CHAPTER 12
Ella
I sink into the worn library chair, the plastic squeaking against my back.
It takes an age for the screen to load, my fingers tapping on the table’s edge as it does.
Everything here is sticky. The seats, the table, the carpet…
somehow. Before I moved to Shearwood Village, the local library was my haven.
Even after university, when I had a regular pay cheque, the library offered a warm, dry place to spend an afternoon.
Now, it feels old and worn, the books crumbling under my fingers and the staff eying me suspiciously.
Footsteps approach the near-abandoned computer suite, which is more of a row than a suite, and I pull my cap further down my eyes.
I’m unsure if it’s the staff or Jude and Immi that I’m hiding from.
When the search bar finally loads, I type in Robbie’s name plus Househill Manor.
Robbie’s face fills the top of the search results, pictures they used in the press following his murder. I look away, focusing on the lines and lines of text, each of them telling me what I already know.
Dorset town distraught after young boy’s murder.
Man charged with death of Robbie Lane.
Robbie was a character, that could be said of him.
He was younger than Nate and Henry, yet he became part of the group so easily.
One summer, probably the first time they met, Nate and I were eating ice cream on the beach.
The sand was still cool on our skin. I sunk my toes into it because the sensation sent shivers down my spine.
I had rum raisin ice cream because it made me seem older and Nate ate mint chocolate chip.
Henry lay next to us with a cap over his face, sleeping off whatever hangover he woke with.
None of us talked. It was Henry and Nate, plus me.
Never a three. Robbie yelled at us, but we all turned too late to stop the ball flying and kicking up sand over our ice creams. He ran over with an infectious smile, lanky and bouncing. We became a four after that.
I’m scrolling now. My lip curls as my finger hits something dry and crusted on the mouse.
I need to find Robbie’s obituary. If Henry is back, then he’ll be kicking up dirt.
Trying to drag my name down as far as he can.
I need to know everything that has happened between now and then.
Which means I need to find Robbie’s family.
It takes thirty minutes to locate Robbie’s family address but there’s no way to find their number.
My fingers work over my eyes, smudging the mascara across my lid.
I need something.
The sudden vibration of my phone makes me jump. Rufus’s name appears bright and demanding on my screen.
“Ella, love. Where are you?” Rufus says, a woman’s voice in the background.
I glance at the time on the screen. “At work.”
A plausible explanation for 11.40 on a Tuesday morning.
“Okay, great. And when will you be home? I’m planning a surprise?” Rufus is talking fast.
“Oh, erm, about five, maybe?” I shift in my seat. My attention runs through the words on the screen. There’s a tightness in my chest as I read over Robbie’s parents’ details. If Henry is out of prison, then he’s planning something and they would be involved. They could be in danger.
“Ella?” Rufus is still in my ear, the whooshing sound building. Where is he?
“Yes, sorry. I’m here. What is it?”
“I was only saying, let me know when you’re leaving. Send me a message,” Rufus says and a whisper carries over the phone. I sit up, my focus shifting from Henry to Rufus.
“Why, what are you planning?” I say.
“Planning?”
“The surprise,” I prompt, but I hear the distraction in his voice.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just a dinner.” Rufus is lying.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” My head dips low so our conversation remains hidden. The screen loads, a thick block of text that makes my heart sink. Malcolm Lane, deceased. Dorothy Lane, deceased.
They’re gone. My nails scratch the side of my face, digging up the heavy blusher I’m wearing to cover my exhaustion, leaving my nails with a pink hue.
“Yes, I’m fine. Look, I need to get back to work, the office is slammed today.
Let me know when you’re heading home,” Rufus says, and I make a sound of agreement but my heart isn’t in it.
I don’t know why he’s distant, but I do know that Robbie’s parents are dead. And whatever they knew went with them.
I spend half a day at the library, tapping my card every hour to top up my computer allowance and sweating under the continuously growing heat in the building.
I learn that Robbie’s parents are gone but his Aunt Susan is still alive.
There’s an old number still logged on the local records which I need to try, but I can’t bring myself to press the call button.
The cold breeze is a refreshing sensation on my skin as I step out of the library.
I need to find out if any of Robbie’s family were in contact with Henry, but more importantly, I need to keep an eye on them.
I’m the connection between Robbie and Henry, I’m the catalyst that caused the worst moment of all our lives.
If I can, I’ll need to step in and stop Henry from destroying their lives even more.
“Have you got any spare change?” A voice carries in the quiet of the street. The library is set in a small residential area about fifteen minutes from town. There’s no parking on site and the building is both unappealing and hard to find, but the streets are somehow still full of meandering locals.
I dig into my pockets, pulling out a few loose coins that I always keep on hand. “Here,” I say, nodding at the man who sits at the bottom of the library steps. His cup is full of a brown liquid which steams in the cool breeze and he’s wearing thick leather boots.
