Watching Over You

by Sherratt, Mel

  Jean pushed her glasses up her nose, no point in trying with the binoculars; they didn’t have sophisticated night vision. Ella was at her house now, running up the steps, in a panic trying to find her keys. She could see clearly that she was crying, wiping at her cheeks before opening the door and going into the house.

  She waited for a light to go on upstairs before she pushed her aching legs, willing them to work so that she could stand. Ella really had looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. What had she been up to now?

  Ella ran into the house with the slam of a door and took the stairs two at a time. Sobbing uncontrollably, in her haste to get inside she struggled again to fit the key in the lock, kicking out in temper. But at last she managed it.

  Inside, she removed her clothes quickly. She pushed them all into a plastic bag, along with her shoes, and shoved them underneath her bed. It was too late to do anything with them now; ideally, she should burn them but Charley was downstairs and might hear her in the garden and come out to see what she was doing. Charley could alert the police and then Ella wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret any longer. No, she’d have to get rid of them in the morning; she couldn’t risk them being found here.

  Then she sat on the bed with a thump. ‘Please don’t let me lose control again,’ she whispered.

  Ella knew that if she hadn’t seen Brendan, she wouldn’t have been reminded of her past. The sex addiction she could just about cope with – it was a means to an end. But Brendan had been such an evil bastard to her. Attacking him had only been what he deserved.

  You stupid bitch. What have you done now?

  Ella covered her ears.

  Everyone will know it was you.

  ‘Shut up!’

  They’ll come after you and they’ll lock you up and who will protect you from me then?

  Ella ran to the closet. Pulling the door shut behind her, she pushed herself as far into the corner as she could go and slid to the floor. Then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Why had she chosen to stay local? If she had gone into Hanley, none of this would have happened. She gagged. She could still taste Brendan on her lips, still smell his breath. Still remember what he’d said to her when she was younger, hear him talking to her, coaxing her at first to do the things he wanted. Then when she had, he’d forced her to do much more. She’d been young, vulnerable. He should have known better.

  He should have been there to protect her. Instead, all he did was expose her vulnerability. And he made her think of Amy. She’d shut her away in a box a long time ago too, never to be let out. But seeing him, seeing the father of her daughter again, it had all come hurtling back. The hurt, the humiliation, the fear.

  Ella recalled being the happiest she’d ever been when she found out she was pregnant. She pressed her hand to her stomach, remembering the feel of the tiny human being growing inside; ran a finger over the silvery stretch marks that showed where her skin had expanded.

  At first she’d kept it a secret. It was her baby, someone who would love only her, cherish her. But eventually, when she could hide it no more, she told him. Nothing could have prepared her for his hostility. She shuddered at the thought of how he’d dragged her onto the floor by her hair, screaming in her face to get rid of it. She told him she would, to get him to stop. But she knew she was lying.

  Instead she’d gone to see a nurse at the local health centre, who explained how the baby wouldn’t grow if she didn’t look after herself. From that moment on, she’d tried to stay away from the drugs and alcohol. But Brendan would often coax her into it, though; she couldn’t help it. She tried! God, she tried.

  She would have made the perfect mother.

  Ella pulled at her hair, all the time talking aloud, trying to drown out the words going round inside her head, putting the blame on to her. It wasn’t her fault. It was people like those social workers – people like that bitch Charley downstairs – who poked their nose in where it wasn’t wanted, interfering and making things worse. All Ella had ever wanted was to be loved. Why wasn’t she good enough for that?

  But she knew why: it was because she pushed people away. She made people dislike her so that they wouldn’t get close to her, so they couldn’t hurt her. She made women despise her by the way she looked at their men. She made the men feel wary of her – unless they screwed her. If they screwed her, they were hers for that moment in time but gone soon after. No one wanted to see Ella again afterwards. She wasn’t good enough for more than that.

