by B. A. Paris
‘I wondered if you wanted breakfast.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Around ten, I suppose.’
She puts down her pencil. ‘You were up early. I guessed you were in your office so I thought I’d get some work in until you surfaced.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ I go over. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Not too bad. Come and see my fairy glen.’ She moves back from her drawing board, making room for me.
‘Ellen, this is beautiful,’ I say, genuinely awed by her talent, because her attention to detail is incredible. ‘How many of these little creatures are there?’
‘Thirty-seven at last count but I still need to draw a few more.’
‘Not now,’ I say, firmly. ‘We’re having breakfast first.’
‘I’ll make some eggs.’
‘Or we could go to The Jackdaw for a fry-up,’ I say, suddenly hungry from being awake all night. ‘Ruby always does them during the holiday season.’
‘Good idea,’ Ellen says. ‘It’ll make a nice change.’
We’re quiet during our walk to the pub but it’s a comfortable silence. Ellen links her fingers in mine and as I turn to smile at her I feel a sudden rush of love. It’s not love, it’s gratitude, a voice tells me. You’ve never felt true love for Ellen, not like you felt for Layla. Admit it, Finn, you’ve never been in love with Ellen. You’ve grown to love her out of gratitude, that’s all.
‘Come on,’ I say abruptly, tugging her along faster, ‘I’m hungry.’
The Jackdaw is nicely empty.
‘Any more Russian dolls?’ Ruby asks, while I’m ordering breakfast at the bar.
I glance at Ellen, who’s making a fuss of Buster. ‘Harry came to lunch the other day and found one standing on the wall outside the house. Ellen doesn’t know,’ I add, warning her.
‘You should have brought him in for a drink,’ she says, pouring me a coffee. ‘How is he?’
‘Fine. He wants to get married.’
She laughs. ‘Harry? Married? Two words I never thought I’d hear together.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s just a phase,’ I grin.
She takes another mug from under the counter and pours a coffee for Ellen. ‘Does Harry know that Layla is back?’
‘Apparently, he never believed she was dead. Like you, he thinks she’s reappeared because I’m going to marry Ellen. And now, because of the ring I left Layla, in the letter, everything has become even more complicated.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s wearing it, apparently.’
‘Oh, Finn,’ Ruby says softly. She looks at me. ‘You really need to tell, Ellen, you know. It’s not fair on her.’
Aware that Ellen has moved to a table and is waiting for me to join her, I pick up the mugs of coffee.
‘Thanks, Ruby, see you later.’
‘Anytime,’ she says.
The huge breakfast takes the edge off the frustration I feel, and with Ellen reaching for my hand across the table, everything is soon alright in my world again. Breakfast over, we wander back to the house and get down to work. I spend a lot of time on the phone making introductory calls to possible investors, and even more time checking how competitors’ funds are doing. Later, as Ellen and I move around the kitchen making dinner, chatting about our day, a quiet contentment comes over me, making me determined not to let Layla destroy what I have.
While Ellen’s getting ready for bed, I take out my mobile to quickly check my emails, acknowledging that for the first time, I don’t want there to be one from Rudolph Hill. But there is. Heart in mouth, I open it.
TELL ELLEN, OR I WILL
THIRTY-THREE
Layla
I know I should stop what I’m doing. I need to accept that Finn is with Ellen now. But something won’t let me.
After my mother died, I used to hear her voice in my head. It was as if, in dying, she had left something of herself behind in me. Or maybe I couldn’t bear for her to be gone. I began to adopt some of her mannerisms and say things she would have said, which infuriated my father no end and Ellen would have to protect me from his wrath. Our mother died from pneumonia, brought on by living in our freezing stone house in the most desolate part of Lewis and never seeing a doctor. But sometimes I dream that he murdered her and buried her body in a peaty bog where it would never be found. I know it’s not true, though. It’s just my mind getting mixed up.
