by J. A. Baker
‘Try to stay awake, Leah. Talk to me. Tell me about your family, your friends. Tell me where you work. Just keep talking.’
She blinks to clear her vision and sees Will’s face in front of her. Has he moved closer or is she hallucinating? She wants to tell him that she doesn’t see any of her family and has no friends, that she is out of a job after an altercation at work, is now unemployable and has no money to live on but it’s all so difficult to voice out loud, the words sticking in her throat, sharp and cumbersome. The truth is so often the hardest thing to say. Lies have always come so much easier to her, like water gliding over a worn pebble – smooth and effortless.
‘My Aunt Mary,’ she says eventually, ‘I sometimes keep in touch with her. She lives in London. We used to visit her when I was little.’
Will nods and smiles. She doesn’t even attempt to work out what he might be thinking. It no longer matters. Dealing with her own thoughts is hard enough. She has neither the energy nor the inclination to deal with anybody else’s.
‘She’s my mum’s sister and has always been kind to me.’ Mary used to sit next to Leah when she was a child and tell her tales of what it was like when she first moved to London on her own, how she used to wander the streets alone, in awe of how magnificent and scary it was being a young woman in the big city on her own. Mary always seemed to understand Leah, was tolerant of her moods and sullen ways. She knew everything about Leah; her strange ways, her unfathomable thoughts and mannerisms. Somehow, Mary just knew.
‘She once took us on a tour around the city. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. So many cars and so many people. All the busyness and the noise. It was like another world.’ She allows herself a slight chuckle as she recalls the time that she and Ellis thought they had got lost only to realise that they were being tricked by Mary who had hidden around a corner. Ellis had taken Leah’s hand and promised her that he would keep her safe and find his way back. He had told her that all they had to do was look up to the sky and keep an eye out for Big Ben and it would guide them back to Aunt Mary’s house.
More tears flow at the thought of Ellis and how he only ever wanted to be a decent brother to her. He was a good person, a kind person. He was everything she wasn’t. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, dabbing them dry with her sleeve. The lump in her throat aches as she swallows it down. She would cry again if she could but it’s too painful. Everywhere hurts, her head, her eyes, her abdomen, her limbs. Everywhere. So much pain. Why is she in so much pain?
Will’s face appears over her, his breath on her skin, his eyes locking with hers, his dark pupils searching hers for something she simply cannot give.
She lets out a small shriek, tries to edge away from him, blinks and sees that he’s in his chair watching her, his hands resting on his lap. Another hallucination. That’s what it is. There’s no other explanation for it, is there? She should be accustomed to them by now yet they still terrify her. They’re inexplicable. Frightening, making her feel as if her tenuous grip on reality is slipping away out of her grasp.
‘Am I dead?’ She has no idea where that question came from. No idea why she is even asking it. Perhaps she is right. Perhaps she has died and is stuck in a terrible limbo, suspended between heaven and hell. She remembers being taught about purgatory at school and wonders if she is in a spiritual holding bay waiting for somebody to decide whether or not she deserves to have her soul cleansed and purified before moving on to her final resting place. Her soul is too filthy to ever be properly cleaned. It’s dark and rotten and nobody will ever be able to help her or rescue her now. Everything is too far gone. Sullied and beyond redemption, that’s how she would describe herself. She deserves to be relegated deep into the bowels of hell.
Will doesn’t answer her question. He leans across to her instead and rests his hand upon hers, tapping it lightly before speaking in a low whisper. ‘Let’s just get you sorted, shall we?’
She’s not dead. That’s all she can focus on as she rubs at her eyes and thinks about what she is going to do next.
‘I’m not dead,’ she mumbles, a slight smile forming at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m not dead.’
Will nods his head and clears his throat. ‘You’re not dead, Leah. You’re definitely not dead.’
She closes her eyes and leans her head back, thankful that she’s still here, still alive. Her body is hurting, battered and broken but in time, can heal.
