Watching Over You

by Sherratt, Mel

  As soon as she’d closed the door behind her, Ella had checked the papers, but there had been nothing there that would have given her away. Nothing that would make Charley turn against her like so many other people had. But something had definitely spooked her – even though she’d been on her best behaviour that evening.

  What had gone wrong? Had she got Weirdo stamped across her forehead?

  Sighing with disappointment, she logged on to One Night Only and checked to see if anyone was available.

  I’d been at Ravenside Home a week the first time Billie locked me in the cupboard. It was one of those built over the box at the top of the stairs. I was sitting on my bed and she pushed me onto the floor. When I started to cry, she brought up her hand and slapped my cheek, grabbed a handful of my hair, and dragged me to the cupboard while I screamed. I was such a shy child back then, highly privileged, born to wealthy parents who had given me everything. Billie had been living with her grandparents after her mum died of a drugs overdose and no one knew who her father was. She’d been with them for two years before they’d had enough of her; expelled from two schools by the time she was eleven. I heard Malcolm, the home manager, say that Billie was a law unto herself and a tough nut to crack.

  I’d bang on the door to be let out of the cupboard, screaming until I made myself hoarse. Sobbed my heart out but did she open the door? Did she FUCK! She just turned up her radio so no one could hear me. She used to let me out when I could sob no more.

  Why didn’t anyone from the home hear me? Did they turn a blind eye or was Billie too clever? I don’t fucking understand!

  I realised after a while that no one was going to get me out, no matter how much noise I made. I screamed and kicked the door until I was sick but no one heard me. Billie saw to that. She was very clever.

  Why did she lock me in there? I hated Billie.

  I didn’t like Ravenside Home.

  I hated it there.

  Chapter Eight

  Ella’s fingers clicked through image after image on the website, message after message.

  Patrick, 36. ‘When you have chemistry with someone, it’s undeniable. It doesn’t matter what they look like, or what they do. That’s what I’m looking for.’

  Ella snorted. She didn’t care what anyone looked like either as long as she could be screwed. She scrolled down further.

  Phil, 43. ‘I like to meet people and have a laugh. I hope to meet an interesting girl. From there who knows?’

  Who knows indeed? Ella favourited that link to return to if nothing else took her fancy.

  Simone, 28. ‘I’m looking for friendship really, great if it develops further, or maybe I’ll be totally swept off my feet. Oh and by the way I’m one of the normalish women on here…can be slightly mad but in a good way and definitely not moody and got a great sense of humour.’

  Ella sighed again. What was it with people – great if it develops further? The website name was the biggest clue – one night only! And Simone definitely didn’t sound normal from that description.

  She scrolled down further and noted three more possible dates who had shown an interest in meeting her – that was three men in total and a woman. Before jumping into the shower, she emailed the first one to see if he was available. When she came back into the room ten minutes later, there was a reply waiting for her. He wasn’t free that evening but would be available tomorrow. Her shoulders sagged.

  ‘I don’t fucking think so!’

  She moved on to the next guy, emailed him as she sat naked. When he still hadn’t replied once she’d dried her hair, she went to the next one on the list. Quickly, she scanned his details: there was a mobile number. Using a separate phone she had bought purposely, she texted him before pulling on a chocolate-brown peep-through bra and matching crotchless knickers. She wanted to be screwed quickly this evening.

  A text came back almost immediately. She read it eagerly, and then threw down her phone in despair. Unavailable at such short notice – what was wrong with these men? She emailed two more. If she didn’t get a response soon she’d just have to go out and find someone. Thinking of Mark and the way he’d treated her always made her angry.

  Slipping into her heels, she heard an email ping into her inbox. Clicking on it, she grinned. At last someone was available and could meet her within the hour. She checked her watch: seven forty-five. That would do. Stuff the guy she’d texted; he was too late now if he replied. She emailed her acceptance. Then she lay back on the bed to masturbate. Her date might be willing to wait an hour but she certainly wasn’t. She needed to get rid of the anger. Her fingers moved over herself, inside herself, harder and faster as she aimed for quick release. It felt so good, so in control.

  Forty minutes later, Ella was in a taxi and on her way back into Hanley. Once outside their meeting place, she glanced down towards Marsh Street, remembering the encounter with Alex three weeks ago in the alleyway. It was a shame she couldn’t use the same place this evening; it would have been a blast to be screwed there by two different men. But it would have to keep for another time. Tonight, she was meeting a woman.

  She went into the bar and strode confidently across the floor. Jayne stood waiting at the end of it. At first, Ella couldn’t take her eyes off her low-cut sleeveless top, or the ample cleavage she was showing off. She licked her lips in excitement at what was to come. Then she looked up into brown eyes full of want. For once, Jayne was every bit as good as her photograph. Ella mostly preferred seeing what she got first. It was much better than a blind date – though some of the profile pictures from the website were highly misleading, dreadfully disappointing. Even Ella had her limits, despite her needs.

