Finn
I’m tempted to reply to Layla’s email and ask her what happens now that I’ve received the last doll. What has she planned for tomorrow, now that time has run out? What I hope is that she’ll concede defeat and give me a time and a place where we can meet. But her inferred threat against Ellen plays heavily on my mind. It seems inevitable that there’ll be a confrontation of some kind.
If she turns up at the house, how will it feel to see her again? Will I fall instantly in love with her, regret that I hadn’t chosen her over Ellen? Probably. There might still be a chance for us. There’s such a distance between Ellen and me that I’m not sure we’ll ever recover. We didn’t speak at all on our way back from The Jackdaw. Come to think of it, we didn’t speak while we were at The Jackdaw either. We ate our meal in almost total silence. Well, I ate and Ellen pushed her food around on the plate. She’s become so thin, thinner than she’s ever been. Why hadn’t I noticed?
At least the terrible pressure of the last ten days is off. Each day seemed so long and yet, as each day came to a close, as each email came in, reminding me that I was one step nearer the end, reminding me that I had let another day slip by without taking action of any kind, I wanted to snatch it back again.
I feel I could sleep tonight, a proper sleep, a dreamless sleep. I haven’t slept in my bed for a week now – I’ve taken to falling asleep on the sofa – so I’m longing to climb into it. Ellen is moving around up there so I’ll have to wait until she’s asleep. I fish a bottle of whisky out of the cupboard and pour myself a glass, a drink to remind myself that I haven’t given in to Layla.
It’s well past midnight by the time I go up. In the bathroom, I have a quick shower and walk into the bedroom. I expect Ellen to be asleep but she’s sitting on the bed, dressed in one of my old shirts, waiting for me. I come to an abrupt halt. I’ve never been shy about being naked in front of Ellen but now, I feel awkward.
‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ I say.
‘I decided to wait up for you.’
‘You shouldn’t have. You’re tired, you need to sleep.’
‘Maybe, but I want to talk to you.’
‘It’s late. Can we talk tomorrow?’
‘No. Tomorrow you’ll be in your office, where you seem to spend all of your time now.’ She looks sadly at me. ‘What’s happened to us, Finn? Why do you never come up to bed until late? If you come up at all.’
‘Because I can’t sleep.’
‘Because of Layla?’
‘Yes, because of Layla. It’s not been easy, these last few weeks, not knowing if she’s going to suddenly turn up.’
‘Do you love me more than you loved Layla?’ she asks, an echo of what Layla asked me in her email all those weeks ago.
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘A perfectly normal one, given the circumstances, given the fact that Layla is my sister.’
‘She always has been, yet you’ve never asked me before.’
‘Because I was too afraid of what the answer would be.’
I grab a T-shirt and some boxers from the drawer. ‘The love I had for Layla was different.’
‘In what way? Better, worse?’
‘Just different. Look, can we have this conversation tomorrow? I’m tired, I want to go to sleep.’
‘When was the last time we had sex, Finn?’ I don’t say anything, because I can’t remember. ‘Shall I tell you when it was? It was before Layla left that Russian doll on the wall, before she came back into our lives.’ She gets off the bed, comes over, takes the clothes from my hand and throws them down. ‘Make love to me, Finn.’
I stare at her, because she has never asked me to make love to her before. Also, I know I’m not going to be able to, not while my head is all over the place. Not while my head is full of Layla.
‘We haven’t had sex for so long.’ Her hands move to the buttons on her shirt and she begins to undo them one by one, her eyes never leaving my face. She lets it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. ‘Make love to me, Finn. Make love to me like you used to make love to Layla.’
It’s the word Layla that does it, the word Layla that triggers desire in me, that makes me crush her to me, that makes me pick her up in my arms and lie her down on the bed. It’s the word Layla that drives me to make love to her in a way that I never have before, not even that first time, when I had imagined she was Layla. It’s the name that I murmur, the name I cry out, the name that beats in my brain when it’s all over.
And it’s the sound of Ellen crying quietly beside me that brings me back from where I disappeared to.
Burning with shame, I get out of bed, grab the boxers from the floor, and go heavily downstairs to the kitchen. I want to tell Layla that she has won, that I’ve done as she asked, that I’ve killed Ellen, because that’s how it feels. I open the back door and cross the garden to my office. Opening my computer, I see that there’s a message waiting for me, from Layla.
Come to the cottage
When?
Now
Relief washes over me – I have somewhere to go. I can’t stay here, not after what I’ve done. If I leave now, I won’t have to face Ellen. If I go now, Layla will be waiting for me.
Except that my clothes are upstairs, in the bedroom. I cast my mind around, wondering if there are any downstairs that I can wear. But I need my car keys and they’re in the pocket of my jeans.
I go back to the house, hoping that Ellen will be asleep. In the moonlight coming through the window I see her curled up on the bed in a foetal position. Layla used to sleep like that and I would unfold her and take her in my arms, hold her body against mine. Layla. No need to banish her from my mind any more. Soon, I will see her. Soon we’ll be together.
I dress quickly, trying to make as little sound as possible. I feel in the pocket of my jeans – my keys are there. I take my mobile from where I left it on the side.
‘Where are you going?’
I freeze. Ellen sits up, turns on her lamp. A soft light bathes the room and red-hot shame floods my body. I want to say something, apologise, tell her how sorry I am. But how can sorry make up for what I did, for making love to her as if I was making love to Layla, for calling out for Layla? I think about turning and leaving without saying anything. But she deserves more than that.
‘Out,’ I say, my voice thick with secrets.
‘To Layla?’
My heart thumps. I don’t want to lie but I can’t tell the truth either.
‘Why do you say that?’
She opens the drawer in her bedside table, scoops something out with both hands. There’s the sound of wood on wood as she throws a pile of little Russian dolls onto the bed.
‘I found these in your office.’
Anger surfaces. ‘You went rooting around in my office?’
‘I wanted to know why you spent so much time in there. What else have you been keeping from me?’
‘Nothing! I kept finding dolls, I didn’t tell you about them because I didn’t want you to worry.’
Her voice rises an octave ‘No, you didn’t tell me about them because you wanted to keep Layla to yourself!’
‘No!’ I yell. ‘It wasn’t like that!’
‘Have you been in contact with her?’ Unable to answer, I start to leave the room. ‘Finn, come back!’ But I’m already running down the stairs. ‘Finn!’ Her voice follows me down to the hall and out of the front door. ‘Don’t go!’
There’s a light on in Mick’s house, from one of the upstairs windows, and I wonder if he heard us arguing. Voices carry at night.