by Jess Ryder
‘That’s how my parents were killed. Some wanker in a residential street driving twenty miles over the speed limit.’
Her hands shoot up to her face. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I just got confused. I was scared. Sorry, sorry, please forgive me. I’m a mess, I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m going mad.’ She starts to cry again, pitiful tears streaming down her bruised cheeks.
I sit on the step next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, Lori. It wasn’t good, but we’re okay, nobody got hurt. Just calm down, eh?’
This is impossible. What am I supposed to do? The poor woman’s in a desperate state. If I turn her out into the cold, she’ll probably jump off the end of the pier. There’s no choice. Like it or not, I’m going to have to let her stay.
Chapter Nine
Stella
Now
Alan finds me in the conservatory – that’s how the estate agents described it in the sales brochure. In reality, it’s a rickety lean-to with a white plastic corrugated roof.
‘Bloody hell, it’s like a freezer in here,’ he says. ‘Everything okay, love?’
‘Um, yeah … sort of.’ I pull a blanket further across my chest, gripping it tightly. But things are not okay. It’s Friday afternoon and Lori is still here. She’s been stripping wallpaper in between running up and down the stairs to keep Alan supplied with tea. They seem to get on incredibly well. He brought her home-made sandwiches again, and I could hear them joking around during his lunch break. She seems to have recovered from yesterday’s trauma, but my nerves are still frazzled. I’m constantly imagining Darren prowling the street outside, or sitting in his car waiting to pounce on me the moment I open the front door. Last night, I could have sworn I heard someone pacing about on the drive. When the wind rattled the window frames, I thought he was trying to break in.
I wanted to confess to Jack that Lori was still here, just in case Darren attacked the house. But I was worried that he’d chuck her out immediately with nowhere to go. If Darren does know where Lori is, it would be like handing her to him on a plate.
This subterfuge can’t go on. I promised myself that I’d tell Jack this morning before he left for work, but for some reason the words refused to leave my mouth. Then I composed an email, admitting all, but was too scared to send it. He’ll be home soon and I don’t know what I’m going to do.
‘I’m done for the day,’ says Alan, breaking into my thoughts.
‘Okay. Thanks.’ I glance out of the window, and sure enough, the sun has sunk rapidly behind the houses and the jungle garden is bathed in an eerie blue light. ‘Have a good weekend.’
He hesitates. ‘It’s, um, pay day?’
‘Oh God, sorry, it went right out of my head.’
‘Don’t worry about it now, but if I could have it on Monday morning?’
‘Of course, I’ll go to the bank first thing.’
‘And there’s that five hundred quid for materials I spoke to you about?’
‘Yes, sorry.’ I smack my forehead. ‘Doh! What with everything that’s been going on, it slipped my mind.’
He hovers for a few seconds, hands stuffed into the pockets of his overalls. ‘So, er … what’s happening about Lori? I thought she was leaving, but now she’s saying you’re letting her stay on.’
‘For a few more days, just until she sorts herself out.’
‘It’s very good of you.’ He removes his cap and wipes his face with a handkerchief. ‘Not many people would take someone in on trust. Everyone’s so suspicious nowadays. They want police checks and references, five-star ratings, online reviews … They want to know all about your past, every little mistake you’ve ever made. Do one thing wrong and that’s it, you’re finished. Nobody gets a second chance.’
‘Lori hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s a victim.’
‘I think you’ll find they’re called survivors these days.’
I nod, impressed. ‘Yes, you’re right. Lori’s a survivor.’ Or she will be, as long as she can stay safe.
* * *
Jack doesn’t arrive home until nearly midnight. Often I moan when he calls to say he’s going to be late, but this evening I encouraged him to stay out as long as he liked.
‘How was your day?’ he asks me, sitting on the bed to unlace his shoes.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I say into the pillow. Guilt sits in the bottom of my stomach like a bad meal. I so want to tell him that Lori’s still here – I spent most of the evening working out what I was going to say – but now it’s late, we’re tired and he’s had a few drinks. It’s not the right time for a deep chat.