  ‘Drink here first or shall we move to somewhere we can be a little more…intimate?’ Jayne asked, after they’d greeted each other with a kiss. To anyone in the bar, they looked like girlfriends meeting for a gossip. The thought excited Ella even more. She hoped Jayne would stay around for a few hours. Maybe she could invite her home for a nightcap too.

  Early next morning, Ella jumped at the sound of the entrance door closing. It must be Charley leaving for work. She lifted her head from the pillow slightly before putting it back again with a thud.

  It had been a stroke of genius to tell Charley that she was registered with a temping agency and only called in as and when. Now she wouldn’t have to pretend to work set times, even though she wasn’t sure what regular hours were nowadays.

  If she hadn’t got such a raging headache after drinking champagne with Jayne last night, she would have leapt out of bed and over to the window to see Charley before she got into her car. Almost like Jean sitting forwards in her chair at the slightest of noises in the avenue, already she knew it was going to become her morning ritual. She liked to know what Charley was wearing, speculate where she was going if she wasn’t in work wear. And, unlike nosy Jean, who just wanted to know what everyone was up to, she was only interested in this neighbour. No one else intrigued her like Charley.

  She sat up and stretched, wondered what to do with her day. Sometimes time stood still and life became boring and monotonous as one hour rolled into the next. But, while Charley was out, it was a great opportunity to steal downstairs and have a good look around her flat. The more she knew about her, the more she would get to know Charley’s likes and dislikes. And that could only benefit their friendship. It would show that she was in sync with her. It was a perfect plan, she congratulated herself.

  In her back bedroom, Jean made a breakfast of porridge, one slice of wholemeal toast lightly buttered and a huge mug of tea. She put it all out on a tray and picked it up to carry through to her bedroom at the front of the house. She spent most of her time upstairs now; having no downstairs toilet, she was nearer to the bathroom that way.

  She trod carefully along the passageway, hating the thought of one day losing her independence altogether. Looking through the upstairs
window, watching the world go by on a daily basis, was the only thing she wanted to do now. It kept her sane; to remove that privilege would be taking away her life. She wanted to stay in this house for as long as she could – leave in a coffin if it were possible. She didn’t want to go into any old folks’ place, bungalow, residential home, or sheltered housing block. She’d rather die than be made to join in with bingo and coffee mornings and for everyone to know her business. She was the one who knew everyone else’s business and she liked it that way.

  She took her tray over to the window and placed it on the low table next to her chair. In a moment, she was settled. Most days, her blinds were drawn. She’d chosen vertical ones because of their versatility, but sometimes it was hard to look through them; they reminded her of bars up at the window when she felt lonely. But even when closed, they were still thin enough to see out and, although the glare of the street lamp outside often kept her from sleeping, she loved the fact that she could still see everything. Now the blinds were slanting to the right, allowing Jean direct access to number thirty-seven.

  It was as she sat down in her chair ready to bite into her toast that she saw a shadow in the bay window of Charley’s flat. She leaned forward for a closer look but there was nothing there. She looked down onto the road to see that Charley’s car was still gone – she’d noted down when she’d left ten minutes earlier – so she hadn’t come back, maybe forgetting something. She waited a moment longer. This time she did see someone in the window.

  It was Ella – she might have known.

  She reached for her binoculars so that she could take a closer look. Ella was wandering slowly around the living room, running her fingers along the back of the settee. Flabbergasted, Jean saw her looking at something on Charley’s desk. Then she opened a drawer, searching through it with a hand before closing it again.

  When Ella glanced towards her window, Jean sat back in the chair as quickly as she could. She watched the second hand on the clock go round one full rotation before daring to move forward again. But when she looked, Ella had gone. Her eyes rose upwards but that window was empty too. She looked up and down the street – no, she must still be inside.

  After another minute of nothing, she did start to eat her toast, now cold. But then she spotted Ella standing in the window again. She was holding a mug, sipping from it carefully. How dare she, the cheeky madam! Jean had a good mind to go over and tell Ella that she shouldn’t be snooping around in other people’s possessions while they weren’t in. The house might belong to her but she had no right to do that.

  But she wouldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Besides, there wasn’t any point because no one listened if she caused a fuss anyway; she wasn’t going to go through all that again. And perhaps Ella would be capable of twisting the truth regardless. She had seen her looking just then, she was sure.

  Jean wondered, given her own penchant for people-watching, if she would want to snoop around her tenant’s place if she were a landlady. She smiled, only then empathising with Ella. Of course she would. Even now, she wanted to know everything about Charley, too: why she was on her own and why she’d come to live in the flat. She must have some excess baggage not to be married with two point four children by now.

  Jean picked up her notepad and wrote down what she had seen. She might not feel comfortable telling Charley that Ella was roaming around her flat when she wasn’t there but she could still make a note of it.

  She smiled sneakily. If anything happened to her, everyone’s business in Warwick Avenue might be common knowledge. The police would have a field day if they ever saw her notes.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the next two weeks, it didn’t take long for Ella to establish Charley’s routine. Always between eight and half past during the week, she would leave the house for work. Most evenings, she was back around six. Twice, on different evenings during the week, she would head out again wearing sports gear and be gone for an hour and a half.

