Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(52)

We carry on with our breakfast but Ellen’s eyes flit constantly to the broken Russian doll lying on the worktop and I can almost see her mind whirring with theories and suppositions.

‘You don’t think . . . ’

‘What?’ I prompt.

‘That the doll was damaged on purpose.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, that Layla damaged it on purpose, you know, as a kind of message.’

‘A message?’

‘It’s just that this one was sent to you, not me.’

‘You mean Layla wishes me harm?’

‘It’s just a theory,’ she says hastily. ‘It’s just that if this is about you marrying me, it kind of makes sense.’

‘Let’s hope Tony finds her quickly then,’ I say, attempting a smile.

‘If it is Layla,’ she says.

‘You’ve changed your mind again?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says helplessly. ‘But if it isn’t Layla, I’m going to be really mad with whoever it is for getting our hopes up.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Can we go to The Jackdaw for lunch?’

I look at her curiously. ‘If you like.’

‘It’s just that the more I think about it, the more I can’t believe that Layla would do this kind of thing – you know, come right up to the house and leave a doll on the wall without coming in to see us. I know Layla, it’s not in her nature to be cruel, and sending these Russian dolls is cruel, especially when they have a smashed head. So if it is someone else, the most likely candidate is Ruby, hoping to break us up. Remember that “Partner of Missing Woman Moves Sister In” article? She must have been behind it.’

What if she’s right, I think feverishly, what if it really is some kind of hideous joke and Layla hasn’t come back? I catch myself – when did I become this man, doubting myself, doubting my mind? The man who pulled off the Grant James deal six weeks ago feels like someone I can’t remember being.

‘You do still want to marry me, don’t you?’ Ellen goes on.

I feel suddenly furious. ‘You asked me that before and I told you that I did!’

‘That was weeks ago.’

‘So, nothing has changed.’

‘Everything has changed.’

I push my chair back abruptly. ‘Let’s go out for lunch, then.’ I get to my feet, throw my bowl in the sink. ‘I’m taking Peggy for a walk.’

I’m not proud of walking away. I know Ellen wanted more from me, wanted some sort of reassurance but I can’t give her what she wants, not at the moment. I go down to the river, wishing Ellen hadn’t brought Ruby back into the equation, wondering what I’ll do if it does turn out to be her. I rub the corners of my eyes, wishing I wasn’t so damn tired, wondering why I’m doubting Ruby all over again. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that all this – Layla – has nothing to do with Ruby. I know very well that Layla is back. What I should be asking is why am I letting her do this to me, instead of taking control? When did I become so passive?

The need to do something physical is overwhelming. If I could numb my mind for just a moment, rid it of all confusion, I’d feel better. If I hadn’t brought Peggy with me I could have gone for a run. The cool water of the river, the early morning sunshine playing on its surface pulls me towards it. Pulling my sweatshirt over my head, I strip down to my boxers and plunge into the river. The shock of the deceptively freezing water invigorates me and fills me with renewed energy. I power up and down the river, scattering ducks, focusing only on one thing, emptying my brain.

Later, on the way to The Jackdaw, Ellen links her arm through mine, determined to show Ruby our unified front. The intention irritates me and I feel almost vindicated when we arrive, because there’s no sign of Ruby behind the bar and when we ask, we learn she’s been away for the last week and that she isn’t due back until the weekend. I’ve never known Ruby to go away for any length of time, just an occasional day off to visit her mum but never – I make a quick calculation – around ten days. Ten. I close my mind to the implications. Where has she gone? When I ask, nobody seems to know. The general feeling is that she’s gone to her mum’s in Cheltenham. Or is she closer than I think?

‘Well, that’s that, then,’ says Ellen despondently. ‘We’re no nearer finding the truth.’

That evening, the final email comes in.





ONE





FORTY-SEVEN

Layla

I knew even before I sent that last doll that I’d lost. When I smashed its head in, it was my head I was smashing and I hoped Finn would understand, I hoped he would realise that this time, the doll represented me, not Ellen, and that in not choosing me, he may as well have killed me. The voice was right. Finn wasn’t going to give Ellen up for me. I’d always known he wouldn’t harm her – although I was happy to put the idea into his head – because he wasn’t that sort of man, not unless he was in a tearing rage. And why would he lose his temper with Ellen, who never did anything to upset him?

I did think he would tell Ellen it was over, though, especially as they’d grown so far apart. I could see it every time I saw them together, the widening of the gap between them, getting larger and larger until it was almost a chasm. How could they ever recover from that? It would never be the same. He may as well have chosen me.