Watching Over You (31 page)

Jean looked down again. Wait a minute, what was that? She bent her head a little lower, thus lowering her vision too. The man was flat out on the floor now, near to the door. She gulped: he didn’t seem to be moving.

A shadow crossed the window and Jean screamed. It was Ella.

There was no mistaking whether or not she had been seen this time because she was looking straight up at her.

And not only was she looking at her, she was pointing up at her too.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Once Peter had gone, I felt abandoned again. There was no one to talk to, no one to have a laugh with, and certainly no one who treated me like an adult. Malcolm tried to take control of me, make me scared of him. But it was too late for that. If he couldn’t do it when I was running away, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to
do it now.

And as always in these types of homes, staff came and went. With Peter gone, I was alone for ages until Brendan came along when I was fifteen. Brendan was young, an average-looking guy, so once I got to know him, I let him screw me. It’s not something I’m ashamed of. I’d learned by then that sex was a powerful tool and
I coul
d use it to my advantage.

I reckon it was about that time that I learned if I screwed around with my body, no one screwed around with my mind. I could take control – use someone rather than be used.

I tried to enjoy sex but I couldn’t. For me, it was a means to an end. It still is. It always will be. That’s why I have one-night stands. That’s enough, sometimes.

Until the guilt takes over – the humiliation, the rejection, the hurt. No one has ever loved me. I fucking hate that, you know. Why didn’t anyone love me? I had so much to give.

Me and Brendan screwed lots of times. I’d let him screw me for a fiver, a few fags, a drink; whatever I could get my hands on. We’d been sleeping together for a few months when Malcolm caught him in my bed one night. Brendan was often on nights, so he’d creep into my room and sleep on the job. We’d never come close to being caught as he’d always screw me and leave, but this night the silly idiot fell asleep.

I woke up to find Malcolm laying into him before dragging him out of my room by the hair, naked and bleeding where he had punched him. Brendan fought back; they continued outside in the corridor. I screamed for them to stop, I ran out of my room naked too. I didn’t care who saw me. I was wild and trying to pull Malcolm off Brendan, calling him names and digging my nails into his face. But it didn’t work.

Apparently one of the other staff had reported him to Malcolm a week earlier. He hadn’t wanted to get involved at first but knew he’d get into trouble if anything came out. So when he caught Brendan in my room, he was sent packing then.

I was alone again when he left. I didn’t love him, knew he was using me, but I needed him. He said he would take care of me.
I wan
ted someone to trust, to look up to, to be with.

I was chucked out of Ravenside on my sixteenth birthday and moved to a home for young teenage girls. It was hideous – another place I had to fight to survive. I lasted a week before someone nicked all my belongings, but I got wise and stole them back. No one was having my stuff. I might not have had much to call my own but it was mine.

And then I met up with Brendan again. He screwed my life up good and proper for nearly two years after that.

Would I ever fucking learn?

Charley paused when she came to the last page and read the name
Brendan
again. It had to be Brendan Furnival that Ella was referring to. She knew first-hand that Ella was capable of violence, and it also would explain the blood on the banister. That had been
Friday
, and the day that she’d spoken to Tanya, which was the morning after the attack.

Was it meeting up with Brendan that had tipped Ella over the edge? If it was, she must have been enraged to see Tanya turn up. Charley’s stomach flipped over.

She stood up again, knocked on the door. ‘Ella, are you there?’

She listened for a moment but there was no reply. She listened again but couldn’t hear any signs of movement either. She glanced upwards to the shelf, looking for anything she could use as a weapon.

Come hell or high water, she was getting out of this room.

Jean almost cried with relief when she remembered the door system: Ella wouldn’t be able to get in. She dared to look again. The window was empty. She took the time to search round for her phone. Where on earth had she put it? She searched in her knitting bag, removing the parts she’d completed. Had the phone dropped inside the bag?

The buzzer on the door went. Jean banged her head on the arm of the chair as she heard it. Rubbing at it, she stood up slowly. Fearful of what she would see, she looked down onto the avenue.

Ella stood back on the pavement. In her arms was Tom. She held on to him firmly by the scruff of his neck.

Jean let out a sob, her hand to her mouth. No, not Tom. If she could injure that man, she could kill Tom with her bare hands.

The buzzer went again.

‘Let me in, Jean!’ Ella shouted through the letter box. ‘I know you’ve seen what I’m capable of.’

What could she do? With Ella unstable, Jean knew she could easily kill her too if she let her in.