  It was a while later when she took a shower. The water cascaded over her, taking with it splashes of blood she’d returned with, bits of Brendan that she didn’t want. The side of her face stung where he’d scratched at her, trying to get her off him as she’d bitten down harder on his cock. Her head hurt, too, where he had pulled her hair. But she’d been too strong for him tonight.

  At one time she would have let him do anything to her – she’d thought it proved how much he cared for her. Every cut, every bruise, every bite. Saliva built up inside her mouth as panic coursed through her. Suddenly, she was out of the shower and throwing up into the toilet.

  Fuck, what had she done? If anyone found out it was her, they’d find out she had a criminal record and lock her up again. They’d make her take drugs, do tests, tick boxes, and conform to how they thought she should act. She could never go back to that regime.

  You’re in so much trouble.

  After working late into the previous evening on a report for a meeting, Charley left home early the next morning to continue with it at her desk. It was just after half past seven as she locked her front door and headed along the hallway, stopping as she noticed a smear on the banister. Peering closer, she put out her hand before snatching it back. She shouldn’t touch it. It could very well be…She moved a little closer.

  It was blood. Oh, God, what had happened to Ella now?

  Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be a lot of it – from a cut hand, maybe, as she’d leaned on the rail to go upstairs. She’d heard her banging around as she’d come home last night, and she had been quiet after that.

  Charley paused at the bottom of the stairs. She sighed. Ella was a weird one but she couldn’t go to work without seeing if she was all right.

  At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, a hand in the air. But then she brought it down onto the door.

  ‘Ella?’ She knocked loudly.

  There was no answer.

  She knocked again. ‘Ella, are you okay? Did you fall over last night?’

  ‘Go away.’ She heard a faint voice from behind the door.

  ‘But there’s blood out here, on the banister rail. Are you sure you’re all right? Do you need help?’

  ‘No, I can manage.’

  It was a whisper but Charley would have to be satisfied. She stood for a few moments, seeing if Ella would come out. But there was no movement from inside the flat.

  Ella had been dozing on the settee when Charley had knocked on the door. She’d been there all night since she’d had a shower, curled up with another bottle of vodka, trying desperately to keep Cassandra out. She couldn’t let her back into her life. But as the voice became louder and louder, Ella knew she wouldn’t be able to continue batting it away for much longer.

  Surprised by Charley’s concern, she wondered what she’d meant by asking if she was okay. It wasn’t anything she would do of a morning normally. She dragged herself into the bathroom, her head fuzzy again.

  Rinsing her face, she winced. Going to the mirror, she pulled away her hair to reveal a deep scratch down the side of her face. How the hell had that happened, now? She touched it, winced again, trying to remember what she’d done the night before. Then she paled. She’d blacked out again, hadn’t she?

  She sat on the settee, hoping to remember eventually.

  A few minutes later, it al
l came back. Shit: Brendan Furnival. Fear coursing through her, she ran through to her bedroom and looked under the bed. She pulled out the bag and burst into tears when she saw the blood all over her clothes.

  ‘No, no, no, no, no!’ she cried.

  Worse than that, she remembered why Charley had checked on her.

  In the kitchen, she ran a bowl of hot water and added detergent. Then she took it out onto the stairs. She could see it – more blood, all down the handrail. It could be hers or it could be Brendan’s. How would she know?

  She had to get rid of it. It could be evidence. Manically, she scrubbed at the wood until there were no remains of Brendan, trying not to think about what she had done. He wasn’t moving when she’d left him. Had she killed him? If she had, she’d be in so much trouble.

  No, she shook her head to rid it of its confusion. It wasn’t her; it couldn’t be! She’d have to blame Cassandra. Yes, Cassandra had attacked Brendan, not her.

  It was you, you evil bitch. Don’t try and put the blame on me!

  She ignored the voice. This was all Cassandra’s fault.

  No! I won’t have you saying that. Do you hear?

