CHAPTER 6
Ella
Telling Jude was the right thing to do. Messy, vulnerable, and somewhat dangerous, but the right thing to do. She pulls me into a hug just as we arrive at Immi’s shop, a small pink boutique with copious plants and flowers hanging from the ceiling.
“I’ll do a bit of research from my end, but send me a picture of the letter and envelope, okay?” Jude says into my ear.
I nod as I step back, aware of Immi’s eyes on us from inside the store. I run my nail over my sleeve.
“Is there a way to tell if it came from the prison?” I say.
“I don’t think that’s the question yet, but there would probably be a prison stamp. The key question should be, who left it under your pillow? Who walked through your house and how was he unnoticed?” Jude keeps her voice low.
The floor beneath me feels like it shifts. If someone from the party left the letter, then one of my friends knows.
My voice scratches my throat when I speak. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, I know it’s easier said than done but don’t worry. We’re on this, right? And he’s locked away with very little reason to reach out to you now.”
I nod.
“Look, I’d better be off, but message me.” Jude pulls me in for another hug before turning to leave.
“Hey,” I say just as she turns around. “If you ever… if you ever want to talk, about trying to conceive again. Well, I’m here.”
It’s a clunky thing to say but I suddenly feel a need to offer something. I’m aware of how I still don’t know the right thing to say.
Jude smiles, nodding and turning away. She walks down the street, sidestepping the growing crack in the pavement outside the local café which now looks ready to rip a hole through the ground. Something she said tickles the anxious part of my brain. I pull out my phone, staring at the date.
Henry has no reason to reach out to me now; unless, of course, he does. It’s been ten, no, wait, maybe fifteen years? The idea that I forgot him and everything that happened gnaws at my skin. Is he already out?
“Are you planning to stand outside my shop all day, or do you fancy getting warm?” Immi’s voice appears from nowhere. Her head sticks out from the black-framed door, and despite the smile on her face, there’s a sharpness in her tone.
“Sorry, hi, hey. You look good,” I say, stepping in as the door closes with a chime of its bells.
A lavender-infused scent hangs in the air, and I catch a thin pink mist coming from a small white ball in the right corner of the room.
Dark lights hang low, omitting small, ineffective yellow glows; to the right is a wall display of hand-embroidered bags and to my left hangs a long rail of green, blue, peach and lilac dresses set in front of a wall-to-ceiling window.
A wall of books, neat and colour-coded, is on the gentle turn that divides the space, and despite the lack of windows, the light aesthetic feels refreshing and bright.
Three small rectangular perfume bottles sit on the counter with a handwritten display that I find myself drawn to time and time again.
The display is a personal touch that Benji suggested which is somehow effective.
“Tea?” Immi says, twirling around the circular centre display table that the whole store seems to be built around.
“Oh yes, thanks. How are you?” Immi’s store has grown considerably since it opened, enough that she is now considering a second location. And yet, I never see any customers in here.
Somewhere behind the counter and past the thick black wooden door, a kettle boils.
Jude’s words tap at the soft part of my brain, bugging at me so much that I find myself rocking on the balls of my feet.
I always assumed the call and letter were from Henry, but what if they were about Henry?
If someone else knows about him, really knows about him, then they know about me.
The smell of wet dirt, stinging cold to the side of my face as I lie in the dark, pushes out of a horrifying memory. I blink but it doesn’t shift away. Immi’s store and the gentle hum of the diffuser disappears, and I find myself there again. Cold, scared, wet and alone in the past.
“Ella.”
My eyes spring open, slamming me back into the present. The perfume bottle falls from my fingers and lands between my feet. Immi’s face contorts with concern, the tray of tea placed on the counter as she bends down to help.
“Ella, darling, is everything OK?” she says, placing the ornate lid on the bottle.
“Yes, I was just… distracted.” I talk fast, moving towards the tray to pour us some tea. I draw my shoulders back.
“Hmm,” Immi says, watching me for a moment. I can sense the tension between probing and moving on, but I keep my eyes focused on the methodical task of pouring our drinks.
“I was going to ask you, for the launch, do you think we should do a VIP staging, like at open houses? Or just mass entry. It’s invite-only, but I don’t know if we should make an extra big thing out of it.” Taking the bait, Immi turns the conversation to her.
“Are you buying a second shop, then?” I ask, passing her a cup.
“No, not yet. But a little forward planning never hurt anyone.” Immi purses her lips, blowing gentle ripples across the top of her tea.
I roll my shoulder. “Well, if this is completely hypothetical, then have a VIP list, why not?”
“It could be fun, scouting out some celebrities,” she says, her voice now brighter.
“Exactly.” The teacup warms my hands, and from here I take in the view from across the street.
A small park opens up across the road, famous for dog walkers, its small but breathtaking pond, and for the large blossom trees that fill the air with a heady scent every summer.
When the sun is out, the place is filled with couples and families enjoying the pocket of space that this tiny town offers.
Could anyone here really be a threat to me?
“And what were you and Jude whispering about outside?” Immi’s voice cuts through. I’m distracted easily today and I need to focus my attention back on her. She taps a manicured finger on the edge of the counter, leaning on her right elbow.
“Oh, you know, secrets and lies.” I keep my voice light. I wouldn’t call Immi jealous, but the line is thin.
“Intriguing.” She leans forward.
“No, it’s nothing, really. I’m just probing her for some ideas of people to interview.
