The Girl Across the Street

by Vikki Patis

  She turns to stare out of the front window. It’s a quiet Tuesday evening, the type of easy shift everyone looks forward to. Usually on these days she can lean against the bar to take the weight off her feet, and chat with her colleagues in hushed tones. But she is feeling out of sorts today. She lets out a sigh, and her manager catches her eye, raises an eyebrow.

  ‘I hope I’m not boring you, Beth,’ he says. Beth groans inwardly.

  ‘Of course not,’ she replies, attempting a sweet smile. He frowns at her before continuing his monologue.

  Beth’s mind drifts back to this morning. She definitely heard Isla throwing up in her en suite. She remembers Isla’s bloodshot eyes, her pale skin. She hopes it isn’t a bug.

  Then she remembers the text she received the night before, just before she fell asleep. It was from Steve, Kyle’s friend.

  I need 2 talk 2 u, it said, the text speak making her wince. She almost smiles at the realisation that Isla is rubbing off on her. Can u meet me?

  She still hasn’t replied. Why would she meet him? She pulls a face, recalling the way he used to spread out over her sofa, his grubby feet resting on her coffee table. She realises now that she always blamed Steve for encouraging Kyle, for dragging him down. For dragging them both down.

  ‘Right then!’ The manager claps his hands together, startling Beth. ‘Here’s to a great shift!’

  A few people laugh; one of the chefs whoops loudly. Beth catches his eye and they grin. Nobody takes the manager seriously. Beth wonders if he knows it.

  The church clock chimes midnight as Beth leaves the restaurant, lighting a cigarette and crossing the road.

  ‘Beth.’ The voice makes her spin around, breathing smoke out of her nose. Steve.

  She sighs. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ she says, venom in her voice.

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ Steve says, his voice an urgent whisper. Beth rolls her eyes.

  ‘Why? What could you possibly have to say that I’d want to hear? Unless it’s the whereabouts of my useless fucking boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – and the money he stole from me.’ She wonders if Kyle has confessed everything to Steve, the real reason for his cowardice.

  Steve looks embarrassed then. He shuffles his feet, scuffs a trainer against the kerb. He doesn’t know what she’s doing, then. He doesn’t know why Kyle ran away.

  ‘I didn’t realise what was going on,’ he says quietly. ‘I didn’t know what he was going to do.’

  Beth remains silent, blowing smoke into the air. She isn’t going to say anything to Steve, not about this.

  ‘I haven’t seen him, you know. Since…’ He trails off, and Beth looks at him, at the man-child who spent half his life in her poky flat, filling it with the smell of weed and BO. She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Steve’s voice is starting to grate on her. She finishes her cigarette and steps on it, grinding it out under the heel of her shoe. She can see a new hole developing at the front. She really must buy a new pair, after the ones she ordered never turned up. Maybe her card was declined. A fresh burst of anger engulfs her.

  ‘No, no I haven’t. And I don’t fucking want to. Now can you piss off so I can go home?’ You’ve gotten me into enough trouble, she thinks but doesn’t say.

  Steve blinks at her, his eyes tiny in his piggy face. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ he stutters, dropping his gaze. ‘Can I… can I give you a lift?’

  Beth stares at him for a moment, her eyes flicking towards his car. No, she can’t get into that car again. She won’t. She considers the long walk back to Isla’s, trudging up that godforsaken hill, her feet sore, back aching. Was that how the prisoners felt as they marched towards their doom? Could they see the noose from the bottom of the hill, swinging in the wind? She shudders, glances back at Steve.

  ‘All right,’ she says eventually, and before she can talk herself out of it, she climbs into the passenger seat.

  The smell inside the car is exactly how she remembers it: stale, the smell of sweat and fags and the cheap air freshener hanging down from the rear-view mirror. She kicks an empty crisp packet as she fumbles with the seat belt.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Steve asks as he gets in beside her. She can smell his rotten breath.

  ‘Across the street, on Foxholes.’ She stares straight ahead through the grimy windshield, not looking at him as she speaks. Steve starts the engine and pulls out, giving a low whistle.

  ‘Nice. Anyone I know?’

