Watching Over You (30 page)

She let it ring.

When it finally stopped, a text message arrived moments later.

Be 15 mins. Picking up takeaway. xx

Ella smiled again.

Let the fun begin.

She was going to show Charley just how much it hurt to have someone she cared for taken away for the second time. That would teach her not to interfere.

Yes, that would be perfect. Once she’d dealt with him, there’d be time to come back to sort out Charley. She would keep for now.

Now you’re singing in tune.

Ella laughed hysterically. Charley
couldn’t
escape anyway. Just like she hadn’t been able to when Billie locked her inside the cupboard over the stairs.

She texted Aaron back:
Great. C u soon Cx

Then she let herself out of the flat.

Charley froze at the sound of Neyo
.
It had to be her phone! She pulled herself up quickly, unease ripping through her body. It would most likely be Aaron.

But then the music stopped.

She strained to hear. Had Ella answered it? She held her breath, wishing she could slow the beat of her heart down, or at least the noise as it banged out of her chest. But then she heard the beep of an incoming message.

A feeling of helplessness washed over her again. If Aaron had sent a message, it meant he’d be arriving soon. It could be good news because he’d want to know where she was. He had keys now; he was bound to use them to get in. He’d find the flat empty, see her car outside, and start to investigate.

He’d probably look upstairs first, right? Which meant he could be in danger too.

And she couldn’t warn him.

‘Ella?’ She banged on the door, panic back again. ‘Ella, are you there? Let me out of here. ELLA!’

Chapter Thirty-Two

I ran away from Ravenside several times when I was thirteen but
each time I was found and brought back. Malcolm hated
authority
–
the police or the social. He hated anyone poking their nose into how the home was run. Because there was a lot that they could find if they did dig deep.
A FUCKING LOT
!

And each time I got back, Malcolm would give me a good thrashing. Luckily for me, Malcolm didn’t like little girls or else he would have taken a turn shagging me too, I’m certain. Instead he used me as a punch bag, explaining the bruises away by saying I
wa
s fighting with the other kids. Everyone thought I was the troublemaker. I wasn’t! I SO wasn’t!

The only good thing to come of the running away and the beatings was the trouble I brought back to the home. For punishment when I ran away, I was locked in my room every night. Hilarious, don’t you think? Being locked up meant that no one could get to me but it brought demons with it too. Memories of Billie; memories of banging on the door to get out; memories of time passing so slowly that I had no idea whether it was morning or night.

I was so lonely, though. No one to call my friend; no one to talk to. No one at school wanted to know any of us kids from the home. We were doomed, wherever we were.

Billie left when I was thirteen and, now just that much older and stronger, I saw my chance and wised up. It took me a few months of fighting my way to the top of the pile, most of the kids thinking I was still going to be the pushover they had grown up with. But I got there eventually – after banging Melody Johnson’s head repeatedly on the floor as I sat astride her and throwing one last punch before being pulled off, I gained respect. It was easy from then. I had
everyone
wanting to be my friend.

That’s the pack mentality of being in an institution. Either join in and survive, no matter what you have to do, or be singled out for being a loner, like I was. Peer pressure. Fitting in. Being a sheep. Better than being on your own.

But I was different to the Davids and the Billies, because woe betide anyone who picked on any of the younger kids then – unless I told them to, obviously. Which wasn’t very often, I admit, but if one of the little shits annoyed me, I’d get them back. Or if one of the older kids thought they could recruit to get one up on me? Then the fists started to fly. I surprised myself by how hard I could punch.

This was my home now; until I left I was going to be its lead girl, even if it meant fighting every minute of every day for it. I had done my time as a punch bag. Even Malcolm became wary of me. He was right to be. I began carrying a flick-knife everywhere and
I kn
ew I’d use it if I was vulnerable again.

