by J. A. Baker
Chloe’s low breathing seems to fill the room, echoing off every wall, bouncing off every surface. Even when she’s asleep she has to take centre stage. Always the drama queen, thirsty for attention.
The room is warm – too warm despite there being no heating. Leah suppresses a yawn, her eyes suddenly heavy with the exertion of getting in here and doing what she had to do. Perhaps the mental effort is catching up with her. It’s difficult to fight the deep-seated exhaustion that has taken root in deep inside her. She won’t fall asleep. All she needs is a couple of seconds to restore her energy. Just a few seconds and she will feel better, her battery recharged to full capacity, her mind refreshed and renewed, and ready to tackle whatever comes next.
The service for her brother has finished. Everyone is filing out of the church. They left Ellis behind at the crematorium, his coffin disappearing behind the sweep of a thick velvet curtain, his broken remains ready and waiting to be scorched and turned to dust. Leah tries not to think about her brother burning in a furnace so hot it grinds his bones, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ashes.
Her parents are barely holding it together. Aunt Mary is by Leah’s side, their arms linked in solidarity. Mary is her mentor, her rock, the only one of her family with whom she ever formed a bond. Mary was always able to see Leah’s need to belong, her desperation to be anybody other than who she really is. Mary also knows the other side of her; the real Leah, the hidden identity that even Leah herself has tried to ignore. The other Leah.
The dark one.
She first saw it when they stayed over at Mary’s on one of their annual family holidays to London. Tired of trailing around the city looking at sights that held no interest for her, Leah had decided enough was enough and refused to accompany her parents on any further visits, staying home with Mary instead. Bored, a young Leah had slunk off into one of the many rooms in Mary’s big old Victorian townhouse, deciding to find other ways of amusing herself.
Hearing the noise and the squawks and the laughter, Mary had joined Leah in the bedroom to see what was going on. She caught her holding the guinea pig in one hand, and a pair of scissors in the other. The squirming animal was hurt but, fortunately, lived. It had a scar on its back where she had traced the sharp edge of the scissors up and down its spine, giggling and bouncing up and down excitedly as the stricken animal writhed and twisted its small body, trying to free itself.
That’s when Mary realised. She discovered Leah’s concealed self. The bit that nobody else knew about. Their eyes had met and Leah saw the recognition there. It was their secret. Both she and Mary hid it well over the years, Mary insisting that she speak to Leah every few weeks, questioning her over how she was behaving and what was going on in her life; trying to instil a sense of morality into her, explaining that being kind and thinking of others was an important part of growing up. And sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.
Mary and her mother hold one another as they slide out of the pew and make their way outside. Nobody speaks. A grief filled silence hangs over them all. What is there to say? Ellis is dead, her parents are inconsolable and she is to blame. This is all her doing.
At times like this, a part of her thinks that there is no point in trying to do the right thing by people. They rarely notice or give thanks. It seems that it’s easier to take your own track in life and do whatever the hell you want. Being the good girl becomes too difficult a path to walk. Nobody expects anything from bad people except heartache and bouts of trouble. There is less pressure, fewer expectations to do anything of any value, however when you do, the reception is greater. It is met with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. People are caught unawares, receiving your small acts of kindness with such enthusiasm it almost makes the bad times feel so much more worthwhile. This is what Leah tells herself. Because she is so terribly damaged, acts of hurt and destruction have become part of who she is. It’s a rigid unbending path she is on and she doesn’t know how to deviate or turn around and leave.
There is no gathering afterwards, no meeting of family members and close friends. Emotions are raw, words too hard to speak. Nothing anybody can say will ever make any of it better. Easier to say nothing at all than say the wrong thing and make it even worse. People slink away until there is only herself, Mary and her parents left. They slide into the waiting car and travel home in complete silence. The quiet weeping of her mother as they round the corner to their house pierces the deathly hush. Leah’s spine stiffens. The thought of going back in there, into the stuffiness of the house with its bare dark corners fills her with dread. Passing her brother’s still and silent bedroom is more than she can bear. The very thought of it makes her queasy. She can’t. She just can’t do it.
