by B. A. Paris
‘I thought you were avoiding me.’
‘No,’ I say softly. And as she sinks her body into mine, I feel real hate for Layla for coming between us, for upsetting the equilibrium of our relationship.
Late in the evening, my usual email arrives – FOUR – a reminder that I have four days left to get rid of Ellen before – what? Layla takes matters into her own hands? What will she do, turn up at the house and confront us? Or get rid of Ellen herself? I shake my head, knowing it’s just exhaustion speaking. Layla would never harm Ellen. But my mind keeps going back to the doll with the smashed head and the ‘when you’ve done what you have to do’ email. Given that twelve years have passed, I might not know Layla as well as I once did.
Despite everything, I manage to sleep solidly for the first time in weeks, maybe because I’ve sorted things with Ellen. When I wake, I feel stronger, refreshed. I stretch out my arm and realise Ellen isn’t beside me, that she must already be up, and I leap out of bed, hoping she hasn’t got to the post before me. As I’m throwing my clothes on, I realise that it’s Sunday, which means there won’t be any post. The relief I feel is short-lived; I can’t imagine Layla letting me off for the day, especially when I remember that last Sunday, she left me a Russian doll on the wall.
I go down to the kitchen and find Ellen sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her.
‘I’ll go and get some fresh bread for breakfast,’ I say, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she offers.
‘No need, it’s fine. Stay and finish your coffee.’
‘I have. Anyway, I could do with a walk.’ She reaches under the table. ‘Come on, Peggy.’
There’s nothing I can do except grab the Russian doll – if there is one – off the wall before she sees it. But as we walk down the path there’s no sign of a doll and I don’t know if I should be grateful or worried. Maybe Layla has left it somewhere else this morning, in which case I’m going to have to hunt for it surreptitiously when we get back.
We buy the bread and walk back to the house hand in hand. As we approach the house, Ellen stops suddenly, dragging me to a standstill, and my senses immediately go on alert.
‘Oh my God,’ she says, pointing towards the house, and she sounds so incredulous that for a moment, I think Layla has turned up. ‘Look, Finn, on the wall!’
‘Oh my God,’ I echo, glad it’s only a doll, not Layla, because I’m not ready to see her, not now, not like this. I’m about to say something more but Ellen is already running, past the house, down the road, all the way to the corner. Ignoring the doll, I run after her, wondering what she’s seen, wondering if she saw Layla.
I catch up with her in the next road. ‘Did you see anything?’ I ask.
She shakes her head, out of breath. ‘We must have just missed her.’ She looks up at me, the all-too-familiar fear and excitement on her face. ‘She was here, Finn, Layla was here! She left a doll on the wall!’ Her eyes fill with sudden tears. ‘We might have seen her if we’d walked back a little faster.’
‘She doesn’t want us to see her,’ I say gently, putting my arms around her.
‘Why hasn’t Tony found her?’ she says, her voice wobbling, angry now. ‘How much longer are we going to have to wait?’
‘I don’t know,’ I soothe.
‘Can you phone Tony? Ask him if they’ve found anything. She must be in Cheltenham, she has to be.’
‘If there was any news, he’d have told us. And I don’t want to phone him on a Sunday again. I’ll phone him tomorrow, alright?’
She nods mutely and I curse Layla for leaving the doll on the wall. Where the hell is she anyway? I’m not so sure that she is in Cheltenham. Just because Ellen saw her there and the envelopes have a Cheltenham postmark, it doesn’t mean she’s living there. She could have dropped them into a postbox in any of the outlying villages and they would automatically go to the main post office at Cheltenham to be sorted.
‘Can we go to Cheltenham?’ Ellen asks. ‘We were only gone about half an hour. She can’t be that far ahead.’
‘We don’t know that she’s in Cheltenham,’ I say.
‘She is,’ Ellen says fiercely. ‘I know it.’
‘I really don’t think—’
‘I don’t mind going on my own. I’ll get the car keys.’ She heads towards the house, taking the Russian doll from the wall as she passes.
