CHAPTER 9
Ella
I offer Immi another wave as I leave. We don’t fall out often, but this is how things are sometimes. We stumble in our friendship but it never lasts forever, and she knows I love her. We both overstep sometimes.
Never one to leave an engagement early, Rufus shoots me a look as I make my apologies.
But the afternoon is becoming a fuzzy blur that sits warm and heavy at the base of my skull.
I need to leave. I take the long way home, enjoying the way the trees dance in the breeze as the sun sets.
It’s truly beautiful here, tucked away in the countryside, our houses hidden away from the people and noise.
The autumn leaves crunch underfoot and I exhale into the silence.
When I first met Colin, I was drawn to him.
He was jogging along the street, wearing a yellow top and black cycling shorts.
He stopped to say hello, bouncing from foot to foot.
His smile wide, and his humour sharp. We fell into a relationship fast, before Rufus swooped in and picked me up, but I got to see a glimpse of the true Colin.
It’s shocking how quickly a facade can fall.
My teeth sink into my lip.
Turning left, almost on autopilot, I slip down the small lane that divides the two sides of the private estate.
Colin and Rufus had a similar air about them, both aloof in a way that some might call pretentious.
But Rufus has a humbling humour that won me over in ways that Colin couldn’t.
And yet, I can’t deny what’s happened over the past few months.
As though drawn out by my thoughts, my phone chimes and Colin’s name appears on my screen:
It was good to see you today x
I duck low as a branch sways over the edge of the brick wall.
My fingertips trail across the fading leaves on the tree above while I reread the message before hitting delete.
I don’t have time for Colin’s games. Someone is stalking me, someone who knows what happened at Househill, and that’s where I need to put my energy.
Colin could be the culprit, but I need to cast my net wider than that.
Who else would want to harm me? Who might have dug deep enough to find Henry?
A sudden movement draws my attention over my shoulder, and a figure follows me down the narrow alleyway.
My skin prickles. I glance back, and the figure speeds up.
My feet stumble below me. I look ahead; the mouth of the alleyway isn’t far at all, and yet it feels like a lifetime as I force my legs to keep moving.
A twig snaps behind me. I suck in thick breaths and push on, trying to remain calm.
But someone is following me. Someone was in my house.
Someone wants to hurt me.
Is that my breathing in my ears or the sound of my own heartbeat? I can’t die here, alone, in an alleyway. I walk faster now, the crisp leaves falling as I push past an overhanging branch.
The street opens out ahead, a pink sky shining down on me as I make it out of the alleyway, my fingers tight around my coat collar. I turn again to catch a glance at the person behind, missing the movement ahead of me and find myself running shoulder-first into someone as I step out of the lane.
“Shit.”
“Woah.” A young man holds my right arm as I stumble into him. My breath catches in my throat and pushes out as a timid, mangled cry.
I shouldn’t be this scared. I should be safe in the space where I live. In my home.
The man steadies me. His face moving from frustration to concern, he yanks out a white earbud.
“Are you alright?” he asks, but something in his eyes jolts me back in time, standing under a tree waiting for a boy to kiss me.
A boy that would eventually kill someone.
I yank my arm free as the figure emerges from the lane.
An elderly man with a flat cap and a glazed look, he barely looks up, crossing the street and continuing off.
“Sorry.” I step back, the air is sweet and suffocating. “I–” The words fall empty.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” The man ducks his face, trying to look into my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t stop seeing Henry everywhere I look.
My phone ping sounds far off.
“I’m fine, sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I say, turning on my heel before he can reply. I can see my house up the hill, its large wooden door drawing me in.
I’m safe there.
I pull out my phone, half expecting Rufus, and find an email notification. My key fob triggers the driveway gate opening from a few yards away, but it’s slow and old, so I wait while the email loads. It’s probably a message about the podcast sponsorship pitch.
An unfamiliar address sits at the top.
It takes me a moment to reach my door, the rosebushes leaving the air heavy with sweetness despite the late season.
My senses kick in as I read. The birds taunt with their echoing song and the breeze hisses between leaves.
I fumble out my keys, my fingers tight around my phone.
I need to get inside. I need to get home.
My name echoes from somewhere. The words of the email slap me cold in the face, but I force myself to read them over and over again as I grip my keys.
Dear Ms Olumende.
No one has used my real name in years. My fingers hover inches from the door. I need to get inside, I need to be safe. But I’m not safe. An invisible force grabs me and sucks me into the floor, leaving me trembling inches from my house. I can’t go forward and I can’t go back. I’m not safe.
My vision swims and I hear my name again, or perhaps it’s a memory.
“Ella.” Immi appears by my side, her fingers light on my shoulder. My face is wet when I turn around to her, my tongue heavy in my mouth.
“Oh God, Ella, darling.” She pulls me in. Over her shoulder Jude is there, her eyes wide.
I draw in desperate mouthfuls of air and yet nothing fills my lungs. A dry heave leaves my throat and my legs give way. I stumble into her.
“We didn’t want you walking alone with everything that’s going on.” Jude starts as she approaches, her words quickening as she reaches me. “Jesus, Ella, what’s happened?”
Jude pulls at my other side, bringing me to an awkward stand, her voice thick with panic as she takes me in.
A crash sounds, my phone hitting the floor.
My knees crumble, the keys that held my safety now limp in my hands.
I don’t ask them how they found each other.
I don’t question how they followed me without me knowing.
My world shifts and shatters at my feet and all I can do is let it.
There’s no going back.
“He’s out of prison,” the words tumble out in a cry. My vision is swimming.
Another sugar cube drops with a splash into the china cup, and the spoon clinks with every steady stir.
After a moment, Immi pushes the coffee towards me, tendrils of steam rising between us.
Jude closes the door and joins us at the table; somewhere deep in the house I can hear Rufus’s movements.
Or maybe I am imagining them. My phone screen blares up at me, the email sharp and bright in the dusk of the room.
“So, what did the email say?” Jude asks when the silence carries on for a moment too long. I look up at the concerned faces of my friends. Immi worries at her necklace and Jude leans on her elbows.
“Who is Henry?” Immi asks softly, placing the question I’ve been avoiding into the centre of the room.
I face the invisible fork in the road, between telling the truth and watching everything crumble or lying again.
“He’s a violent ex-boyfriend, and he’s out of prison,” I say, and watch the gently growing frown lines across my friends’ faces as I tell them the perfectly practised version of my past.