” I sip my tea, eyes still outside. A man moves from the edge of the park entrance, a concealed gap in the bushes.
He looks right to left, full body turns as he checks out the space around him.
It’s almost comical. He turns right, walking towards us with small steps, his head down.
Is he counting his steps? A chill creeps up across my lower neck.
“Earth to Ella?” Immi snaps, the cup clinking as it hits the tray.
“Sorry, I–”
“What has gotten into you over the past week? I’ve barely seen you, and now we finally get to spend time together and you’re distracted as anything.” Her voice cracks at the end of her sentence, tears welling.
“Hey.” I reach towards her over the counter. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit stressed but it’s nothing to cry about.”
“Sorry, no, it’s not you.” She straightens up, wiping a finger under her eyes. “It’s Benji.”
It’s not unusual for us to be here, Immi crying over something Benji has done.
I bite back the questions and pull her into my arms, instead.
She unfolds herself, bending slightly to place her head on my shoulder, the sadness coming out in gentle sobs.
After a moment, she straightens up. Wipes her face and shifts her smile back to where it should be.
“What’s happened?” I say when she’s composed herself.
“Nothing, everything. I just…” She sighs. “Sometimes, everything seems out of my control. As though I am clinging on because I don’t quite realise I’ve already started falling.”
Something pangs in the bottom of my chest. It’s horrible seeing her like this, but I feel it too. We’re all holding on.
I could tell her that she shouldn’t worry. She has her gorgeous house, this growing business, and her friends.
“I know what you mean,” I nod. The threat, the wedding, the constant feeling of running: perhaps it is more universal than I realised.
“And you.” Immi looks at me, her grey eyes cold. “Something is happening with you. What’s going on? And don’t lie to me, like the other day.”
My jaw tightens.
“If you can help it,” she adds, her eyes softening.
I’m not as good at lying to my friends as I thought, then.
I smile. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to go into it in front of Rufus and Benji.”
“I understand that.”
There’s a pause. The truth is finding a comfortable place to sit amongst the lies.
“Something happened at the party, something weird.”
“Oh?” Immi leans forward and I ignore the little smirk at the side of her lip, the way her eyes dazzle at the sound of potential gossip. I’ve known her long enough to know it won’t go anywhere, but she loves to be the keeper of secrets.
“Someone sent me a threatening letter.”
Immi laughs.
Not a little giggle but a full-on laugh.
“Immi!”
“Oh, God, sorry. You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Someone sent me a threatening letter.”
Immi covers her hand with her mouth but there’s still a smile there. “It’s not funny. Sorry, but a letter. How old school? They popped a letter in the mail to be delivered to your door. It’s quaint, if not terribly creepy.”
I shake my head, my palms becoming clammy at the thought. “It wasn’t in the mail. It was left on my pillow, unstamped, unmarked and handwritten.”
The silence falls heavy between us and Immi’s hand drops to her side. Her smile is replaced with a thin line of tension and her cheeks hollow as she sucks them in.
“Ella.” She breathes my name softly, the hot air tickling my cheek as she draws me in.
“I know, I–” I start.
“We need to go to the police, seal it up and get them to swipe for evidence. Joe at number seven works for the Met, he can help.”
I can hear a slight warble in her words. We.
My eyes dart to the window, the open space of the park as terrifying as it was before because someone could be watching me.
“Or no police?” Immi draws back, her hands on my shoulders. I learnt quickly that in this world, behind the shiny veneer of wealth and status, everyone has their little secrets.
“No police. Not yet,” I say, careful to weave in a gentle inflection in my words.
Immi’s eyes scan me, reading and searching my face. I focus on my breath, the gentle tickle against my wet lips. The obvious, sensible, smart thing would be to go to the police. And the only reason you wouldn’t is if you feared the trouble they could bring.
“No police,” Immi echoes. Years ago, she arrived at my doorstep tearful and trembling.
There was a bruise forming on her upper left arm and her hair was yanked into an off-centre ponytail.
She was mugged, a violent crime against her as she sat in her car.
I never questioned how she still held onto her phone and her bag.
I never asked for more details than she could offer.
And when it happened again, years later, I simply placed a card with the details of a domestic violence lawyer into her trembling hand.
“How bad is it?” Immi says now.
The memory of Henry creeps up, his wonky smile and deep dark eyes that drew me in the moment they landed on me.
“I don’t know. I–” The words choking in the back of my throat. Suddenly, I am helpless.
I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to sit in this honest and raw, messy part of my life, and yet my fingers swipe at my cheeks and come away wet. My nail works into the tender part of my lips, digging in repeatedly.
Immi’s hand reaches up, taking my wrists gently and holding it by my side. “I can help.”
Her kindness makes me look away. The sender knows where I live, my tongue runs over my teeth.
Immi steps back, pushing to her toes to lean over the counter.
“Let me see.” She says this lightly, as though she were planning a party. She pulls out her phone. “Here, yes. I’ve sent you the number for a security firm, the same one we use. Get more cameras set up, that way you’ll stop anyone unwanted coming in.”
I nod, the decision’s so sensible that it slaps me in the face. Whoever did this walked through my house, blended in with my guests and moved through my room unseen. This can’t be a stranger and Henry is in prison. Someone else knows what I’ve done.
“Hey, Ella?” Immi touches my shoulder. “We’ll fix this.”
I swallow, my mouth dry.