The Dress

15.

Handkerchief with embroidered initial, F. Lace edging. 1930s.





Ella wishes that she were invisible.

She wants to slip silently past all the guests, kicking off her shoes, feeling the cool tiles against her bare feet.

No one would see her as she moved through the hallway, running her hand along the white wall, letting her fingers linger over the plaster border, its weave of vines and flowers.

At the foot of the staircase, she’d step out of the black dress, turning her body through the pools of light from the stained glass windows, letting red and yellow fall all over her, splashing her hair, her arms, her bare shoulders.

‘Ella, Ella-issima, you’re miles away, tesora.’

Mamma is looking at her, a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

‘Come on, Dippy Day-Dream. I want to show off my beautiful daughter.’

Ella smiles and smiles until her lips are dry and her teeth throb. She smiles at Katrina’s mother and at Katrina’s father, who she meets now for the first time. She smiles at Councillor Pike and at Mrs Cossington and at all her mother’s customers. She even returns the smug smile that hovers over Katrina’s face, Katrina lingering like a ghost on the stairs in her dress – pink, of course – made by Mamma. There’s a blotch of red light falling through the stained glass window and seeping over her right cheek like fake blood.

She takes the glass flute from the silver tray and follows David’s immaculately tailored back into the drawing-room. She looks at the pattern in the Indian rug. She admires, when prompted by Mamma, the prints on the walls, someone’s particularly lovely pair of earrings, a vase of white roses. She smiles and smiles again.

All the time, she feels The Signals, pressing at her throat and elbows, pushing up between her shoulderblades like tiny pairs of hands.

Run, they whisper. Run.


In the television room, in front of the vast TV, a group of men had sunk into the enormous leather sofas.

The window blinds were inching their way silently down the windows, as if all by themselves.

‘They’re on very sophisticated motion sensors,’ Katrina’s father explained. ‘They pick up over there on anyone entering the room.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Invisible, huh? All hidden behind the cornicing… And then they adjust to the exact levels of light at any one time, to minimise reflection on the screen.’

He crossed to the window. ‘Of course, you can adjust the settings to your own personal preferences. I like total darkness for film-viewing myself but my wife, well, she prefers a softly dimmed light…’

He gestured out of the window to the expanse of lawn shimmering into the distance. ‘Got the entire irrigation system – sprinklers, hidden hoses, all that stuff – linked up too. All works beautifully…’

‘Well,’ said David, smiling politely, ‘that’s very impressive. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’

Mr Cushworth looked at them both with a suddenly self-conscious expression. Katrina saw that the collar of his carefully-pressed shirt was limp with sweat. The bold blue checks hung crumpled and askew. As if he could feel his eyes on her, Mr Cushworth undid the second button at his collar and began to unfasten his heavy silver cufflinks, folding his sleeves up over themselves as far as the elbow.

‘It’s going to revolutionise the way we live,’ he said, a little defensively. ‘DOMOHOME, we’re calling it. Because, of course, the correct term for home automation is domotics. See what we’ve done there?’ He gave a little nervous laugh.

He’s not at all like Katrina or her mum, thought Ella. He actually cares what we think. He doesn’t want David to think he’s stupid.

‘We’ve got Sony and a whole bunch of other people already signed up,’ Mr Cushworth went on. His voice was getting higher, faster, as if he sensed that David’s attention might be waning. ‘Been holding talks with Microsoft this past week, in fact. We’ve already got contracts with celebs and musicians and footballers. They can’t get enough of us, those guys.’

‘Is that so…?’ said David, stroking his chin. ‘Incredible.’

‘Yep,’ said Katrina’s father. ‘The world’s going mad for home automation. It’s the future. If you’re interested, I might have a few tips for you…’ He touched the side of his nose and winked at Ella.

David smiled. ‘Ah. I’m not an investing man, myself,’ he said. ‘Never understood how it all works. No, I’ll stick to medicine and leave the rest to the people that know what they’re doing. Men of business, like your good self.’