  She looks at him then, smirks at his ignorance. So Kyle hasn’t told him. ‘I doubt it.’

  Thankfully, Steve drives in silence for the rest of the way. Beth watches the town flash past her eyes: the shops with their darkened windows; the huge Victorian houses on Ware Road with BMWs and Mercs parked outside; the stragglers heading home, people like her who have just finished work, others who have been out for the evening.

  At the top of the hill, she directs Steve towards Isla’s house, asking him to park at the end of the road. She doesn’t want him to know exactly where she’s staying.

  ‘Have you really not heard from Kyle?’ she asks as Steve pulls up the handbrake. He turns to her, shakes his head.

  ‘I can’t get hold of him. Nobody seems to have seen him for ages. Do you know where he could be?’

  ‘His mum’s?’ Beth suggests. It’s true that she doesn’t actually know where he’s gone, but she does know why. Coward, she thinks savagely.

  Steve shrugs. ‘She hasn’t seen him either.’

  Beth frowns at the look in Steve’s eyes. He appears genuinely worried. ‘Maybe he was in trouble.’ She begins to fumble with the seat belt again, not wanting to be in this car any longer. The smell is almost overwhelming, the memories smashing against her mind, clawing at the walls she’s built around herself since that night.

  ‘Not that I know of. He only bought his weed from me.’ Steve opens the window, lights a cigarette. ‘It’s not like him to just run off.’

  Finally the seat belt clicks and Beth is free. Her hand is on the door handle when Steve speaks again. ‘I’m worried about him, B.’ That name; it makes her shudder. She squares her shoulders, turns back to him.

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ she says brusquely. ‘Just hiding out somewhere, playing games and getting high.’

  ‘But he hasn’t been online in—’

  She holds up a hand, cutting Steve off. She doesn’t need this right now. Kyle is the least of her worries. She senses movement beyond the windscreen, sees a light go out in Isla’s bedroom. Jake is still away, she remembers with relief.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she says curtly, almost throwing herself out of the car and slamming the door.

  In the watery morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, Beth lies in bed, mouth dry, head pounding. She’s barely slept a wink, tossing and turning her way through the night. She reaches out blindly for her phone and pulls up Kyle’s number. She doesn’t want to speak to him, but Steve’s concerned face swims before her eyes. He wouldn’t have done anything stupid, would he? She hits Call and holds the phone against her ear. Voicemail.

  She throws her phone down on the duvet beside her. Where are you, Kyle? Why did you leave me to deal with this alone? She groans, pulls the sheet over her head.

  Fuck this. She tears herself out of bed, leaving her phone where it is. She needs distraction. Maybe she could find those bank statements again, prepare herself for Jake’s return. Move this plan along.

  Downstairs, she finds Isla curled up on the sofa, Kindle balanced on her knees. She looks up as Beth enters.

  ‘Afternoon,’ she says, smiling weakly. She still looks pale; Beth can see purple bruises under her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Beth asks, sitting beside her. Isla shrugs.

  ‘Stomach bug, I think.’ She yawns, holds a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry. Not been sleeping well.’

  You and me both, Beth thinks. ‘What are you up to today?’

  Isla holds up her Kindle. ‘This. You?’
/>   Beth stares into space. What did she do to fill her time before? She feels the afternoon stretching out ahead of her, and then she realises that it’s Wednesday, her day off. She feels herself deflate.

  ‘I don’t really know,’ she admits. ‘I don’t have work tonight. Maybe I could cook?’ She brightens at the prospect, but Isla is shaking her head.

  ‘Jake’s back tonight. He is… Jake is very particular about his food,’ she says after a moment. Beth sighs.

  ‘Maybe I’ll go for a walk, then.’

  Isla smiles. ‘Good idea. It’s a lovely day. Hartham is beautiful at this time of year.’

  ‘Do you want to come?’

  She shakes her head again, her smile dimming. ‘I’d better not. Still not feeling a hundred per cent.’

  Beth can feel something coming off Isla, some kind of despair maybe? She wants to ask, but stops herself at Isla’s pained expression. She forces a smile instead.

