I give a little start as a doorbell rings. Is it mine? No. It’s next door. Their French windows are also open and I can hear my neighbour – the delightful Suki – on the phone:
‘Matt, can you come home? The man from the fence company’s here. He’s early.’
I can hear Matthew’s reply. Suki must have him on speakerphone.
‘I can’t come home, I’m at work, Suki. Did you show him the fence?’
‘No, he’s outside, ringing the doorbell.’
‘Well let him in.’
‘Matt, I can’t! You promised you’d be here. Just ask Darren – he’ll let you leave work for twenty minutes. It’s an emergency.’
‘It’s not an emergency, Suki. It’s a guy to fix the fence. Please, just open the door to him. I can’t leave work to let someone in, not when you’re already there. All you need to do is open the door, show him the broken fence and let him get on with it.’
‘No, I’m not opening the door,’ she says. ‘Come home now, or don’t come home at all tonight.’
Wow. Suki sounds like a crazy person. I shouldn’t really be eavesdropping like this, but I can’t help it. She’s so loud. I picture her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion and her shiny brown hair. Her disdainful expression. I wonder why she’s so reluctant to open the door. Maybe I should go and see if she’s okay… but then she’d know I was listening in to her conversation.
The doorbell rings again, followed by a sharp rapping on their front door. I feel like I’m in the middle of a TV drama. Suki seemed so quiet and stand-offish at the party. Now, she sounds terrified. And more than a little unhinged.
‘He’s still out there, Matt. He won’t go away.’
‘What’s going on with you, Suki? Please, just let him in. We need that fence fixed. I can’t come home. I’m working.’
‘Well, thanks for nothing, Matt.’
I lean back in my chair as I see a hand reach out and pull next door’s balcony doors shut with a bang. What the hell was all that about? After a while, the doorbell stops ringing. I hear a car door slam, an engine start up, and a vehicle drive away. Suki was true to her word and didn’t answer the door to the fence guy. Maybe she has anxiety issues. I swig the last of my coffee and stand up, deciding to go back inside. I guess it isn’t just me who has problems.
The doorbell rings again. Maybe next door’s fence repair guy is back. Or maybe Matt was able to leave work and he’s come back to help Suki after all – but why would he need to ring the bell? I shake my head – my day has dissolved into nothing more than speculation about the neighbours. I really must start doing something with my life. But then I realise this time it’s my doorbell ringing.
Who could it be? My right eye twitches. The best scenario would be a Jehovah’s Witness or someone trying to sell me something. Anyone else will just mean trouble. The bell rings again. I must stop being so timid. Maybe I’ve got more in common with Suki than I thought. I shake myself out of my stupor and go into the lounge. There’s an intercom at the top of the stairs, I press the buzzer.
‘Hello?’ I say.
‘Mia? It’s Jack.’
My heart begins to pound. What’s he doing here?
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Yeah, I’m upstairs in the lounge – top floor.’ I press the buzzer and hear the faint click of the door opening below. What do I look like? I’m wearing jeans, a grey vest-top and a cashmere cardigan. Hair in a messy ponytail. Not too bad. No makeup though and it’s too late to go downstairs and smear on some lip gloss. Never mind. There’s nothing romantic going on between us, anyway.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs. Relax when I finally see him. His smile puts me at ease.
‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘Just thought I’d pop by. I couldn’t stop worrying about you walking home alone the other night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I saw you were okay.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘You could’ve texted – saved yourself a journey.’
‘It’s hardly a journey,’ he says. ‘But if this is a bad time…’
‘No, no, course not. I just meant… thank you. It’s sweet of you to check up on me. I’m fine. Apart from getting completely soaked and imagining a ghost woman, I got home fine.’ I gesture to one of the kitchen stools. ‘Sit down if you like. Do you want a cuppa? Or a cold drink?’
‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘Back up. What do you mean a “ghost woman”?’
‘Oh, you know, the usual – walking through a graveyard at night with thunder and lightning and torrential rain. There has to be the obligatory ghost.’ I smile, trying to make light of the memory, but an echo of fear darts through me, the same fear I experience every time I see her – or imagine I see her.
‘You saw a ghost?’ he says, raising an eyebrow.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. I’m beginning to wish I’d never mentioned her. Even thinking about her makes me break out in a sweat.
‘You can’t just leave it at that,’ he says. ‘Tell me. What did you see?’
‘Do you remember I told you I had a flashback after the accident?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Well, I’ve had the same flashback three times now. Of a woman walking towards me.’
‘What – as in like a memory?’ he asks, his eyes widening.
‘I honestly don’t know. It feels like a dream, but a really realistic dream. Like it’s actually happening, but then I open my eyes and there’s no one there, so I know it can’t be real.’
‘And the other night?’
‘I was walking back through the priory gardens and I saw her coming towards me. It was definitely her, with this scary, angry expression on her face. I was terrified. But when I looked again, it was just some normal woman. She asked me if I was okay and carried on walking.’ I don’t tell Jack about my absolute terror afterwards. About my mad dash home. He’ll think I’m a lunatic. He may already think that. I wouldn’t blame him.