She heard a strangled meow.

Tom!

Maybe if she stayed calm, pretended she hadn’t seen anything, then Ella would calm down enough to leave.

A loud screech.

Tom!

‘Let me in!’

Another screech, this time louder and more distraught. Jean couldn’t bear it any longer. She pressed the release button.

Charley reached a hand up to the shelf above the coats, feeling around unable to see it all from her level. There must be something she could use as a weapon – something to knock Ella off balance if she could talk her way out of the closet.

The shoe boxes were empty. She took down the coats and scarf, searched the pockets to find nothing in those either, threw them to the floor in a temper.

The hooks: could she get them out of the wall? There were four of them on a plinth of wood – they would make a pretty good weapon if she could get them down. With all her body weight behind her, she held on to the outer two hooks and pulled. The wood gave out a creak. Charley held her breath but there was no sign of movement from outside the door; no sign of noise from the flat at all.

Putting all her body weight behind it this time, she lifted her feet from the floor and pulled again.

‘Come off the wall. Come off the wall. Come off the fucking wall!’ she cried out in frustration, but to no avail. Shoulders sagging, she slumped to the floor.

Her eyes fell on a patch of light that hadn’t been there earlier. She crawled towards it on her knees. In the far corner of the room was a hole in the floorboards, no larger than a ten pence coin. The light was brighter there.

She pushed her eye to it and looked through. In dismay, she realised she was looking through another floorboard a couple of inches lower and then down at the floor of her bedroom. It was right in the corner of the room.

Charley couldn’t see anything more than a few inches all the way around it, a patch of the carpet and a part of the skirting board. But she could see a black wire. She tugged at it, but it was stuck. She pulled once more: it wouldn’t come loose. She peered down into the room again. Whatever it was had been tied to old central heating pipes that ran up the corner of the wall in her room. No wonder she hadn’t noticed anything untoward. Surely, it couldn’t be…

Was it a camera? Had Ella been into her flat, set up it up, and been watching her? Watching her and Aaron, in bed, making love? No…that was sick.

She shook her head to rid it of the images she was seeing, herself and Aaron on the bed, Ella sitting here. The calculating cow!

The conniving, devious, fucking bitch!

What the hell was she up against?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ella plopped the cat down onto the step and went into the house. The downstairs area was in darkness; she looked around for a light, switched it on. The hallway felt aged but stately, wooden panelling halfway up the walls, deep red tiles on the floor. A few winter coats and a hat were draped over a mahogany coat stand in the corner; a large mirror hung next to it.

The carpet on the stairs was old, threadbare, and hard to the feet. Ella moved around the stair lift and crept upstairs. She knew the layout: it would be the same as her house, before it was converted into flats.

Keeping her back to the wall, she took one step at a time. She didn’t trust the nosy cow – she could easily throw something at her. Jean would want to hurt her. She hated Ella just as much as everyone else. That’s why she’d been spying on her, telling everyone what she was doing. That’s why that social worker had come after her.

You’re right. It was Jean’s fault.

‘I know you saw what I did,’ Ella spoke loudly, her voice echoing on the stairs as she inched her way up. ‘So now is the time that your neighbourhood watching ends, do you hear me?’

She trod carefully along the landing, creaking floorboards underneath the carpet betraying her every step; she moved forward to the front room, where she always saw Jean sitting. Slowly, she pushed open the door.

Jean was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Hello, Ella,’ she said softly.

‘So this is where you do your thing?’ Ella pointed a finger and made a circling notion. ‘Where you nosy at us from the window. Do you get your kicks out of it?’

‘I don’t watch. I just…’ Jean faltered.

She’s a freak.

‘She is!’ Ella clapped her hands like an excited child. ‘You’re a freak! Watching people is perverted.’ She stepped into the room. ‘I suppose you think what I do is perverted too.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘But you’ve been sent to spy on me, haven’t you? Who do you work for?’

Jean shook her head. ‘I don’t work for anyone. I retired a few years back now.’

She must work for someone. She’s a spy.

Ella walked around the room, touching the chair, inspecting a painting on the wall, all the time keeping an eye out for Jean to move. She noted Jean’s empty mug, the dregs of a drink still inside it; a knitting pattern, the circles of blue ink where she’d marked out the stitches that corresponded with her size.

Then her eyes fell upon a notepad ledged on the windowsill.

‘What’s that?’ She turned to Jean quickly.