Writhing at the handle, Leah wrenches it open and all but falls out of the car, her legs scrambling for purchase on the pavement. She can hear her mother’s crying, her father’s pleas for her to return, Aunt Mary’s whispers for her to come back, telling her everything is going to be just fine, that she needs to be here for her parents. She ignores them all.
Nothing stops her. Pushed on by fear and anger and isolation so deep and so strong it tears at her insides with claws of iron, she keeps on moving, just walking, stumbling, running until the voices have faded and she can no longer see their house or the street on which it stands. She has no idea of where she is going. All she knows is, she has to get away.
It’s dark by the time she arrives back home. She has spent the day wandering around town and is now hungry and tired and cold. Mary has left for the station and her parents are sitting in the darkness when she marches back in feeling blackened by the day’s events. Charred by what she has done.
The feeling in the house is oppressive, the atmosphere as heavy as lead. She tries to inject an air of levity into it but can tell by the reception her chirpy manner receives that it is ill timed. She realises then that this is how it is going to be now Ellis has gone. The light has escaped from their lives and the darkness is all pervading. He was their sunshine. She is their storm.
She slips upstairs, her footfall light. She wishes she could be spirited away and find somewhere new to live. A place where she can start again, be a new shiny version of herself and begin her life all over again.
A new life with Lucy and Ellis in it.
Chloe is laid on the bed staring at her, an accusatory expression on her face. Leah shakes herself awake, wonders what time it is and how long she has been asleep for. She is disorientated, slightly dizzy. She needs to stay awake, have her wits about her. Chloe escaping is out of the question. She can’t allow that to happen. Everything has gone too far now to turn back or pretend none of it has happened. There’ll be no happy ending to this scenario, she knows that now, no way of escaping her actions.
‘Right, at some point you’re going to need to go to the toilet. I’m warning you,’ Leah says slowly as she glares at Chloe, trying to regain control, ‘if you try anything untoward when you go, I will break your skinny little neck.’
Chloe nods, the brightness fading from her eyes. Bit by bit, the fight will leave her and will be replaced by physical and mental exhaustion. The biting was just a kickback, an unsuccessful attempt to break free. Chloe isn’t a fighter. She is neither strong enough nor powerful enough to plan a sustained attack.
‘I’m going to stand you up and you’re going to hobble to the bathroom, sit down and have a pee. Then we’ll come back through here and you’re going to lie back down on the bed.’ Leah raises her eyebrow, waiting for a response from a suddenly placid Chloe who nods miserably as more tears cascade down her face.
Dragging her up off the bed is easy. Holding her up while they both shuffle to the bathroom proves more difficult. Fortunately, Chloe complies with Leah’s wishes, sitting on the toilet, releasing a stream of urine before standing back up and slowly padding her way back onto the bed. She slumps down, her body not quite the lithe fighting figure of just a few hours ago. She is hunched, a little broken. Not the same person at a
ll.
‘Right,’ Leah says quietly, voicing her own thoughts whilst looking around the room, ‘now that we’ve got the ablutions out of the way, I need to decide what the hell I’m going to do with you.’
28
The pain is excruciating. Leah can’t see straight, think straight. She is incapacitated, unable to do anything at all. The light is fading, her eyes too heavy to stay open, dead-weights on her lids, forcing them shut. She focuses only on getting enough oxygen into her lungs, to do what is required to stay alive, but everywhere hurts. Everything hurts. Even breathing.
She moves her hands, spreads them out in front of her, her fingertips creeping around, feeling for something – anything that will give her a clue as to where she is, something that will help her to find out what has happened. She stops, touches upon something solid. Something broken and twisted. Metal, or plastic. A hard surface where there should be air and space. This is wrong. Where is she? Why can’t she move?
A face looms over hers, a blurred silhouette. Something touches her, pressure being applied to her face. She shrieks, recoils, tries to move away, to shift her position and free herself from the compression on her skin but the bulk bearing down on her is too great, the pain too intense. Everything is useless. She is useless.
