Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
One Year Ago
Ria
Silverleaf Heights doesn’t feel like home, despite every effort I make to settle in.
We’ve been here for a month now, yet still I feel as though I don’t belong.
Everyone’s nice enough – especially Eleanor.
She’s confided in me about her fertility struggles, and her sharing such personal information has helped us to bond, even though Leo and I aren’t planning to have children yet.
I know the pain of grief after losing my mum.
It’s a different pain, yes, but no less intense, I’m sure.
I haven’t spent as much time with Georgia Murphy. She’s always warm and pleasant when I see her, but her daughter’s been staying with them so there haven’t been opportunities to get to know her.
‘How are you finding commuting across London for work every day?’ Eleanor asks. ‘You must really love teaching to traipse all the way to Canning Town.’ She smiles. ‘I admire that.’
We’re sitting in my garden, on a warm May Sunday afternoon, while the men are at the golf course. I’m sure Leo hates the game, but he would never admit it. He’d never want to be the only male in Silverleaf not playing every weekend.
‘I do love it,’ I say. ‘It’s a great school, and the kids are smashing.
And I stay at my flat some evenings if making the journey is too much.
’ My smile fades when I think of Peter Harvey and how he hit that child.
I had no hesitation in reporting him, and I don’t care how much he wants to harass me, or turn up outside the school when I’m leaving.
He won’t drive me out of the place where I love working.
‘But it must be taking a toll on you,’ Eleanor says. ‘I know what it’s like when your whole life becomes about work. Things become very difficult.’
I nod. She’s made a good point. ‘Maybe I’ll give it up and become a yoga teacher,’ I suggest. ‘Work from home. Be my own boss, like you.’
‘I can see you doing that,’ Eleanor says. ‘And you’ve got your art, too. Those paintings you showed me . . . that’s some talent you have.’
‘It’s just a hobby. Nothing I could ever make money out of.’
‘You never know. I never thought I’d set up a business.
Speaking of which, I’d better get back. My website’s been glitching and I need to see if it’s something I can sort out before I contact the designer.
Honestly, here I am telling you your job must be taking a toll on you while I’m stressing about business, even on a Sunday. ’
‘I bet you’d never give it up, though,’ I venture. It’s an interior design company and, judging from her home, Eleanor has an artistic eye.
She considers this for a moment. ‘Hmm. I could afford to, as it’s done so well, but I love what I do too much.
So, no. Never. Not unless it started to fail.
’ She laughs. ‘We’re the same in that sense – neither of us is willing to give up what we love doing for a living.
’ She finishes her coffee. ‘Let’s do this again.
It’s lovely chatting to you, Ria. You’re a breath of fresh air around here.
’ She stands and takes her cup to the kitchen before I can ask her what she means.
At the door, I ask her if she’s seen Kimmy Gould lately. ‘She’s always out there on the green,’ I say. ‘Reading or listening to music. But I haven’t noticed her for a few days.’
Eleanor shrugs. ‘Maybe she’s not well?’
‘Yeah, that must be it.’
Leo is called in to work during dinner – an emergency surgery with one of his patients. He’d barely taken a mouthful but didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital. I hope it goes well; it always affects him when he loses a patient, even after years of being a surgeon.
It’s late now, but I’m in my studio, the spare bedroom which overlooks the green.
Nothing is finished in here yet – both Leo and I have been too busy to do much to the house – but it’s my own space and I love it.
I sketch Silverleaf Heights, hoping it will help me feel an affinity with our new home, and even though I’m pleased with the outcome, it does nothing.
I sigh; if this is the place Leo loves, then I will make myself fall in love with it, too. He deserves that.
By midnight I’m only just beginning to feel tired. I put my sketches in a folder and push my chair in. A scream erupts from outside and I rush to the window, peering into the darkness.
Kimmy Gould is out there, dressed in a long white skirt and dark purple vest top, and she’s running.
Someone is behind her, a man I think, and before I can process what’s happening, he grabs a fistful of her hair and drags her back, shoving her to the ground.
His hood is up, covering most of his face, so I can’t tell who it is.
I scramble to find my phone, but it’s not in here so I rush to the window and throw it open, screaming at the man to stop. But he doesn’t hear me, or chooses to ignore me. His arms are now clasped around Kimmy’s neck and he climbs on top of her as she struggles and writhes beneath him.
I race downstairs, flinging open the door and running over to the green in bare feet, where Kimmy is lying still now. There’s no sign of her attacker. I check for a pulse, urge her to stay with me, to open her eyes, but I know I’m too late.
I stand up and scan the green, struggling to breathe myself. A familiar figure lurches towards me, but before I have a chance to speak, a fist flies into my face, crushing into my skull, making me feel as though my head has come away from my body.
The blows come again and again and I know there’s no chance I’ll survive this attack.