Her mind is another matter entirely.
24
Leah’s heart thrums in her chest as she stands outside Jacob’s front door, fist raised in the air, ready to knock. Ready to do what should have been done a long long time ago. She has no real plan. Nothing concrete in her head. That’s not entirely true. She has half a plan of sorts with no contingency if it all goes horribly wrong, and half a plan has got to be better than no plan at all.
Jacob left just over forty-five minutes ago. Leah had huddled at the end of the road, tucked away between two houses, watching him as he loaded up his car with bags and briefcases. It’s a fortunate turn of events him being away this week but even more fortuitous Chloe being here at his flat while he’s gone. Leah wonders if she has moved in permanently. She seems to spend an awful lot of time here. Too much. The thought of it pulls at her guts sending a series of sharp pains up through her chest. She imagines the pair of them, Chloe and Jacob, draped across one another on the sofa, Chloe’s personal belongings dotted about, a precursor to her moving in for good. It was bad enough being forced to watch as the two of them stood for a good three or four minutes before Jacob left, locked in an embrace, smiling and cooing over each other. They continued for what felt like an age, whispering and fawning, stroking one another’s backs until eventually he managed to extricate himself from her grasp, waved goodbye and got into his car whereupon Chloe turned and headed back into the flat on her own.
On her own.
That was when things started to look up.
Leah’s skin prickles with excitement. This is it, her moment. Her time has come and it feels damn good. She’s nervous. Of course she is. That’s to be expected. She is about to confront the girlfriend of her ex-partner and the whole episode may prove to be less than pleasant but by God it will be worth it. She’s waited so long for this moment. It feels as if she has been waiting her whole life for it.
Leah lowers her fist, deciding knocking is too intrusive, too public, and tries the handle instead, hoping Chloe was too wrapped up in thoughts of Jacob to drop the latch. This is a nice area, high property prices, low crime. People aren’t on the lookout for intruders, are less likely to fear for their safety and more likely to be lackadaisical when it comes to security.
She pushes at the handle and smiles. For once luck is on her side. An excited thrumming beats in her neck as the door opens with ease and she can step into the hallway that leads to Jacob’s flat.
With stealth-like precision, she shuffles through the long vestibule and creeps up the stairs; quietly, carefully. She has made it thus far, which is further than she ever expected: she had imagined having the door slammed in her face or being threatened with the police. She cannot afford to lose this chance. In the past few weeks, she has tried to speak with Jacob and Chloe and been thwarted at every turn. This is a golden opportunity and she can’t let it pass her by.
Reminding herself to stay calm and keep a clear head, she gets to the top stair and tiptoes across the landing, avoiding the parquet flooring and keeping to the thin length of matting that runs across the middle of the tiles. Perspiration bubbles up on her forehead. She stops and tightens her jaw, her skin tingling, a frisson of excitement shooting through her veins, quelling her fears, pushing her on. She has to get inside that flat.
This visit has been a long time coming.
She wipes her fingers over her face, wishing it were cooler, wishing she could stop the myriad thoughts jostling around in her head and just get on with it.
Standi
ng still, she takes a few deep breaths and tries to focus and not come undone before she even gets inside. This is ridiculous. All I have to do is stay calm and appear confident and unruffled and in no time at all Chloe will be putty in my hands. It’s all about bluff and poise, Leah thinks. It is those qualities and attributes that top everything else. Superior intelligence and knowledge play no part in getting what you want; it’s confidence and self-assurance that do it, grabbing people’s attention, scaring them even. It’s a kind of psychopathy, making people cower in your presence, getting them to co-operate. It’s the behaviour of winners.
A creak from the floor below forces her to stand still, oxygen exiting her lungs in short gasps. A door somewhere in the lower hallway is opened, followed by the echoing click of footsteps, then the closing of another door. Leah lets out a long breath, air whistling through her pursed lips. Had she turned up just few minutes earlier, she would have been caught sneaking in here. She’s been given a chance here, luck playing a big part. She has to use it wisely, not end up frazzled, unable to function. Chloe is alone in the flat and all Leah has to do is get her to open that door and the rest will fall into place.