‘Mia, you’re shivering.’ He walks over and wraps me in his arms, rubbing my back and shoulders. ‘Here, sit down.’ He leads me over to the sofa and sits next to me, still rubbing my back.
‘Sorry,’ I say, tears brimming behind my eyes. ‘I think I’m still a bit shaken up by everything. Bet you wish you’d texted now.’ I give a strangled laugh.
‘Don’t be silly. I’m glad I came over,’ he says. ‘Have you told anyone else about these flashbacks? A doctor or anyone?’
I sniff back my tears, willing them not to fall. ‘No. Well, I told the doctor that I remembered the clubhouse, but I didn’t mention the girl. Why? Do you think I should mention it? Could it be an actual memory, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘But I think it’s good to talk about these things to somebody. It’s not good to bottle stuff up.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t have many people in my life at the moment,’ I say, regretting the bitter tinge in my voice.
‘Piers, you mean?’
‘Piers… my mum… my sister. I can’t talk to any of them.’ I’m now doing my utmost to stop myself crumbling into a sobbing mess. I need to change the subject, quickly.
‘You can always talk to me,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ I sniff, ‘but you don’t want to listen to my problems. I’ll be fine. It was just the memory of that woman – it unsettled me.’ I stare down at my lap, trying to get myself under control.
‘Of course. It would unsettle anyone,’ he says. ‘Hey, how about we go out for a walk? We can pick up a salad or a sarnie from M&S and have a picnic lunch by the river. I don’t have any more coaching sessions until later this afternoon.’ He bends down so his face is millimetres from mine, trying to make eye contact with me. I look up and we stare at each other for a second before I turn away and rise to my feet, feeling crumpled and unsteady.
‘Let me just wash my face,’ I say. ‘But, yes, lunch by the river sounds lovely, if you’re sure you’ve got time.’
Now
we’re outside, I feel much better. More in control of myself. We walk to the supermarket and battle the lunchtime crowds to grab ourselves a makeshift picnic, shivering by the chiller cabinets. It’s a relief to head back out of the store into the warm sunshine. I walk with Jack, not paying any attention to where we’re going. Just happy to be doing something other than sitting on my balcony, worrying about my life. We walk across a road bridge, cars zooming past us too fast, and we chat about the weather and rowing and nothing else of any great consequence, which suits me fine. Jack has been a gentleman and hasn’t brought up “the kiss”, thank goodness. Hopefully, that embarrassing incident is behind us, and we really can concentrate on being friends.
After the bridge, we cross a few busy roads and find ourselves on the opposite side of the river to the rowing club. We pass a café, a kids’ crazy golf course and a playground. Further along, it’s quieter. More rural. There’s no footpath, just the grassy river bank. Consequently, there are no people this far up. Just a few ducks and geese swimming alongside us to check whether we have any food for them.
‘Where do you want to sit?’ Jack asks.
‘Anywhere’s good,’ I reply.
‘Shade or sun?’
‘Sun.’
Jack stops walking. ‘Here?’
I nod, and we sit facing the river, our legs stretched out in front of us. Jack opens the carrier bag and plunges his hand in, pulling out my feta salad, followed by a bottle of water and a BLT for him. His hand brushes mine as he passes me my food. I’m all too aware of my body, my crush still plaguing me. I wish I could shake it off.
‘Not a bad spot,’ he says, taking a bite of his sandwich.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I agree.
We sit in silence for a while. Eating, gazing at the river. It’s peaceful. This morning’s breeze has died away, and I shrug off my cardigan, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my arms. My salad is delicious. I hadn’t thought I was that hungry, but now I wish I’d bought more food.
‘I’m stuffed,’ Jack says, putting his empty sandwich packet back in the bag. He pats his stomach. ‘Possibly not the best lunch to have before a 5k row.’
‘What time’s your session?’
‘Not for another hour.’
‘How did you get into rowing?’ I ask, pulling up fistfuls of grass and letting the blades fall through my fingers.
‘Me and my sister did it as kids. She stopped, I carried on. Started studying for my coaching qualifications when I was in my early twenties. I love it. Wouldn’t want to do anything else.’
‘Do you think, maybe, I could train to be a coach? I’ve been thinking I need to do something, and rowing is the only thing I seem to enjoy.’
‘Yeah, why not.’ He turns to me and nods. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’
‘Could I pick your brain sometime? Find out the best way to go about it?’
‘Sure. I’ll come over some time and we’ll check out a few courses online.’
‘Amazing. Thank you!’
‘You’re welcome.’ He gives me a smile, and holds my gaze longer than he needs to, his eyes softening into something else. But I won’t make the same mistake I did last time. No. If Jack wants to take this further, he’ll have to make the first move.
As the water from the shower pounds my body, I can’t help smiling. It’s funny how things can turn around in such a short space of time. At last, I have something exciting to aim for, to work towards. Maybe now I can put the accident behind me and become a normal person again. I hope so. Even if I never regain my memory, I can still have a good life.
After our picnic today, Jack went off to his coaching session. Nothing romantic happened between us, but I have the feeling that it’s only a matter of time. I can sense an undeniable spark between us. I don’t blame Jack for holding back. He’s just come out of a long-term relationship, and I don’t want to end up being his rebound. But I can’t deny I want to be more than that.
