Don't Turn Around

by Amanda Brooke

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Charlie replies soberly. He leans against the kitchen counter, deep in thought. ‘What if she came to work for me?’

  ‘You’d find her a job, just like that?’

  ‘For you, yes. I have a group of Eastern European girls who share a house and they might be able to put her up. I think we can sort this, Jen.’

  I’m shocked, but in a nice way. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘You’re not the only one who wishes you could go back and change things. Yes, I’m sure about this. If she phones again, tell her you can help. Tell her we can help.’

  21

  Ruth

  The cream leather armchair squeaks as I lean forward to take the cup of tea Gemma’s mum offers. Annabelle is a petite lady in her forties, nothing like the snarling tigress I’d conjured when we first talked on the phone last week. She appears as incredulous as I when she turns to the young girl sitting on the sofa. Taking a sip of my tea, my eyes never leave Gemma as I attempt to identify some of the other emotions bubbling up inside me. There’s a mixture of relief, hope and victory. We did it. Gemma is home.

  When I arrived at Annabelle’s house this morning, she’d been waiting at the door. It was only a short drive to the council offices where Gemma works and we were early. Half an hour later we spotted Gemma being dropped off outside the main entrance by Ryan.

  Gemma was expecting us but she didn’t give herself away as she waved Ryan goodbye. She kept her head low, letting her long hair cover her face in the same way Meg often did when she wanted to cut herself off from the world.

  In the plan she had agreed with Annabelle on Friday night, Gemma was to go straight to her line manager on Monday morning to explain the situation, but when she disappeared into the grey municipal building, I was afraid she wouldn’t come out again. The wait had been excruciating and I’d almost lost hope when she stumbled out of the door and lifted her head to the watery sun in an ocean of sky. Annabelle was out of the car before I could stop her, racing over to her daughter to sweep her into her arms, and that’s when I felt it. That one emotion I’m pretending isn’t there. Envy.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Annabelle says as she sets down two more cups on a side table before taking a seat next to Gemma. She clasps her daughter’s hand tightly.

  ‘There’s a long way to go yet,’ I warn, glancing at Gemma whose eyes are red and muddy with mascara. ‘When Ryan finds out, you need to make it clear that the break-up is non-negotiable. Keep the conversation short. Don’t engage in bargaining. He’ll be expecting to win you back again.’

  ‘He’s not going to,’ Gemma whispers.

  ‘What if he threatens to top himself like last time?’ asks Annabelle.

  ‘Even then,’ Gemma promises. ‘I hated it there, Mum. Everything I did made him angry.’

  ‘Did he hit you?’ Annabelle asks, not for the first time.

  ‘No, he’s not like that. He takes it out on things instead of me. He smashed up my phone.’

  ‘Even if he’s not violent, he could find other ways to disrupt your life,’ I tell her. ‘It would be a good idea to delete your social media accounts and change all your passwords, especially for things like your bank and your phone accounts. And you definitely need to talk to the police so they’re aware of the situation.’

  Gemma’s eyes widen. ‘Honestly, he’s not that bad.’

  ‘We’re being cautious, that’s all,’ Annabelle tells her.

  ‘It’s better to be prepared in case things do turn nasty,’ I add. ‘The most important thing is not to let your guard down.’

  It’s advice I wish someone had given me but Lewis had been charming on first appearances. I told myself that my unease was natural because he was Meg’s first serious boyfriend but after another long weekend sifting through the video evidence, I can see what went wrong. Geoff and I had been watching him when we should have been watching Meg.

  That mistake was never more apparent than in the video of Meg’s birthday – the last one to be celebrated by lighting candles on a cake rather than in a church. The camera had panned around the table as we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’, but Meg’s head remained bowed. When Lewis elbowed her, she finally looked up and stared straight at the camera, her face lit up by seventeen flickering candles rather than the false smile on her trembling lips.

  I set down my cup. ‘I should go,’ I tell Annabelle but as I stand, the house phone resting on the side table begins to ring.

