Chapter 4
FOUR
Even though all the neighbours have read the message I sent this morning, for the rest of the evening the Silverleaf WhatsApp group remains silent.
Nobody wants to engage in a conversation about the woman I saw; clearly they don’t believe me.
They probably think I’m not in my right mind, certainly not the kind of person they want to be living here in Silverleaf Heights.
How can I convince anyone what I know in my gut?
Even my own husband doesn’t believe me, as much as I know he wants to.
I sit in the living room, alone with my thoughts, in a house that’s far too big for just the two of us.
Leo’s dream is trapped within these walls, and no amount of effort on my part will let me grab hold of it, to make it belong to me, too.
A home of our own, kids on the horizon – all the things I thought I wanted.
So why has this faded to nothing? What’s happened to me?
The doorbell chimes and I freeze for a moment before pulling myself up from the sofa.
I hesitate again before making my way to the hall.
It’s still light outside, there is CCTV everywhere – I shouldn’t be afraid.
But my body is rigid as I look through the peephole, surprised to see Ethan Vance standing on my doorstep.
I open the door. ‘Ethan, hi.’
‘Is this a good time for a chat? I was in the area and thought I’d come and check on you.
’ He’s dressed in a dark grey suit, but he has removed his tie, and the top button of his shirt is undone.
His dark brown hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him and there’s stubble on his face I’ve never known him to have.
‘You weren’t in the area,’ I say, holding open the door for him. ‘You work in London, Ethan. Miles from Surrey. Leo called you, didn’t he?’
Ethan laughs. ‘Nothing gets past you, does it?’
I roll my eyes. ‘No, it doesn’t. But you didn’t need to come all the way here. There’s nothing—’
‘Don’t be angry with him. Leo’s just worried about you. He told me what you saw.’ He gestures behind him. ‘Out there on the green, right? Can we talk about it? Lovely place, though.’
I give an impatient sigh. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Nope,’ he says, smiling and stepping inside. ‘I’m afraid not. Sorry.’
I shut the door behind him and lead him to the half-furnished living room, where he glances around, a faint frown appearing on his face before vanishing just as quickly.
‘How have you been since you moved here?’ Ethan asks, sitting on the sofa. ‘When was it? Two or three weeks ago?’
‘Two weeks. We haven’t quite got the house sorted. That’s why it still looks empty.’
He glances around again. ‘It’s a wonderful home. But I didn’t mean that. I was asking about you, Ria.’
I walk to the window and see Ethan’s shiny black Mercedes on the drive. ‘How did you get through the gate?’ I ask. ‘I didn’t buzz you in.’
‘Leo gave me the code. In case you didn’t answer. He’s just worried about you.’
I sit down and lean my head back against the sofa. ‘I know how much he cares about me, but . . .’
‘You’re finding it a bit much? Like he’s being overprotective?’
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding. ‘That’s exactly it. But also, I just want him to believe me. Ethan, I saw a woman being attacked outside my house. She was strangled. Killed. There’s no way I imagined it. I can picture her in my head.’
‘Did you call the police?’ Ethan asks.
This is something I’ve been wrestling with since it happened. ‘I . . . I haven’t. But only because there was no evidence. They won’t take me seriously. I need to find something to prove what I saw first.’ I jump up. ‘Let me show you something. I’ll be right back.’
I rush to the kitchen, grabbing my sketch from the island.
‘Look at this,’ I say when I get back. I thrust the paper into his hand.
Ethan studies it. ‘Well, this is impressive.’
I brush off his compliment. ‘Thanks, but it’s her. The woman I saw. Someone killed her right in front of me. But there was nothing I could do to help her. And then, by the time I’d got outside, they’d both gone. He got rid of her body. Whoever he was. At least, I think it was a man.’
The look on Ethan’s face is a blend of sympathy and frustration. He’s already made up his mind after talking to Leo, so I stand little chance of convincing him that what I saw was real. His hands form a steeple under his chin, and he takes a deep breath.
‘Do you remember we spoke about head trauma and how it affects the brain?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
He leans forward. ‘I get that it feels real, Ria. Of course it does. But if we look at this logically – was there any evidence out there of any kind of attack, let alone a murder?’
‘No. But she was strangled – there wouldn’t have been blood.’
‘Can you see why it seems implausible, though?’
His words are kind, but it frustrates me that he’s not open to the possibility that it really happened. ‘Don’t you think I know all this, Ethan? It’s been driving me crazy.’
He nods. ‘I get that. But you suffered a horrific attack, Ria, and head trauma could explain what you saw. Or, even if it’s not head trauma, what happened to you could be triggering thoughts of other women being attacked.
I’d really like to do an MRI scan, just to rule out anything worrying.
Will you come in and get checked? I could fit you in on Monday. ’
I think of the private hospital Ethan works at in Harley Street, with its large cream sofas and its expensive coffee machine in the waiting room that feels more like a personal lounge.
I would never be able to afford being seen at Ethan’s practice if it weren’t for his friendship with Leo.
As far as I know, he hasn’t charged us a thing for all the care he’s given me over the last year.
The thought of going there again makes me shudder. I’m moving on – what happened to me should be over. I won’t bring it into my present. ‘I don’t know. I—’
‘I really think you should, Ria. Please. I know how well you’re doing – I can see that. You’re strong. But can you just humour me?’
Studying his face and seeing nothing but concern, I find myself agreeing, even though I just want to be left alone.
