Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(73)

‘Who are they?’

‘Folks who I hurt. Dad’s old business partner gave me a job and I stole money from him. And when I was mowing lawns for the neighbours, I used to nick stuff from their garden sheds.’

‘I’m not sure they’d appreciate seeing you,’ I say. ‘Maybe you should keep a low profile – at least for a while. You have to appreciate that many people don’t understand mental illness and if they discover who you are – what you did …’

‘You’re worried about what they’ll say.’

‘I’m worried about you. If people knew … the media … the neighbours … I don’t want you under pressure.’

‘I should stay under the radar.’

‘It’s better that way.’

I drain the spaghetti in a colander, ready to serve, and move to the bottom of the stairs, looking up between the spindles.

‘Evie! Dinner.’





49


Evie


Morning. Still dark outside. The radiators are ticking and clanking. The house feels different today than yesterday. Elias is the reason. He was up late last night, watching TV in the sitting room, flicking through the channels, laughing at ancient TV shows like Seinfeld and The Vicar of Dibley. And now I can hear him snoring in Mitch’s old room – the one he used for two nights before being sent back to prison.

Cyrus is up already. I hear him in the shower and then on the stairs. I pull on my hoodie and Ugg boots and join him in the kitchen. He looks tired and there is the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. A coat with wide shoulders is hanging over the back of his chair.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Radford Road police station.’

‘I don’t want to be home alone with Elias.’

‘He won’t hurt you, Evie.’

‘Yeah, well, I read about that guy who they released from a psych hospital and within two months he’d killed and eaten three people.’

‘Is that according to Google?’

‘Yes, but it’s true.’

He changes the subject. ‘Do you want sourdough toast?’

I hold up two fingers, meaning slices. ‘Have you seen the sitting room? It’s full of crisp packets and soft drink cans and old Playboys that he must have found in the attic. You said he wasn’t allowed up there. You promised.’

‘I’ll have a word.’

‘I’m not cleaning up after him.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Walk Poppy. Study. Look for another job.’ He pauses and says, ‘You could do me one favour. Elias needs to pick up his meds from a pharmacy.’

‘I thought he wasn’t supposed to leave the house.’

‘He can go with you. I have to let Rampton know.’

Clearly, this is a part of me ‘pulling my weight’. Maybe he’s also testing Elias. We’re like guinea pigs in some psychological experiment, or weird reality TV show. Put the psycho and the freak girl together and see who blinks first – only I don’t think Elias would blink. He’s like a snake. Cold-blooded and lidless.

‘I’m busy today,’ I say, not meeting his gaze.

‘Doing what?’

‘All of the aforementioned tasks.’

‘Your vocabulary is improving.’

‘Fuck off!’

Cyrus laughs. ‘Do this for me.’

His eyes are kind and warm and lingering and I just want to hug him, which is weird because I don’t usually like touching people and I’m frightened that my skinny body and the pimple on my forehead will repel him.

The toaster pops up. He shrugs on his coat. I catch him at the door and hold out my hand.

‘I need cash for petrol.’

‘What about your money?’

‘I bought a car and lost my job; and I’m doing you a favour.’

He puts a twenty-quid note on my outstretched palm. I motion with my fingers, and he adds another twenty.

‘When will you be home?’ I ask.

‘Early as I can be.’

‘If I get murdered in my bed, I’m going to come back and haunt you.’

‘You haunt me now.’

After he’s gone, I take Poppy outside so she can do her morning business and scare away the squirrels. Elias doesn’t appear downstairs until almost midday, smelling like he’s drowned himself in cologne. He’s wearing the same baggy corduroy trousers, but a different shirt.

‘Why do you dress like a boy?’ he asks.

‘Why do you smell like a pimp?’ I reply.

Elias cups his hands over his mouth and sniffs his breath. What a moron!

He sits at the table and asks if we have any bacon and eggs. I tell him we have eggs.

‘I’d like two poached.’

‘This isn’t a hotel,’ I say. ‘Get your own breakfast.’

Elias cocks his head to one side like Poppy does occasionally when she doesn’t understand a command.

‘And clean up the sitting room. It’s a pigsty.’

‘Don’t you have a cleaner?’

‘Yeah, she comes in with the butler and the chauffeur.’