  ‘Look at what you’ve made me do now!’ Ella screamed. ‘Look at what you’ve made me do!’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Did you hear what happened to Brendan Furnival?’ Lynne asked Charley, arriving at her desk at nine in a flurry of wet coat and dripping umbrella.

  Before Charley had a chance to speak, she continued. ‘He was beaten up last night – left for dead, apparently. Someone found him on the spare ground behind Neck End pub.’ She laughed. ‘Your neck of the woods, isn’t it, by the Britannia Stadium?’

  Charley looked up from her work in confusion. Lynne was right; it was about half a mile from Warwick Avenue.

  ‘Police say he was getting dirty with a fella – can you imagine that? I hadn’t clocked that he was into men – just thought he was a mean bastard with the ladies. Mind, he did spend a bit of time inside. I suppose it could have turned him.’

  ‘Slow down!’ said Charley. ‘I can’t take it all in.’

  Lynne glanced around before whispering to her. ‘Someone tried to bite the end of his knob off.’

  Charley gasped.

  Lynne smiled widely. ‘Great, isn’t it?’

  ‘And they’re sure it was a man he was with?’

  ‘Police aren’t ruling anything out yet.’ Lynne switched on her computer. ‘Although I reckon the attack was too vicious to be a woman.’

  ‘I don’t know so much.’ Charley shook her head. ‘There’s nothing like a woman scorned, or so they say. Having said that, Furnival is a rough nut. I wouldn’t fancy a woman’s chances with him.’

  ‘Not if she was going down on him – I’ve often wondered what it’d be like to sink my teeth into one. I would have done so on quite a few occasions if I was brave enough for the repercussions. I –’

  ‘Ladies, please!’ Aaron had come over to them. He grimaced.

  ‘Serves you right for sneaking up on us,’ Lynne retorted.

  ‘Back to the subject of knob biting.’ Charley sniggered, enjoying the look of anguish on his face. ‘It couldn’t have happened to a better bloke, if you ask me.’

  ‘Sometimes there is justice in this world.’ Lynne took off her jacket and put it over the back of her chair. ‘I don’t dislike many people but he’s an evil bastard. I still can’t believe he did what he did and got away with it.’

  Furnival was known in their circles as ‘the cruel bastard that got lucky.’ During her time at Striking Back plus her previous years in social work, Charley had come across him on several occasions. The time that stuck in her mind was when Social Services had received complaints from a teenage girl who was staying at the home where Furnival was working at the time. With the help of the police, he’d been charged with indecent assault on a female under sixteen. Everyone was convinced Furnival was abusing her, but there had been no proof and the child hadn’t been able to stand up to the interrogation in court. To everyone’s dismay and anger, the case had been dropped. Since then, there had been several incidents reported around him. One day, Charley knew he would have his come-uppance. She hoped every part of him was hurting today.

  ‘Have the police anything on CCTV?’ asked Aaron.

  ‘I’m not sure if it will be covered back there. And if it is, it’ll be too early yet,’ said Lynne. ‘I only know so much because there was a Police Community Support Officer in reception and he told me about it. But apparently Furnival’s wallet was still there, money still in it.’

  ‘So with his pants being around his knees, they’ve ruled out robbery as the likely motive?’

  ‘Hey, a recent survey said that men in Stoke-on-Trent have the biggest willies in the UK,’ said Lynne.

  ‘Get real!’ Charley laughed.

  ‘It’s true! Everything in the newspapers is gospel, isn’t it?’ she added with raised eyebrows. ‘I’d be shocked if it wasn’t.’

  ‘No, I’d bet my life on him not being gay,’ said Aaron. ‘Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Lynne.

  ‘Pity, that.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, pity.’

  They all grinned at each other.

  After the meeting in the conference room upstairs, Charley was stopped by one of the social workers. Tanya Smith was in her early thirties and they had worked for the local authority at the same time. They’d always got on well, sharing information or helping with each other’s cases whenever it had been necessary.