It got mixed up a lot after I disappeared. But once I arrived at my place of refuge, I quickly adapted. I had to, for survival. I did what I had to do – I hid my true self, banished my true voice from my head and became the person I needed to be. Eventually, it led to a happiness I’d never imagined finding again. It wasn’t the same kind of happiness I had known in my previous life – how could it be when I wasn’t the same person, when I had to live in secret? But it was good, solid happiness, one I could have lived with for the rest of my life. Then Finn decided to marry Ellen and everything changed. My true voice started to come back. ‘You’re never going to get your old life back,’ it taunted. ‘Finn loves Ellen now.’
The other day I asked Finn if he loved me and he said that he did. ‘That may be,’ said the voice. ‘But while Ellen is around, you’ll never get him back.’ And I realised that the voice was right.
I thought about what I could do. If Ellen left Finn of her own accord, it would make things easier. If she knew I was back, surely she would understand that Finn was rightfully mine and disappear from his life, as I had done all those years ago? It was a long shot, because I knew how hard she had worked to make Finn love her. But if I had to fight her for him, so be it.
THIRTY-FOUR
Finn
Layla’s last message made me jumpy, like I was losing control. She’d made it sound like some kind of test. What was she thinking – that if I told Ellen she was back, Ellen would move out so that she could move in? Or that Ellen, sure of my love for her, would ask me to choose between them? But how could I? I feel terrible, because it should be simple.
Looking over at Ellen as she gets dressed, I feel a stab of shame. I should have told her about Layla – but there’s no point now. A week has gone by since that last email and I haven’t heard anything since. I tell myself that it’s for the best. But how can I forget everything that has happened, go back to how I was before? It will be the not-knowing all over again – not knowing where Layla is, not knowing where she was, not knowing why she came back, only to disappear again.
‘Is everything alright?’ Ellen asks, and I realise I’ve been staring at her, except that I wasn’t seeing her, I was seeing Layla.
‘Yes, sorry. I was miles away.’
‘Well, now that I’ve got your attention, can I talk to you about something?’ She pauses, pulls a grey vest top on and picks up a pair of pale grey jeans, and I guess she’s going to ask me about plans for our wedding, because with it less than three months away, we need to get down to the technicalities, who we’re inviting and where we’re holding the reception. I had thought of holding it at The Jackdaw but something tells me Ellen is expecting more than steak and chips, and that the wedding isn’t going to be the simple affair I’d hoped it would be.
‘Go ahead,’ I tell her, determined to give her my fullest attention.
She finishes pulling on her jeans, takes something from the pocket and holds out her hand. ‘This came through the door yesterday.’ Looking down, I see a little Russian doll lying in her palm. Hiding my shock, I pick it up and make a show of examining it, giving myself time. Doll number seven – I have five and Ellen now has two. ‘I should have told you straightaway, I know, but . . . ’ her voice trails off.
I want to ask her why she didn’t but then I remember all that I’ve been keeping from her.
‘When you say it came through the door, do you mean it was pushed through the letterbox?’ I say, handing the doll back to her.
‘No, it came in an envelope.’
‘Who was it addressed to?’
She frowns at this. ‘Me, of course. I wouldn’t have opened it otherwise.’
I’m angry that Layla has done this, that she’s gone ahead and done what she threatened to do. ‘Was it typewritten or handwritten?’
‘Typewritten. The thing is . . . ’ She hesitates.
‘Yes?’
‘I guessed what it was before I even opened it. It wasn’t just the shape, it’s more that I’ve been expecting something like this.’ She looks at me defiantly. ‘I know you said it wasn’t Layla that I saw in Cheltenham that day but it was. I’d recognise her anywhere.’
‘Even after twelve years?’
‘Even after fourteen,’ she corrects, because she hasn’t seen Layla since she left Lewis for London. ‘She is my sister.’ There’s a fierceness in her voice. ‘OK, so I didn’t see her face. But there was something about the way she was moving through the crowd that told me it was her. And her hair. She can’t hide that – well, not unless she cut it off and dyed it. But she would never do that, she was always so proud of her hair. And now there’s this second Russian doll.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t read too much into it,’ I warn gently. ‘It could just be someone having a joke. A sick one, maybe, but nevertheless, a joke.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe anyone would be so cruel. Anyway, nobody knows about the Russian dolls except you, me and Layla.’
