Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(66)

Ellen takes her hand from under the blanket and raises it to her head. ‘Here,’ she says, tapping the side of it.

I give a harsh laugh. ‘You’re mad.’ I reach down and grab her shoulders, bring my face closer to hers. ‘Tell me, Ellen – how did you get Layla’s keys?’ She doesn’t answer, so I give her a shake. ‘How did you get Layla’s keys?’ I repeat, louder this time.

‘She gave them to me.’

‘When?’ I bark. ‘Before she disappeared or after?’

‘After.’

‘Did she come to Lewis, Ellen? Did Layla come to Lewis?’

Her eyes brim with tears. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

My breath comes juddering out of me. Be careful, a voice warns. Remember, she lies.

‘So how did she get here? How did she get from France to here?’

That blank look again. I’m still gripping her shoulders so I lift her to her feet. She stumbles against me and I have to stop myself from pushing her away.

‘Answer me, Ellen! How did Layla get to Lewis from France?’

‘A lady took her.’ Her voice trembles. ‘Then she hid in a caravan, then she got a lift, then she got the ferry, then she walked.’

‘You’re lying! There was no lady!’

‘Yes.’ Ellen nods her head. ‘The driver of the car.’

‘It was a man!’

‘No, no.’ Another vigorous shake of her head. ‘It was a lady.’

I stare down at her. Could she be right, is that why the police never found him?

‘So if Layla came to Lewis,’ I say, moving on, ‘why didn’t the police find her?’

A crafty look comes over her face. ‘She hid.’

‘Where?’

‘Here.’

‘Why? Why did she hide?’

‘So he wouldn’t find her.’

‘Who?’ I cry, suddenly afraid.

‘Him.’ I wait. ‘Our father.’

Not me then. I look hard at her, barely recognising her, wondering if she’s mad, or just very clever.

‘How long did she stay hiding?’

Ellen smiles at this. ‘Forever.’

There’s something about the smile that chills me. ‘Is Layla dead, Ellen?’

She makes a noise, half-laugh, half-sob. ‘Almost.’

A terrible dread takes hold of me. ‘Where’s Layla, Ellen?’

Her eyes dart towards the door and before I can stop her, she wrenches herself from my grasp and runs from the room.

‘Ellen!’ The roar in my voice matches the roaring in my ears. I tear after her. ‘Ellen!’

Dusk has arrived, dragging a dark sky behind it. The wind whips my face as I follow her, the ground soft beneath my feet. I catch up with her by a stone wall, grabbing her arm, pulling her back towards me, spinning her round to face me.

‘Where’s Layla?’ I yell, aware of Peggy behind me, growling, something she never does. ‘Tell me where she is!’ I’m shaking her so hard she can’t answer but I can’t stop, I can’t stop the rage, because somewhere inside me, I want to kill her. ‘Where is Layla?’

‘Don’t, Finn!’ she screams. Something in her voice stops me in mid-shake. I push her blindly away from me. She cries out, I hear a thud – no, not a thud, a crack, the sound of a skull on stone. I can’t see, there’s too much mist, not in the air, in my eyes. I lift my face to the sky, letting the rain wash it away, my breath juddering in and out of me, fighting for control. I claw my way back, lower my head, open my eyes. They come into focus and fall on Ellen, lying motionless on the ground. My heart leaps in fear.

‘Ellen!’ I crouch on the ground beside her, bend my body over her, protecting her from the elements. ‘Ellen!’

Her eyes flicker open. Her skin is waxen, nothing to do with the rain.

‘Layla,’ she whispers. ‘Layla.’

I put my hand under her head, lift it slightly so that she can see me. ‘You’ll be alright,’ I promise desperately.

‘Layla.’

‘Layla isn’t here,’ I say gently.

She shakes her head. A trickle of blood seeps from her nose.

‘Layla,’ she says again. ‘Not Ellen, Layla.’

Her eyes fix on mine, then close. I stare down at her, my fear doubling in size. Still cradling her head, I check her neck for a pulse with my other hand, my fingers trembling on her wet skin. It’s there, but faint, so faint. Next to me, Peggy whimpers.

‘It’s alright, Peggy,’ I tell her. ‘It’s alright.’

I reach into my pocket, take out my mobile, switch it on. As I feared, there’s no network. I twist my head this way and that, looking for a house, for someone to help. There is nothing and no one, so I gather Ellen into my arms and carry her down to the car, trying to hurry, trying not to slip, or trip over Peggy, who is walking too close to my heels. I open the door, lay Ellen on the back seat, pull my jumper over my head. And as I fold it into a rough pillow, I see that my hand, the one that had cradled her head, is stained with blood.

Peggy climbs in and lies down on the floor. I close the door behind her, try my mobile again. There’s still nothing.

I drive as fast as I can, as fast as I dare, talking to Ellen over the sound of the wipers, telling her that it’s going to be alright, that she’s going to be alright, my mind chewing feverishly over what she had said. Not Ellen, Layla. Not Ellen, Layla.