Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(41)
Her words echo in my ears as I walk back to the house. Be careful of who, I want to ask her. Layla? Or myself?
When another day passes without news from Layla, I do what I didn’t want to do and send her an email.
We need to talk, Layla, face to face You don’t know how much I want to But I can’t, not while you’re with Ellen Why not?
Because it would be too hard for me I love you, Finn
No, you love who I was twelve years ago I’m not that person any more
I’m with Ellen now
Exactly. And while you’re with her, you can’t be with me So what do you want me to do?
Do you truly love Ellen?
If you do, I’ll leave you in peace That’s not what I want!
So what is it you want?
I’ve told you, to see you
And I’ve told you it’s not possible, not while you’re with Ellen I don’t understand what you expect me to do And of course, there’s no reply, because she knows there’s nothing I can do. I can’t ask Ellen to leave, I can’t tell her that I’ve changed my mind about marrying her, not now that she knows Layla is back. I should have told her before, I realise bitterly, I should have told her I’d changed my mind the moment I knew that Layla had found my letter. I’d had the perfect opportunity; I’d stayed away that night, pretended I’d had a migraine. When I came back the next day, I should have told Ellen that the reason I hadn’t come home was because I’d been thinking about us, about our forthcoming marriage, and had realised I’d made a mistake. She would have been upset, tried to get me to change my mind perhaps. But if I’d stood firm, what could she have done except pack her bags and leave?
An email comes in, from Layla, and I cross my fingers, hoping she’s relented.
GET RID OF ELLEN
THIRTY-SEVEN
Layla
Deep down, I knew that Ellen wouldn’t relinquish Finn just because I was back. Why would she when she was happy with what she had? She knew Finn didn’t love her as much as he had loved me but second best was enough for her because it was better than what she’d had before. But it worried her that I was back; I could feel her digging her claws in, determined not to let me have him and that surprised me because I had never known her to be tenacious before. But the steely determination she’d had to cultivate over the years to get where she was must have had something to do with it.
When I sent Finn the message, spelling out to him what he would have to do if he wanted to see me, I felt for him, I really did. But there isn’t room for both Ellen and me. Once upon a time, there had been. Once upon a time, we had shared everything. After our mother’s death, we’d been inseparable, standing firm against our father. And unable to rule us, he had divided us. It was the only thing I ever learnt from my father. Divide and conquer.
That’s what I’m planning to do to Ellen and Finn, divide them. And once I’ve managed to prise them apart, Finn will be exactly where I want him to be.
And this time, it will be Ellen who will disappear.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Finn
I’ve taken to watching Ellen as she stands by the cooker stirring something in a pan, or sits at the table, her head bent over a magazine, and try to imagine what would happen if I were to say the words aloud, the words that would rid me of her, the words that would buy me the freedom to see Layla. Sometimes I go as far as mouthing, ‘Ellen, I’m sorry but I can’t marry you’, trying the words for size, testing the weight of them in my mouth. And then I imagine her reaction, first the shock, then the bewilderment, followed by a dawning realisation that I’ve never truly loved her. And finally, a quiet acceptance that I am no longer hers, now that Layla is back.
Except it wouldn’t be like that. There would be tears, which I couldn’t stand, and recriminations, which I couldn’t stomach. So the words remain trapped inside me until I feel as if I’m going to break under the strain of leaving them unsaid. Sometimes, when I’m watching Ellen, I wonder how it has come to this, how I can be contemplating life without her. But then I think of Layla, and Ellen fades into nothing. I remember Harry saying, all those years ago, that Layla had bewitched me. Well, now she’s bewitching me all over again.
As the days go on, I become desperate. I email Layla, asking her again if we can meet, telling her that we need to talk, that I need to see her. But as I make no mention of having done as she asked, she doesn’t reply.
‘How much longer are we going to give Layla?’ Ellen asks one evening. We’re in the sitting room listening to music and supposedly reading but, like me, I’m not sure she’s actually turned any pages.
I lift my head from my book and look across to where she’s curled up on the sofa, acknowledging that I would never normally sit so far away from her. Before Layla, I would have been next to her, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, playing for time, because I know very well what she means. It’s six days since Layla’s last message, seven since the Russian doll came through the post.
‘Before we tell Tony, or someone, that she’s alive.’ I hear the nervousness in her voice. ‘We can’t keep it a secret. The police need to know.’
‘Not yet,’ I say, for the third time. ‘We agreed that we’d wait.’