Nell
PRESENT
I check back in with difficulty. “Yes, everything’s fine.” I give Sadie a quick smile. “It was a late night.”
“Was it fun?” Sadie pulls a chair out from under the desk and sits herself down, ready for a catch-up. “The dinner at Alex’s sister’s?”
“Yes, it was lovely. Too much to eat and drink but that was only my fault. What about you, did you find a film to keep you both awake?”
Sadie shakes her head, sending her curls bouncing.
“Simon was held up at work, so date night was off. It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last.” She sounds so unbothered that I decide Sadie is perfect for Simon.
She seems to relish the drama involved in having a partner who is called to deal with an emergency or has to work late because something has come up.
“That’s a shame,” I say. “That you didn’t get to go out, I mean.”
Sadie leans forward. “So what did you eat? You said Béatrice is an amazing cook.”
“Er … duck, yes, we had duck. And cheese. And other things too.” My voice trails off.
Sadie tilts her head, appraising me. “You’re not really in a mood for talking, are you?”
“Not really, no.”
“Shall I leave you to get on with it?”
“Yes, thanks, Sadie.”
I wait until Sadie has closed the door, then push my chair away from the desk, finally giving in to the crushing disappointment that had enveloped me when I woke this morning and realized that Alex hadn’t called last night.
I’ve tried to find excuses for him—despite what Inès said, Béatrice might not have messaged him to tell him they’d told me about Caitlin.
But why hadn’t he told me about Caitlin himself, when we had talked about our significant others?
Even if Caitlin had been a relatively new girlfriend, wasn’t the fact of her death enough for her to become significant?
These are the thoughts that plague me until I leave the office. I’d hoped that Alex would call me during the day but he hadn’t, and I refuse to phone him. Besides, if I did, he probably wouldn’t answer, which would upset me even more.
Sadie has already left so I go through the evening ritual of locking up, then activate the steel shutter over the front window, making sure it has fully closed before stepping into pouring rain.
For a Thursday night the street is strangely deserted; the bad weather has sent people scurrying home.
I curse under my breath. How had I not noticed it was raining?
I have an umbrella in my bag but I can’t juggle an umbrella, my bag, and the keys so I hunch further into my coat while I turn to lock the door.
Rain spilling off the roof drips down the back of my neck, adding to my misery.
“Elle.”
The word, softly spoken, comes from behind me.
It strikes such terror in my heart that I freeze, the key still in the lock.
My heart judders, stops, then surges ahead, palpitating wildly in my chest. I had always known he would come for me but now that the moment is here, I wonder how I could have been so blasé.
Why hadn’t I done more to protect myself?
Was it because I’d subconsciously accepted the inevitable?
Blood drums in my ears. This is it, this is it, this is where it ends.
I tense my body and wait for the blow, the stab of a knife.
I should scream—but I can’t. Fear has trapped my breath in my throat.
I dig deep inside myself and find a small pocket of defiance. I refuse to die with my back to him. I will turn and face him, look him in the eye.
As I slide the key from the lock, something clicks in my mind. I can use the key as a weapon, gouge his eyes with it. Glad of the protective barrier of my bag across my chest, I spin around, my hand poised, the key at the ready.
I knew who I was going to find standing behind me. But it isn’t him. Alex is there, an umbrella shielding him from the rain, his eyes wide with concern. Weak with relief, my knees buckle. But my relief soon turns to horror. He had called me Elle.
“Nell.” He puts his free hand on my arm, gently lowering the key toward the ground. “I’m sorry, did I scare you?”
I don’t let my face betray my terror. Instead, I let myself be pulled into a skewed one-armed embrace, my bag trapped awkwardly between us and silently accept the kisses he places in my hair.
Above the sound of the rain splashing onto his umbrella, I listen to his tender explanation of how he has come to be here, how, following a message from Béatrice last night, he took the first available flight out of Washington, only to have it diverted back to Washington an hour later when a passenger on board became seriously ill.
How they’d had to wait on the tarmac for the passenger to be taken off before they were finally loaded onto another flight.
“I was meant to arrive early this morning,” he finishes. “I thought I’d be able to see you before you left for work. But I only got here at one o’clock and I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working. I’m sorry.”
I hear only half of his words. He had called me Elle. Or had he? Had I imagined it, had my mind heard the word I’ve been expecting to hear ever since I became aware that someone was following me? I want to ask him Did you call me Elle? But either way, he would deny it.
My silence and the tension in my body reaches him. He moves back, searching my face. But I can’t look at him. I can’t let him in until I’m sure.
“Nell,” he says again and this time there’s anguish in his voice. “Please, will you let me explain? About Caitlin.” He looks around. “Is there somewhere we can go?”
I find my voice. “No.”
He nods, releases me. “As you wish. Will you be all right getting home?” The formal tone in his voice takes me by surprise. I hadn’t meant for him to leave. What I’d meant was that I didn’t know of anywhere nearby where we could go to discuss Caitlin. But perhaps it’s for the best.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I say, still unable to meet his eyes.
“Here, take my umbrella.”
“I have one in my bag.”
“All right.” He pauses. “When—if—you feel like talking, call me. Anytime, day or night.”
Now I look at him. I raise my head, look straight into his eyes. They are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“But whenever I call, you never pick up.”
A shadow crosses his face. “I will,” he says. “I promise.”
He turns and walks away and the fear that he might never come back makes me want to run after him, wrap my arms tight around him and ask him never to leave me.
I pray for him not to turn around, not to pause and look back at me because in that moment, I realize he is both my weakness and my strength and that I’d go to him in a heartbeat.
But he doesn’t pause, he doesn’t look back, he walks steadily away from me, physically marking the emotional distance between us.
I walk to the bus stop, each step an effort, barely noticing the rain that quickly soaks my hair.
I’m desperate to be home and I want to move faster but I’m still in shock.
Elle, Elle, Elle. The name echoes in my brain.
Either he said Nell, and my fear converted it to Elle, or he knows, and is playing with me.
On the bus I sit huddled against the window, my eyes closed, blocking out the world.
I think about Alex, about how he must have felt when Béatrice told him that I knew about Caitlin, how he’d jumped on the first plane to London so that he could talk to me face-to-face.
I imagine the frustration he must have felt when his flight was diverted, resulting in him arriving in London this afternoon instead of this morning and how he’d had to kill time while he waited for me to finish work.
And then I wonder—why didn’t he call and tell me he was coming?
The bus arrives at my stop, I get off, walk the short distance home. When I arrive, once I’ve turned on the light in the hall and locked the door behind me, the relief is overwhelming. I am home. I am safe.
I hang my coat behind the door, desperate for a hot shower. But first I need to check each room. As I start to move down the hallway, I come to an abrupt stop. I stand very still, waiting for the soul of the house to settle around me. And that’s when I know.
Someone has been here, inside my house.