Chapter 3
THREE
As soon as Giles leaves, I put my phone on speaker and call Leo.
I should be satisfied that there may now be an explanation for who the blonde-haired woman is, but instead I feel more unsettled than before.
It doesn’t make sense that I’ve sketched a picture of Moira Barton when I’ve never laid eyes on her and she died before we moved to Silverleaf.
Coincidence is the only thing that explains the striking resemblance.
‘Hey,’ Leo says when he answers his phone. I’m disturbing him at work – something I never do unless it’s an emergency. ‘I’ve just seen the drawing you posted in the WhatsApp group.’ He waits a beat. ‘I’m happy you’ve started drawing again, but—’
‘I need to ask you something,’ I interrupt. ‘Giles’s wife died before we moved here, right?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘And I’ve never seen her, have I?’
‘No. Why? What’s going on? Why are you asking about Giles’s wife?’ There’s a pause. ‘And as great as your sketch is, I’m not sure posting it was a good idea.’
‘Giles just came over to check I’m okay. He said he feels responsible for the residents of Silverleaf.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Leo says. ‘I hate rushing you, but I’ve got about three minutes until my next patient, and I need to go through his file before I see him.’
I assure Leo I’ll make it quick. ‘Giles seemed to think the picture I drew was of his wife. But how can it be when I’ve never met her? It’s not her, Leo.’
‘It does kind of look like her . . . But Ria, listen, I’ve been thinking—’
‘I’ve never laid eyes on Moira Barton! And she died before we even moved in, so how can anyone tell me I’ve drawn a picture of her? And correct me if I’m wrong, but dead people don’t come back to life only to get themselves killed again.’
Leo falls silent, but I hear the background hum of traffic outside his office window, his fingers tapping on his desk as he works out how to respond.
Eventually he answers. ‘Maybe you bumped into her when you came to see me at the hospital. Or the drawing you sketched just looks a bit like her. I don’t know, Ria. Did you have a chance to call Ethan? Maybe I can message him. I’m sure he’ll fit—’
‘I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘You’re busy.’
‘I’m not too busy for this,’ Leo assures me. ‘For you. This is worrying me.’
I give in, for Leo’s sake. And because I know how crazy this all must sound to other people. ‘Okay. Message Ethan. See what he thinks.’
Leo’s sense of relief as we end the call is palpable, and I swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged in my throat. I have no intention of letting this go.
Grey clouds smother the sun as I leave the house.
I haven’t run since my accident, but now I need to push my body to its limits, and I’m fuelled with determination that my attack won’t change me.
I’ve spent too long letting myself believe my own lie: that I’m not the person I was before it happened.
I won’t be defined by something I had no control over.
I need to test my body, to see what it can still do.
And above that, my mind is clearer when I’m pounding the pavement.
I walk past number four, Xander’s house, then Eleanor and Rufus’s: no sign of anyone being at home in either.
As I look across the green, I expect to have a flashback of what I saw last night, snatches of blonde hair and white, flowing fabric, a man whose face I couldn’t see.
But there is nothing but the shimmering grass, the freshly painted white benches around it, and the locked gates that promise safety but only make me feel hemmed in.
As I reach out to the control panel on the gate, my mind blanks and I can’t recall the code.
Something with an eight, I think. Four digits: 8 7 1 9.
I’m sure that’s it. I tap it in, but nothing happens.
I try again, and there’s still no movement.
Glancing around, there’s no one to ask, and it’s eerily silent again; everyone is busy with whatever they fill their days with.
Panic surges through me; if I can’t open the gates, then I’m trapped here.
I pull my phone from my leggings pocket and call Leo again, but he doesn’t answer.
He’ll be with a patient; that’s the only time he’d ignore his phone.
He even answers withheld numbers, although they’re likely to be nuisance calls.
I leave a message when his voicemail kicks in, forcing my voice to stay calm; Leo is already worried enough about me.
While I’m contemplating sitting on a bench to wait, I hear the front door of Eleanor’s house open, and her husband, Rufus, steps outside. Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out his car key and heads towards his Mercedes, oblivious that I’m standing right there.
‘Hi,’ I call, walking towards him.
He looks up and gives a nod. ‘Oh, hi. Ria, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Sorry, but I’ve forgotten the security code for the gate. I thought it was eight, seven, one, nine, but that didn’t work.’
Rufus frowns. ‘Oh, no, that’s an old code. It’s two, six, five, one now.’