  ‘Okay, well I hope you feel better. I’ll see you later?’ Isla nods, and Beth goes upstairs to get ready. She digs out some headphones and slathers her arms in sun cream, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. Raising a hand to Isla, she steps out into the sunshine. She is determined to get herself out of this funk, and her head back in the game.

  Twenty-Six

  Isla

  When Beth leaves, I decide to lie down for a few minutes. When I jerk awake, my mouth dry, my Fitbit says it’s almost four o’clock.

  I stumble down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister, my head throbbing. I can still taste bile in the back of my throat; my breath is shallow, almost laboured. I pause halfway down, waiting for my vision to clear. A pair of shoes on the doormat swim into focus. Beth must be back already. I make my way down the rest of the stairs, and my heart begins to beat wildly as I realise whose shoes they are. Jake’s.

  I listen for a moment, wondering where he is. He didn’t come upstairs, did he? Did he hear me throwing up? Oh God. The clock in the hallway tells me it’s too early for him to be home. Where is he?

  I try to walk soundlessly through the hall and into the living room, and falter at the doorway when I see him. He’s sitting at the table, a phone in his hands. My phone. I freeze, taking in the scene before me. He is staring at the screen, finger poised as if ready to type something. He looks up, catching me in his gaze, and the words dry in my throat.

  ‘What’s this?’ he says, his voice low. He holds up my phone, showing me the screen. Panic washes over me, remembering the Google searches, the clinic’s number saved in my contacts. But no, the number is saved under a random name, and I wiped the search from my history. It can’t be that. I force my eyes to focus. The Instagram app is open; he’s been looking through my messages. I blink, shake my head.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I say slowly, and I don’t. I can’t see the name from where I am. I take a step closer, hold out a hand. ‘Can I see?’

  Jake shoves the phone at me, and I flinch, my heart racing. I peer at the screen, at the message I haven’t noticed before now.

  Nice to see you the other day. You’ll be happy to hear we’ll have some of those cakes in tomorrow! Hope to see you then?

  My stomach drops as I realise who it’s from – the guy from the coffee shop. The message is innocent enough, but Jake’s scowl tells me that he thinks otherwise. All he sees is a man sending me a message. I take a deep breath, mind racing, preparing what I’m going to say, how I’m going to make him understand what this is.

  His fist hits me in the mouth. I stagger back, dropping the phone on the wooden floor. I bring a hand to my mouth; my fingers come away coated in blood. He hits me again, this time in the stomach, and I fall to the floor, gasping, my glasses flying across the room.

  He looms over me, his face red, fists clenched against his sides. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ he growls. I try to crawl away, but I’m trapped by the patio doors behind me. Where is Beth? Did she come home while I was sleeping? She can’t see this.

  ‘Wh-what?’ I stammer, blood and spittle flying from my mouth. ‘I h-haven’t d-done anything.’ I try to pull myself to my knees, my entire body shaking.

  ‘Why is he sending you messages?’ Jake roars. ‘Hope to see you?’ His face twists into a sneer. ‘I bet he does. What have you been doing?’ He kicks me hard in the side, and I collapse, cheek pressed against the floor. ‘What have you been doing?’ I close my eyes, the wood cool against my smarting mouth, and brace myself for another blow.

  ‘What the fuck?’ A voice from behind him. I open my eyes to see Beth in the doorway, her face screwed up in concern. Jake takes a step back, away from me, as she falls to her knees and cradles my head in her lap. I feel her hands against my hair, smell suncream on her skin. I let my eyes close again. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘This is none of your business,’ Jake spits, but he’s retreating. He’s never hit me in front of someone before. It’s always been in private, behind closed doors. He’s never been caught out like this. I’ve never had an ally before.

  I let out a sigh, the air escaping from my lungs in a whoosh. Beth pushes my hair out of my face, her fingers lingering on a smear of blood on my chin.

  ‘This is between me and my wife,’ Jake says, his voice low and dangerous. I can hear something in his voice. Could it be… fear?