‘Nothing,’ Jean replied.

Ella picked it up, flicked through it, taking time to read each page that had been filled so far. When she got to the last entry, she began to read aloud.

‘19:33: Charley’s man arrived.

‘17:35: Charley home from work.

‘11:55: woman in red car RB 59 DUC arrived and went into the house with Ella. But I’m sure I heard the woman refer to Ella as Cassie.’

Ella closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was that name again.

I told you she was a spy.

‘You’ve been writing everything down.’ Ella spoke matter-
o
f-factly.

‘Yes. I’ve been so lonely since my husband died. It’s a hobby, something I do to while away the time. I don’t mean any harm by it, but I’m housebound, you see. I have osteoporosis and it’s hard to move around. I’d love to get out in the garden more often but I
–’

‘Since when?’ Ella interrupted.

‘Oh, a few years now. I was diagnosed –’

‘Not the fucking osteo – how long have you been writing things UP?’

Jean paused, her eyes momentarily flicking to the rest of the notepads, stacked up neatly in the corner of the room. She averted them quickly, but it was too late. Ella stepped towards them.

‘I’ll be in every one of these, won’t I?’

‘No, they go back a lot longer than that!’

Ella snorted. ‘You sound as if you’re proud of the fact.’

‘I meant that I don’t just note down what you do. I note down what everyone does.’

She’s mad too!

‘Why?’ said Ella.

Jean sighed. ‘For no other reason than for something to do. My life is so monotonous now.’

Ella felt as if her head was ready to explode. Her eyes hurt from staring but she couldn’t believe what she saw. If she went into as much detail here as in the last three entries she’d read, Jean would have recorded her every move. If the police were to get hold of the notebooks, there could be evidence of her coming back from attacking Brendan. She wouldn’t have an alibi. It could ruin everything, unless she was quick.

Get rid of the evidence.

‘No one needs to see them,’ Jean added.

Ella nodded, remaining silent. Then she picked up the top notepad and tore out a few pages. She screwed them up and slung them to the floor; ripped out a few more.

‘Wait!’ Jean protested, slowly getting to her feet, her arms outstretched. ‘I promise you I won’t show anyone anything but please, don’t rip them up. They’re all I have.’

Ella turned quickly and brought the back of her hand across Jean’s face. The force of it caused Jean to lose her balance and she fell to the floor, landing awkwardly on her knee. Her foot slipped underneath her as she tried to get up again, struggling to take any weight. Reaching up to the mattress, she strained to hoist herself up but it was no use. Jean’s knee gave way once more and she cried out in pain.

Ella moved closer to Jean, placing her hands on her knees and bending to her level.

Cry baby.

‘Jean,’ she spoke softly. ‘Why are you spying on me?’

Disorientated, Jean didn’t reply.

‘Come on, let’s get you up to your feet.’ Ella held out her hand. ‘You can’t stay down there all night.’

Jean clasped onto it but before Ella could react, she had pushed up the sleeve of her jumper. Ella let go of Jean’s hand and pulled it down again quickly, but not before catching the look of recognition on her face.

‘It is you,’ Jean cried. ‘Oh, Cassie, what did they do to you?’

Ella stepped away, slapping at her cheeks.

Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. She’s saying your name again. How does she know you?

She pointed at Jean. ‘How do you know my name? Has someone been talking about me? I knew it. All the neighbours know who I am, don’t they? You’re all in this together. Every one of you – you, and Jake and Charley. You’re all out to get me, aren’t you? HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?’

‘Because I tended to that burn!’ Jean shouted. ‘I held you in my arms as you cried afterwards. I tried to comfort you. Those little bastards got away with it. I couldn’t do anything to protect you.’

Ella roared like an animal in pain at the sound of Jean’s words, flicking back in time, recalling a woman at the home who was kind to her, who always told the other kids to back away. The woman who stopped her from drowning Billie when she was twelve years old.

‘You!’ she whispered loudly.

She left you there.

Jean nodded, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I – I looked after you while you were in Ravenside Children’s Home.’

‘You didn’t look after me. You left me there to rot!’

‘No, I didn’t! You have to believe me. I tried to tell Malcolm, make him understand what was happening, but he told me to keep my mouth shut. And when I threatened to expose him and his staff, he…he fired me.’

At the mention of Malcolm, Ella flinched. She dragged an image from the back of her mind of a man who used children as punch bags to rid himself of his own demons. A man who took his frustration out on youngsters who couldn’t defend themselves.
A m
an who she knew took immense pleasure from the power of his position.

