Finding Eva: a thrilling psychological suspense

by J. A. Baker

  9

  Celia

  Feeling as if she is choking on thin air, Celia makes her way down the tree-lined avenue, her fingers clutched around Eva’s new address. Her head spins as she staggers towards a nearby bench and slumps down on it, her stomach a tight knot of anxiety. She still can’t quite get her head around it all. Eva has gone. Upped and left without a word, and now Celia has to make a decision – spend the night in London, or head straight up to see her. She knows what’s sensible, but sensible doesn’t always get things done, does it? Sensible is what people do when their lives are untroubled and peaceful, not when they have had the upbringing she and Eva have had. And yet, she has spent so many years doing the right thing, being that sensible individual, trying to fit in that she is sick of it; she is tired of living her life in a straight line. So what harm would it do to break the pattern and once again be one of the damaged souls whose behaviour is unpredictable and spontaneous? It might help locate Eva for one thing.

  Pulling out her phone, Celia calls her friend once more, her breath suspended in her chest, the world at a standstill as she prays for Eva to answer. As expected, it goes to voicemail, the long drawn-out beep at the end of the message irritating her beyond reason.

  Pursing her lips, Celia lets out a stream of hot air and briefly closes her eyes. She has a small overnight bag with her; just enough to see her through until tomorrow. Pretty soon the last train will be leaving for York. She could jump on it then make the changes for Whitby. It’s now or never. She needs to decide what her next move will be. Should she stay here or not? Should she do the sensible thing and face it all tomorrow with a clear head, or go racing off up north in pursuit of her friend?

  She checks her phone again, eyes narrowed in concentration. Shaking her head in exasperation she wonders why trains are so bloody complicated and why nothing is ever easy when it comes to using public transport in this great nation of ours. If she catches the next train, she won’t get into York until after nine pm. She is tired. Not just physically tired, but mentally drained by it all. Suddenly the hotel room seems appealing. She can check in, have something to eat, sleep on it and make a decision in the morning as to what her next move is going to be. She doesn’t want to do anything too rash right now even though every nerve in her body, every sinew and fibre is screaming at her to drop everything and head straight to Whitby. The train there stops at York. It’s one of the two changes she has to make, and it will take her ten hours with all the waits and changes.

  Even as she goes through all the facts in her head, she already knows her mind is made up. If she stays the night in London, she can catch a mid-morning train tomorrow and the journey to Whitby will be much shorter. Still two changes but no waiting around for connecting trains. No hanging around on cold, dark platforms in the middle of the night, doing her best to avoid eye contact with everybody around her; everyone tired, everyone mildly scared of being out at night, surrounded by perfect strangers. All of them watching the shadows and feeling exhausted and fearful.

  Celia blinks and feels her chin tremble with both fear and relief; fear at what may lay ahead and relief at finally coming to a decision. Clambering up to her feet, she slings her overnight bag onto her shoulder and heads out of the avenue towards the tube station feeling marginally energised after finally coming to a decision.

  The hotel is a welcome sight after navigating her way through the tube stations and myriad of unfamiliar streets to reach it. She is flooded with a sensation akin to smugness at actually making it back to where she started. It’s a Premier Inn close to the station; the perfect location for a rapid exit first thing in the morning. She wants to get going as early as she can. No time to waste now she knows exactly where Eva is. Every second wasted puts Eva at risk. Not that wasted time will do any more damage to Eva than she already does to herself. Eva is, always has been, and probably always will be, her own worst enemy. God knows Celia has tried over the years to help her, to make Eva see that she now has the capacity to forge out a good life for herself. She is an intelligent woman and yet so delicate and breakable. Her emotions oscillate constantly; tipping one way or the other with no in between. And she did have a good life by all accounts – a good solid job that paid well; a handful of friends, and a boyfriend. A soul partner. But her blighted upbringing has always overshadowed everything she has done. It has always been there, obscuring the good stuff, darkening her vision, convincing her that she can bring an end to it all and be reunited with her family. Celia puffs out her cheeks. Perhaps they can. Perhaps after all these years, her parents have sorted themselves out, become half decent citizens and developed a conscience. Maybe when she finds them, they will feel guilty enough to welcome her back. But she doubts it. If they had wanted her back, they would have come for her; taken her back into the fold and given her the decent upbringing and stability Eva so desperately craved.