‘Well, don’t say I didn’t tip you off,’ said Katrina’s father. ‘You do have Blu-Ray though, I presume?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you on that score too,’ said David, good- naturedly. ‘I hardly even have time to sit down most evenings. In fact, you’d probably think my TV set a bit of a museum piece. But it suits me just fine for now.

Mr Cushworth looked genuinely perplexed. There was a moment of silence in which he ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass.

Then a loud voice broke in.

Mrs Cushworth swept through the door, balancing a tray of canapés in one hand and a champagne flute in the other.

‘Graham, I really hope you’re not boring everyone to death,’ she said in her harsh, bright voice, then turned to us with her fake smile. ‘I do apologise for my husband, darlings. He’s getting to be an absolutely awful bore. I’ve told him. Haven’t I, Graham? I’ve told you over and over again, if I hear another thing about sprinklers or automated HVAC…’

‘That’s heating, ventilation and air conditioning…’ Mr Cushworth chipped in hopefully, his voice dying away as his wife shot him a look.

‘Yes, dear. Thank you for enlightening us. As I was saying, and I say it to him all the time, all the time, if I hear another darn thing about it, well, I might just slit my wrists. I certainly might just leave him for someone a bit more interesting, anyway…’

Her laugh whinnied around the room, drifting over the heads of the guests on the sofa, some of whom now hoisted themselves to a standing position and drifted off, muttering excuses about getting another drink, more of those delicious little snacks.

The familiar warm tide began at Ella’s neck and crept over her face. She could feel The Signals leaping between Mr and Mrs Cushworth, scratched shapes with red spikes, hers firm and jagged, his wavering, curling back on themselves, already beginning to fade to orange.

David moved in swiftly. ‘I find it quite fascinating,‘ he said, ‘Quite, quite intriguing,‘ and he flashed Mrs Cushworth one of his friendliest smiles. ‘Yes, I think your husband should feel awfully proud of what he’s achieved here. As I understand it, and I don’t really know what I’m talking about, but it’s one thing building a purpose-designed modern home and quite another to update a house as old as… erm, your very beautiful period property here, concealing everything, retaining all the lovely features and so on…’

His voice was slow, purposeful, smooth as the crema on Mamma’s coffee. It was his reassuring-a-patient voice and it worked like a charm on Mrs Cushworth, bringing her back to herself, leaving her, for once, lost for words.

She put her hand to her throat and directed her icy blue eyes at David.

‘Well, I can see that you two boys are already hitting it off,’ she said. ‘The doctor and the inventor. How charming! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to play with your little toys.’

And she stalked off.

‘Cheers,’ said David, raising his glass, ‘Now, tell me about this sprinkler system… ’

Mr Cushworth cleared his throat and jangled the loose change in his trousers. ‘Sorry about my wife,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t mean it. She’s always been a bit… well, fiery… passionate, you know…. So, erm, what exactly would you like to know?’

‘It’s starting,’ someone shouted in the hallway and people began to press into the room around them, balancing on the arms of the sofas, even crouching on the floor.

Ella noticed that Pike had placed himself at Mrs Cushworth’s elbow, handing her another brimming flute of champagne. His hand strayed to the small of her back where her dress – the one that Mamma had sewn so skilfully with the new fabric from London – was cut daringly low. Pike, on the other hand, was wearing a very shiny grey suit, in a fabric that Mamma would have described as cheap. An anaemic red silk tie thrust itself from his button-down collar and every so often he smoothed at it nervously with those long white fingers. Ella could see that, despite the way that he was leanng against the marble fireplace, his eyes fixed on Mrs Cushworth, he was uncomfortable.

His eyes flickered over hers briefly, scanning the room and then returning to her once again. Did she imagine the tip of his tongue darting over his thin dry lips as his eyes travelled up and down her body and then fixed her with a stare? Katrina was right. He really was a snake. There was something reptilian about him.

There was a general shhhing.

On the enormous TV screen, the Prince had just arrived at the Abbey. He was tugging at the tunic of his uniform.