‘And Harry,’ I remind her. ‘You told him about them, remember.’
‘Yes, of course, and Harry,’ she says impatiently. ‘But nobody else.’ She turns her green eyes on me. ‘You didn’t tell Ruby, did you?’
‘No,’ I say firmly.
‘It’s just that when I came looking for you at The Jackdaw the day you got back from seeing Grant, I saw a little Russian doll on the counter, before you put it in your pocket. I thought you’d been showing her the one that I found outside the house. But when we got home it was still there, standing on the side with the rest of the set. Which means the one you showed Ruby came from somewhere else.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, annoyed that she hasn’t asked me about it before, wondering why she didn’t mention it. ‘You’re right, it was a different Russian doll.’
‘But where did you get it?’
My mind goes into overdrive, wondering what to say because I can’t tell her the truth, that it was the one I found on Pharos Hill. ‘You know the time that we went to The Jackdaw for lunch? I found it on the plate along with the bill and I thought Ruby had put it there. She denied it at the time but I wanted to make sure. That’s what we were arguing about that day.’
‘On the plate?’ I hear the excitement in her voice. ‘But that means Layla was there, in the pub, when we were there!’ Bewilderment creeps in. ‘But she can’t have been – we would have seen her, surely?’
‘That’s why I thought Ruby had put it there. I thought I must have told her the story of the Russian dolls and she decided to plant a couple to make me think that Layla was back so that I wouldn’t marry you.’ Ellen frowns. ‘But she didn’t know what I was talking about and then I remembered that I had never told her the story about the dolls.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me that you found a doll on the plate?’
‘Because I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Worry me?’ Now she looks puzzled and there’s a rare flash of anger. ‘Why would I be worried?’
‘Sorry, wrong word. I meant disappointed. I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it was just a joke.’
‘But it isn’t, is it? It isn’t a joke, Finn. Layla is alive, I’m sure of it!’ She looks how I felt when I first realised that Layla was back: half-excited, half-scared.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘Well, she must be! What I don’t understand is why she sent this doll specifically to me.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Maybe she was hoping I’d find the one outside the house, and the one on the plate in The Jackdaw. Maybe she doesn’t want you to know that she’s back.’ I’d like to tell her that she’s wrong, that Layla wants very much for me to know she’s back but I can’t bear to admit to all the other dolls I’ve found, the emails, my secret trips to Devon. ‘Does she really think I wouldn’t tell you something so important?’
I feel so bad that I have to turn away. Why am I so reluctant to tell Ellen that her sister is alive? I can’t believe I’m keeping something so momentous from her. The truth – that I want to keep Layla to myself – fills me with guilt. But only until I’ve found out what her intentions are, I tell myself. Once I know, then I’ll tell Ellen.
‘Finn, what’s the matter?’ When I don’t reply she comes to stand in front of me, forcing me to look at her. ‘Is it because you regret asking me to marry you now that there’s a possibility that Layla is back?’ she asks, her voice faltering.
‘Never,’ I say, putting my arms around her. ‘How could I regret that?’
‘So if it is Layla who sent me the doll, if she is alive, you wouldn’t want to be with her?’
‘Not in that way, no. I’d be glad to see her, of course I would. But twelve years have gone by. We’re not the same people, we’re not in the same place.’
‘Thank you,’ she says softly. ‘Thank you for that. When the doll arrived yesterday, I was so happy. But then I was worried, worried that Layla being back would change things. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about it. Because she is back, Finn, surely you must see that? Between us we’ve found three Russian dolls.’
‘But why is she leaving the dolls in the first place?’ I ask, hoping she might have a different insight. ‘Why not just come to the house and tell us she’s back? She obviously knows where we live.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. Maybe she’s scared.’ She raises her head and looks up at me. ‘We should tell Tony. He’ll know what to do.’