I’m enjoying the hot water as it cleanses me, my legs ache pleasantly, and my feet tingle. I turn off the shower and smooth my soaking hair from my face, squeezing the excess water from the ends. Inside the shower cubicle, steam envelops me. I open the glass door and give a little shiver as the cooler air hits my body. I grab a towel from the shelf and wrap it around me. Then, I take another and begin drying my hair. I think I’ll blow dry it for a change tonight.
I open the door to the en suite and step into my bedroom.
‘Here she is.’ A slurred voice freezes me in my tracks.
I scream.
Someone is sitting on the end of my bed.
Twenty-One
‘What the fuck, Piers!’
‘Had a nice shower, did you? Getting yourself all tarted up for your new boyfriend?’
‘What are you doing here? How the hell did you get in? You gave me your keys.’
Bloody Piers has broken into my house. And by the look of him, he’s absolutely blind drunk, sitting – or rather, swaying – on the end of my bed, staring at me through glazed eyes.
‘Got another set haven’t I.’ He’s tapping himself on the forehead with his forefinger to indicate that he’s done something clever.
‘Well, you can give them back, and get the hell out. You scared me to death.’
‘That was the idea, stupid.’ He grins.
‘It’s not funny. Please leave.’
‘Erm… No.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ I mutter. He’s totally shitfaced. How am I going to get rid of him? ‘Let me get dressed and then we can talk.’
‘Go ahead, get dressed.’ He flings his hand out, gesturing to me to carry on.
‘I’m not getting changed with you in here. If you won’t leave the house, then at least go upstairs and wait for me.’ If he leaves the bedroom, I can call the police while he’s up there. Get them to come and kick him out.
‘Nothing I haven’t seen before, babe,’ he says with a leer.
‘For Christ’s sake, Piers, what are you even doing here?’ I pull my towel closer around me.
‘I saw you.’ He’s pointing at me, his finger outstretched, waggling up and down accusingly.
‘Saw me?’ I’m confused. ‘Saw me where?’
‘Saw you at the pub with him. With Jack Wankington from the rowing club. Looking all cosy together.’
‘So? We went for a drink. So what?’
‘He’s married, you know. Bet he didn’t remind you of that.’
‘He did, actually. And I can go for a drink with whoever I like. You and I aren’t together anymore, Piers.’
‘You and I aren’t together anymore, Piers,’ he mimics. ‘Bitch.’ He stands up. ‘Did you shag him?’
‘It’s none of your business, but no. I told you, we’re just friends.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Believe what you want.’
He’s glowering at me. My brain is racing, trying to work out if Piers could be dangerous. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless, but I can’t be certain.
The curtains to my bedroom are closed, but the French windows are open. If I screamed loudly enough, would anyone hear me? Would they come and help? What if I screamed and no one came?
‘Piers, please can you leave. You’re scaring me.’
‘Good! You deserve it.’ He lurches to his feet and takes a couple of steps towards my dressing table, lifts the lid off my Art Deco glass jewellery box, and places it carefully down on the table top. He takes out a bead necklace, holds it up and stares at it, then drops it deliberately onto the carpet. Next, he takes out a bracelet and drops that onto the floor, too. One by one, he lifts out pieces of my jewellery and watches them fall onto the carpet. I have no idea what he’s doing, but maybe I can make an escape while he’s occupied. I glance at the door. ‘You hurt me, Mia,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘But you did.’
He picks up the half-empty glass jewellery box and hurls it at the bank
of wardrobes to my right. As it smashes into pieces, I feel a sharp pain next to my eye. A fragment must have ricocheted and hit me. But I can’t worry about that now. I have to get away from him. He’s throwing all the contents of my dressing table at the wardrobes now. My hairbrush, mirror, hairdryer, a candle in a glass jar. With each item he smashes, he accompanies it with an insult. ‘Bitch! Whore! Slut!’
I sidle towards the door, but before I can get there, Piers strides over to me and grasps my upper arm painfully. ‘Where do you think you’re going? We haven’t finished talking yet.’
‘Let go,’ I hiss. ‘You’re hurting me.’ His fingers are digging in. Crushing. Bruising.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘It’s less than you deserve. I hate you.’ He leans in towards me, his face up so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath, mingled with sweat and aftershave, feel flecks of saliva on my face as he raves. ‘You know, I was glad you lost your memory,’ he says. ‘I was happy because it meant we could start over again.’ He swipes at his eyes with his free hand. ‘I didn’t have to come and claim you, you know. I could easily have left you there.’
His odd choice of words cuts through my fear, piquing my curiosity. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, my voice quavering. ‘Claim me?’
‘I mean,’ he says, thrusting his face even closer to mine, so our foreheads touch. ‘I mean that after your accident I should never have come back.’ He lets go of my arm and pushes me away. ‘I should’ve left you in the hospital to rot. But, I did the decent thing and identified you. I took you back, more fool me.’
I take a step back, letting his words sink in. ‘When you say you “took me back”, you’re not talking about when you took me back home, are you?’
The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist Page 13
