Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(21)

The pain of betrayal snaps me back to the present. Leaving the station, I follow the road to the cottage. I can smell the sea in the warm air, taste the salt on my lips. As I near the cottage, my heart feels suddenly heavy and my mouth goes dry. The stone wall of the cottage comes into view, then the upstairs window, then the little garden at the front, and – I come to an abrupt stop, unable to believe what I’m seeing. I expected to find the cottage unkempt and uncared-for. But the beds are full of flowers and there are red geraniums in the window boxes.

‘Layla.’ My voice catches in my throat and for one crazy moment I think that the door is going to open and she’ll be there, on the doorstep, ready to run to me and tell me that she’s glad I’m home, like she used to. Even when it remains closed I can’t accept that she isn’t there, because in my mind the flowers prove that she is, so I run, my heart pounding as I go. I arrive at the gate, fumble with the latch, hurry to the blue wooden door and thump on it. But she doesn’t open it so I thump again, and again, because I need her to be there, because I’ve never stopped loving her, despite trying to close my mind to her, despite loving Ellen.

A man’s voice comes from behind me. ‘You won’t get any answer, it’s been empty for years.’

Rage – red-hot and violent – rips through me. I stay as I am, fighting for control, trying to erase the burning anger from my face so that I can reply civilly to the person who’s ruined the few seconds where I’d allowed myself to believe Layla was alive.

I gesture towards the garden. ‘It doesn’t look empty,’ I snap, finding my voice but not my composure.

‘That’ll be Thomas.’

I take a breath and turn slowly, preparing myself for the jolt of recognition that will surely appear on his face when he sees me, the words that will spring unchecked to his lips, ‘Are you . . .?’ before the rest of the question dies away, leaving an awkward silence in its place. But the man, some ten years or so older than me, is thankfully unfamiliar.

‘Thomas?’ I ask in pretend puzzlement.

‘The old gentleman who lives next door. He’s been tending the garden for years.’ He nods at my cottage. ‘You’re not the first that’s showed an interest in buying it. But it isn’t for sale, never will be, according to Thomas.’

I go down the path and back through the gate, closing it behind me. ‘He lives next door?’ I ask, indicating Thomas’ cottage.

‘That’s right. But you won’t find him there. He’s in hospital, been there for a couple of weeks now.’

I look at the man in dismay. ‘Hospital?’

‘Yes, in Exeter. Only to be expected really, he’s in his nineties now.’

I nod slowly. I want to ask him what happened, if Thomas had a heart attack, if he knows what ward he’s on, but it might sound strange after I’ve pretended not to know him.

‘Oh well, if the cottage isn’t for sale,’ I say, wanting him gone.

‘Don’t think it ever will be. It’s like a shrine.’

‘A shrine?’

The man nods. ‘A young couple used to live here and she disappeared during a holiday in France. The man came back for a while, apparently, waiting for her to turn up and when he realised she wasn’t going to, he upped and left, leaving everything exactly as it was. Take a look through the window and you’ll see what I mean.’

He has a pleasant enough face but it doesn’t stop me wanting to push my fist into it.

‘Do you live in St Mary’s?’ I ask, tortured by images of him, and others maybe, peering ghoulishly through the windows.

‘Moved here six months ago. If you’re looking for something to buy, I suggest you go to one of the estate agents in Sidmouth.’

I start to move away. ‘Right, thanks.’

I feel his eyes on me as I walk back to my car. I’m gutted that I’ve come all this way for nothing. If I’d brought my keys with me, I could have gone back to the cottage once the man had moved on, to have a look around inside, so that I wouldn’t have had a completely wasted journey. But I’d only wanted to see Thomas so I hadn’t collected them from the safety deposit box at my bank in Exeter, where I’d left them twelve years ago, along with Layla’s jewellery, the day I’d left St Mary’s. I could have kept them with me but I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to return to the cottage. Yet I couldn’t consider selling it either.

I’d like to go and see Thomas but I can’t very well walk into the hospital and start asking him questions about supposedly seeing Layla. But Tony could.

I take out my mobile and dial his number. He answers on the second ring.

‘Finn? Everything OK?’ His voice is sharp with worry, and at first I think he knows something of what’s been going on.

‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ I reassure him. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘No, go ahead.’

‘I’m phoning to ask a favour, actually. I know it’s a big ask but would you pay Thomas a visit? I’m curious as to why he thought it was Layla he saw outside the cottage.’

‘Why, has something happened?’

I debate how much to tell him. ‘Just that a couple of weeks ago, Ellen thought she saw Layla in Cheltenham. It was probably only someone with the same sort of red hair but it does seem strange, coming on the back of Thomas’ sighting.’