  ‘Is it him?’ Gemma asks as her mum reaches for the phone.

  ‘The number’s withheld. Should I answer?’

  Annabelle directs the question to me but before I can say no, Gemma holds out her hand to her mum. ‘Let me speak to him.’

  My heart aches every time I hear Gemma’s lisp but there’s something else about her voice that feels familiar. It’s a steeliness that disappeared from Meg’s voice but it’s there in Gemma’s. ‘Remember what I said, no bargaining.’

  As Gemma sits up straight, she takes ownership of her life again. ‘Hello?’ she asks casually.

  After a pause, she says, ‘Yes, I have gone home sick. Home to Mum’s … Sorry, Ryan, let me stop you there. I’m not coming back. It’s over … No, you don’t love me. According to you, I make you miserable so really, I’m doing us both a favour.’

  Her expression changes as she listens to the bellowed response that’s loud enough for us all to hear. I can’t make out the exact words but I don’t imagine they’re pleasant.

  ‘I don’t want to be with you any more. Please, don’t phone again. It’ll be easier that way. Goodbye,’ Gemma says quickly before the tremble that has appeared in her voice makes it impossible to speak. She cuts the call and looks to me with trusting eyes. ‘Did I do all right, Ruth?’

  ‘You were amazing,’ I tell her as the phone starts up again.

  Annabelle leaps to her feet. ‘I’ll disconnect the line until we can get the number changed,’ she says as she disappears into the hall. A moment later, the phone stops.

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask.

  ‘He phoned the office and someone told him I’d gone home.’

  ‘You need to warn all your friends and colleagues not to give out any information about you, no matter how mundane it might seem.’

  ‘I will,’ Gemma says. ‘Do you really have to go?’

  ‘You have your mum,’ I reply.

  Annabelle is standing by the door. ‘And I promise, no more Tinder or girls’ nights out for me. I’m here for you for as long as you need me, love.’

  ‘You don’t have to give up your social life for me, Mum.’

  ‘I want to. And, it won’t be like this forever.’

  My chest tightens and the walls begin to close in as I grab my handbag. ‘I’ve left you some leaflets to read through and there’s a couple of personal alarms for you both. You’ve done the hardest part, Gemma.’

  ‘We couldn’t have done it without you,’ Annabelle says, following in my wake as I hurry to the front door.

  ‘No, Gemma couldn’t have done it without you,’ I reply, my words choking me. ‘Just promise me you’ll keep her safe.’

  As I leave the underground car park and head across the Mann Island concourse, the low sun reflects off the glass shell of our offices. I check my watch. It’s ten past eleven, a little early for someone to be taking her lunch break when she hasn’t technically started work yet, but my feet take me past the main entrance and along a well-worn route to John Lewis.

  There’s a small café on the first floor and I buy myself a coffee and slice of cake. I have no intention of eating it but it gives me the opportunity to talk to the girl behind the counter. I don’t know Lewis’s girlfriend’s name or what she looks like – Vanessa only knew where she worked – but I’ve chatted to enough staff in the last week to have perfected my method of interrogation. I open our conversation with a remark about needing to replenish my strength before resuming my search for a present for my son-in-law. We compare notes with men she
knows of a similar age. Her boyfriend is a twenty-six-year-old medical student. I cross another potential suspect off my list.

  I choose a window seat that has a good view of the pedestrianised thoroughfare below and the wall of steps rising up to Chavasse Park. As I sip my coffee, I ask myself what I’ll do if I manage to find her. I can’t expect to swoop in like I did this morning and remove her from harm’s way. She might not realise yet that she needs saving.

  My phone buzzes. It was only a matter of time before someone lost patience and I’m not surprised when I see Jen’s name. I’d phoned around all the volunteers at the weekend to tell them about Gemma’s escape mission and they’ll all be waiting for news.

  ‘Is she safe?’ she asks.

  ‘She’s at home,’ I reply, which isn’t necessarily the same thing but at least her situation is improving. ‘I’ve persuaded her to take a couple of weeks off work and she knows not to leave the house unaccompanied until things have calmed down.’