  They did none of those things.

  Instead, they let her down time and time again, not turning up for contact appointments, giving insipid pathetic reasons for their absences, turning Eva into the vulnerable needy individual that she is now. Not everybody sees it. Eva is a chameleon. She has developed the ability to morph into whatever people want her to be. Friendly. Euphoric. Suicidal.

  Eva is a disaster waiting to happen.

  The receptionist is a brisk, efficient creature who has Celia checked in within a matter of seconds. She gives her clipped instructions as to what time breakfast starts and an impossible route of how to locate the restaurant.

  The room is clean with the splashes of deep purple everywhere; a constant reminder of which hotel chain Celia is in. She drops her bag on the floor and throws herself on the bed, her need for food only fractionally overtaking her exhaustion by a hair’s breadth. Her stomach lets out a loud growl. She sits up and grabs at the menu on the dresser next to the bed. Everything looks appetising. She hasn’t eaten for hours. In fact, she hasn’t eaten since breakfast and is in dire need of some sustenance.

  Outside a noise draws her attention. Standing up, she stares out of the window at a growing fracas taking place on the pavement outside. An elderly man has fallen over and a crowd has gathered around him. On the periphery of it all is a young man who has his phone out. He is holding it up to indicate he is calling an ambulance, Celia assumes. Tall and swarthy looking, he is a striking sight. Handsome for sure but he is frowning; his forehead furrowed into a deep, concerned line. Celia looks up at the sky. The earlier downpour has probably made the pavement slippery. She catches a glimpse of the fallen man as the crowd parts for a second. He isn’t moving and if she isn’t mistaken there is a pool of blood gathering on the pavement.

  Celia watches, her breath stilted as she waits for him to move. Time seems to stand still as she watches the people bustle around the fallen man.

  In the distance, a wail of sirens pierces the air, bringing her round to the present. Everybody disperses as an ambulance screeches up and a team of medics spill out of it, their movements swift and effortless. The young man with the phone speaks to them, his face the picture of concern as he shakes his head and looks around helplessly before the medics pat him on his arm and get to work, kneeling down next to the man on the floor, speaking to him as they lean in close to his ear.

  He nods and Celia is awash with relief. She has no idea why. She doesn’t know the fallen man. He means nothing to her. It’s just that suddenly everything feels so fragile and unstable, as if things are about to come crashing down upon her. Her routine has been disturbed and she has no idea what the next few days will hold. She feels anxious and uneasy; enveloped by a sense of doom that everything she knows is about to come to a grinding halt.

  The injured man is placed on a stretcher and Celia watches as he is hoisted into the back of the ambulance. She feels a strange sense of solace and watches as the young man who called the ambulance turns and walks away.

  Her stomach lets out another growl of protestation at being deprived of food for so long. She nee
ds to eat. Everything will seem better after a meal and a glass of wine. She will sleep well, get the early train back up north and find Eva, who will try to assure her that everything is okay and try to apologise for her behaviour. All Celia wants to do is make sure she is safe. Then Celia can settle. Then she can go back home and get on with her life. Perhaps she can even persuade Eva to go with her. The thought buoys her up, makes her feel as if she can sort this thing out. She hopes so. All she wants is to find Eva and keep her safe. All Celia has ever wanted to do is save Eva from herself.

  The shower is hot and the restaurant relatively easy to find. Celia eats heartily and limits herself to two glasses of Pinot Grigio. She needs a clear head for tomorrow. Missing her connecting train is the last thing she wants to do. She has to be on her mettle, find Eva and work out what is going on in her head; ask her why she thinks finding her parents is a good idea. It isn’t. It’s a bad idea. The worst.