“You know you can spend the day in there, don’t you? Keep warm, use the facilities, enjoy the books.” I nod towards the library.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes on me.
I don’t know what it’s like to be in his position, not truly.
But I was close enough when I met Jude. At that bar, if asked, I’d have hedged my bets on a young man being the person who would have housed me for the night.
I often wonder what would have happened if Jude hadn’t arrived when she had.
Alone in a new city with nowhere to live and a job that didn’t start for two weeks, the ending would have been much darker.
Something flicks in me as I nod goodbye to the homeless man.
I’m not the one who should be calling Robbie’s aunt, but there are questions that nag at me in the quiet moments of thought.
Questions that only Robbie’s family may know; like, where is Henry? Why was he released?
My car beeps unlocked, the wing mirrors peeling open. The seats heat with a flick and I slip out my phone. My eyes dart behind me at the suddenly empty streets and I push the lock button.
Nerves unfurl from my chest as I unlock my phone, but the stalker has been quiet today.
A realisation that is both odd and terrifying.
I open the group chat that Immi created.
It’s laughable that we have a group chat for such a scary situation, and yet having the two on hand pulls a small smile across my face.
I have a small favour to ask. I type the message with a tightness in my chest. Reaching out to Robbie’s aunt is selfish.
My tongue runs over my lips, the sensation shocking me.
Gone is the soft skin that was both moisturised and well-maintained.
My lips are dry and cracked, the skin bumpy under my tongue. I worry at it.
Another threat? Jude types back, fast.
I glance at my notification bar, which remains empty.
Nothing. But I’ve found Robbie’s aunt’s number and I want to reach out. See if she’s heard from Henry, I reply.
Robbie’s aunt? Were they close? Immi types back now, and I can imagine her behind the counter, her nails running through her hair.
No, but you never know what information she might have. It takes a few tries to get the words right, my finger starting and then hovering inches from the screen.
Is it smart or just selfish?
The minutes tick by, my phone heavy on my lap as the car warms around me.
I glance around, and a figure near the entrance of the library catches my eyes.
They are tall, a phone in their hand. It’s too far away to see any real details on their face but their presence sends a shiver over me.
I shift up, adjusting the rearview mirror to focus on them better.
They glance in my direction, I am sure of it.
My phone vibrates but the group chat remains silent.
The worry over Robbie’s aunt fades away.
It’s still light out but the now empty streets and the remote location tightens my shoulders.
Where would I run if they got to me? Could I reverse from this space fast enough if Henry were to appear?
The idea pushes a laugh out of me that does nothing to shift my nerves. He’s out, roaming around. I have to find him.
I flick open the message, knowing it won’t bring me closer.
A picture of me and Rufus illuminates the screen.
It was taken three nights ago. My black strap top has fallen on one shoulder and his hands are around my waist. You can’t see either of our faces but I know it’s us.
I know what we were doing. The image is taken from through a window, the same level as ours and so enhanced that the details are fuzzy.
My stomach lurches, bile curling up my throat.
I throw my phone, hearing it land on the passenger seat.
My airways tighten. Not only is Henry watching me, but he’s also taunting me.
He watched Rufus and me together, he saw me naked.
He’s become a twisted voyeur in this relationship.
My palms press into my face, the panic setting in.
I reach for my phone, jabbing at the screen until Rufus’s number comes up.
It rings out. My breath is sucking in audibly but barely filling my lungs.
Instead, a desperate clawing rises up my throat.
The man by the library has gone and now I am all alone.
The realisation pushes me deeper into my seat.
“Hello, Chisholm & Webster, how can I help?” A cheery voice comes through the speakers of the car. There’s a slight Northern twang to her accent, and I can already see the overset front teeth and dazzling smile that go with it.
“Hi Poppy, it’s Ella. Is Rufus in by any chance?” It takes a few starts to steady my voice and Poppy hears it, there’s a catch of concern in her words.
“No, sorry, he’s not working today,” she says.
“Oh, right. Of course, silly me,” I mumble, but my fingers are shaking.
He’s working, or so he told me. I close my eyes, pushing my fists into them.
Henry is watching us in the house, he’s getting closer, and I’ve not found out a single thing.
More than that, he knows about Rufus, the one thing that can keep me safe.
And Rufus is lying to me.
“I’ve got to go, thanks Poppy! Have a great afternoon.” My voice is deliriously cheery.
When the call drops, a message appears from Jude:
You want to get Henry’s address from her? If she wasn’t a key witness, she wouldn’t have it.
It’s not the truth, but it’s close enough.
I sink into my seat until the panic dissipates while I recite different things I feel, see, taste and smell.
An old skill that I have carried around since Nate died, one that has served me well.
Speaking to Robbie’s family is the only way I can promise they won’t get hurt, but Henry’s moving faster than I can if he’s already found me.