‘Oh, bless his heart,‘ a woman in a purple kaftan slurred, tipsily.

Mamma stood transfixed, alternately exclaiming and protesting at the procession of hats, handbags and dresses.

And then finally the Princess-to-be arrived. She stepped from the silver car and Ella heard Mamma let out a long slow gasp.

‘Alexander McQueen,’ she breathed, admiringly. ‘Oh, look at all the lace, the detail. It’s just perfect.’

Later, they watched as the couple emerged and climbed into the state coach.

‘Marvellous,’ said Councillor Pike loudly, tugging at his tie as the camera zoomed in on the gold of the cherubs and the rich braid on the footmen’s uniforms.

The rain held off and sunlight glinted off the guardsmens’ plumed helmets, making little patches of intense white on the screen.

The sunlight flooded the room where people continued to linger, shifting their weight from one foot to another. It fell through the long conservatory windows.

Glasses were filled and chinked together. People began to speak at normal volume again.

They watched as the Queen and the Royal Family stood on the Palace balcony, waving at the people gathered in The Mall.

‘Every man, woman and child of Britain, her Commonwealth and Empire, must be rightfully proud, at this moment, of what we in Britain do best, of our rich heritage, our history…’ said the commentator.

‘And, of course, our foreign guests to these shores are most welcome in joining us in our celebrations,’ announced Councillor Pike.

Ella felt his gaze settle over her. He made a deep mock bow from his position on the other side of the room. She felt her face tingle as the other guests turned to look at them.

Mamma’s face tightened with anger. Ella watched as Mamma opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. David stepped closer and squeezed her hand.

‘Damned tricky business, that,’ someone said, nodding towards the screen where the cameras were focusing in on the Red Arrows, their formations gathering and scattering. ‘One false move and you’re done for.’


Ella would have liked to dance. She stood for a while, watching the other people, their bodies twisting and writhing, loosened by wine and laughter. She saw the way that some of the women kicked off their shoes, sighing with relief as they spread their pinched toes.

She thought of Billy, found herself wondering if he was dancing. Probably not. But whatever he was doing, he was probably having much more fun.

She checked her phone constantly, unsnapping the little clutch bag sewn all over with yellow satin petals.

Finally, she wandered through rooms and corridors, looking for Katrina. She hadn’t seen her much since they’d arrived. And even Katrina would be better company than the potted palms, the older men who keep trying to catch her eye over the rims of their half-filled pint glasses.

She passed the inner hallway, the small space that Leonora used to hang up her coat and change into her pinafore and carpet slippers. Leonora wasn’t at the party, of course. Katrina had said that she was in an awful huff about being given the day off. She didn’t think it was right to find herself temporarily replaced by a team of hired caterers in stupid frilly outfits. She’d gone to her sister’s house.

Now Ella heard a noise coming from the unlit vestibule. A giggle and a sound like scratching in the walls. She stopped in the corridor. The sound stopped. She walked again and the sound began again.

Suddenly, from out of the gloom, stepped Katrina, smoothing her pink dress over her hips, patting her hair into place.

‘There you are,’ she said, as if she’d been the one looking.

Ella allowed herself to be led away down the corridor. She let Katrina’s arm slip through hers. She half-closed her eyes and listened to Katrina’s chatter.

It was only as they turned into the drawing room again that she saw it for a moment. A dark shape at the edge of her vision, moving from the shadowy corner, crossing the corridor that they’d left behind. It was so quick that she might have imagined it. The creak of a polished shoe. A flash of striped shirt.

‘What?’ said Katrina, sticking out her chin. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ Ella’s mouth moved easily, as if of its own accord. ‘I thought I saw something, that’s all.’


Fabbia swirled the champagne around her glass. She felt the warmth of it spreading through her arms and shoulders, flushing her cheeks.

