“Regular for me. You like your coffee, then?”
“You’re looking at a certified coffee addict, I’m afraid.”
“We all have flaws.”
I take a seat at Mark’s breakfast bar and begin to feel a little less on edge. In fact, the magpie was beginning to feel a bit ridiculous, and I wasn’t sure what, or how, to explain what had frightened me. I decide on the story I told to my boss back when I first moved to Clifton.
“One regular coffee. Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk.”
“Just milk for the lady.”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“The thought of me as a lady,” I say.
“Well,” he replies, “you’re very ladylike to me.”
I just shake my head and sip the rich and delicious coffee, which is just as good as it would be in a coffee shop. “I might have to get one of those things.”
“I must make a note of a new conversion,” he says.
“Have there been many?”
“Oh, yes. You’re at least my… first. Okay, I don’t entertain much.”
He leans on the counter with such an adorable lopsided grin that once again, that creeping feeling of guilt catches up with me. Something about my expression ruins the moment, because Mark senses my discomfort and moves away.
“Okay, so you have a cup of coffee, and we’re alone. Sorry, that sounded weird. We’re in a private place. The floor is all yours. What did you want to talk about?”
He’s certainly easy to talk to, with that open face and those kind blue eyes, but still, I find myself drumming the edge of my coffee mug, trying to find the words. “Before I moved to Clifton, I was in a very bad relationship. It ended violently, suddenly, and ruined a few lives along the way. That person is still out there, and they are trying to find me. At least, I think they are. I’ve had to change my name. Lizzie isn’t my real name. I’m sorry that I had to lie to you, and to everyone else I’ve met since moving here, but I have to protect Scott. I have to protect myself.”
“I understand,” Mark replies. “I’m sorry you went through that. There’s no need to apologise for anything.”
“Scott moved out, as you know. I’m living alone now, which is scary after everything that happened. And when I got home today, there was a dead bird on the doorstep.”
“Oh.” Mark seems confused, and I can’t blame him.
“The person who is trying to find me is obsessed with birds. They used to draw me different birds and tell me the meaning. They had a pet magpie.” I’m saying too much. My fingers wrap around the warm mug of coffee, and I stop. “I think it was… If it’s them… I’m in danger.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” Mark places a hand on my arm, and I let him keep it there for a moment before gently pulling away.
“This person is very dangerous indeed.” I get to my feet and check the window. “You didn’t see any cars following us or anything, did you?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I don’t think I would have noticed if we were followed. I’m not the kind of person who checks that stuff.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here if she knows where I live now.”
“She?” Mark raises his eyebrows.
“It’s not what you think,” I say hastily, not that it matters. “I can’t go into it all, but just know that even though this person is female, she’s just as dangerous as any man, probably more so. And if she does know where I am, she’ll be watching me, and she’ll see you, and you will become a target. I think I should go. I should make some calls. This was a mistake.”
Mark grasps me by the shoulders as I’m in the process of getting down from the stool at the breakfast bar. “Slow down. Breathe. I’m taking you home, and we’re going to check your house together. If this person is as dangerous as you say she is, I don’t want you to be alone. Can you call Scott and ask him to come and stay with you tonight?”
“I’ve already called him,” I admit. “He thinks I imagined it. I have a history of imagining things, you see. And, honestly, I’m not sure if I did. There was this woman on the bus who mistook me for someone else, and it made me have a bit of a panic attack. And then the bird on the step… I don’t know. I’ve been stressed out. It could just be the stress.”
“Come on. I’m driving you back. We’ll check out the house, order takeaway and make sure you’re safe.”
I don’t argue.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ISABEL
Your world is about to be turned upside down, dear Leah. You see, it didn’t take very long for a photograph to emerge on the internet. Leah Smith, I know her. We went to school together. I met her at university. We got off with each other in a nightclub. I can’t believe it was her all along. I feel sick. She always seemed weird. Never liked her at all. I saw her in Hutton. Everything makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. Are you sure it’s her? I recognise her now. She was a bitch. But she was always so nice. #justiceforalison #leahsmith #thenurse #isabelfielding The tweets have come rolling in thick and fast. Retweets, likes, replies, DMs. On and on it goes, rolling out farther and farther until people halfway across the world now know your face like the back of their hand.
Has anyone approached you yet, Leah? I wish I could be there when they realise it’s you. What is your name now? I’d love to know. I want to send you these letters.
I’ve been drawing you birds. Here’s Pepsi in the garden at Crowmont. Did I tell you that I still dream of the garden at Crowmont? It wasn’t much of a garden, some pot plants and a yellowing lawn. Not much of anything at all, really.
I’m blowing through the money I collected on train fares, but it’s necessary. If I stay in one place too long, someone will recognise me, and that can’t happen just yet, because I’m extremely close to finding you. The internet will do it for me. Got to love that hive mind.