  Celia drains the last of her wine and heaves a sigh of resignation. Perhaps Eva has already found them. Celia hopes not. She hopes to God they saw her coming and avoided her, or were out, or any number of things that will stop them from meeting up with their estranged daughter, because if they do actually open the door to her, Celia knows exactly what Eva will do. She has been planning it for years, dressing it up as a need to find out about her childhood, telling everyone she has an overwhelming urge to be reunited with her parents, to play at being one big happy family. But that’s not it at all. Eva is damaged goods and it was her parents who damaged her. For years, Eva has spoken at length to Celia about her hatred for the people who left her behind. She has screamed and wept at the injustice of it all; at how they have continued to live their lives without her, never giving her a second thought, never once making any attempts to get her back.

  And she has never forgiven them.

  Her loathing of them is so deep rooted, so unwavering, Celia fears for her. She fears what Eva may be capable of when she finally meets up with them. Which she will. Eva has watched them from a distance for years; always checking to see if they have moved house, even dragging Celia to Whitby for the day a few years back under the guise of spending a day at the coast. Celia went along with it, knowing all the while what her game was, but too apprehensive of what Eva’s reaction would be if she refused.

  Celia knew exactly why they were going and tried to talk Eva out of it, but she was so wound up about the whole thing, so ready to implode, that Celia didn’t have it in her to refuse. So she accompanied her and they spent the whole day standing and watching their house from a distance, the howling wind biting at their skin, the cruel north-easterly weather freezing them both until they were chilled to the bone, unable to feel their fingers and toes. And they didn’t catch even one single glimpse of Eva’s parents. Not one.

  They returned home in silence, Eva too distressed and frustrated to speak, Celia too embarrassed and upset to make her. It took Eva three weeks to recover from that particular incident. So, when Celia heard that she has returned there to seek them out, it sent a shiver down her spine. She hopes to God that Eva is going through one of her better moments, one of the times when she is upbeat and positive. At least then Celia may be able to talk to her, to sit her down and make her change her mind. If she isn’t… well, Celia doesn’t want to think about it. She will cross that particular bridge when she comes to it.

  The hotel room is bathed in a welcoming, amber glow when she gets back to it, and a bed has never looked more inviting. Despite feeling mildly sick about what tomorrow may bring, she strips off her clothes and all but falls onto it, wrapping herself up in the taut crisp white sheets, her body cocooned in the warmth and safety like a pupa waiting to be reborn.

  10

  Gareth

  The fine drizzle turns into a downpour as Gareth dodges into a shop doorway, his head dipped down into his upturned collar. Such an awful fucking day and it doesn’t look like it’s about to get any better. Josh and Andy have texted him to tell him to pull his head out of his arse and stop mithering about the break-up with Eva, and his boss has just informed him that he needs him to work this weekend on the new project for Camden Council. And now it’s pissing down. Marvellous.

  He had to tell his friends about the split with Eva. They would all find out anyway once the tongues of the bored and the spiteful get to work; so, he figured it was better coming from him than from the gossip mongers who would only embellish on it, adding their own bits of made-up nonsense onto it until it was so far removed from the truth it would be laughable. Of course, none of them know the real story. And they never will. Not as long as he has a say in it. Eva has gone; sold up and left the area, which is good. Safer that way. Less chance of the real story leaking out and ruining his life. He knows where she has gone to, and why. He didn’t even bother trying to talk her out of it. She isn’t worth the effort. None of them are. They deserve one another.

  He steps out of the doorway and braves the rain, dashing through the crowds of shoppers as it bounces off the pavements in huge splashes and runs into drains, bubbling and gushing, traversing its way across the concrete and down the metal slats of the drain cover at the edge of the road.