  ‘I wanted to know if you’d made any progress with Cassandra Thorpe,’ Tanya questioned just before they got to the doorway. ‘She was a client of mine but she disappeared from her address, about six months ago.’

  Charley paused. ‘I don’t know anyone of that name.’

  ‘But I saw you walking down Stafford Street with her the other day. I meant to ring and ask you about her but you know how it is. I got caught up with something else and I knew I’d be seeing you today anyway.’

  Charley shook her head. ‘I don’t know anyone called Cassandra.’

  ‘When would it be?’ Tanya frowned. ‘It was earlier in the week, Tuesday – no, wait a minute, it might have been Wednesday. You were coming out of TK Maxx. I’m sure it was near lunch time.’

  Charley thought back, then she realised. ‘Oh, yes, I saw my neighbour – she’s my landlady really. I’d bumped into her. Actually, I wanted to –’

  ‘Your landlady is Cassandra Thorpe?’ Tanya’s mouth dropped open. ‘I thought she was one of your clients.’

  ‘Of course she isn’t my client. You’ve obviously got her mixed up with someone else. Her name is Ella – Ella Patrick.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, unless she’s using a different name now – hardly likely, though. Who’s Cassandra Thorpe?’

  ‘She’s someone I was working with. She has a background of abuse and addiction,’ Tanya explained. ‘Both her parents and her sister were killed in a car accident when she was young and she was taken into care etcetera, etcetera. Had a couple of breakdowns. I’d been working with her for about two years. The last time I saw her, she worried me, if I’m honest. I asked her to keep a diary of what happened to her during the course of the week in between that and our next appointment. You know, not what she got up to but how she felt.’

  Charley nodded in recognition. ‘A mood diary, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d get a page or two if I was lucky but what I got was quite unnerving. She came back with a notepad, every page filled with rambling thoughts – it was a diary of her whole adult life! Not just her moods but what had happened to her, where she’d been. It mentioned she was married. She even talked about having a baby but, like I said, I wasn’t sure if it was true or random thoughts.’


  Charley went cold. Since Ella’s recent outbursts, she’d started to question the truth in anything she had told her. But there had been mention of a baby.

  Charley pointed to the table. They pulled out chairs and sat down again.

  ‘What did she say when you asked her about it?’ she asked Tanya.

  ‘I haven’t seen her since.’ Tanya sighed. ‘She didn’t turn up for the next appointment or for any after that. I wrote to her and visited her address a couple of times –’

  ‘I live in Warwick Avenue.’

  ‘Ah. Cassandra lived in Penkhull.’

  ‘And she didn’t register for benefits anywhere at a new address?’

  One of the ways their organisations kept up with people who went missing was to check with housing benefits to see if there was a new address on file. A lot of their clients were on income support so had to claim from somewhere. It was a tactic often used when a tenant had left quickly without informing anyone, or the property had been in a state of disrepair. As soon as they registered somewhere else for benefits, a re-charge bill for any damage or missed rent would be issued.

  Tanya shook her head. ‘As far as I was aware she wasn’t entitled to them. She had money from her parents’ firm when she sold it.’

  ‘Which is why when you saw her with me, you thought she was my client and that I’d found out where she was living now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Charley paused. Some of this was ringing true about Ella. But she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, wait a minute.’ She reached for her mobile phone. ‘I have a few photos here, from a night out.’

  ‘From a night out, hmm? So how is the lovely Aaron?’

  Charley smiled. It seemed news travelled fast.

  ‘Seriously, I’m delighted,’ said Tanya. ‘He’s such a great guy and he’s had a crush on you since time began.’ She took the phone from Charley and looked at the screen. She drew it closer. ‘That’s Cassandra Thorpe!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘But it can’t be!’ The smile dropped from Charley’s face in an instant. Could it really be Ella that Tanya was referring to? It would certainly explain things, but…, she didn’t want to think about it.