Читать книгу Bring Me Back - B A Paris - Страница 18

NINE

Now

Although we haven’t mentioned Layla’s name again, I know she hasn’t been out of our thoughts since our shopping trip on Saturday. We’d walked around the town for over an hour, peering into shops and cafés, and I’d pretended to look for her with as much desperation as Ellen. Ever since, Ellen has that faraway look in her eyes and when I ask her if she’s alright, there’s a slight hesitation before she tells me that she is.

At any other time I’d insist on knowing the reason for the hesitation because it would mean that something is troubling her, and I never want Ellen to be troubled by anything. She gave me the life I live now and the love I feel for her will always be magnified by gratitude. But because I know the reason for her hesitation, I don’t probe any further. Ellen wants to ask me if I think Layla could still be alive. What I need to work out is why someone is trying to provoke me, because with the appearance of a third doll, the two we found outside the house can no longer be classed as coincidence. Someone put them there deliberately and I need to find out who.

Maybe I should ask the neighbours if they saw anyone outside our house, without mentioning specifics. But our house is on one side of the road, by itself, and Mrs Jeffries, the elderly lady who lives directly opposite us, isn’t the sort of neighbour who sits in her front room looking out of the window. She’s more likely to be in her conservatory out the back, or keeping an eye on the lady in the house next door to her, who’s seriously ill.

She and her husband moved in some months ago but we rarely see them. I’ve never seen her, and apart from a quick hello if we’re both out front at the same time, I’ve only had a conversation with Mick once, when he came round to introduce himself. He told us something of their story – probably in a pre-emptive attempt to stop us from inviting them around for drinks. It seems that four years ago they were involved in a car crash, and lost their two young sons. His wife was badly injured and has to deal with a lot of pain and consequently suffers from depression. He didn’t give any more details, about who was driving or whose fault it was, only to say that their move to Simonsbridge was an attempt to make a fresh start. He works mostly from home – he’s an accountant – so that he can be on hand for his wife, and if he’s out visiting clients, Mrs Jeffries takes over.

Over two weeks have passed since I found the second Russian doll on the wall so it’s a bit late to ask Mick or Mrs Jeffries if they saw anything. I should still ask them to keep an eye out – whoever left the doll on my car has upped their game, wanting me to know that they followed me to Cheltenham. The fact that Ellen thought she saw Layla doesn’t trouble me; it was unfortunate that there was someone with red hair walking along the street at the time. Or fortunate, because if Ellen hadn’t run off after her, she’d have seen the doll on the car. And I need to protect her from whatever is going on.

I look at the clock; it’s coming up to twelve and I haven’t done any work since I came out to my office at nine. To take my mind off the Russian dolls, I play around with some shares for a bit. Ellen doesn’t know about this guilty pleasure of mine. I’ve never told her of the wealth I’ve accumulated over the years by playing the markets, probably because deep down I’m slightly ashamed of it. I’ve tried to stop but it’s become an addiction, just as Layla was all those years ago.

I push back from my desk, annoyed that I’m thinking of Layla again. I’m hungry, so I make my way across the garden to the house. I expect Ellen to be in her office but through the open kitchen door I see her standing at the worktop and as I watch, she picks the smallest of the Russian dolls up by its head and holds it in front of her eyes, turning it this way and that, a strange look on her face.

‘Everything OK?’ I ask, wanting to put a stop to whatever she’s doing, because it’s making me uncomfortable.

I expect her to jump guiltily as she usually does whenever I catch her with the Russian dolls. But she just nods vaguely and carries on examining it.

‘Ellen,’ I say.

‘It’s the one I lost, I’m sure of it.’ Her voice is so quiet it’s as if she’s talking to herself. I go over to her, needing to break the spell the doll seems to have cast on her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think Layla might be alive,’ she says, without turning round.

‘What do you mean, she might be alive?’

‘Look.’ She holds out the doll. ‘See that smudge of paint there? Mine had one exactly like it.’

‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ I say, peering at the black smudge near its base. ‘I’m sure lots of dolls have those. It’s bound to happen – paint gets smudged.’

She shakes her head stubbornly, something she’s never done before. ‘I dismissed it at first, like you. But the more I look at it, the more I think it’s the one that I lost. And I know Layla took it, even though she said she didn’t. It’s mine, I’m sure of it.’

‘Because you want it to be,’ I say gently. ‘Just like you want it to be Layla you saw in Cheltenham on Saturday. But it wasn’t. Layla isn’t alive, Ellen, not after all this time.’

She nods slowly. ‘It’s probably just as well.’

I look at her curiously. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’d give anything for her to be alive, of course I would.’ She pauses, searching for the words. ‘But I’m not sure she’d be happy to see us together, not when you used to be with her. It would be difficult.’ Her voice trails away.

I pull her into my arms. ‘I tried so hard not to fall in love with you,’ I say, my lips in her hair.

‘I know,’ she says softly. ‘I remember. I kept hoping that you would make the first move. But you didn’t and I realised it had to come from me.’

Her words echo down the years and I let go of her abruptly.

‘You do still want to get married, don’t you?’ she asks anxiously.

‘Of course,’ I tell her, doing my best to make my smile reach my eyes.

But first I need to find the person who’s decided to mess with my head.