He gets undressed and cuddles into my back. I smell beer and dried sweat and another, indefinable smell that is just him. I love him so much. It’s horrible lying to him like this; it almost feels like I’m being unfaithful. I’ll tell him tomorrow morning over breakfast. Then if he makes Lori leave, at least she’ll have the whole day to find somewhere else.
‘It’s been one hell of a week,’ he mumbles into my shoulder. His cheeks are still cold from walking back from the station. ‘I’m so glad it’s the weekend and we’ve got the house to ourselves.’ I don’t reply. He slips off the left strap of my pyjama top and cups my breast. ‘We still haven’t christened the new bed properly yet.’
‘Not now, Jack. I’m tired.’ I gently remove his hand.
‘It was such a piss-off, that awful woman knocking at the door.’
‘She’s not an awful woman,’ I snap. ‘She was desperate, she needed help.’
He sighs. ‘You’re so like your parents, always taking in waifs and strays. I wish I’d met them; they sound like pretty amazing people.’
‘They were,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry I was negative about it. I was worried for your safety, that’s all. It could have turned out really badly. Next time some woman knocks on the door in the middle of the night, we’re not answering, okay?’
‘There won’t be a next time. I rang all the helplines and told them this was no longer a refuge.’
‘Good. The estate agents should have warned us. I mean, nobody said.’
‘I like that it was a refuge,’ I say quietly.
‘Really? Why?’
‘It makes me feel proud of the house.’
He laughs. ‘It’s not a person, it’s a building.’ He kisses me on the shoulder before turning onto his side. ‘Sweet dreams.’
* * *
We make love in the bright, cold light of morning, diving under the duvet like we’re in a tent. I want him so much and yet I can’t stop my mind from drifting to Lori and the confession I’ve got to make. The thought of her upstairs is very inhibiting. What if she can hear us thrashing about?
‘Shh,’ I whisper as he groans with pleasure.
‘Why? I can’t help it if you drive me crazy with desire.’ He sticks his head out of the duvet and shouts, ‘My girlfriend is the most beautiful, gorgeous, sexy—’
‘Stop it!’
He flops onto his back and groans. ‘What’s wrong, Stella? Why are you being so uptight?’
Tell him. Go on, tell him now.
‘I don’t know. Sorry … I’m just …’ I feel a hard lump in my throat. ‘Too stressed.’
His tone softens. ‘Hey, don’t get upset, babe. It’s supposed to be fun.’
‘Please, just make love to me gently.’ I lean over to kiss him on the lips and we tumble into each other. Softly. Deeply. The knots of tension loosen, and at last it feels like I’ve come home.
Poor Lori, I think an hour later when we still haven’t got up. She must be desperate for a cup of tea. At last Jack goes off to shower and I text her to say we should be leaving the house in the next half-hour. We’ve been in the habit of going out for Saturday brunch almost as long as we’ve been together, so he won’t be suspicious when I hurry him out of the door.
However, it’s not that easy to get Saturday brunch in Nevansey. At least, not the kind of brunch we’re used to. It’s all
‘full English’ here – heart attack on a plate. I’m afraid we’re more the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon type. We’ve even been known to add slices of avocado. The only half-decent place is on the other side of the pier, where the beautiful old Georgian town houses are, although most of them have been turned into cheap hotels, their once elegant facades festooned with plastic banners offering discounts for stag and hen parties.
Fortunately, green shoots of new life are sprouting in one of the cobbled passageways that run between the seafront and the lower half of the high street. I found Back Lane a few weeks ago when I was trying to get my boots re-heeled. There’s no shoe repairer, but it does boast a vinyl record shop, a tiny boutique selling vintage bags and hand-knitted berets, and Cathy’s Café. It’s where all the down-from-Londoners hang out, not that there are many of us. The café doesn’t do cooked breakfast, but the croissants and pain au chocolat are home-made and the coffee’s organic.