Do you want to know something funny? I was bored in the library one day, and I logged into my mother’s Facebook account using her email address and password, which she hasn’t changed in a decade, only to find that your lovely little brother/son has been messaging my loony-bin pill-popping mother. Fascinating. You know what else I discovered? That Tom saw you with blood on your hands one night. Are you sleepwalking again, Leah?
That’s interesting. Very interesting.
Where did the blood come from, Leah? You’re not a cutter or a quitter. I don’t think it was your blood. I think it was someone else’s. Which makes me wonder if this relationship of ours was a little more equal than you were letting on. Has a bit of me rubbed off on you? Tell me, how are your dreams? Are they more violent now? Do you crave a bit of blood and guts?
I think you do. When we meet, I’m going to ask you all about it.
Aha! As I’ve been sitting here in the library writing to you, someone has tweeted something very interesting.
I know her! She works with me! But her name is Lizzie.
I think I might send that person a private message and see what I can find out.
I’m close to you now. Can’t you feel that connection strengthening between us? I’ve felt bereft of you for too long. It’s time for us to be together again. And, Leah, this time I think we should make sure that we’re together forever. I’ve never told you this before, but I love you, and I think you love me too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
This has happened before. This exact situation. As I stare down at the empty step, I remember, very clearly, the moment when Seb checked the kitchen windowsill for me. I remember how the birds were there one moment and gone the next. After that happened, I never found out if it was a hallucination or if it was Isabel, or another member of her family, playing tricks on me. Now, I’m not sure which is worse. Either my brain has broken again, or Isabel knows where I am.
No. That’s a lie. I do know which is worse. Isabel. Isabel is always worst. If she knows where I am, I’ll never be safe again.
Then I remember. This time it’s di
fferent. This time I will have proof, because I’ve already thought about this exact scenario. “The camera.” I turn to Mark in excitement. “I forgot about the doorbell camera. It records movement on the doorstep.”
“Do you mean that camera?” Mark points to broken glass littered all over the step, and the empty shell that once was my security net. “Maybe it caught the person before it was destroyed.”
Or maybe Isabel threw a rock at it from a distance to make sure it didn’t catch the person who put the bird on the step. At least the broken camera was proof that someone had to be here. Security cameras don’t just explode.
“I should call Tom,” I say. “Just to make sure he’s safe.”
“Let’s quickly check the house first,” Mark suggests, gently taking my keys from my hand to open the door. He saves me the embarrassment of trying to open the door with shaking fingers.
The door is still locked, which I take as a good sign. The house is quiet as we move slowly through the hall and into the living room. Nothing. No one. Then the kitchen. Still no one. I move past Mark and try the windows to check that they’re still locked. They are, as is the back door. Then we go upstairs and check the bedrooms. Despite the fact that the weather isn’t particularly warm, I still find that I’m sweating slightly, and wipe the back of my hand against my forehead. My eyes roam over the room, investigating the area for any inconsistencies. Everything is exactly where it should be.
“There’s no one here,” Mark says. “You all right? You’re a little pale.”
I nod, steadying my breathing in an attempt to control the emotions that are bubbling up to the surface. “I’m fine. I’m really sorry for the way I acted today. I swear I saw the… the magpie. I’m sure of it.”
Mark slips an arm over my shoulder, and I don’t stop him. He walks me back through the house. “Would you like me to put the kettle on?”
“Okay.” A cup of tea would be nice. “I’m going to check the computer just in case the camera did pick something up.”
The laptop boots up agonisingly slowly, finally loading the video just as Mark is setting down the mug of tea on the table next to me. There’s no feed right now, only a black screen. I go back, waiting for my doorstep to appear, and then click on Play. Mark leans over my shoulder as the video plays back. When a stone is thrown towards the camera, I jolt, every part of me tensing.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I let out a breath. “As okay as I can be.”
It takes a few attempts for the camera to be smashed, and all the while, someone hides just out of sight. Watching the angle of the stones, I can only imagine that they came from our next-door neighbours’ garden and climbed through the small gap in the bush, then angled themselves away from the house with several rocks to throw.
“Jesus,” Mark says. “This person was desperate to destroy your camera. But how did they even know it was there?”
“I guess they’ve been watching me,” I reply, the thought making my spine stiffen. I can’t stop thinking about Isabel out there with my mother’s wedding ring on her finger. Isabel, capable of anything, sick to the core, twisted and disgusting, barely human…
“Do you want to talk about it? What happened today? Or the stuff in your past?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Sorry.”
Mark lets out a short, breathy laugh. “You keep apologising, Leah, but I don’t see anything you need to apologise for. What you went through must have been extremely traumatising. Maybe you have PTSD from what happened to you.”
“I do,” I say, more matter-of-factly than I intended to. “I have a therapist. I’m working through… stuff.”
“I’m glad you have help. I think that’s very brave.”
“I should call Scott,” I say, then take my phone and find his details. Tom’s face pops up on the screen while I wait for him to answer. Five rings. Ten. Voicemail. No answer. I text him, warning him that the camera has been smashed.