So we go to Cheltenham on what I know is a wild goose chase because we’re not going to find Layla sitting in a café or walking along the road any more than I would have if I’d stopped on the way back from St Mary’s that time. We traipse the streets anyway, and when Ellen eventually concedes defeat, we stop for lunch. It’s not a huge success. Neither of us is in a talkative mood, so we sit largely in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
We get home and Ellen disappears into her study for the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, we watch a film which neither of us really follows. After Ellen has gone up to bed I sit down at the kitchen table and check my phone for emails. There’s one from Layla. I already know what it will say.
THREE
I don’t usually write back but after the near-miss this morning, I do.
Where are you?
A reply comes straight back and I can’t believe that at last, she’s actually going to tell me. I take a breath and open it.
CLOSER THAN YOU THINK
FORTY-FIVE
Layla
I wanted to stop the countdown. I was so sure I’d been caught when I left the first of the ten dolls on the wall last week. But the voice reassured me. You can post the others, it said. You don’t have to take any more risks. Except that yesterday, I had to leave another on the wall, because it was Sunday again.
Last week, I ordered more Russian dolls. The voice told me to. I ordered twenty this time. They were delivered the next day and it gave me a real rush to open the box and see them lying there, waiting for me to perform caesarean after caesarean after caesarean and release all the little babies. I don’t know what the voice has planned for this newest lot. It’s getting harder for me to ignore it, to shut it out. Maybe it thinks that I’m going to have to extend the countdown. But I have faith in Finn, in his love for me. He will get rid of Ellen.
There are only two days left. If I could, I’d end it all now. It’s why I replied to Finn’s email, asking where I was. Don’t tell him, the voice said, don’t tell him where you are. I couldn’t defy the voice but I gave Finn a clue, hoping he would understand.
And bring me back, before it’s too late.
FORTY-SIX
Finn
I start awake, my heart pounding, my body sleek with sweat. Disorientated, I look around me and find I’m lying on the sofa in the sitting room. It was a nightmare, I tell myself, that’s all. If I go upstairs, Ellen will be safe and sound in bed, not lying crumpled at the bottom of a cliff, her body bloodied and broken. It was only a dream.
It had been so vivid though. I was standing close to a clifftop edge with Ellen while Layla urged me to push her onto the rocks below. I couldn’t see Layla, there was only her voice but I understood the choice I had to make – if I wanted to see Layla, I had to kill Ellen otherwise Layla would disappear again, this time forever. And Ellen, sensing what I was about to do, grabbed hold of me, dragging me off the cliff with her. And as we hurtled to the ground below, my voice was one long scream of Laaaaaaaylaaaaaa!
Had I screamed her name out loud? Is that what woke me? I wait for the drumming in my ears to stop and establish that the house is silent, that if I had been calling out in my sleep, it hadn’t woken Ellen. Dawn is filtering its way through the night sky and I get groggily to my feet, feeling more exhausted than before I fell asleep. Coffee, I need coffee.
The closer than you think message has been going round and round in my head, like a stuck recording. Because of the message I sent warning that the police were looking for her, Layla knows I think she’s in Cheltenham, so if
she’s closer than Cheltenham she could be in any of the nearby villages – or even in Simonsbridge itself. It would explain how she’s been able to leave the dolls so easily.
I told Ellen that I’d spoken to Tony, as she had asked me to do, and that he’d said they hadn’t found Layla yet but that they were still looking. None of it was true but it put her mind at rest.
It’s almost over anyway. Yesterday, I got another doll in the post, and the subsequent email – TWO. Today I’ll get the last Russian doll and tomorrow – well, tomorrow I have no idea, only that my time has run out. Ellen is still here, I haven’t got rid of her as Layla asked me to do. So what next? Is she going to carry on with her game, extend the countdown? God, I hope not. But what if it becomes something worse, what if she hasn’t been bluffing? It’s disturbing to know I have no idea what Layla is capable of doing.
I hear Ellen’s footsteps on the stairs and realise with a start that I haven’t checked if the envelope has arrived. I get to my feet then sit back down again. It’s the last one, so it hardly matters if Ellen gets to it before I do.
