Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(38)

‘Go ahead,’ I tell her, determined to give her my fullest attention.

She finishes pulling on her jeans, takes something from the pocket and holds out her hand. ‘This came through the door yesterday.’ Looking down, I see a little Russian doll lying in her palm. Hiding my shock, I pick it up and make a show of examining it, giving myself time. Doll number seven – I have five and Ellen now has two. ‘I should have told you straightaway, I know, but . . . ’ her voice trails off.

I want to ask her why she didn’t but then I remember all that I’ve been keeping from her.

‘When you say it came through the door, do you mean it was pushed through the letterbox?’ I say, handing the doll back to her.

‘No, it came in an envelope.’

‘Who was it addressed to?’

She frowns at this. ‘Me, of course. I wouldn’t have opened it otherwise.’

I’m angry that Layla has done this, that she’s gone ahead and done what she threatened to do. ‘Was it typewritten or handwritten?’

‘Typewritten. The thing is . . . ’ She hesitates.

‘Yes?’

‘I guessed what it was before I even opened it. It wasn’t just the shape, it’s more that I’ve been expecting something like this.’ She looks at me defiantly. ‘I know you said it wasn’t Layla that I saw in Cheltenham that day but it was. I’d recognise her anywhere.’

‘Even after twelve years?’

‘Even after fourteen,’ she corrects, because she hasn’t seen Layla since she left Lewis for London. ‘She is my sister.’ There’s a fierceness in her voice. ‘OK, so I didn’t see her face. But there was something about the way she was moving through the crowd that told me it was her. And her hair. She can’t hide that – well, not unless she cut it off and dyed it. But she would never do that, she was always so proud of her hair. And now there’s this second Russian doll.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t read too much into it,’ I warn gently. ‘It could just be someone having a joke. A sick one, maybe, but nevertheless, a joke.’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe anyone would be so cruel. Anyway, nobody knows about the Russian dolls except you, me and Layla.’

‘And Harry,’ I remind her. ‘You told him about them, remember.’

‘Yes, of course, and Harry,’ she says impatiently. ‘But nobody else.’ She turns her green eyes on me. ‘You didn’t tell Ruby, did you?’

‘No,’ I say firmly.

‘It’s just that when I came looking for you at The Jackdaw the day you got back from seeing Grant, I saw a little Russian doll on the counter, before you put it in your pocket. I thought you’d been showing her the one that I found outside the house. But when we got home it was still there, standing on the side with the rest of the set. Which means the one you showed Ruby came from somewhere else.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, annoyed that she hasn’t asked me about it before, wondering why she didn’t mention it. ‘You’re right, it was a different Russian doll.’

‘But where did you get it?’

My mind goes into overdrive, wondering what to say because I can’t tell her the truth, that it was the one I found on Pharos Hill. ‘You know the time that we went to The Jackdaw for lunch? I found it on the plate along with the bill and I thought Ruby had put it there. She denied it at the time but I wanted to make sure. That’s what we were arguing about that day.’

‘On the plate?’ I hear the excitement in her voice. ‘But that means Layla was there, in the pub, when we were there!’ Bewilderment creeps in. ‘But she can’t have been – we would have seen her, surely?’

‘That’s why I thought Ruby had put it there. I thought I must have told her the story of the Russian dolls and she decided to plant a couple to make me think that Layla was back so that I wouldn’t marry you.’ Ellen frowns. ‘But she didn’t know what I was talking about and then I remembered that I had never told her the story about the dolls.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me that you found a doll on the plate?’

‘Because I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Worry me?’ Now she looks puzzled and there’s a rare flash of anger. ‘Why would I be worried?’

‘Sorry, wrong word. I meant disappointed. I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it was just a joke.’

‘But it isn’t, is it? It isn’t a joke, Finn. Layla is alive, I’m sure of it!’ She looks how I felt when I first realised that Layla was back: half-excited, half-scared.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say.

‘Well, she must be! What I don’t understand is why she sent this doll specifically to me.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Maybe she was hoping I’d find the one outside the house, and the one on the plate in The Jackdaw. Maybe she doesn’t want you to know that she’s back.’ I’d like to tell her that she’s wrong, that Layla wants very much for me to know she’s back but I can’t bear to admit to all the other dolls I’ve found, the emails, my secret trips to Devon. ‘Does she really think I wouldn’t tell you something so important?’

I feel so bad that I have to turn away. Why am I so reluctant to tell Ellen that her sister is alive? I can’t believe I’m keeping something so momentous from her. The truth – that I want to keep Layla to myself – fills me with guilt. But only until I’ve found out what her intentions are, I tell myself. Once I know, then I’ll tell Ellen.