Despite that awful man Pike and his little speech, she was enjoying herself. She’d always liked parties. And in fact, since Pike’s badly-judged words, several people had made a point of coming up to her, complimenting her on the success of her business, asking her how she was settling in. They seemed at pains to be genuinely welcoming and friendly, to cancel out any lingering air of unpleasantness, and she began to feel her shoulders relax, to enjoy the music and chatter as it swept through her in waves of gold and green.

She was also enjoying, with a sense of satsfaction, watching several of her dresses move around the room. There was Ali Braithwaite in a simple dress of navy crepe, draped at the neck with a tulip skirt, and accessorised with one of Fabbia’s favourite finds – an enormous Trifari brooch of clustered flowers in crystal and gilt. And she’d risked the leopard print courts, too. They looked perfect.

‘Who’d have thought it?’ Ali had said, giggling in front of the mirror. ‘I’d never have dared try them on if you hadn’t suggested it. And I love them. But are you sure they’re not, well, a bit tarty?’

‘On the right person, worn in the right way, absolutely not,’ Fabbia had said. ‘The trick is to keep things simple.’ And Ali had followed her advice, the shoes and the brooch her only accessories, except for a tiny pair of diamond stud earrings. Ali glanced across at Fabbia now and smiled, raising her glass. She looked radiant.

And then there was that nice young woman who worked in the Braithwaites’ shop. Fabbia could never remember her name. But here she was in such a lovely outfit, the 1950s dress in daffodil silk, with a prettily ruched sweetheart neckline and a lovely full skirt with six net petticoats. With a few alterations, it looked as if it had been made for her. And Fabbia had found her just the right handbag too – a basket bag of the same era, with a base of natural-coloured woven raffia, the lid covered in imitiation seed pearls and embellished with a cornucopia of fruit made of appliqued and beaded velvet. Strawberries, oranges, a bunch of grapes – it was such a fun piece. And she’d even worn the little white cotton gloves. Fabbia watched her now, flirting with one of David’s colleagues. Yes, she could really carry it off.

‘Mrs Moreno? My dear…’

Fabbia felt a firm hand on her shoulder and turned to see Audrey Cossington, Ella’s teacher, beaming at her.

‘Fabbia. Do call me, Fabbia. Please…’

Audrey nodded, tilting a bottle of champagne wrapped in a starched white napkin in the direction of Fabbia’s glass.

‘Thank you. But I have to be careful. It goes straight to my head…’

‘I’ll drink yours then, shall I?’ Audrey emptied the remains of the bottle into her own glass and placed the empty on a table. She made a little grimace. ’Quite a gathering, isn’t it? Jean certainly knows how to do these things. I usually find them a dreadful ordeal but I’ve been rather enjoying spotting your creations. You’ve been busy transforming the entire town…’

Fabbia felt her cheeks get even hotter. ‘I don’t think I can claim…’

‘Certainly you can, my dear. Like I said, a breath of fresh air. Just what we all needed.’ She looked down at her own dress. ‘Look at me, for example. You’ve got me in red. Red, for goodness’ sake. And I’ve had so many compliments.’

Fabbia smiled. ‘You look wonderful. Really, you do. I love your hair. And your shoes…’

Audrey extended a foot in front of her, turning it this way and that, admiring again the elegant gold kitten heels.

‘So, my dear, I just wanted to say that you mustn’t bother about him.’ She gestured to where Pike was standing stiffly at Jean Cushworth’s elbow, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shiny grey suit jacket. ‘He’s not well liked, you know, despite what he’d have you believe. My betting is that he won’t get re-elected. Some of his policies…’ she gave a little shudder, ’well, they’re much too right-wing for this town. Goodness knows what Jean’s doing getting mixed-up with him.’ She looked Fabbia directly in the eye. ‘And I’ve said that to her face too, you know.’

Fabbia felt the tension return to her shoulders. She angled her body away from Jean Cushworth so that she wouldn’t guess that she was being discussed.

‘Oh, don’t mind me, dear. I don’t want to embarrass you. I just desperately wanted you to know…’ She laid a hand on Fabbia’s arm. ‘Well, I think you know what I’m trying to say… And Jean. Just look at her. She looks amazing too. A-mazing. I’m guessing the dress is one of yours?’