‘We need to move. We have to move her.’
A voice, more than one. People passing her. Shuffling, pushing, creeping through debris.
The silhouette comes into focus. A man. There is a man staring down at her. She knows him. She knows this face. He speaks again, his voice familiar, comforting.
Behind the face, a spread of colour. She recognises that too. She knows those colours, the ones she despises so much. It’s the painting, that ghastly garish picture.
She is in Will’s office. The weight on her torso and face eases, the pain in her stomach dulls. The artwork behind him fades, his blurred features coming into focus, becoming sharper, more recognisable. He reaches over to her and taps her hand, his fingers clutching hers. She is too weary to stop him, too scared to move away.
‘I’m dying,’ is all she can say, her voice croaky, her throat thick with blood and tears.
‘Not if I can help it,’ Will replies with a smile. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Where am I?’ Her words are slurred, her mind slow, clogged up with pain and tiredness.
‘You’re safe with me,’ Will replies. He gives her one of his broad warm smiles and clutches her hand as if they are old friends. Perhaps they are. Perhaps they have known each other for the longest time and she has forgotten, the memory of how they first met erased from her brain. Anything seems possible. Her world has shifted, an imperceptible tilt in its rotational spin and now everything is askew, back to front, upside down. The normal rules no longer apply.
‘I want to be safe. Please help me.’
‘I’ll do my best, Leah. I’ll do my best.’
He turns away from her. She wants him to turn back. She needs to see another face, to know she’s not alone.
‘I’m frightened.’ Her voice is shaky, slowly fading into obscurity. Everything is diminishing, disappearing out of view. She closes her eyes and sighs, then takes a rattling gurgling breath and waits for the darkness, welcoming it.
29
Chloe is looking at her, a pleading expression in her eyes, creases of sadness on her brow. Leah swallows down the unease that has begun to burrow under her skin. She has to do something. They cannot remain here indefinitely. Something has to give.
She lets out a breath, her throat dry, her stomach hollow with hunger even though she feels quite sick. Everything is so terribly delicate, ready to blow apart at any moment. Their existences depend on her next move, on the decision she makes regarding what she is going to do with Chloe. Where is she going to take her? What on earth is she going to do next? Perspiration breaks out on her top lip, a thin film of sweat that sticks to her flesh, bleeding down into her mouth. She traces a line around the perimeter of her lip, salt coating her tongue. Sitting here is futile. She must do something, has to make a move otherwise she will lose her nerve. She will forget how to react, then everything will come undone and all of this will have been for nothing.
Standing up, she heads for the door, glancing behind her to the gagged and bound Chloe who is still staring at her like a small child reprimanded, desperation etched into her features.
‘Don’t worry, I’m coming back.’ She stops, cocks her head to one side and smiles. ‘Aw, did you think I was going to leave you here tied up and gagged with nobody to keep you company?’
Chloe’s eyes bulge. Her skin turns grey, the colour of ash. Leah watches her, sees death sitting on her shoulder, nipping at her, reminding her to acquiesce, to be the subservient individual Leah needs her to be. Both their lives depend on this, on how Chloe chooses to react.
‘I’m getting you a drink of water. I’d say don’t go anywhere but that would be a tad insulting now, wouldn’t it?’ Leah smirks, buoyed up by her sudden ability to see beyond the present and keep a level head. She leaves the room and heads into the kitchen, opening cupboards, rummaging for a glass, inspecting the things she finds there. She pulls out various pieces of crockery and, for no other reason than she can, drops them on the floor, watching gleefully as they shatter at her feet, an explosion of white porcelain littering the tiles and spreading across the kitchen floor.
Only when she has smashed over a dozen cups and expensive plates does she reach in and locate a tumbler. She fills it with water, takes a slug, refills it and leaves the trail of fragments behind, stopping just once to view the carnage on Jacob’s floor. She will clear it up later, once she has dealt with Chloe. It’s not important. Not at the moment. She has other things to consider, more pressing matters to attend to.
