread at what’s to come. Because I know what the last message in the chain says. My mind is racing as I try to think of reasons I might have said those words that don’t involve me being right outside the door of a girl who was murdered last night.

  There’s another missed call and then:

  You’re pissed, aren’t you? I should have known.

  I shake my head. Why would she say that? Why would she goad me like that if she was trying to make peace? But then I don’t know that. Was she trying to make peace? Or was it about something else?

  Fuck off

  Nice. That’s really clever. You’re not making this easy.

  I grimace. How can she have been so self-righteous? Is it possible she didn’t know that I knew about her and Dad? But she must have known. Who else did he think broke into his office?

  Ur used to havin it easy u gold digging cow

  What the hell?

  There’s no response from me.

  Ellie, I meant what I said. I really don’t need this in my life. There’s only so much I’m willing to put up with for the sake of our friendship.

  Friendship? Fuck u. Using bitch

  That makes me wince. I had a legitimate reason to be angry at her so why did I have to resort to abusive language like that? My head is throbbing again now and there’s a stabbing pain in my throat.

  You know what? I’m done.