‘Have you ANY idea what happened to me after you left me in the hands of that…that fucking monster?’ she screamed.

‘No one would listen to me when I was there! I was sacked because I was interfering.’ Jean was crying now. ‘I wouldn’t let it rest so Malcolm had to silence me some way. He said if I continued with my complaint that he would see to it that I was tarnished – say that
I
had been found abusing one of the children.’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘I’ve never hurt a child in my life. You remember that, don’t you? I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.’

‘You still left me to rot.’

She left you there!

‘There was nothing I could do. I reported him while I worked there but they finished me. I reported him again, to the local council. There was an investigation but everything was covered up.
I ne
ver saw you again until you moved in across the road.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that you knew me?’

‘Because I didn’t know!’

She’s lying.

‘Liar!’

‘Until I heard that woman shouting
Cassie
, I hadn’t thought of you in a long time.’

‘That’s rather nice of you!’

Jean screwed up her face in anguish. ‘It doesn’t mean that
I neve
r think of you. I often wondered how you were.’

‘How fucked up they had made me?’

‘No…I don’t know.’

‘Ah, but you do know,’ Ella put her hands on her hips and glared, ‘because you see everything that goes on in this street.’

‘From a distance! You had blonde hair as a child…and I last saw you when you were fifteen. We’ve both changed in that time. And I’ve never been able to see your scar. I would have known then. I would have remembered the little girl who needed my help. The beautiful little girl that I let down.’ Jean’s shoulders dropped and she began to cry. ‘I couldn’t help you. I should have fought more for you, and the other children. It was a terrible place for a child to be, especially one who was torn by grief like you. I’m so sorry.’

It’s all her fault.

Ella shook her head fervently. Somewhere in the past minute or so, Jean’s face had morphed into Billie’s. All she could think about was how that bitch had tortured her, beaten her, bullied her. She pictured her sitting here at her feet, a young girl kneeling by the side of the bed almost as if in prayer, begging for forgiveness.

She hates you.

‘You never liked me!’ she shouted.

‘That’s not true!’ said Jean.

‘I could pull your teeth out with pliers, rip out your nails one by one, and it wouldn’t be half as much agony as you caused me. You made my life hell!’

‘No, I didn’t. Ella, you have me mixed up with someone else. I –’

‘Shut up.’ Ella drew back her fist and punched Jean. She pushed her backwards so that she was flat on the floor, straddled her chest and punched her again.

‘Please!’ Jean coughed, spitting out blood. ‘Stop.’

Do it!

Ella’s hands slipped around Jean’s throat. All the time, she could see Billie, knew that the only way she could get rid of her resentment was to squeeze the breath out of the bitch. Yes, she was in control and it felt good, knowing that Billie would never hurt her again.

‘I hate you,’ she whispered, before squeezing harder.

Jean’s arms flailed as she fought with the pressure applied to her neck. All she could see was Ella’s face, her demonic eyes, her angry expression. She couldn’t get her breath; it hurt to even try. The blood rushed to her head, almost making her oblivious to the pain in her knee. Her eyes began to water, her vision becoming dim around the outside as it slowly ebbed away. When she could struggle no more, her arms dropped to her sides. She took one last look across the room, over at the window, the chair, her knitting.

She would never be able to finish her snazzy purple cardigan now.

I was ten when the accident happened. That’s what I was told to say. By the adults. Malcolm told me if I said any different, he’d lock me in the room with Billie and leave her to her own means. He knew that Billie bullied me. I supposed it saved him a job – one child less to thump.

Us kids were playing in the garden after school. It was a
September
day and I was sitting under the tree at the bottom of the garden, away from the others. I had my nose in a book, as usual. So I didn’t hear anyone coming near. When I did look up, Billie was in front of me with Mikey, one of the younger boys. He had a yellow canister in his hands.

‘Go on, do it,’ said Billie, pushing Mikey forward.

He stepped back. I could see the fear in his eyes. He was pleading with me to run away but I was too scared to move.

Billy pushed him forward again. ‘Do it, or I’ll kick your head in.’

Mikey looked at me with dismay. Then he squirted the liquid over my arm. At the time, I didn’t know that it was gas. How would I? I was ten years old. Before I could move away, Billie lit a match and threw it at me.

The liquid lit up and in seconds, the shiny polyester material of my cheap tracksuit top was a ball of flames. My arm was on fire!