The mail only arrives as we’re having breakfast. I go out to the hall but Ellen follows me.
‘Anything for me?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t looked yet.’ I wait for her to walk back to the kitchen ahead of me so that I can stuff the envelope under my shirt but she reaches round and takes the post from my hands.
‘It’s just that I’m waiting for my new contract,’ she explains, rifling through it. ‘Cathy put it in the post two days ago.’ She picks out the brown envelope. ‘This must be it.’ She turns it over. ‘Oh, it’s for you.’ A sudden frown creases her brow. ‘It looks like the one I received a couple of weeks ago. Do you think . . . ’ Her voice trails away.
‘Let’s open it and see,’ I say, because there’s no use pretending I don’t know what she’s thinking. ‘Maybe there’ll be a letter or something.’
‘I think it’s another doll,’ she says, feeling the envelope with her fingers. She hands it to me and because there’s nothing else I can do, I carry it through to the kitchen and open it. I shake it onto the worktop, not thinking for one second that it will have its head smashed in. But it does.
Ellen looks at it in dismay. ‘What a shame!’ She picks it up. ‘Poor little doll. I feel like complaining to the post office – they must have dropped a box on it or something. Where was it posted?’
I look at the postmark. ‘Cheltenham, the same as yours.’
‘Is there a letter?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘How strange.’
We carry on with our breakfast but Ellen’s eyes flit constantly to the broken Russian doll lying on the worktop and I can almost see her mind whirring with theories and suppositions.
‘You don’t think . . . ’
‘What?’ I prompt.
‘That the doll was damaged on purpose.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, that Layla damaged it on purpose, you know, as a kind of message.’
‘A message?’
‘It’s just that this one was sent to you, not me.’
‘You mean Layla wishes me harm?’
‘It’s just a theory,’ she says hastily. ‘It’s just that if this is about you marrying me, it kind of makes sense.’
‘Let’s hope Tony finds her quickly then,’ I say, attempting a smile.
‘If it is Layla,’ she says.
‘You’ve changed your mind again?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says helplessly. ‘But if it isn’t Layla, I’m going to be really mad with whoever it is for getting our hopes up.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Can we go to The Jackdaw for lunch?’
I look at her curiously. ‘If you like.’
‘It’s just that the more I think about it, the more I can’t believe that Layla would do this kind of thing – you know, come right up to the house and leave a doll on the wall without coming in to see us. I know Layla, it’s not in her nature to be cruel, and sending these Russian dolls is cruel, especially when they have a smashed head. So if it is someone else, the most likely candidate is Ruby, hoping to break us up. Remember that “Partner of Missing Woman Moves Sister In” article? She must have been behind it.’
What if she’s right, I think feverishly, what if it really is some kind of hideous joke and Layla hasn’t come back? I catch myself – when did I become this man, doubting myself, doubting my mind? The man who pulled off the Grant James deal six weeks ago feels like someone I can’t remember being.
‘You do still want to marry me, don’t you?’ Ellen goes on.
I feel suddenly furious. ‘You asked me that before and I told you that I did!’
‘That was weeks ago.’
‘So, nothing has changed.’
‘Everything has changed.’
I push my chair back abruptly. ‘Let’s go out for lunch, then.’ I get to my feet, throw my bowl in the sink. ‘I’m taking Peggy for a walk.’
I’m not proud of walking away. I know Ellen wanted more from me, wanted some sort of reassurance but I can’t give her what she wants, not at the moment. I go down to the river, wishing Ellen hadn’t brought Ruby back into the equation, wondering what I’ll do if it does turn out to be her. I rub the corners of my eyes, wishing I wasn’t so damn tired, wondering why I’m doubting Ruby all over again. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that all this – Layla – has nothing to do with Ruby. I know very well that Layla is back. What I should be asking is why am I letting her do this to me, instead of taking control? When did I become so passive?