Fabbia nodded, grateful to find herself on safer ground. ‘I made it for her especially. Inspired by a dress I found in an old Cinemascope magazine…’

‘Well, she certainly looks the part.’ Audrey winked. ‘She must be very pleased…’

With his usual perfect sense of timing, David appeared at Fabbia’s side.

‘Mrs Cossington,’ he said, his eyes twinking mischievously, ‘May I just say that you’re looking positively ravishing?’

Audrey poked him playfully in the ribs. ‘Oh, go on, you old smoothie,’ she laughed. ‘And it’s all down to Fabbia, here. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.’

And with that she turned, waving her champagne glass at them, a gold bangle glittering on her wrist.

‘Wonderful old bird,’ David said, grinning. ‘Speaks her mind. Tells things how they are. Always has done…’






The party continued. A marquee had been erected on the lawn and now it glimmered softly in the fading evening, lit from within by strings of lanterns.

The guests drifted over the lawn. From the conservatory, Ella watched them grouping and regrouping like filmy clouds of moths.

‘What’s the matter with you, then?’ said Katrina, ‘Missing Lover-Boy?’

Ella scowled and trailed after her over the wet lawn. The canvas marquee had begun to steam gently. It seemed as if it was floating a few inches above the grass.

She found Mamma and David at one of the circular tables flanked by gold-painted chairs and sat down next to them, fanning herself with a napkin.

Mother’s face was flushed. She gripped Ella’s hand in hers and turned it over, examining the shapes of her fingers.

‘Your father’s hands,’ she said. ‘You look so like him tonight, tesora.’

Ella pulled her hand away in annoyance. Mamma had drunk too much wine.

‘She’s certainly turning out to be a beauty,’ said David, beaming at her across the tablecloth. ‘That young man over there hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her all evening.’

He nodded towards the bar. A boy she’d seen before from the fifth-form at school who was obviously working for the catering company, stood dabbing at a glass with a limp teatowel. As Ella met his eyes, he looked away quickly.

‘Yes, I can see we’re going to have to keep a closer eye on her,’ David said, winking. ‘She’s going to be breaking hearts all over the place before too long. But,’ he said, lifting Mamma’s hand and kissing it, ‘I think she takes after her mother in that regard.’

Nice, kind-hearted, handsome David, his blue eyes shining, his neck tie loosened, his hair flopping over his forehead like a schoolboy’s.

Ella felt sulky, rude. She was sick of herself. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be happy?

She looked down and straightened her place setting, lining up the knife with the fork, the spoon at perfect right-angles to the glass.

‘Can I have some wine, please?’ she asked and she watched them, full of the sense of occasion, humouring her, making a ceremony of splashing the rosé into her glass, following it with the plink of an ice cube from the bucket.

It made Ella think of the snow globe that Mamma had given her one Christmas, of watching the snowflakes whirl and all the bright little figures get blurry, sealed tightly in their miniature storm, whilst she watched from the outside and the reflection of her own face loomed at her in the curve of the glass.


Shhhhh…. Don’t tell. Shhhh…

This house is full of secrets. It keeps them close, behind the thick white plaster of the walls and in the heavy folds of the curtains.

But when you’re invisible, when you don’t belong anywhere, you’re free to move through the rooms and corridors. The house opens itself to you. You hear everything, see everything.

Ella walked down the hallway to the cloakroom. Mamma had asked her to fetch her handkerchief, which she’d left in her raincoat pocket and Ella had been only too glad of the excuse to leave all the whirl and blur behind her, to have something to do.

Later, she didn’t remember how it happened. She must have opened the wrong door. One minute, she was standing in the hallway, her hand pressing the brass fingerplate with its beaded edge. The next minute, the door swung open and she was standing there, her feet rooted to the spot. She was seeing what she was seeing, but it was as if another part of her, the hidden part inside her, was looking out from her eyes.