We walk down the Esplanade, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist, my fingers hooked into the belt of his jeans. Our hips rub together as we jolt along, still wanting to be one flesh. The afterglow of our lovemaking clings to us like perfume. If only I could bottle it and spray it over us every time we have a problem. It feels so good now, but when I tell him about Lori, I know the positive atmosphere is going to evaporate instantly.
‘Mmm, good coffee,’ Jack says. ‘Well done for finding this place. We should come here every Saturday after we’ve had sex.’
I lick buttery flakes of croissant off my fingers. ‘Shh! People can hear you.’
‘So what? Why are you always so bothered about what other people think?’ He leans across the table and snogs me.
‘For God’s sake, you’re like a teenager,’ I say, but it’s good to know that he wants me, that despite all the recent disruption in our lives, we’re fundamentally still okay.
‘I think we should go home and do it all over again, don’t you?’ he says, as we come out of the café and retrace our steps to the seafront.
‘Hmm,’ I say, linking arms. ‘Actually, I need to look at some flooring today.’
‘Boring.’ He catches my reproving look. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s got to be done. It’s just, well, it’s not my house, is it? I’m just the lodger – the live-in lover.’
‘Yeah, but one day …’ I feel myself redden. ‘One day maybe you’ll be the joint owner.’
He laughs. ‘You’re only saying that to make me come to the DIY store with you.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m serious.’ The implications of what I’ve just said hang like a breath in the air, but he doesn’t pick up on them. We walk on, our pace slackening. My stomach clenches and I re-taste the sweet almond croissant. I feel him slipping away from me, little by little.
He halts for a moment, turning to face the sea. The mist has lifted, and it’s turning into a sharp, bright day. Horizontal blocks of mud, water and sky stretch before us like a contemporary landscape painting. ‘Nevansey is a dump,’ he says. ‘No matter what you do to the house, you can’t change its location.’
‘But I love the location. The views are amazing; you can’t get any closer to the sea.’
‘The town sucks. It needs more nice cafés, an art gallery, an independent cinema …’
‘I know, but it’s on the up and up,’ I insist. ‘In a few years’ time it’ll be just as good as Whitstable, if not better.’
‘Hmm …’ he answers doubtfully.
He lets go of my hand and we walk up the hill in silence. My plan had been to text Lori to give her advance warning of our return, but there’s no way I can do it now without Jack asking questions. My feeling of dread increases the nearer we get to the house. What if she’s having breakfast in the kitchen, or sitting in the conservatory?
‘Jack …’ I start, then stop, not knowing what to say.
‘What?’
‘There’s something I need to …’ But it’s too late. He’s already unlocking the front door and stepping into the hallway.
My heart’s in my mouth as I listen out for sounds of life, but the house is as quiet as when we left it. Jack walks into the kitchen and I follow him like a nervous puppy.
‘God, it’s icy in here,’ he says. ‘There’s a gale-force wind blowing. Is the back door open or something?’
‘Um, I’ll go and check.’
‘It’s what my mum calls an invitation to burglars,’ he calls after me, chuckling to himself.
I rush into the conservatory and see that the door is indeed wide open. But where’s Lori? I step onto the patio and peer down the garden, catching a glimpse of my jumper moving between the overgrown bushes at the bottom. She must have gone down there for a cigarette, making sure she was far enough away for the smell not to drift into the house. I close the door without locking it and go back to the kitchen.
‘Yes, the door was open,’ I say casually. ‘Sorry, must have been me.’
But Jack isn’t listening to me. He’s got a mobile phone in his hand. It’s plugged into my charger on the counter. Its cover is pink and shiny.
‘What’s this?’ he says. ‘Some kind of secret phone?’
I feel my cheeks flame. ‘No, no, it’s … I, er … um … I can explain.’
He wrenches it free of the cable and passes it to me. ‘I hope so. ’Cos somebody has just sent you a rather strange text.’