I trust Ethan; he and Leo met in medical school and have been close friends ever since, and I have complete faith in him.
My resolve begins to crack. Hearing Ethan say this could all be due to head trauma makes it feel plausible.
And if he’s right, it means that I can’t even trust myself.
That thought terrifies me more than anything.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ I ask, suddenly aware that I haven’t offered him anything.
‘I’d love a glass of wine, but I’m driving. I’m out tonight.’ He smiles.
‘Ah, anyone special?’ This change of subject is a relief.
‘She might be. It’s a first date, so who knows?’
Ethan has been single as long as I’ve known him, although he’s never short of offers. I respect that he’s choosy and won’t settle for a relationship that doesn’t feel right, just to tick off a box on his to-do list.
‘Can we talk about you?’ he says, as if he’s aware that I’m silently scrutinising his personal life. ‘Have any memories come back to you about the attack?’
‘Nope.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not. I don’t want to remember. If I can’t recall it, then it can’t hurt me, can it?
’ I would never have been able to keep living in my flat in Canning Town if I had any recollection of that night.
I think of it now, and nothing about the flat causes me anxiety.
All that’s there is warmth, the feeling of belonging.
And I loved the small balcony leading off the living room that really opened the place up.
I was always out there, even in winter, staring out at the riverfront.
I feel a pang of homesickness that constricts my throat.
I shouldn’t yearn for a place where something so terrible happened to me, yet I do.
‘On the surface that seems logical,’ Ethan says. ‘How can we be affected by something we have no memory of? But trauma can live silently in us, taking a toll without us realising. That’s what concerns me.’ He pauses. ‘Are you sure you have no flashes of memory? Nothing at all?’
I shake my head.
Ethan rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘Perhaps this sighting you had is your mind’s way of keeping the memory repressed. I don’t know. But we need to check you out. It’s important, Ria.’
‘What time on Monday?’ I ask, my shoulders sagging.
‘I can make room early morning or late evening, whichever works best for you.’
‘Early, then.’ It gets it over with.
‘Seven okay?’
‘Didn’t think you meant that early.’
‘Sorry. I have a full day of patients that day. All week, actually.’ He offers an apologetic shrug before standing up. ‘It’s good to see you looking so well, Ria. You won’t remember, but you were in such a bad state for months. Leo thought he’d lost you.’
But I pulled through. I’m a fighter.
I walk him to the door. ‘It’s been nearly a year since the attack,’ I say.
He turns to me, silently calculating dates. ‘And look how far you’ve come. Don’t dwell on whatever your mind conjured up last night. It could very well be a one-off. And if not, we’ll work out what’s going on. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.’
At the door, he gives me a hug. ‘Tell Leo I’ll message him.’
‘Come for dinner soon,’ I say to his retreating back. ‘And bring this friend you’re meeting tonight.’
He turns around. ‘I’d love that. As long as she’s not a self-obsessed narcissist like the last date I had. See you Monday.’
I watch him drive away, and before I close the door, I see Eleanor watching me from her doorway. As soon as our eyes meet, she goes inside.
In the kitchen, I grab my laptop from the island and take it to the table.
It’s a new one Leo kindly bought for me when my old one broke, and it loads almost instantly.
I type into Google ‘missing women near Thursley’, and I’m bombarded with search results, mostly from social media and local news articles.
For over half an hour I trawl through websites, but none of the women matches the description of the woman I saw.
I create a post for the Thursley local Facebook group and upload my sketch, asking if anyone knows who this woman is.
I hesitate before I press post; Leo would advise me against doing this, but I have to trust my instinct. I need to know.
When it’s done, I grab my sketchbook and pencil and head out to the communal green, choosing a bench which faces the spot where I saw the woman last night.
My pencil scrapes furiously against the paper, and the man I try to draw is faceless, but I sketch anyway, hoping it will spark something. The mind is a curious thing.
I’ve just finished when the security gate clinks open and Declan Murphy strolls in, his head down and ear buds in his ears.
He looks up when he walks past my bench and gives a tentative wave.
I’m tempted to strike up a conversation, but he’s already told me he doesn’t recognise the woman in my sketch.
Once he’s gone inside, I glance at number five, and see Eleanor watching me from a bedroom window. I smile and wave, only to be greeted with a blank expression before she rapidly turns away and disappears from sight.
I gather my things and make my way to her door, pressing my finger firmly on the doorbell.
Seconds pass, turning to a minute, and no one answers.
It doesn’t make sense for her to pretend she isn’t home when I’ve just waved to her.
I wait for another moment before giving up and heading back to my house.
As I step inside, my phone buzzes with a message. Assuming it’s Leo letting me know he’s on his way home, I untie my trainers and pull them off, then pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen before checking my phone.
It’s not Leo, it’s a WhatsApp message from an unknown number.
Curious, I click on it and find myself looking at a video message.
I press play, wondering if someone’s sent this to me in error.
Until I see that it’s a woman arguing with someone, shouting at them.
But there’s no audio, so I have no idea what she’s saying.
I can’t tell where they are, but it’s dark and appears to be someone’s garden.
I turn up the volume on my phone, but there’s definitely no sound on the video.
I keep watching, and then a figure lunges towards her, pounding their fists into her face.
She drops to the ground, her mouth wide open in a silent scream.
And then, when the camera zooms in on her face, I realise that the woman I’m watching get beaten to death is me.