Chapter 10 #2
When I reach the Harley Street Clinic, I check my phone to see if Leo’s replied to the message I sent him from the train telling him I was on my way to see Ethan.
Nothing. I tell myself he’s busy, that he must be with a patient and he’ll reply when he can.
But part of me knows that it’s likely he doesn’t know what to say to me.
We’re stronger than that; we can’t let this break us.
This makes me more determined that whoever’s doing this won’t win.
There’s only one other person in the waiting room: a man in his fifties who keeps looking at me, averting his eyes when I meet his stare.
Paranoia sets in and I take in his features, committing them to memory in case I have to identify him later.
I only relax when the nurse calls him in; he’s just a patient, nothing to do with Silverleaf Heights.
Right on time, Ethan appears in the waiting room, smiling and shaking my hand as if I’m just another patient instead of his best friend’s wife. ‘How are you doing?’ he asks as we head to his office.
Not good is the truth, but there is only so much I can share with Ethan without him making judgements about the state of my mind.
I just want him to do the scan and tell me there’s nothing worrying, nothing that suggests I’d be capable of harming an animal.
‘I feel fine,’ I say. ‘No headaches. Nothing.’
‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘But let’s get you thoroughly checked out.’
Rather than being clinical, Ethan’s office is bright and welcoming. Bookshelves filled with medical texts line the walls, his certificates hanging proudly above them. The potted plants on the windowsill are a nice touch, even though I can’t imagine him having the time to water them.
Ethan places his hands on his desk. ‘I’ve booked you in for a head CT, and that should give us an indication of what might be going on. We can compare it to your last scan.’ He taps on his keyboard. ‘Which was three months ago.’
‘There’s nothing going on, Ethan. I’m fine.’
‘Except it looks like you may have seen something that wasn’t there, Ria. I know that must feel disturbing, but I can assure you it can happen with head trauma. It’s not unusual at all. I just want to make sure you’re okay.’
I fight back the urge to argue my case: I saw a woman being killed. My mind didn’t conjure that up. ‘What will the scan tell us?’
‘I just want to rule things out. Let’s start from there.’ He taps something into his computer. ‘Has anything else happened since I saw you last?’
A Facebook message. A WhatsApp threat. A dog fighting for her life. Antifreeze in my underwear drawer. ‘No, nothing.’ I don’t like lying, but I need to protect myself, and I can’t ask Ethan to keep things from Leo.
‘Are you sure?’ He scrutinises me, but there’s only kindness on his face, an invitation to open up. ‘Because anything you say here is confidential. I wouldn’t discuss it with anyone. That includes Leo.’ He folds his arms on the desk.
‘I’m worried, Ethan,’ I say, catching the way his eyes briefly flick to the door. Perhaps he’s worried me addressing him in this way is crossing a professional line.
‘Go on,’ he says.
‘Leo thinks my attack is causing me to act . . . out of character. He thinks I’ve made all these things up. I don’t know how to convince him that I’m telling the truth.’
Ethan leans forward and his hands form a steeple under his chin. ‘Can you give me more detail? I’m not sure I understand. What kind of things?’
‘Like seeing that woman out of my window. And . . . someone sent me a horrible video on WhatsApp. It was of me being . . . attacked by someone. Killed. But obviously I’m still here, so it was a deepfake.
It was clever – it looked so real.’ I pause to catch my breath.
‘But I’ll bet Leo doesn’t think there even was a video.
It disappeared before I had a chance to save it.
Literally straight after I watched it. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing. ’
Ethan’s mouth hangs open. ‘I didn’t know that. Leo didn’t tell me.’
This surprises me, as I know there’s nothing Leo holds back from his closest friend. I’ve always joked that their friendship is more like one between women. Sharing everything. Going to each other for advice. Despite my teasing, I’ve always respected it.
‘Well, he’s been busy at work,’ I tell Ethan. ‘He hasn’t come right out and said he thinks I’m imagining things, but I can tell that’s what he’s thinking.’
He studies me for a moment. ‘I can’t claim to know Leo’s thoughts. But why do you think someone sent you a video like that? They must have gone to some effort to produce it.’
‘I don’t know. It feels like it was a warning. To stop me talking about the woman I saw.’
‘Ria, I—’
‘I know how this all sounds. And I’m confused, too. But I have to trust my gut, Ethan. It’s all I’ve got to go on.’
