Watching Over You (22 page)

Brendan curled up into a ball. One hand covering his genitals, his trousers hanging loose hindering his moves, he held up the other hand to protect himself. But it was no use.

Feels good to get your own back?

A fury in Ella burst forth, something she had held in for too long. For every man who had used her over the years, she kicked him. For every person who had badly treated her, she punched him. The anger and hurt of over twenty years came out in those few moments. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – hold it back. She wanted revenge.

Afterwards, she sat beside him. The night was quiet – it seemed no one had heard a thing. No one had interrupted them, therefore no one was able to save Brendan from further humiliation and pain. She wondered if he was dead or alive – found she didn’t care.

A minute passed before she pushed herself to her feet.
Brendan
wasn’t making a sound. She nudged him with the tip of her shoe but he didn’t stir. She kicked him swiftly in his back. Still he didn’t rouse.

Her breath coming easier now, she stood over him for a while, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It came away with specks of his blood, mingled with hers. It made her retch.

Leave him. He got what he deserved.

She drew back her foot as far as it would go and gave him one final kick.

‘For old times’ sake, Brendan.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was nearing midnight when Jean noticed Ella running up the avenue. She was about to turn in, having spent a couple of hours dozing in the chair. Her knitting had fallen down by her side. She pulled it up quickly, hoping she hadn’t lost any stitches.

As Ella drew closer and into the light of the lamp, Jean sat forward. What were those marks all over her dress? Had she fallen over – or worse, been in a fight? She shook her head. Why on earth would a woman of her age pick a fight? Ella should be in bed now, settled down with a husband by her side and one or two children asleep in the next room.

Jean pushed her glasses up her nose, no point in trying with the binoculars; they didn’t have sophisticated night vision. Ella was at her house now, running up the steps, in a panic trying to find her keys. She could see clearly that she was crying, wiping at her cheeks before opening the door and going into the house.

She waited for a light to go on upstairs before she pushed her aching legs, willing them to work so that she could stand. Ella really had looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. What had she been up to now?

Ella ran into the house with the slam of a door and took the stairs two at a time. Sobbing uncontrollably, in her haste to get inside she struggled again to fit the key in the lock, kicking out in temper. But at last she managed it.

Inside, she removed her clothes quickly. She pushed them all into a plastic bag, along with her shoes, and shoved them underneath her bed. It was too late to do anything with them now; ideally, she should burn them but Charley was downstairs and might hear her in the garden and come out to see what she was doing. Charley could alert the police and then Ella wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret any longer. No, she’d have to get rid of them in the morning; she couldn’t risk them being found here.

Then she sat on the bed with a thump. ‘Please don’t let me lose control again,’ she whispered.

Ella knew that if she hadn’t seen Brendan, she wouldn’t have been reminded of her past. The sex addiction she could just about cope with – it was a means to an end. But Brendan had been such an evil bastard to her. Attacking him had only been what he deserved.

You stupid bitch. What have you done now?

Ella covered her ears.

Everyone will know it was you.

‘Shut up!’

They’ll come after you and they’ll lock you up and who will protect you from me then?

Ella ran to the closet. Pulling the door shut behind her, she pushed herself as far into the corner as she could go and slid to the floor. Then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Why had she chosen to stay local? If she had gone into
Hanley
, none of this would have happened. She gagged. She could still taste Brendan on her lips, still smell his breath. Still remember what he’d said to her when she was younger, hear him talking to her, coaxing her at first to do the things he wanted. Then when she had, he’d forced her to do much more. She’d been young, vulnerable. He should have known better.

He should have been there to protect her. Instead, all he did was expose her vulnerability. And he made her think of Amy. She’d shut her away in a box a long time ago too, never to be let out. But seeing him, seeing the father of her daughter again, it had all come hurtling back. The hurt, the humiliation, the fear.

Ella recalled being the happiest she’d ever been when she found out she was pregnant. She pressed her hand to her stomach, remembering the feel of the tiny human being growing inside; ran a finger over the silvery stretch marks that showed where her skin had expanded.

At first she’d kept it a secret. It was her baby, someone who would love only her, cherish her. But eventually, when she could hide it no more, she told him. Nothing could have prepared her for his hostility. She shuddered at the thought of how he’d dragged her onto the floor by her hair, screaming in her face to get rid of it. She told him she would, to get him to stop. But she knew she was lying.

Instead she’d gone to see a nurse at the local health centre, who explained how the baby wouldn’t grow if she didn’t look after herself. From that moment on, she’d tried to stay away from the drugs and alcohol. But Brendan would often coax her into it, though; she couldn’t help it. She tried! God, she tried.