The need to do something physical is overwhelming. If I could numb my mind for just a moment, rid it of all confusion, I’d feel better. If I hadn’t brought Peggy with me I could have gone for a run. The cool water of the river, the early morning sunshine playing on its surface pulls me towards it. Pulling my sweatshirt over my head, I strip down to my boxers and plunge into the river. The shock of the deceptively freezing water invigorates me and fills me with renewed energy. I power up and down the river, scattering ducks, focusing only on one thing, emptying my brain.
Later, on the way to The Jackdaw, Ellen links her arm through mine, determined to show Ruby our unified front. The intention irritates me and I feel almost vindicated when we arrive, because there’s no sign of Ruby behind the bar and when we ask, we learn she’s been away for the last week and that she isn’t due back until the weekend. I’ve never known Ruby to go away for any length of time, just an occasional day off to visit her mum but never – I make a quick calculation – around ten days. Ten. I close my mind to the implications. Where has she gone? When I ask, nobody seems to know. The general feeling is that she’s gone to her mum’s in Cheltenham. Or is she closer than I think?
‘Well, that’s that, then,’ says Ellen despondently. ‘We’re no nearer finding the truth.’
That evening, the final email comes in.
ONE
FORTY-SEVEN
Layla
I knew even before I sent that last doll that I’d lost. When I smashed its head in, it was my head I was smashing and I hoped Finn would understand, I hoped he would realise that this time, the doll represented me, not Ellen, and that in not choosing me, he may as well have killed me. The voice was right. Finn wasn’t going to give Ellen up for me. I’d always known he wouldn’t harm her – although I was happy to put the idea into his head – because he wasn’t that sort of man, not unless he was in a tearing rage. And why would he lose his temper with Ellen, who never did anything to upset him?
I did think he would tell Ellen it was over, though, especially as they’d grown so far apart. I could see it every time I saw them together, the widening of the gap between them, getting larger and larger until it was almost a chasm. How could they ever recover from that? It would never be the same. He may as well have chosen me.
He would realise, of course he would realise, that he’d made the wrong choice and ultimately, he would re
gret it. But it would be too late. By then, I’ll have disappeared again, never to come back. Tomorrow, I’m leaving.
The voice is not impressed. I can’t believe you’re giving up that easily, it scorns. If you really want something you have to fight for it, surely you know that by now. I did fight, I reply. I fought and I lost. Finn doesn’t want me. That’s because you fought the wrong person, replies the voice. It’s Ellen you should be fighting, not Finn. If you want Finn, you’ll have to fight Ellen. Properly. To the death.
The thought terrifies me. What you’re asking me to do is impossible, I tell the voice. I can’t kill Ellen. You’ll have to if you want to survive, it says. You said yourself that there wasn’t room for both of you. I can’t, I say again. Of course you can, says the voice. Who do you want Finn to have? You, or Ellen. It’s your choice.
But I don’t want to make the choice. I think about what I can do and I decide to give the choice to Ellen. The countdown is over. It’s up to her now. She has one day. If she can get Finn to prove that he loves her, to the exclusion of all else, to the exclusion of me, she can have him. If she can’t – well, Finn will be mine. And I’ll be able to get rid of Ellen once and for all.
FORTY-EIGHT
Finn
I’m tempted to reply to Layla’s email and ask her what happens now that I’ve received the last doll. What has she planned for tomorrow, now that time has run out? What I hope is that she’ll concede defeat and give me a time and a place where we can meet. But her inferred threat against Ellen plays heavily on my mind. It seems inevitable that there’ll be a confrontation of some kind.
If she turns up at the house, how will it feel to see her again? Will I fall instantly in love with her, regret that I hadn’t chosen her over Ellen? Probably. There might still be a chance for us. There’s such a distance between Ellen and me that I’m not sure we’ll ever recover. We didn’t speak at all on our way back from The Jackdaw. Come to think of it, we didn’t speak while we were at The Jackdaw either. We ate our meal in almost total silence. Well, I ate and Ellen pushed her food around on the plate. She’s become so thin, thinner than she’s ever been. Why hadn’t I noticed?