With a feeling of foreboding still fluttering in her belly, she strides towards number eighteen and gives the door a light push. It stays put. She clenches her jaw, bites at her lip, tugging and nipping at a loose piece of skin. Perhaps her luck has run out before it has barely begun. Maybe this is it and here is as far as she will get. She places her fingers around the handle and gives it a shove, pressing her body against the wood for extra momentum. It opens with a soft shush, a triangular crack of light appearing on the mat as she pushes the heavy door ajar and slips inside, a slight quiver running under her skin.
How stupid and thoughtless, leaving it unlocked so she can sneak in and challenge her nemesis. How fortunate. And how utterly and deliciously marvellous.
All is silent inside as she pads through the long hallway, her ears attuned to every little sound, every beat of her heart, every tiny breath. She stops, steadies herself and looks around, squinting, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. Keeping her eyes focused on the door to the living room, she continues walking, delicate steps that make no noise, stopping only when she hears the sound of trickling water coming from the bathroom closely followed by a woman’s voice. A wave of heat crawls up her neck as she listens to Chloe’s one-sided conversation, her voice echoing around the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and porcelain.
Leah imagines Chloe languorously perched on the edge of the bath, wrapped in Jacob’s white robe, her hair in a turban-style towel as she casually trails her fingers through the water, watching while bubbles rise and the bathroom fills with steam. It is sickening, absurd even. Leah’s skin tightens. Fury courses through her. She should be the one who is in there, wearing Jacob’s gown, helping herself to his creams and lotions and bath oils. She has been rudely elbowed to one side; her identity stolen. Her life crushed beyond recognition. Chloe is a calculating slut, pushing her fist deep into Leah’s chest and ripping out her beating heart. She has taken everything from her. Everything.
It’s now time to even up the scoreboard and take it all back.
The living room has an orderly silence about it as she pads through, looking around at the pictures and photographs and the objets d’art dotted about. It’s a minimalistic regimented space, unfeasibly neat and tidy with muted colours and carefully selected trinkets strategically placed for maximum effect. Chloe’s tastes it seems, are modern with an eclectic twist. She has heavily influenced Jacob with his choice of décor. A weight presses down on Leah’s innards, disappointment rippling through her. This isn’t him. He has had his head turned by this woman, giving in to her wants and needs to the detriment of his own. Jacob prefers objects that exude class and style, things of beauty that have provenance and patina, not these mass produced soulless items. Leah knows this. She knows him; knows what he wants, what he needs. And he doesn’t need Chloe, never has.
She glances to her left and hanging there, pride of place on the main wall is a Hockney print framed in cheap ornate gilt. Leah recognises it from her time spent studying art at school. She knows that Jacob desires the impressionist movement, particularly Degas and Cézanne, and is again disheartened that he has allowed himself to be so dominated by this woman, to have his tastes crudely ignored and cast aside in favour of fashion and cheap imitations. Chloe is a philistine; all eyelashes and nail varnish. More interested in the price of lipstick than the value of art. No real substance or depth to her at all.
A fake vintage musket is laid across the mantelpiece, sleek and smooth, the grain of the wooden handle and the gleaming metal trigger an incongruous sight against the bleached stone fireplace. Leah isn’t sure what message they are sending out by having it on display. It’s an ugly piece. She allows herself a wry smile as she picks it up, brings it up to eye level, aims it at a photograph of a grinning Chloe on a nearby shelf, and softly pulls the trigger with a muffled click. She sighs and lays it back down then turns, surveying the room once more with a critical eye, her gaze sweeping over every surface, across the walls, trying to commit it to memory. This isn’t how it would look if she lived here. Jacob has allowed himself to be manipulated and moulded by somebody who knows nothing about anything and it has shocked her, a small amount of despair settling deep inside her. She has a lot of work to do around here, many bad habits to undo.
