‘You turn up out of the blue at the crack of dawn, and you expect me to believe that it’s because you missed me?’
I snatch my hand away from my mother’s, feeling like she’s delving into my mind through our touch. ‘Yes, exactly that.’ I slide my chair back and get up, heading for the sink to wash my mug. The drama since I walked through the front door of Mum’s cottage has been the perfect distraction. Now that I’ve had a sharp reminder of how I came to be here, I can feel the hurt churning in my gut again. ‘And I need to sort Dad’s shop.’
‘Okay,’ Mum says easily, making me pause with the mug under the tap until it overflows and the hot water scalds my skin.
‘Shit!’
‘Come here.’ Mum sighs, pushing me out of the way and turning off the tap. She retrieves the mug and sets it on the drainer. ‘Let me see.’ Claiming my hand carefully, she has a good inspection. ‘You’re fine.’ She gives me high eyebrows. ‘At least, your hand is fine. I’m not so sure about this.’ She taps my forehead before wandering out of the kitchen. ‘You can tell me why you’re really home when you’re ready,’ she calls.
My chin drops to my chest, and I only just manage to stop myself from telling her that I’ll never be ready.
I take myself upstairs to my old room and fall on the bed, dialling Lucy. I doubt my vagueness will be as willingly accepted by my friend, which is why I don’t plan on mentioning anything to do with Becker. I can’t face it.
‘Morning,’ she chirps, all happy. If I could see her, I know she’d have a skip to her step. It feels like eons since I last saw her, when in actual fact it was only last night that I left her with Mark. It’s been the longest night ever.
‘How was last night?’ I ask, getting comfy on my pillow, gazing around at the familiar surroundings of my old bedroom. Everything is exactly as I left it.
‘Perfect,’ she pants, and I smile. I’m happy for her. ‘He’s perfect, I’m perfect, we’re perfect.’ More panting comes down the line and I wait for her to gather air and spit out an explanation for her heavy breathing. ‘The stupid lifts are out of order at Covent Garden station. I’ve just passed step seventy-five.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah,’ she huffs. ‘Shoes are coming off now. Still on for lunch? Or shall we do dinner?’
‘Ah.’ I snap my mouth shut and rummage through my cluttered mind for an excuse. ‘You see . . . um . . . I’m out of town.’
‘What do you mean, you’re out of town?’
‘I’m at my mum’s.’
‘What? In Helston?’
‘Yeah, family emergency.’ I cheer to myself for my quick thinking. Also because, technically speaking, it isn’t a lie.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Mum’s got herself a new boyfriend.’
There’s a slight pause. ‘Huh?’
‘My mum, she—’
‘Yes, yes. I heard you, Eleanor. How is that an emergency?’ Now I’m stumped, because, technically speaking, it isn’t really an emergency at all. A shock, maybe, but it doesn’t warrant me fleeing London late at night. ‘And what about your job?’ she asks.
‘What job?’ My voice is like a robot now, automatic and emotionless. It’s the only way to be.
Lucy gasps down the line. ‘He fired you?’
‘I quit,’ I correct her. I realise there is only so much I can share, or so much I want to share.
‘Tell,’ she demands, her laboured breaths now under control. This means, unfortunately, she has enough steam to grill me. ‘You sat in my apartment last night talking with a bucketload of optimism, and the next morning you’re hundreds of miles away sounding like someone’s died. What’s happened?’
My throat dries up with dread at the thought of talking about it. I breathe in, swallow and repeat, breathe in, swallow and repeat, searching for a scrap of strength to spit out the words and share my woes. ‘I can’t,’ I croak, brushing at my cheeks roughly when I feel a tiny bead of wet trickle down my skin. Goddamn it, why am I crying?
‘What did he do?’ She sounds mad.
‘He . . .’ I hiccup, covering my eyes like it might stop the mental images of him in my apartment. I can’t tell Lucy what he did. I can’t tell her he broke into my apartment and scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I can’t tell anyone, leaving me to shoulder the truth alone. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘The arsehole,’ she spits, growling down the line for a few moments before a lingering silence falls, and I wait and hope that my friend can leave it there. ‘Okay,’ she finally says softly, though obviously forced for my benefit. ‘That’s fine, just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk.’
I gaze blankly at nothing across my room. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, Eleanor,’ she sighs. ‘Why didn’t you stop me from harping on about Mark? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t. He’s not an arsehole.’
‘Come home,’ she says softly. ‘We’ll buy a voodoo doll and stick needles in it.’
I smile a little, thankful that I have Lucy, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her. ‘I just need a timeout for a few days while I think about what to do next. And I may as well take care of my father’s store while I’m here.’ I never imagined I would actually look forward to clearing out his shop. It’s going to distract me for a good few days.
‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’
‘I will.’
‘Hey, has your mum really got a new boyfriend, or was that a bare-faced lie?’
‘She really has.’ I fight off flashbacks of Paul in his underpants as Lucy whistles down the line.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘She’s happy, and that’s the most important thing.’ I could never deny her that. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.’
We say our goodbyes and I hang up, snuggling down in my bed, intending on shutting my mind down and finding sleep.
But an hour later, I’ve tossed my body over for the hundredth time and that needed sleep is nowhere close. My restlessness would be easy to put down to being uncomfortable. Except I’m not. I’m just struggling to clear my mind and zone out. And I’m getting distressed as a result, because it isn’t Mum’s bombshell that’s got my mind racing. Neither is it the fact that I’m home and I might have the imminent pleasure of seeing a few old ghosts. It’s the phantom that is Becker Hunt keeping me from finding peace in my darkness.