Surprised to see Charley’s rooms in darkness when he arrived, Aaron knocked on the door to the flat twice before letting himself in with a key. His pulse quickened with anxiety, as Charley was normally there to greet him at the door when he’d texted her to say he was on his way. Maybe she was going to surprise him, greet him naked or something. Maybe she was lying in the bath, waiting for him to strip off and step in next to her. He felt a stirring in his groin. Stuff the takeaway getting cold: slipping into hot water with Charley would be even more of a treat.

‘Anyone home?’ he said, switching on the hall light. ‘Charley?’ He went into the kitchen and put the takeaway down on the worktop.

Weird – no light on in there, either.

‘I hope you’re where I think you are?’

Still no reply.

He popped his head around the living room door and switched on the light, but the room was empty. The bathroom and bedroom were too.

Disappointment replaced with concern, he went into the living room this time, glancing around in confusion. There was no music on; the television was off too.

He checked his phone; there were no new messages. He rang Charley again but her phone went straight to voicemail. Deciding not to leave a message, he sent another quick text.

His sense of excitement replaced by concern, Aaron felt strange to be there all alone, with no sign of Charley. He wondered if she’d lost track of time and maybe nipped out to the shop without her phone. But no, she wouldn’t do that.

His eyes flicked around the room again. Where was her bag? He couldn’t see it anywhere. He looked out onto the road, before noticing the paperwork spread around the table. He picked up a file, smiling to himself. Charley was such a conscientious worker, she even brought it home with her, bless.

Bless? He snorted into the silence, and then grinned, embarrassed even though he was alone. Damn that woman taking over his heart.

A handwritten note caught his eye. He knew the writing was Charley’s.
Cassandra Thorpe:
The name didn’t mean anything to him. He leaned forward to take a closer look.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

Aaron turned to see Ella standing behind him.

‘Christ, you gave me a fright then.’ He put a hand to his chest. ‘I was waiting for Charley – you haven’t seen her, have you?’

‘Why would I have? She’s completely ignored me since
you
came along.’

As the silence became loaded, Aaron stared at Ella. Her hair hung limply; she had nothing on her feet. She wore a grey tracksuit that had seen better years. With no make-up, she seemed no older than a teenager. But the look was of a wild animal, her right eye twitching rapidly.

‘Have you seen her?’ he repeated.

‘Are you deaf? I said no.’

‘I’m not sure I believe you, Ella.’ Aaron took a step towards her. ‘It’s a little unusual that she isn’t here, considering she told me she was coming home straight from work.’

‘She sent you a message, though.’

‘She did – how did you know that?’

Ella said nothing.

‘Where is she?’ He stepped nearer, hoping to keep the alarm from his voice.

‘I ask the questions.’

Aaron looked down, spotting the knife in her hand at the same time Ella charged at him. Before he could react, she plunged it into his side.

He gasped, for a moment stunned.

Ella turned the blade, then drew it out so quickly he could almost imagine a whooshing sound. She didn’t take her eyes off him for a second.

He dropped to his knees, having no time to cry out further as heat burned through his torso, followed by an icy chill, nauseating him. He pressed a hand to the wound; his palm came away covered in blood.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Ella, what have…have…you done?’

I was fourteen when a support worker called Peter turned up. Peter was one of the good guys, not wanting to take advantage of the younger girls needing to be loved or the older girls with their raging hormones – or the boys, for that matter. Not there to beat the shit out of us kids, either. He just wanted to help.

He was so gorgeous! I swear my heart went
zoom
whenever
I saw
him. He was in his mid-thirties, fairly tall to a small teenager. He had dark hair and a fringe that flopped into his eyes every time he moved his head. His smile made my insides go a little squishy and he was so pleasant to talk to. I spent a lot of time with him, sitting drinking coffee, daring to dream about my future and plan for a better life. Peter even helped us kids with our homework – yes, of course we had to go to school, even though we tried our best not to. He helped us with our self-esteem, urging us to realise that we could all become someone to look up to someday. The world was our oyster, and all that.