The sound of running water stops, the thump thump of Leah’s heart the only sound to be heard. There is a growing sense of exhilaration coursing through her, pushing her on. This is what it feels like to have ultimate control. She has spent so long now being jealous and frightened of the woman in the room next door and now feels nothing but pleasure at the thought of catching her unawares and scaring her. This moment has been a long time coming. Too long. All the things that have happened in the past few days and weeks – losing her job, having no money, getting evicted – they all pale into insignificance because this is the pivotal point in her life, the part where everything comes good and she gets exactly what she wants.
Jacob.
He is all she has ever wanted. Jacob isn’t suited to Chloe. They are a mismatch. It’s just that he doesn’t realise it, but he will in time. Leah is going to implement changes, make him see where he has gone wrong. He’ll thank her for it. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.
Somewhere deep inside her chest, she can feel it, the slowing of her heart, the cooling of her blood, the heightening of her senses as she prepares herself. She is aware of the sound of Chloe climbing into the bath; noises deadened by the thick walls that separate them, yet still audible. The squeaking of skin against enamel, the idle sloshing of water, even her soft sighs as she slinks down under the bubbles, hot water lapping against her body. Leah is sensitive to each movement, each sound, imagining Chloe’s features, the look of relaxation as she lies back in the bath, then the look of horror when she realises that she isn’t alone.
She stands, wondering if the time is right or thinking that perhaps she should wait. Confronting Chloe right now will give her an advantage. Chloe is naked, vulnerable, unable to defend herself. Nothing too drastic – just enough to frighten her, just enough to make her think about what she has done, how she has disrupted Leah’s life. Just enough to send her fleeing back to her own flat leaving Leah here, in Jacob’s home. The thought of it makes her giddy. She will double lock the doors, throw Chloe’s belongings out of the window and make herself at home.
Because this is, after all, where she belongs. Always has. Grainne throwing her out suddenly doesn’t seem so distressing. Not now she has a new place to live. The thought of spending time here makes her shiver, goosebumps prickling her skin, forcing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand to attention.
Her back is rigid, shoulders thrown back as she marches over to one of the shelves and picks up a heavy ornament – a small stone lion – for no other reason than to protect herself. She holds it aloft a
s if grasping a trophy. This small object is the thing that will save her; light enough to wield as a weapon and heavy enough to break bones should she need to. The floor is soft underfoot, a carpet of quicksand, swirling and undulating beneath her as she shuffles towards the bathroom grasping the object tightly in her hand, stopping every couple of steps to catch her breath and steady herself. Then gently, so very gently, she pushes at the door and steps inside.
Lying back in the bath, her hair twisted up in a messy bun with a wet towel over her eyes is Chloe, oblivious to Leah’s presence, unaware that there is somebody else in the room with her. It takes an inordinate amount of strength to not laugh out loud at her ignorance, at her ineptitude, at the lack of security in the flat but most of all at how ridiculous she looks, splayed out across the porcelain looking like somebody who is trying too hard at being hip and fashionable. She has, Leah thinks, modelled herself on one of the lithe, smooth-skinned individuals that adorn fashion magazines, lying there with her legs dangling over the side of the bath and her face tilted upwards in a contrived pose.
Despite the heat and steam that billows around her, Leah’s flesh is suddenly cold, like winter. She remains still, unwilling to announce her presence before she is ready to act. That would be a tragedy, to blow everything and never again have this chance. She has dreamed of this moment for so long now it makes her quiver, her body almost convulsing with the anticipation.
Just a few more seconds and Chloe will realise. She will sense that somebody is close by. She will panic, sit up in the bath sending water everywhere as she attempts to cover her nakedness and protect herself. Perhaps she will scream, alerting the neighbours who will come running and possibly even call the police.