  ‘What kind of husband smacks his wife about?’ Beth cries. The air crackles with tension, her words hanging in the air between them. I keep breathing quietly, my face turned away. I want to warn Beth, tell her to stop, but my stomach is cramping, my muscles starting to spasm. The baby. Pain washes over me, wraps me up and squeezes me until I can barely breathe.

  I see Jake move towards Beth, his face twisted in a menacing snarl. I try to cower away, but she sits up straighter, her fists clenched, her body thrumming with a tension I can feel.

  ‘What kind of wife flirts with other men? With a fucking barista, of all people?’ Jake gives a humourless laugh. ‘After everything I’ve done for you.’

  ‘Barista?’ Beth’s face creases into a frown. ‘You mean from the Coffee Lab?’

  ‘She’s been speaking to him,’ Jake snarls. ‘He’s sent her a message on Instagram.’

  Beth stares up at him, her face incredulous. I want to move away, drag her away from this, from him. She doesn’t know what he’s capable of. But I’m still frozen with fear.

  ‘That was for me,’ she says, the lie tripping off her tongue with apparent ease. My breath catches. ‘He asked me out the other day, but I forgot to give him my number.’

  ‘So why did he contact Isla?’ Jake sneers. ‘Why didn’t he send you a message, if it’s you he wanted?’

  ‘I’m not on Instagram.’ Beth shrugs. ‘And Isla is an easy name to remember, isn’t it? Unique.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ he says, but he’s taking another step back as he speaks, his eyes clearing. He might not believe it, but he doesn’t know for sure. I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she says easily. Uncertainty flashes across Jake’s face.

  ‘I think you need to leave,’ Beth says, standing, putting her body between him and me. She isn’t afraid of him, I realise. I can almost see the adrenaline coursing through her veins. ‘Or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘No,’ I croak from the floor, and she turns to me. ‘I’m fine.’ I try to plead with her with my eyes. No police.

  ‘See?’ Jake says, but he’s walking away, out of the room. He throws his next words over his shoulder. ‘I don’t need this. I’m going to Italy tonight. I only came back for my stuff.’ The front door slams, a car engine starts, and he’s gone.

  I get to my knees, the pain receding slightly. Beth drops down next to me, rests a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she whispers. I can see tears building behind her eyes.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, my voice thin. I pull myself to my feet, shove the hair out of my eyes. ‘I’m fine.’ She reaches out and I take her hand gratefully, letti
ng her lead me to the sofa, where I collapse against the cushions. She remains standing, hands clenched into fists.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she says after a moment. ‘And get something to clean you up with.’

  In the kitchen, I hear her put the kettle on, fumble two mugs out of the cupboard. She comes back in with a wet paper towel and begins dabbing the blood caked on the side of my mouth, my chin. My eyes are wet, touched by her kindness. Ashamed that it’s necessary.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispers, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘He’s a…’ She trails off, apparently unable to find a suitable word to describe him. I could think of a few, but they all seem too tame.

  She puts the soiled tissue in the bin, then makes the tea. She hands me a mug and sits beside me, her own cupped between her hands.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. Beth forces a smile; I can see the effort it takes.

  ‘I’m here,’ she says, reaching out and resting a hand on my arm. ‘I’m here with you.’ I notice her gaze on me.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I say. She starts, evidently surprised at my tone.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I’m something to be pitied.’ I catch her eye. ‘I chose this.’

  ‘Nobody chooses this,’ she hisses with surprising vehemence. I sigh.

  If only you knew, I think, averting my gaze and blowing on my cup of tea.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Beth asks after a moment. I don’t respond. Because I have no idea.

  ‘We could run,’ she says suddenly, the words tumbling out of her before her brain can catch up. ‘We could leave, now, tonight.’

  ‘Where would we go? I don’t have any money.’ That isn’t entirely true.

  ‘What if we made a plan?’ she says. Her eyes are glistening. ‘We could save, we could find a place, somewhere cheap, anywhere!’ She laughs, and I find myself smiling.

  ‘We could rent a chateau in the south of France, drink wine from our vineyard and eat cheese for breakfast,’ I say half-heartedly. ‘Bonjour, plus de vin, s’il vous plaît.’ Beth giggles.