‘Not yet,’ I say quickly, needing more time. ‘We don’t know for sure that it is Layla behind the dolls.’ She opens her mouth to protest but I carry on. ‘Let’s wait a few days, see if anything else happens. You never know, she might turn up on the doorstep,’ I add, hoping that she won’t, because how could I choose between them if they asked me to? ‘Maybe the Russian dolls are a way of preparing us for her arrival.’
‘I never thought of that,’ Ellen says. She thinks for a moment. ‘But it’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’
‘We don’t know where’s she’s been or what she’s been through, if she has come back. Her mind might not be as stable as it was.’
Ellen frowns at this. I take her hand. ‘Have you got the envelope the doll came in?’
‘Yes, it’s in the kitchen.’
‘I’d like to have a look at it.’
‘Come on, then.’
The envelope is brown, the sticker with our typed address, white. Even though Ellen had said it came in the post, I’d presumed it had been put through the door, because the other Russian dolls had all been hand-delivered. But there are stamps, and a postmark. I bring it up to eye level.
‘Cheltenham,’ says Ellen. ‘It was the first thing I checked when I saw what was inside.’ Again her voice has that mixture of excitement and fear. ‘She’s here, Finn, close by. After all these years. It’s incredible.’ She hesitates. ‘But also a bit scary. I mean, it’s wonderful that she’s alive, but it’s not going to be easy, is it?’
‘No, probably not,’ I say, acknowledging the understatement.
By the time I go out to my office three hours later I feel mentally exhausted from trying to keep up with Ellen’s continual speculation about where Layla has been for the past twelve years and what will happen now that she’s back. It had been hard to find reasons as to why I shouldn’t phone Tony to ask his advice, or Harry to tell him the good news. When she asked me if I would be willing for Layla to stay with us if she needed to, just until she had sorted herself out, I began to realise something of the nightmare I could soon be in and I felt real anger towards Layla for sending the do
ll to Ellen. How much longer was I going to be able to stall before Ellen insisted that I speak to Tony? Did Layla understand what she had set in motion? I take out my mobile, determined to spell it out to her. But she’s beaten me to it.
Did Ellen receive the Russian doll I sent her?
Yes
Does she know we’re in contact?
No. Can we meet now?
Soon
What is it you want, Layla?
The answer is so long in coming that I think she’s going to leave me hanging again. But then a message comes in, no text, just attachments. I open the first one and find myself looking at a photo of the two of us, taken on Tower Bridge by one of Layla’s friends from the wine bar. Then other photos, set up by Layla on a delayed timer so that she could run and join me in front of the camera, her arms round my neck, her lips on my cheek. It’s painful to remember how much in love we were. I continue to scroll through photo after photo, evidence of how happy we were together, and the pain intensifies. And at the end, a one-word answer to my question.
YOU
THIRTY-FIVE
Layla
I asked Finn to tell Ellen I was back as a kind of test. He’d said he wanted to see me but I didn’t want us to meet, not yet.
The voice rejoiced when he didn’t do as I asked. ‘You see,’ it said. ‘He doesn’t want to see you that much. If he did, he would tell Ellen.’ I didn’t care. The way I saw it, the fact that Finn wouldn’t tell her meant he wanted to keep me to himself. More importantly, it meant he was keeping secrets from her.
I gave him a week, then sent a doll to Ellen so that she and Finn could have that conversation, the one where they both acknowledged I was back. I worried that I’d played my hand too soon but Finn and I had reached an impasse and I was eager to move things forward. Now it was up to Ellen. I loved her and didn’t want to hurt her but I needed her to do the right thing, and leave me and Finn to get on with the rest of our lives together. I knew it was naïve to expect her to walk out so that I could walk back in again but it was only the reverse of what had happened before, when I had walked out and she had walked in. At the time, I’d been happy for her to have Finn. But now it was time to give him back.