She would have made the perfect mother.

Ella pulled at her hair, all the time talking aloud, trying to drown out the words going round inside her head, putting the blame on to her. It wasn’t her fault. It was people like those social workers – people like that bitch Charley downstairs – who poked their nose in where it wasn’t wanted, interfering and making things worse. All Ella had ever wanted was to be loved. Why wasn’t she good enough for that?

But she knew why: it was because she pushed people away. She made people dislike her so that they wouldn’t get close to her, so they couldn’t hurt her. She made women despise her by the way she looked at their men. She made the men feel wary of her – unless they screwed her. If they screwed her, they were hers for that moment in time but gone soon after. No one wanted to see Ella again afterwards. She wasn’t good enough for more than that.

It was a while later when she took a shower. The water cascaded over her, taking with it splashes of blood she’d returned with, bits of Brendan that she didn’t want. The side of her face stung where he’d scratched at her, trying to get her off him as she’d bitten down harder on his cock. Her head hurt, too, where he had pulled her hair. But she’d been too strong for him tonight.

At one time she would have let him do anything to her – she’d thought it proved how much he cared for her. Every cut, every bruise, every bite. Saliva built up inside her mouth as panic coursed through her. Suddenly, she was out of the shower and throwing up into the toilet.

Fuck, what had she done? If anyone found out it was her, they’d find out she had a criminal record and lock her up again. They’d make her take drugs, do tests, tick boxes, and conform to how they thought she should act. She could never go back to that regime.

You’re in so much trouble.

After working late into the previous evening on a report for a meeting, Charley left home early the next morning to continue with it at her desk. It was just after half past seven as she locked her front door and headed along the hallway, stopping as she noticed a smear on the banister. Peering closer, she put out her hand before snatching it back. She shouldn’t touch it. It could very well be…She moved a little closer.

It was blood. Oh, God, what had happened to Ella now?

Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be a lot of it – from a cut hand, maybe, as she’d leaned on the rail to go upstairs. She’d heard her banging around as she’d come home last night, and she had been quiet after that.

Charley paused at the bottom of the stairs. She sighed. Ella was a weird one but she couldn’t go to work without seeing if she was all right.

At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, a hand in the air. But then she brought it down onto the door.

‘Ella?’ She knocked loudly.

There was no answer.

She knocked again. ‘Ella, are you okay? Did you fall over last night?’

‘Go away.’ She heard a faint voice from behind the door.

‘But there’s blood out here, on the banister rail. Are you sure you’re all right? Do you need help?’

‘No, I can manage.’

It was a whisper but Charley would have to be satisfied. She stood for a few moments, seeing if Ella would come out. But there was no movement from inside the flat.

Ella had been dozing on the settee when Charley had knocked on the door. She’d been there all night since she’d had a shower, curled up with another bottle of vodka, trying desperately to keep Cassandra out. She couldn’t let her back into her life. But as the voice became louder and louder, Ella knew she wouldn’t be able to continue batting it away for much longer.

Surprised by Charley’s concern, she wondered what she’d meant by asking if she was okay. It wasn’t anything she would do of a morning normally. She dragged herself into the bathroom, her head fuzzy again.

Rinsing her face, she winced. Going to the mirror, she pulled away her hair to reveal a deep scratch down the side of her face. How the hell had that happened, now? She touched it, winced again, trying to remember what she’d done the night before. Then she paled. She’d blacked out again, hadn’t she?

She sat on the settee, hoping to remember eventually.

A few minutes later, it all came back. Shit: Brendan Furnival. Fear coursing through her, she ran through to her bedroom and looked under the bed. She pulled out the bag and burst into tears when she saw the blood all over her clothes.

‘No, no, no, no, no!’ she cried.

Worse than that, she remembered why Charley had checked on her.

In the kitchen, she ran a bowl of hot water and added detergent. Then she took it out onto the stairs. She could see it – more blood, all down the handrail. It could be hers or it could be
Brendan’s
. How would she know?

She had to get rid of it. It could be evidence. Manically, she scrubbed at the wood until there were no remains of Brendan, trying not to think about what she had done. He wasn’t moving when she’d left him. Had she killed him? If she had, she’d be in so much trouble.

No, she shook her head to rid it of its confusion. It wasn’t her; it couldn’t be! She’d have to blame Cassandra. Yes, Cassandra had attacked Brendan, not her.

It was you, you evil bitch. Don’t try and put the blame on me!

She ignored the voice. This
was
all Cassandra’s fault.

No! I won’t have you saying that. Do you hear?

‘Look at what you’ve made me do now!’ Ella screamed. ‘Look at what you’ve made me do!’