Shhhh, this other part of her said. Shhhh. You didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.

That was when, silently, she closed the door. She slipped off her shoes and held them in her hand. Quietly, carefully, she walked away down the corridor.

But on the insides of her eyelids the image still burned. Jean Cushworth lying across an antique writing-desk, the V-shape of her splayed legs and thighs, her bare white feet crossed at the ankles, clasped around the moving back of Councillor Pike.

Ella kept walking. The air bunched up around her, compressing itself into hard ridges. The Signals leapt around her like flames. Run, they whispered. Run. But she felt too hot and faintly sick. She put her hand against the wall and forced herself to breathe deeply.

She found the right door. She slipped the handkerchief from Mamma’s coat pocket and folded it into her palm.

And then she stopped, a crackle of red – of danger – flickering through her body. Someone had followed her into the cloakroom. She could feel their eyes pricking the back of her neck. She turned slowly.

Councillor Pike, his tie loosened, his shirtsleeves pushed up his thin white hairless forearms, stood in the doorway, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and his breath made a hissing sound between his teeth.

‘What are you doing?’ he said, his voice slurred with drink. ‘What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around with no shoes on, spying on people?’

Ella looked at him. She felt the other part of her, the hidden girl inside her, looking and looking. It was as if she was staring down a long tunnel with Councillor Pike at the end of it, his face slick with sweat, those eyes boring their way into her.

‘I said, what are you doing in here, um? Going through people’s pockets? Pinching things?’

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her hand upwards so that a gasp escaped from her mouth. He forced her fingers open.

‘It’s my m-mother’s.’ She used her free hand to unfold the handkerchief and show him the embroidered initial: F. ‘From her coat pocket. She asked me to get it.’

He dropped her hand then, as if even the touch of her disgusted him. He shook his head, opening the door just enough to let her pass through.

She angled her body so that she wouldn’t have to brush against him. She could hear his breath coming quick and hot. The sweet stench of alcohol made her want to vomit.

And then his foot came out to trip her. She heard him laughing – a harsh, jagged sound – as she stumbled against him, putting out her hand to save herself. As she fell against his shoulder, he grabbed her arm with one hand, his other hand sliding easily up the skirt of her dress, finding the elastic of her knickers, pinching the soft flesh of her buttock between his finger and thumb.

‘Little tart,’ he said, laughing softly to himself. ‘Not so full of ourselves now, then, are we?’

He pulled her closer towards him and she tried to get free. A wave of nausea rushed into her throat as she realised that his fingers were working their way around inside her knickers.

‘Bet you like that don’t you,’ he sneered, his breath full in her face. ‘Bet you can’t get enough if it. But I really don’t like you very much. You and that stuck-up mother of yours. You think you’re something special, don’t you? Don’t you? Well, you’re nothing. Nothing at all.’

He pushed her away then, wiping his hand on the handkerchief, tossing it to the floor. The door closed softly, quietly, behind him.

She leaned on the wall, her face burning, feeling the cool of the plaster between her shoulder blades. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring, staring at the back of the closed door.



‘Where did you go, tesora?’ Mamma smiled.

‘We were about to send out a search party for you,’ said David, grinning, offering her more wine.

‘I couldn’t find your handkerchief,’ Ella heard herself saying. ‘It wasn’t in your pocket. It wasn’t there…’


Afterwards, Ella couldn’t remember very clearly what happened next.

She felt her phone in the petalled clutchbag vibrate against her thigh and checked it under cover of the tablecloth.

It was Billy.

Meet me in 10 min outside K’s house?

She texted back, feeling a wave of relief flood through her.

It was easy to slip away again. This time, she avoided the house, skirting around the side, sticking to the pathways strung with party lanterns. Groups of smokers congregated in little clusters at various points along the terraces. One of them waved to her.

‘Oi, Ella. Want a smoke?’

She caught the faint whiff of a joint hanging in the air above the scents of roses and newly-cut lawn. She didn’t stop, just shook her head and heard the sound of laughter drifting.

