Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(36)

I suppose it’s unfair to blame Finn. But the way I see it, if I hadn’t thought he was going to kill me that night, I wouldn’t have disappeared. Hence my aggressive email, telling him I’d found him. I wanted him to be afraid of me, as I was once afraid of him. I’m not sure why that is. But my emotions have always been volatile. Anyway, Finn replied that he was glad I’d found him. Now why would he say that if he truly loved Ellen?

It brought me back to my original question, the one I asked myself as I sat on the platform at St Mary’s, the day Thomas saw me. If it came down to it, would Finn choose Ellen over me? Or was it possible that he would choose me, and I would get my old life back?

It was time to find out.





THIRTY-TWO

Finn

I push back my chair and put my bare feet up on the desk. They’re wet with dew from where I walked across the lawn ten minutes ago. It’s only six thirty but I couldn’t sleep. I feel as if I’ve reached some sort of crossroads with Layla; her declaration of love has thrown me.

I look around my office, at the paintings on the walls. They are all of the sea in some shape or form. Layla chose the one that hangs on the wall behind the door. Because of its positioning, no one really sees it except me. I pull my feet from the desk and go over to it. There’s an anger to the sea that I’ve never been aware of before. My mind goes back to what Ruby said, about the trail of Russian dolls being the work of someone unbalanced. Did Layla manage to disappear for so long because she had some sort of breakdown? Her mother died when she was just a young girl, her father was violent. To have experienced violence from me might have tipped her over the edge.

And as always, not knowing is worse than knowing.

I can’t stand it any longer. Going back to my desk, I send Layla an email.

I really need to see you, Layla.

The minutes tick by without a reply so an hour later, I send another.

Please don’t disappear from my life again.

Two hours later, just when I’ve given up all hope of ever hearing from her again, an email drops into my inbox. Thank you, thank you, God, I breathe, when I see the name Rudolph Hill. I open it quickly.

Do you still love me?

I stare at the screen. Of all the questions she could have asked, it’s the one I wouldn’t have wanted her to. It’s impossible to answer. If I say no, I’ll never hear from her again. Anyway, it would be a lie. I’ve never stopped loving her. But if I tell her that, what then? The pressure to reply is terrible. I take a gamble.

Yes, of course I do. You were a huge part of my life.

More than you love Ellen?

Christ. The love I have for Ellen is different, I reply.

I think you should tell her I’m back I want to see you first.

There’s no immediate reply so I presume she’s mulling it over. Come on, just give me a time and a place, that’s all I want, just a time and a place. An email arrives.

Tell Ellen that I’m back first

No, I reply stubbornly, not until I’ve seen you.

It’s the wrong thing to say. There’s no answering email granting me my wish, no negotiating. Only silence.

I leave my office and walk across to the house, breathing in the morning air. Ellen isn’t in the kitchen but the door to her office is open, so I move towards it, not to do as Layla asked but to reassure myself that if it came down to it, I would choose her over Layla. Engrossed in her work, she doesn’t realise I’m there so I watch her for a moment, absorbing her, reminding myself how lucky I am to have her. Sensing me there, she looks up and smiles.

‘To what do I owe this honour?’ she teases, and I realise it’s usually her that comes to find me.

‘I wondered if you wanted breakfast.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Around ten, I suppose.’

She puts down her pencil. ‘You were up early. I guessed you were in your office so I thought I’d get some work in until you surfaced.’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ I go over. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘Not too bad. Come and see my fairy glen.’ She moves back from her drawing board, making room for me.

‘Ellen, this is beautiful,’ I say, genuinely awed by her talent, because her attention to detail is incredible. ‘How many of these little creatures are there?’

‘Thirty-seven at last count but I still need to draw a few more.’

‘Not now,’ I say, firmly. ‘We’re having breakfast first.’

‘I’ll make some eggs.’

‘Or we could go to The Jackdaw for a fry-up,’ I say, suddenly hungry from being awake all night. ‘Ruby always does them during the holiday season.’

‘Good idea,’ Ellen says. ‘It’ll make a nice change.’

We’re quiet during our walk to the pub but it’s a comfortable silence. Ellen links her fingers in mine and as I turn to smile at her I feel a sudden rush of love. It’s not love, it’s gratitude, a voice tells me. You’ve never felt true love for Ellen, not like you felt for Layla. Admit it, Finn, you’ve never been in love with Ellen. You’ve grown to love her out of gratitude, that’s all.

‘Come on,’ I say abruptly, tugging her along faster, ‘I’m hungry.’

The Jackdaw is nicely empty.