Malcolm despised Peter because he stuck his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He wasn’t one to clean and tidy up the mess, sweep everything under the carpet away from prying eyes when he knew a home inspection was due from Social Services. He wouldn’t cover up what was going on at all, so things had to be dealt with rather than put away in a box, never to be mentioned again. He even made a couple of staff members leave because he sorted out their bullying ways – either they left or he would report them. He wasn’t scared to whistle-blow. I loved him for that alone.

Malcolm started to watch his every move. Everyone knew he wanted Peter to slip up: Peter didn’t give a shit, though. He knew Malcolm was watching him too; thought he knew too much about the place for Malcolm to ever act on anything. Peter didn’t care what happened to him as long as us kids were treated right.

It was the best year of my life, when I was fourteen. I felt safe, even with the door to my room unlocked at night now. I was still top dog – no one would mess with me. I didn’t even want to run away.

It was totally one-sided, of course. Honest to God, he was a gentleman. One of the best. But Malcolm told my social worker that he’d seen Peter being inappropriate around me.

When I next saw her, she asked me all sorts of questions: was
I of
ten alone with Peter, did he touch me, was he ever in my room with me, did he ask me to do things? To. Touch. Him. Nooooooooooo! For God’s sake, there was never any of that.

I kept on telling her that he was one of the good guys. But she didn’t listen.
They
didn’t listen. Everyone in authority just saw PERVERT stamped across his forehead. Despite his protests that nothing had happened, or ever would happen, between us, in the end Peter was asked to leave.

I knew it had something to do with that bastard, Malcolm. So rather than take it out on his face, I trashed Malcolm’s car instead. Who was laughing then, you sick bastard? Hmm? HMMMM?

Yet again, I had found someone to trust and they had been taken away from me. What was wrong with me? Would I always be left to my own devices?

Ella stood quietly in the doorway until she watched Aaron pass out. She wiped the knife on her trousers, cleaning it of his blood, and took it into the kitchen. The smell of takeaway roused her. She picked it up to take back with her.

I hope you’ve killed him. He deserves to die.

Just about to leave, she checked on Aaron one last time. His eyes were still closed; he hadn’t moved. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be soon, she was certain. She couldn’t wait to tell Charley what she had done for her.

Why not put him in Charley’s closet?

Ella grinned – what a great idea! It would be poetic justice to leave him there to die, for Charley to find him.

If she ever let her out of the closet upstairs.

She put down the takeaway, grabbed both of Aaron’s hands, and dragged him across the room. Christ, he was heavy. It took over a minute to get him a few feet towards the door. She decided to give up on that idea.

Sensing someone, her eyes were drawn upwards, across the road. She glared into the darkness at the upstairs light of number thirty-eight, seeing only an empty chair in the window.

Had nosy Jean been watching her?

She saw what you did!

Ella slapped at her face. That stupid bitch. She’d ruin
everything
.

Jean had moved away from the window as soon as she’d witnessed the attack. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Ella had put a knife into Charley’s young man! She had, hadn’t she?

And she would know she’d been watching her, wouldn’t she?

She held onto her chest, hurting as she struggled to breathe.
She had seen some things in her time of snooping on people b
ut sh
e
had never witnessed anything sinister until today. First the attack on Jake from next door when Ella had hit out at him. And now, she’d assaulted someone else – or even murdered him! Jean didn’t know whether the man was dead or alive, but she didn’t want to look again. She’d seen how quickly he’d dropped to the floor.

People-watching, that’s all she did; she didn’t mean anyone any harm.

Jean needed to call the police. There was no time to write anything down in her notepad. She looked around the room for the phone. The handset was here somewhere: where had Ruby put it so that she would remember where it was?

Still unable to accept as true what she’d seen, she moved forward slowly to check again. She had to! She didn’t want to be witness to something so terrible but she had to know.

In the darkness, the light beamed out from Charley’s living room windows, allowing Jean a clear view of an empty room. She looked up and down the avenue; no signs of life there, either. But why would there be? It was a dark and cold November evening. Other neighbours would be in their warm houses now, engrossed in
The One Show
or
Sky News
, no doubt, eating their evening meal, or catching up with the kids’ day. Normal stuff that people do. Not this!