Layla
I should never have gone back to St Mary’s. If I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have come to this. I blame Finn. If he hadn’t decided to marry Ellen, I would have stayed away.
The truth is, I could have returned to the cottage any number of times over the years; I had the keys. But I hadn’t, because it had been enough to know that Finn had never sold it. In my mind – and I’m the first to admit that my mind isn’t what it used to be – it meant that he wanted to hang on to a vestige of our life together. But about to embark on a new life with Ellen, the thought that he might sell the cottage without me ever seeing it again was unbearable.
After, as I sat on the station platform, my heart beating crazily from the near-miss with Thomas, it seemed incredible that I had just risked everything for a fleeting look at the place where I’d spent a relatively short amount of time. But I had been happy there. That’s not to say I’m not happy now, because I am, happier than I deserve to be. All I’d wanted was a glimpse of a past long gone. But Fate had been waiting for me in the form of Thomas. It was only when he’d come hobbling towards me, saying ‘Layla, is that you?’, his rheumy eyes wide with surprise, that I realised my mistake. How could I have known he would still be around? He’d already seemed ancient all those years ago.
Even then, I could have saved the situation. I could have bluffed my way out of it, told Thomas that he was mistaken. But lost in the past, I forgot that I no longer look like I used to. So what had given me away? As I’d stared, mesmerised, at the cottage, had I reverted to my old way of standing, my left hand grasping my right elbow? Or, as I remembered the life I used to have, had the look on my face betrayed me? Whichever it was, Thomas seemed to know it was me.
Stupidly, I turned and ran, no doubt confirming his suspicions. I found myself back at the station, my heart pounding with fear at the thought that Finn might find out I was alive. I tried to calm the agitation I felt. Even if Thomas were to tell the police that he’d seen me, they probably wouldn’t believe him. Even if he somehow managed to contact Finn, he would probably dismiss it as the ramblings of an old man. I was glad he would never know. I tried to imagine how he would feel. Happy in his new life with Ellen, it would surely be the worst possible news.
But then I remembered the way the cottage had looked. I’d expected to find it neglected, abandoned, yet there had been flowers in the garden and geraniums at the windows. If Finn had been tending it for all these years, maybe it was because he harboured a hope that one day, I’d come back. I knew that he loved Ellen – how could he fail to when she was perfect? But if I were to suddenly reappear, what then? Was it possible that after all these years, Finn still loved me? If it came down to it, would he choose me over Ellen? Surely he wouldn’t – but what if he did?
In that instant, everything changed. Suddenly, my greatest fear wasn’t that Finn would find out I was alive, but that he wouldn’t. If my return was what he had been hoping for all these years, didn’t I owe it to him to let him know I was alive? Before he went ahead and married Ellen? Before it was too late? Recognising the danger of false hope, I reminded myself of all I’d achieved and everything I’d be risking, if I chose to come back now. But the need for Finn to know I was alive wouldn’t go away.
I needed to be careful. I couldn’t just walk back into his life, not without being sure that he wanted me to. My reappearance needed to be a gradual thing, a possibility before it became a reality. And it would only become a reality if he wanted it to.
But how could I let him know I was alive without anyone else knowing? Agitated, I rubbed my thumb backwards and forwards over the smooth contours of my little Russian doll, the one that had belonged to Ellen, seeking solace. For the first time, it didn’t bring me comfort. Instead, it gave me an idea.
The train for Cheltenham came in and without a moment’s hesitation, I got on it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Finn
It’s a while before I’m able to make my way back down Pharos Hill to where I left the car. I feel disorientated, as if I’ve been taken from a life I knew and plunged into an alien, parallel world. When I finally accepted that Layla – because it had to be her – had been, and gone, that I might only have missed her by a matter of minutes, I’d gone back to the wooden bench, remembering the last time I’d been there, the day of her ceremony, and how I’d pleaded with her – Look, Layla, we have put up a bench in your memory so if you aren’t dead, please give me some sort of sign that you’re still alive. But she never had. Until now.
There’s no way I can drive back to Simonsbridge, to Ellen, not in this state, so I find a small hotel and check in. Then, from my room, I phone Ellen to tell her I won’t be coming home tonight.
‘Are you alright?’ she asks. ‘Your voice is all over the place.’
‘Migraine starting. Which is why I’d rather not drive.’
‘Poor you,’ she says, sympathetically. ‘How did it go with Grant?’
‘Fine. Problem solved.’
‘Good. Have you taken painkillers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe you should go to bed, lie down at least.’
‘I’m going to. I’ll see you in the morning.’
I hang up, already knowing I’m not going to tell her that Layla is alive, not yet. I can’t add ‘not until I’m sure’ because I am sure, 100 per cent sure. I can’t think of anyone Layla would have told about the tree stump shaped like a Russian doll on Pharos Hill. Layla is definitely alive. And I feel terrified – for her, for Ellen, for myself.
I check my emails, hoping there’ll be one from the Rudolph Hill address, from Layla. There isn’t. Which means the ball is squarely in my court. Because it’s still a game – the only thing that’s changed is that it’s Layla who’s playing it. Why? Why is she hiding? And where has she been for all these years?
Unable to sit, I pace up and down the hotel room. I think about phoning Tony, telling him everything. At first, he’ll probably think as I had, that somebody is playing me. But once he adds it all up, including Thomas’ sighting of her, he’ll come to the same conclusion as me, that Layla is alive. What then? Well, he’ll close the net on her and she’ll eventually be found. But I can’t let that happen without knowing what the implications will be. Will Tony be able to protect her, at least for a while? Once it gets out that she’s back, the media will be all over her, hounding her, wanting to know her story. Could she be charged with something, perverting the course of justice, maybe? Unless she was being held against her will for all these years, she must have heard the appeals for her to get in contact, to let someone know she was safe. What if she’s sent to prison? Maybe that’s what she’s scared of, why she is hiding. If she is back, what will happen to her?
In the end, I decide to send an email, not to Tony but to Layla, just to let her know that I finally understood what she meant.
I worked it out, Layla. I went to Pharos Hill, I found the Russian doll.
You should have waited.
But she doesn’t reply and eventually, I fall into an exhausted sleep.