  Apart from her meet ups with One Night Only dates, the weekends dragged for Ella as Charley mostly stayed in except for a trip to the supermarket and another trip to the gym. Ella knew now that she went to Green’s Health and Fitness on the business park at Trentham Lakes; liked to stay for an hour, mainly running on the treadmill.

  By now intrigued to see what kind of work she got up to in the field, Ella decided to follow her on a visit to one of her clients. Staying a few cars behind, she headed across to Meir and down Uttoxeter Road, where Charley parked halfway down. Ella pulled in to the kerb and watched as she walked up a pathway to a scruffy-looking house, saw her knock on the door. Charley’s heels were low, her long hair tied away from her face. She wore a smart two-piece trouser suit that was neither too official nor too casual. In one hand, she held a soft briefcase, in the other her mobile phone.

  The door was answered and she went in.

  Despite hardly any sleep the night before after spending most of the evening with a man who called himself Zavier, Ella had managed to stay awake. It had been an hour and thirty-two minutes exactly before Charley had reappeared.

  It was when she stood chatting on the doorstep that Ella’s heart melted. The woman in the doorway burst into tears and Charley’s compassion came out. A simple touch on the arm before she said goodbye, an encouraging squeeze, made the woman give her a weak smile in return. It was enough to spark an idea in Ella.

  If she could make Charley upset, and offer her a shoulder to cry on, she would be able to touch her too. And then together they could begin to explore the idea of a relationship. After spending a pleasant night with Jayne, already Ella knew that she wanted to do the same with Charley. A ripple of desire flowed through her at the thought that it could lead to far more than a one-night stand.

  After a harrowing morning talking one of her clients through her next appearance in court as a witness, Charley arrived back at the office to a mound of trivial paperwork that she couldn’t face. Lynne was on the phone trying to urge someone to meet up with her, and Gavin, their assistant support worker, was logging in a client visit for her. She sat down, elbows on her desk, chin resting in her hands, listening to everything going on. It was all so dreary at times, yet she wouldn’t swap what she did, and she was one of the lucky ones who didn’t have to experience any of it first-hand. She knew that two people a week died through escalating domestic violence incidences; such a sad statistic.

  When Lynne ended her call, Charley jumped to her feet. ‘Who’d like a sandwich fetching from the shop, my treat? I’m feeling in the mood for cake too.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Lynne pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘I’d like a vanilla slice, please. Are you off to Wright’s Pie Shop?’

  Wright’s Pie Shop was in Tontine Square. Like the Staffordshire Oatcake, the family-run business was renowned locally for a quality product.

  ‘Of course,’ said Charley.

  ‘Maybe I should have a meat and potato pie too – instead of a sandwich. It would work out far cheaper…’

  ‘You’re making me salivate at the thought!’ Gavin popped his head around the side of his monitor, all blond spiky hair and baby face. ‘I’d love a pie too. Is that okay?’

  Charley started to write down their order.

  ‘I’d like something with a big fat dollop of jam in it – I love a bit of sauce.’

  Charley looked up to see Aaron by her side. ‘Funny you should appear at the mention of cake,’ she said, giving him a knowing look, but relishing the sight of his warm smile.

  Fifteen minutes later, while she waited in the small queue at the shop, Charley tried to clear her mind. Helping Margaret Owen to send her partner to prison and off the streets so that she could live her life in peace, if only for a while, was taking its toll on both of them. Listening to what that bastard had done to Margaret, reliving it all, was atrocious for Charley and she hadn’t been the one who had been brutally raped a
nd left for dead. She prayed he went down for a very long time – it took so much out of the women she worked with asking them to testify and live through it all again. And there was so much prejudice involved in these types of things. Luckily for Margaret, the judge on her case was known to be sensitive and firm, and willing to listen to both sides of a story before making a decision.

  Deep in thought, she didn’t hear someone calling her name.

  ‘Charley!’

  A hand on her arm and she turned to see Ella.

  ‘It is you. How are you? I haven’t seen much of you since you moved in.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Ella. I’m fine, thanks.’ Charley smiled and moved forward as the queue did. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, too. So you work at Striking Back?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Striking Back.’ Ella shuffled forward. ‘It’s the only organisation I know around here for domestic violence victims.’

  Charley nodded in understanding. ‘Yes, I’m on the sandwich run. You?’

  Ella picked up a cheese and pickle baguette from an open display cabinet at the side of them. ‘A temping job came up at Tesco. It’s only a few hours a day for a fortnight but every little bit helps, so they say. And I can’t buy my dinner from there or else there’d be no point walking in to town.’

  ‘Right.’ Charley handed her order over to the young girl behind the counter before turning back. ‘How do you find temping? I’m too much of a stickler for routine to want to swap around all the time.’

  Ella shrugged. ‘It brings in the money, I suppose. And it suits me – I hate to be tied down to one place. Not that there’s much chance of that around here. I’m lucky I’ve been temping long enough to continue to get some regular gigs. I like the variety too. I’m on stock-control in the warehouse at the moment.’ She paused. ‘Have you met any of our neighbours yet?’