He looks at me for a long time without speaking and with only a sympathetic smile on his face. ‘Let’s get this scan done, okay? I’ll call you when the results come through.’
It’s still early morning when I leave the clinic, and the thought of going home fills me with dread. I jump on the Tube and take the Jubilee line straight to Canning Town, and when I step out of the station, it feels like I’m home again.
I still have my key in my bag, but I would never go inside the flat without Johnny’s permission, even though I know he wouldn’t mind.
We’ve known each other for years, since we met at university, although we seem to have drifted apart as we’ve got older and our lives have taken different directions.
Johnny had been travelling for years, and when he got back a few months after my attack, he got a job with a tech start-up in London and was only too happy to rent the flat when Leo and I moved out.
Leo hadn’t shared my enthusiasm, and had been reluctant to rent to a friend of mine.
‘Your friendship could make it challenging if there’s an issue,’ he’d said.
‘And the company he works for might fold,’ he warned.
‘It’s tricky with start-ups.’ But I dismissed Leo’s concerns and told him I was trusting my instinct, and that Johnny was the right person to rent my flat to.
And now, if anyone were to ask me what I’m doing here, I wouldn’t be able to answer. Perhaps I’m here because it’s the only place that feels right, or maybe I’m hoping to find myself again, just by being in proximity to the place that will always feel like home, in spite of what happened there.
A wave of sadness spreads over me as I walk up to the front door of the small block of flats.
It doesn’t feel like only a couple of weeks since Leo and I moved out of this modern purpose-built building.
I’d fallen in love with it the minute I’d stepped inside, despite being determined to buy only a Victorian property with character and charm.
It had been the balcony overlooking the river that made me put an offer in less than an hour after I’d viewed Effra Gardens. And for years I was happy here.
I press the doorbell and stand back. No cameras here. No Ring doorbell. Just an intercom system where people are buzzed in. I’m hoping it’s still early enough to catch Johnny before he leaves for work.
There’s a crackle, and then his voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Johnny. It’s Ria. I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by to see you. I promise I’m not here as a landlord!’
Johnny laughs. ‘Come in.’
He buzzes me in, and I push through the door and step into a hallway I’ve entered countless times. I walk up the stairs to the second floor, and Johnny is waiting by the door of Flat 3. ‘Hey, you.’ He holds out his arms and we embrace, a familiar bear hug that’s never changed over the years.
It already smells different inside – there’s a room diffuser on my sideboard – but my potted plant, a money tree, still sits in the corner, looking healthy and watered.
Johnny looks different to the last time I saw him: his hair is longer and he has facial hair now.
‘In case you’re wondering why I’m not going to work,’ he says, ‘and dressed in joggers – I’m working from home today.’
‘Do lots of people still do that?’ I ask. ‘I thought companies were trying to get everyone back in the office.’
‘Mine are pretty laidback,’ he says. ‘I’m lucky. Come in. Sorry it’s not tidy. I had to leave for Manchester in a hurry and didn’t have time to clean up.’ He points to a neat row of shoes along the wall. ‘See – I told you I don’t wear shoes in the house!’
‘I’m honestly not here to check up on you,’ I assure him. ‘I’m here as a friend.’
Despite Johnny’s words, the flat is spotlessly clean and, other than a large holdall with clothes spilling out of it, tidy, too.
‘Yep, I can see how messy you are.’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, nothing’s changed. I’m still a bit of a neat-freak,’ he says, closing the front door.
‘That’s fine with me.’ I walk into the living room; it still feels like home, even with Johnny’s possessions filling it, and none of my own.
‘Is everything all right with the flat?’ I ask, gazing around, taking it all in, because I know I don’t have long here. Johnny has work to do, and he’s entitled to enjoy the flat without intrusions from me.
‘Yep. All good. I’ve really settled in.’
‘Okay, that’s good. Would you . . . would you mind if I went out on the balcony?’
He sucks in his breath. ‘Oh, really? Are you sure?’
‘It’s okay. I’m fine. I don’t remember what happened, so I’m not traumatised by it. Whenever I think of it, it’s as if it happened to someone else, not me.’ A detachment I’m sure isn’t healthy but which I embrace anyway.
‘Um, sure, go ahead.’ Johnny gestures to the living room, and I cross the lounge that feels tiny compared to where we now live. Cosy, though. I’d swap the soulless luxury of 3 Silverleaf Heights for this in an instant.