Billy was leaning against one of the ridiculous mock-Victorian lamp-posts at the top of the driveway. When she saw his face in the circle of orange light, Ella has to stop herself from running towards him, hurling herself against him.

‘Wow,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘You look fantastic.’

She could feel herself reaching for the right words, somewhere out on the edge of her awareness.

‘It’s awful…’ she said and heard her voice float into the great expanse of darkness, thin and flat.

‘Really? That bad?’ Billy grinned. ‘Well, madam, your carriage awaits you…’ He gestured at the empty driveway. ‘Where shall we go? The river?’

Ella nodded and shivered.

‘Where’s your coat? Want to go back and get it?’

She shook her head vigorously.

‘OK.’ Billy took off his big black waterproof jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pulled her arm all the way through the loop of his and rubbed her hand to warm it.

They walked as far as the Millennium Bridge and sat right out in the middle. The river spread out on either side of them, smooth as glass.

Ella remembered feeling then as if all the life-force had left her body. She was so tired that she thought about just lying down, right there, on the bridge. She ran her hand over the warm wood planks. She looked down at her outstretched fingers and it was as if they weren’t her fingers any more, even when she saw Billy’s bigger hand moving to cover them. She breathed.

‘Hypnotic, isn’t it?’ she could hear him saying. ‘Up here, you feel as if you could just let go, fall backwards into the water and you wouldn’t make a sound. The river would just take you. You could float forever…’

Ella’s dream drifted back to her, the trees reaching down to brush her face, the boat, Mamma, David. She blinked.

She could feel Billy’s eyes on her, his face leaning in close and then his hand coming up to cradle her head, his lips gently brushing against hers.

That’s when the panic started to rise in her. Something crushed against her chest. Her mouth felt as if it was filling with river water.

She stood up, shoving him hard, sending him flying backwards against the curved railings.

‘What did you do that for?’ She was shouting now, the words tumbling over one another, thick and fast. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

Billy’s face was white in all the blackness. ‘I thought… Ella, I’m sorry, I thought…’

‘Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you, you idiot!’ She heard her voice bouncing back at her from the water. Why was she yelling? She didn’t know. Her heart was banging hard enough to burst and she couldn’t even see properly any more, just lines of wavy red that sent the blackness bobbing and rocking around her so that she couldn’t tell where anything began or ended any more, just a feeling that everything was spinning, faster and faster, away from her.

She heard her feet in the stupid silver ballet flats slapping the tarmac path, her mouth making gasping noises and Billy panting close behind her. His voice, ‘Ella, ELLA! Wait. I’m sorry. Please, Ella. Ella, WAIT...’

But she kept running until all the breath had been squeezed out of her. She kept going until she couldn’t go any further, bending over the handrail at the top of the steps on the other side of the river, sweating, heaving, waiting for her breathing to slow.

As she began to see properly again, she could just make out a thin shape in the darkness at the foot of the steps.

‘Ella,’ it said. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I got it all wrong. You know I’d never… well, I’d never do anything to make you feel bad. Please, just let me keep you safe. Let me walk you back home.‘

Keep her safe? Safe?

Ella felt the tiny bubbles of red begin to gather at the edge of her vision. She narrowed her eyes.

‘You must be joking.’ Her voice was quiet now, calm, as glassy as the river. ‘Don’t come anywhere near me, ever again, Billy Vickers. I don’t ever even want to look at you.’

Then she pulled herself upright and walked carefully through the quiet streets, holding her body very straight, keeping her arms perfectly still at her sides.

At the corner of Alma Terrace and the Fulford Road she turned right and kept walking until she could see the lights glimmering through the chestnut trees at the top of Katrina’s driveway. She walked on, her feet crunching across the gravel now, smoothing her hair out of her eyes.

Mamma and David were on the front steps. Ella saw that Mamma had her coat folded over one arm. She gave Ella a little wave.

‘Carina, we were just looking for you. Where’ve you been?’