  There was no way to tell in the beginning that Eva was anything but who she seemed to be. He met her at work. She was thinking of setting up her own business and came to him for software advice, asking all manner of weird and wonderful questions that he found endearing. The attraction was immediate. There was a spark, a chemical reaction that triggered all kinds of deep-seated emotions in him. He doesn’t mind admitting he was captivated by her; from when she sashayed into his office, how her mouth moved as she spoke, the strange and erotic way she had of constantly flicking her long, auburn hair back over her shoulders without it appearing contrived or attention seeking. He’s seen the way other girls do it – constantly batting their eyelashes and tipping their heads this way and that to attract the eyes of all the men in the room. But not Eva. Everything she did seemed effortless and natural. Now the thought of it sickens him. The very idea of her repulses him. He cannot believe he was ever attracted to her. What in God’s name was he thinking?

  Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he makes his way over the road and heads into a newsagents, more for shelter than anything else. Pulling a note out of his pocket, Gareth grabs a magazine and a packet of mints and hands the cash over to the man behind the counter who looks as if he would sooner gouge his own eyes out than serve customers. With a scowl, he slaps the handful of change into Gareth’s palm and looks beyond him to the next person in the queue, his eyes scanning the snaking line of people with complete contempt. Gareth feels like telling him to cheer up; that there are far worse ways to earn a living and that everyone has problems, including plenty of the folk currently lined up waiting to be served. Everyone has their issues that they have to deal with. But, of course, he says nothing. He doubts very much that this man has ever had to deal with what Gareth is going through.

  The rain has eased up by the time he steps back outside. A small crack in the clouds has allowed the sun to peep through, flooding everything in a sudden burst of unexpected warmth. He raises his arm and stares at his watch. He might just message Andy and see if he fancies a drink before heading home; let him know he has actually managed to retract his head out of his arse and is well and truly back in the land of the living. Fuck Eva and her stupid, thoughtless antics and strange behaviour. It feels good to be single again. It feels even better to be away from her.

  Stopping for a second, he slips his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone and looks down at the screen. This new one still pisses him off every time he uses it. He had got used to his other one. It was easy, manageable and familiar. He refuses to admit that he wishes he hadn’t smashed his other one; that would mean she had won. And he never ever wants her to have the upper hand in his life. It’s bad enough waking up every morning, remembering the whole sickening incident, raking over it again and again in his head, but he should at le
ast be able to piece back the other bits of his life. He refuses to let her have everything. He will salvage what he can and do his best to move on. He swipes the screen and punches in a number.

  It happens so quickly. He has no idea how he didn’t see him. Such a stupid thing to do, stopping in the middle of the street. If he saw anybody do anything like that he would think them selfish or mad, but by the time Gareth realises his mistake, the old guy is on the floor, a lump forming on his head where he banged it on the pavement as he fell. Gareth wants to kick himself. What an idiot.

  Almost immediately, a crowd of people are at the man’s side, covering him up with coats and stroking his hand, leaning in and telling him it’ll be all right and to not move.

  ‘We need an ambulance!’ a voice hollers above the deep thrum of murmurs emanating from the gathering of helpers.

  ‘I’m on it!’ Gareth shouts, his fingers shaking as he punches 999 into his phone.

  His heart hammers around his chest. What if the man’s unconscious, or worse? How did Gareth not see him? More to the point, why the fuck did he stop in the middle of a busy street to call a friend? His mind was elsewhere. That was the reason. His mind was preoccupied trying to work out how to use his new phone; the one he had to get because of her relentless calls to him; the one she made him smash in a rage. This is all her fault. It’s as if she will forever be in his head, clawing at his senses, dulling his reactions, slowly killing him day by fucking day. If this poor old guy is seriously injured it will all be her fault. Fucking Eva Tweedie and her insidious, warped ways that permeate everything and interfere with every bloody thing that he does. Will it always be this way? Is this thing going to follow him around for the rest of his life?