‘Right,’ she declares loudly as she appears in the bedroom holding the glass of water in front of Chloe. ‘I suppose you’ll be ready for a drink. You see, here I am, thinking about your needs. I’m not the cruel bitch you think I am.’
The chair groans as she sits down. Her eyes are drawn to the colours on the wall, the hue of the crimson and the mesmerising greyness that reflects her mood. This happens sometimes. Something changes inside her head, a switch gets flicked and life suddenly becomes overwhelming, the smallest of problems taking on gargantuan proportions. Perhaps it’s the shadows in this room or maybe it’s this current situation. Perhaps it’s just how she is and no amount of trying to work out what the trigger is for her downward drag will ever alter her thinking. She doubts that Chloe has ever had to suffer episodes like this, to fight the demons that do their level best to pull her off into the shadows, hollering at her, telling her repeatedly what a terrible person she is, how everybody hates her and wishes she didn’t exist. Chloe has led a trouble-free existence, skipping from one blissful day to the next, never having to worry or fret, never experiencing the crushing loneliness that has been a part of Leah’s life for as long as she can remember.
‘I wish it hadn’t come to this but I was left with no choice.’ Her gaze locks with Chloe’s. They stare at one another, the palpitations of Chloe’s heart visible beneath the thick fabric of the dressing gown, the pulse on her neck a fluttering movement. ‘I don’t suppose you would understand. I’ll bet you’ve had such a lovely life, haven’t you? Everything falling from the sky straight into your lap. That’s how it is for girls like you. You don’t know what it’s like to have to try really, really hard, do you? To do your best to fit in and yet still fail at everything you do time and time and time again. No doors have ever been slammed in your face. I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve had an easy time of it, such a fucking blessed existence, that you have no idea where I’m coming from.’
The veil of darkness in Leah’s head drops another fraction, blocking out any remaining light. ‘I’ll bet you have loads of friends, a gang of girls you can call on to tell them your latest purported dramas. I can see you all now, you and your empty-headed little pals, trotting off to you
r Pilates lessons, bleating and complaining because you’ve broken a nail or your highlights are fading and your hairdresser is too busy to fit you in.’ Leah lets out a hot unsteady breath, rubs at her eyes wearily with the heel of her hands. ‘Do you know how many friends I have, Chloe? Any idea? No? Well, I’ll tell you. None.’ She is shouting now, her pitch belligerent and hostile, a climax of the hatred and resentment that has been held captive in her for so many years, suddenly released into the open.
She stands up, the water in the glass sloshing about as she shouts, her voice bouncing off the walls, filling the room. ‘I have nobody. Not a single soul. The one person I had has gone. You stole him from me. You fucking well stole him!’ A single tear rolls out of the corner of her eye and down her face unchecked. ‘You could have had anyone, Chloe. Anyone at all, but you had to have Jacob, didn’t you? It had to be him.’
Chloe writhes about on the bed. She is frightened by this outburst. Leah allows herself a small smile. So she should be. So she fucking well should be. She hopes Chloe is fearing for her life. Because this is Leah’s time. This is the moment she has waited for, for so long. It’s here. It’s finally here.
‘How many boyfriends have you had?’ Without waiting, Leah holds up her hand and begins to count, bending her fingers as she reels off the numbers, her voice a loud bark; sharp and caustic, like the crack of a whip. ‘One? Maybe two? I’m guessing three, four or five. Probably more than five. I’ll bet I can double that and still fall short of how many men you’ve had. I’ve met your type before – women who will spread their legs for anybody as long as they’re getting attention, as long as they have a man on their arm.’ Water splashes at her feet, the glass wobbling about, her fingers bone white as she clasps it tightly. She should stop now but can’t. It’s all too late. ‘Do you know how many boyfriends I’ve had, Chloe? I’ll give you a clue. You know him. You know him intimately.’ She cocks her head and widens her eyes. ‘That’s right. Just the one. Jacob.’