  ‘She will be OK, won’t she, Ruth?’

  ‘I’ve given Gemma and her mum personal alarms just in case, and Annabelle’s managed to get hold of some pepper spray too. I’ve told her she needs to be careful or she’ll be the one charged with assault but, to be honest, if it gets to the point where Gemma feels threatened, I’d rather she worry about the consequences afterwards.’

  Jen is quiet for a moment and I imagine she’s listening to the hum of conversation and the clatter of cutlery around me. ‘So if you’ve left them, where are you now?’

  ‘I fancied a walk and a quiet cup of coffee to clear my head.’

  ‘Are you all right, Ruth?’

  I could offer a lie but, as the sun warms my face, today feels like a day for telling the truth. ‘How different things could have been if Meg had talked to someone instead of hiding cryptic messages,’ I say. I don’t need to see Jen to know she flinches. We both bear the guilt of believing we could have been that someone and my thoughts return to Meg’s last birthday, only this time it’s something the camera didn’t see.

  While the rest of us were eating cake, Meg had left the dining room on the pretext of making a drink and had been gone long enough for the conversation around the table to become stilted. When I found her in the kitchen, she had her back to me. At first glance she looked statue-still with her hand clasped around her drink, but the water inside the glass had trembled.

  ‘There were times when we were alone together,’ I tell Jen. ‘Moments of calm between the arguments and the sulks when she might have told me what was going on inside her head – if only I’d had the courage to ask. The silences we used to avoid difficult conversations might not have caused her death, but they represent the lost chances I had to save her.’ Goosebumps prick my arms. ‘I should have learnt my lesson. I’ve been keeping something from you, Jen. I’ve been looking for Lewis’s girlfriend.’

  22

  Jen

  There had been the briefest moment during my call to Ruth when I thought everything was going to work out, and not just for Gemma, but for Ellie too. Charlie was going to help me, and all I had to do next was persuade Ellie to leave. It was going to be that simple – except now it’s not.

  I have no idea how Ruth thinks she can track Ellie down, but I have to stop her, or else Ellie will assume I’ve betrayed her trust. I suppose I have already. I’ve told Charlie and as I head off to meet Ruth, I have a sinking feeling it’s not going to stop there.

  I’m panting when I reach the café. Running my fingers beneath my fringe to mop up the sweat, I spot Ruth and weave my way over to her table.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She waits for me to take off my heavy houndstooth jacket and sit down. My shirt is sticking to my damp skin, suggesting I’ve been a bit too eager bringing out my winter wardrobe.

  ‘I thought setting up the foundation would give me a purpose and stop me obsessing over what Lewis was actually doing, and to who. But it was never going to be enough. Now that he’s chosen to come back here, I need to fight him and I need to win.’

  ‘By stalking his girlfriend?’ I ask, using the accusation Lewis had directed at me not that long ago.

  ‘Why not?’

  I give Ruth a look that says, ’Isn’t it obvious?’ but I’m playing for time. There’s a long list of reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this but I can’t decide if that list should be edited or not. How would Ruth cope, hearing the things I’ve told Charlie? I can still hear him throwing up in the toilet.

  ‘Vanessa was a bit short on details and all I have to go on is that she works here.’

  ‘Here?’ I ask, almost jumping out of my seat. I check the faces swarming into view, expecting to freeze when I set eyes on a Meg lookalike. There’s more chance, I realise, of Ellie seeing us first. She could easily recognise Ruth from the TV interview and, given all the work I do promoting the foundation, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s come across an image online of me too.

  ‘I haven’t found her yet,’ Ruth continues, ‘but I’m being methodical and working my way through all the departments.’

  ‘And when you do find her?’

  ‘I’ll talk to her and, if she’ll let me, I’ll listen.’ There’s a desperation in Ruth’s voice that I haven’t heard since the aftermath of Meg’s death, when she and Geoff had questioned me over and over again. I didn’t have the answers back then. I do now.