‘When did it change?’
He shrugs. ‘Can’t really remember.’ He opens his car door and places his laptop bag on the passenger seat.
‘It’s kind of weird needing a code to get out as well as in, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Normally you’d just have one to get into a place.’
‘I suppose. Never thought about it. Giles is very security- conscious. He loses sleep over the thought that something might happen in Silverleaf. He takes real pride in this place.’ His words echo what everyone says about Giles. They should be reassuring, so why do I only feel on edge?
I nod. ‘I’m beginning to see that.’ But it’s still unusual, and it’s odd that everyone’s just accepted it. Like Leo, they must all have been desperate to purchase a house in Silverleaf Heights.
‘Sorry, I need to get to the office,’ Rufus says. ‘Nice to meet you, Ria.’ He gets into his car and starts closing the door.
‘Is Eleanor at home?’ I ask, approaching his window.
His hand pauses on the door handle. ‘No, she’s out this morning. Want me to pass on a message?’
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll catch up with her.’ I glance at his house, wondering if she’s in there watching us. If she’s avoiding me.
I thank him again and make my way back to the gate to try the code Rufus just gave me. As soon as I’ve entered it, the gate whirs and clunks to life, slowly easing open.
Skipping my warm-up walk, I launch into a run, following the main road. I can’t be certain, but I think it leads into the town centre after a couple of miles. I’m unfamiliar with these roads and it makes me feel vulnerable, unable to anchor to anything, but I push through it. I won’t live in fear.
Barely a car passes me, but I continue on, focusing on the music blasting from my ear buds.
Exhaustion forces me to slow when I eventually reach a parade of shops.
My body aches with cramps, but beyond that, I feel good that I’ve pushed myself.
I can still run. I’m still me. When I’ve recovered, I glance up at the café I’m standing outside, the Bistro, and through the window I see Georgia and Eleanor sitting at a table at the back.
When I move closer to the window, it’s clear that they’re not just having a friendly coffee.
Eleanor’s unsmiling face is a mask of rage, and Georgia leans in close, shaking her head and throwing her hands up.
Although I can’t hear them, they’re clearly having a heated argument.
Eleanor stands up, thrusting her chair backwards before storming towards the café door. I shrink back and slip around the corner, watching her cross the road to her red BMW. And inside the café, Georgia sits with her head buried in her hands.
I’m tempted to go inside, to feign ignorance and ask her if she’s okay, but I already have an invitation to her house for coffee at three.
Remembering that I haven’t replied to her, I send a message now saying I would love to come.
Waiting until then will buy me time to work out how to convince Georgia to open up to me, and to find out more about all my neighbours.
I’ve still had no reply to my neighbourhood group WhatsApp message, and I’m starting to think that people in Silverleaf are hiding things.
Georgia’s wearing a dress with angel sleeves and a flared skirt when she opens the door. She looks too dressed up for coffee with a neighbour, and I wonder if she’s going somewhere else after this.
‘You look lovely,’ I say.
She smiles. ‘Thanks, Ria. I don’t go out much, so any excuse to put on something nice.
Come in, come in.’ She pulls me inside and closes the door, and yet again I find myself in a house barely distinguishable from my own.
Except that Georgia has filled hers with plants, ornaments and a multitude of bookcases crammed with everything other than books.
A large yellow rug runs through the hallway to the kitchen, and family photos of the four Murphys fill the walls.
‘I know,’ she says, following my gaze. ‘I’m a bit of a hoarder. I can’t help filling spaces.’
‘It’s . . . very homely.’
‘No need to be polite.’ She chuckles. ‘It’s cluttered, I know. Giles tells me off whenever he comes for dinner.’
‘Are you good friends with him?’ I ask as she leads me through to the kitchen.
‘I wouldn’t say friends as such, but he and Patrick definitely are. I think I mentioned Patrick worked for Giles’s property development company and helped build these houses.’ She smiles with pride. ‘Then he left to set up on his own.’
‘Did that cause tension between them?’
‘Not at all,’ Georgia says. ‘Giles was very supportive. Sad to lose Patrick, but he understood that it was time for him to move on.’
‘Still, it’s up to you what you do with the house,’ I say. ‘You own it.’
‘I know. But I don’t blame Giles for having his standards. He has a vision for this place. A real community in the middle of the Surrey Hills.’
‘So I keep hearing. People are definitely fond of him around here.’