‘It’s not mine, it’s …’ The rest of the sentence hangs in mid-air as I stare down at the words in the tiny box.
Come back now or you’ll be sorry. Love you for ever, D xxxxx
Chapter Ten
Stella
Now
Jack gives me a thunderous look. ‘What the hell’s going on, Stella?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me – this is Lori’s phone,’ I say, resting it on the counter.
He blinks several times, taking the information in. ‘Right … So … what, she left it here?’
‘She’s in the garden, having a smoke.’ I glance anxiously towards the conservatory, hoping she won’t come back inside just yet.
‘But how … I mean, how did she get in? When did she come back?’ He sees the shame flooding my face and his expression darkens. ‘Oh, I get it. She never left, did she? Jesus Christ …’
‘Sorry. I was going to tell you last night, but—’
His voice rises. ‘She’s been here all week and you weren’t going to tell me until last night?’
‘I know. I’m sorry, really sorry. I wanted to tell you but I was frightened you’d chuck her out.’
‘Yeah, because I don’t trust her. When are you going to wise up? Remember that time that tosser got fifty quid off you – fifty quid – for a train ticket to go and see his dying granny?’ He puffs out a breath. ‘They must see you coming a mile off.’
‘Lori’s genuine. You can’t fake bruises.’
‘You’re too kind for your own good, Stella.’
‘No I’m not,’ I say sharply. ‘I know what I’m doing, I’m not a fool.’
‘I get that you own this house, but I live here too. Don’t I have any say in who stays here? I gave up living in London to move down to this dump. I did it because I wanted to be with you, because I thought our relationship was going somewhere. But you behave like my opinions don’t matter; if you don’t agree with them, you just go behind my back, do what you want regardless. You care more about a total stranger than me!’
I feel myself heating up. ‘That’s not true, you know that’s not true. I’ve been trying to help her leave but it’s not that simple. There’s nowhere for her to go. A lot of refuges have closed—’
He bats my words away. ‘I couldn’t give a shit about that. I’m talking about us. About simple things like honesty and discussing things and reaching a joint decision.’ I flinch as he bangs his fist on the worktop. ‘We’ve been talking about getting married, for fuck’s sake!’
‘But you weren’t being very understanding or kind. I felt, as another woman, that I had a
duty to help.’
‘What about your “duty” to me? You don’t seem to care about that. You lied to me – you betrayed me.’
‘I didn’t betray you, that’s ridiculous.’ I feel my back arch with annoyance. ‘I was just trying to sort out a difficult problem the best way I could. I’m really sorry I lied to you … well, I didn’t actually lie, but I didn’t tell you Lori was still here and I feel bad about that. But it was only because you were so unreasonable.’
‘You’re calling me unreasonable?’ he fumes. ‘I let you bring a total stranger into our house, I allowed her to stay overnight, even though I thought it was a really shit idea.’ He comes right up to me and jabs with his finger. ‘You’re the unreasonable one, you’re way out of line!’
‘Leave her alone.’ We both turn around to see Lori standing in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘Don’t you dare touch her.’
‘What?’ snarls Jack.
‘It’s okay, Lori,’ I say quickly.
‘Keep out of it,’ he barks. ‘This is nothing to do with you. You shouldn’t even be here.’
But she stands her ground. ‘Your girlfriend’s a really lovely person. She’s been helping me. I don’t know what I would have done without her.’
Jack draws in a furious breath.
‘Please, Lori, would you mind? We need to sort this out.’
‘My husband did this to me.’ She carries on undeterred. ‘Then he went around to my mum’s and smashed up her place because she wouldn’t tell him where I was. Stella looked after me, gave me clothes, food and drink—’
‘Yeah, I know, she’s the patron saint of good causes. It runs in the family.’
‘She took me to Citizens Advice. Darren followed us but she helped me escape, even drove through a red light to shake him off.’ Jack’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.
Please don’t go on, Lori. You’re making it worse.
‘Wha … what?’ he splutters. ‘You were in a car chase and you never told me?’