He texts back: How do you know you didn’t do it yourself?
I close my eyes and count to ten, willing the terror away. When Mark’s arms wrap around my shoulders, I lean into his embrace for a moment, then pull away. I wipe my eyes and let out a long sigh. The truth is, Tom might be right. How do I know I didn’t do it? Was what happened on the bus real? What if I didn’t walk the last few stops, and instead I was smashing my security camera and putting a dead magpie on the step?
“Do you want to leave?” Mark suggests. “We could get some food, take it back to mine. I know being here is making you feel even more tense, and, honestly, I wonder if it’s a good idea for you to be here.”
But I shake my head. “No. I don’t know that it’s her.”
“You should call the police,” he says.
“I will. I have a number to call.” I chew on my bottom lip. What if they remove me and not Tom? “Not yet, though. I need to stay and see if I can get through to Scott.” I send a quick reply to him: I was at work.
It’s not strictly true. My hallucinations have been in-depth and complex before. The more I think about what happened on the bus, the hazier it becomes. According to the time-stamp, I could have made it home around the same time that the camera was smashed.
“Why don’t we work on Abigail’s disappearance now you’re here,” I suggest. “I have the laptop open. We can continue to search for the Pierce family, or the children’s home near Simon Blackthorn’s place of residence?”
Mark nods. I log on to my fake Facebook profile to see if we can find out more about the Pierce family. Checking to see if someone has replied to my comments in the local history groups, but there’s nothing
By the time our mugs are drained, we’ve also sent emails to any offices in the area that might have historic records, hoping that one of them might have some information on young girls of Abigail’s age being admitted to children’s homes in the area. The distraction is a good one, and I feel better for it. When the threat of Isabel feels more real, it’s like I become a bystander in my own life. But when I’m actively helping another person, I have agency again. Yet, at the same time, I can’t help wondering why I never seem to be able to apply that agency to my own life, my own future. My mind refuses to help, blocking me at every corner, making me hallucinate or reducing me to a panicked mess.
One day, I will change all of that. I just need to learn how to do it.
“Are you hungry?” Mark raises an eyebrow. “I’m starving.”
I glance at the time, only now aware that it’s well into the evening and I haven’t eaten since lunch. The medication I’m on not only makes me feel groggy, it plays hell with my appetite.
“I’ve kept you here too long.” I stand up, about to shut down the laptop and apologise again. Mark should go, and I should track down Tom and make him listen. I glance at my phone—still no response to my last text message.
Marks also stands. “Actually, I was thinking maybe a takeaway?” The suggestion is tentative. He stands with his hands open, his eyes pleading, as though he’s afraid of my reaction.
“That sounds nice.” And it does. The truth is, there’s another reason why I suggested that he leave. I’m also a little frightened of him staying here too, while I’m vulnerable and lonely, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But I’m also not ready for him to leave me in this house alone. “I think I have some menus somewhere.”
“Do you mind if I check my email on your laptop?”
“No problem.” Now that I’ve mentioned the menus, I can’t remember where I shoved them. Tom and I aren’t usually takeaway people, having learned to be frugal with our food purchases, but I know I’ve kept them for a potential treat night. I slam one drawer shut and open another. “Found them!”
When I turn around to face Mark with the menus, the atmosphere changes in an instant. His expression is fixed, his eyes are hard, and the air around us chills. The hairs stand up on the backs of my arms.
“It was you,” he whispers.
“What wa
s me?”
I recognise this change in atmosphere. I’ve experienced it many times before as I cowered before my father in one of his drunken rages. Some people make the room feel smaller with their presence, but I never took Mark for one of those people. That cold expression on his face makes me think of Tom as he reached for that knife.
“You’re a murderer.”
The sound of that word makes my breath catch.
“I thought you were helping us because you’re a good person.” He stands, and I back away from the table. “But you’re her. The nurse.”
“Mark, I—”
“You have no idea who I am, do you? You have no idea what you’ve done to me. How could you? How could you let that girl out of the hospital?”
“What are you talking about?”
When he moves, I flinch, and it isn’t because he’s threatened me with any indication of violence. It’s merely the rage coming off him in waves.
“I hate you,” he says, visibly seething. “You’re the reason I’m alone. You’re a terrible person, and I hope you rot in hell.”
“Mark!” I call out, but I don’t follow him as he walks away.
The door slams, and finally I find I can breathe again. My fingers are shaking, and part of me can’t help but wonder if what just happened actually did just happen. Slowly, as my muscles finally begin to release after the shock of the confrontation, I make my way to the laptop to try to make sense of it all.
Mark’s Twitter account is still up on the screen. There’s a tweet open on the page, with a picture attached. That picture is of me. And the caption above it reads: Leah Smith. The nurse who let Isabel Fielding out of prison.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Two For Joy (Isabel Fielding Book 2) Page 15