  ‘You can’t do this, Ruth. You don’t know what you’re stepping into.’

  ‘I understand why you want to talk me out of it but I can’t stand by and do nothing,’ she says. ‘I appreciate there’s every possibility that this girl isn’t in danger, but in good conscience, I can’t take that risk. I watch the videos of Meg and I see her change before my eyes. I don’t know what he did to her, I just know I can’t let it happen again.’

  I can hear whooshing as my blood pressure rises. My mouth is dry and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth when I say, ‘Do you want to know?’

  If there’s a moment when Ruth thinks it’s a rhetorical question, I don’t see it. Her body tenses. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to her, Ruth. I’ve spoken to Lewis’s girlfriend. She’s been phoning the helpline for weeks.’

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I lay out the facts. I’m repeating much of what I’d said to Charlie on Friday night but it’s by no means the same version of Ellie’s story. I explain how the calls started soon after Ruth’s interview, and that the put-down calls she had assumed were from Lewis were probably Ellie as she waited for me to pick up. I admit I’d been economical with the truth when it came to the call sheets, and I tell her how and why I messed up the call with Gemma.

  The most difficult part is when I have to explain how Lewis calls her Meg when he uses and abuses her. I mention there’s physical assault but I don’t say exactly what he does. I don’t mention the scarves. I can spare her some of the pain, but clearly not all of it. By the time I’ve finished, Ruth is bent forward in her seat, her head in her hands. She hasn’t said a word and I give her the time she needs.

  ‘You’re sure it’s him?’ she asks without looking up.

  ‘Yes.’

  There’s another long pause before Ruth straightens up. She pats her face dry with a serviette. ‘She will phone again, won’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she trusts me, which is why it’s important that you don’t approach her, not yet. Charlie and I have come up with a possible solution. She can’t carry on working here,’ I tell Ruth, my eyes darting around the café again as I’m reminded how close we might be. ‘But Charlie’s said she can work for him, and he’s asking around to see if he can find her a place to stay too.’

  ‘Is there no family who could help?’

  ‘Not in this country – she’s from Romania. And there are no close friends either.’

  ‘So Lewis isolates her and moves her into an apartment she can’t afford – how perfect for him. He thinks he’s trapped her but we’re going to prove him wrong, Jen.’
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  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Is Ellie her real name?’ Ruth asks, glancing furtively to the exit that opens onto the beauty department and all the other floors she’s become familiar with in the last week.

  ‘No, it’s Ioana, but I still think of her as Ellie.’

  ‘Could you get me a copy of that photo you found on Facebook?’

  ‘Please, Ruth,’ I reply, drawing her gaze back to me. ‘You can’t keep looking for her. Ellie isn’t like Meg. She’ll bolt as soon as she sees you and if that happens, we’ll lose her for good.’

  Ruth chews her lip. She wants to take action and I understand why. To my relief, she relaxes back into her chair. ‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘But I want you to keep me fully involved from now on.’

  ‘I will,’ I promise. ‘What about Geoff? Should we tell him?’

  Ruth had been about to get up but the question stalls her. ‘He needs to know,’ she says, ‘but let me deal with that. These days I have no way of second-guessing how he’ll react.’

  ‘The important thing is that no one does anything rash,’ I warn.

  ‘We won’t,’ Ruth promises. ‘I can’t imagine it’s been easy telling me what you have, but you did the right thing.’

  ‘Ellie might not see it that way.’

  ‘We’ll convince her, together,’ Ruth says. She stands up and holds out her arm to me. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  I keep my head down as we leave the department store but I catch Ruth looking around one last time. It’s clear she doesn’t want to abandon her search and I just hope she’s true to her promise about not doing anything rash.

  23

  Jen

  Despite an agreed plan of action, waiting for Ellie to make the next move isn’t easy. From my experience on the helpline, there have been too many callers who were ready to make the break, only to go off the radar for months. Some phone back with stories of how their lives have been rebuilt, or fallen apart, but far worse are those we never hear from again. I can’t let Ellie be one of them.