Page 13

Programmed hatred

I was due to receive my test results today.

Ben and I were curled up on the sofa together, my head resting on his shoulder. I wasn’t sure when being so close to him had become acceptable, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain – he was becoming a dangerous drug.

I turned to him as my curiosity got the better of me. “That looks like some heavy numbers.”

“Yeah. Diorise are one of our new clients. They supply packaging, and the team spent ages on all these reports for a deadline they had. They’re going after new investors, but the meeting is this Monday, and the team managed to sort all the data wrong. Now it’s all mixed up. Every time I think I’ve solved it, the figures are out by a stupidly small number, but—”

“That means something is wrong,”

I concluded.

“Exactly.”

“Want another pair of eyes?”

I offered. I’d do anything to stop me from flinching every time my phone lit up.

He looked at me with surprise. “Would you mind?”

“No, I told you, it makes me feel good to help. Once, I spent days trying to figure out an exchange rate error, except it wasn’t the exchange rate at all, it was a typo.”

“Nice,”

he commended, shifting his weight to pick up our empty mugs.

“What’s the latest pivot table?”

“Tab two, the one where the names are merged,”

he explained, heading for the kettle.

I looked at the numbers, scanning them. It looked like a pattern to me. Numbers made sense, I enjoyed the predictability of them. They were either right or wrong, there was no grey area.

“I see it,”

I exclaimed as he came back, trying to stifle my pride as he pulled me into his side again.

“Where? I’ve been on this for an hour.”

“That name, it’s been entered two different ways. When you carried the data across, it’s not been recognised as the same. Check it.”

Ben corrected the error before re-running the pivot. It worked.

“Yes!”

he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and resting back into the sofa just as my phone finally rang.

I stared at it as it slowly buzzed on the arm of the sofa.

“It’ll be okay,”

Ben soothed, wrapping his arm around me.

I took a deep breath and answered it, jumbling my own name, trying to say hello. It was the police station, but it wasn’t the results. I listened to the stern officer, Ben’s eyes burning into my cheek as I hesitated to respond. After a brief exchange, I said goodbye, only then realising how closely I was pressing the phone into my cheek.

“So?”

Ben asked, wide eyed.

“The test was inconclusive. They need another sample.”

“What?”

He shook his head.

I looked at him as my pulse started to slow back down. “I know. They don’t know what happened. They’re coming around in an hour to take another sample so they can verify it. Because it’s the weekend, the results are probably going to be in on Wednesday at the earliest, maybe Thursday.”

He pushed his laptop closed. “Are you alright?”

I let out a deep breath. “Is it bad that I’m relieved?”

Ben shook his head, pulling me into a hug and running soothing hands up and down my back as we waited for the police to arrive.

Once they’d taken a new sample, we headed over to Lucy’s for a roast dinner with the kids. I’d ordered a book for Sophie on horses, and we enjoyed flicking through the pages together. I hadn’t known what to get Isac – he was such a quiet kid, and clearly having a tough time – but in the end I’d decided on a photo album and a disposable camera. Fortunately, he seemed pleased, and had taken a lot of care arranging us all on the sofa to take a picture. I’d insisted it be just a family photo, but Isac was having none of it.

Being around them all sparked something in me, a new set of feelings, deeply fulfilling somehow, like an answer to a question that I hadn’t known to ask. Living away from the site made everything feel easier. It was easier to breathe, to think, to exist. I was finally allowing myself to start imagining what life would be like beyond surviving.

Eventually, we had to say our goodbyes so Lucy could get the kids to bed.

“You’re so sweet with the kids,”

Ben commented as we drove back to the apartment.

“They’re great kids.”

He nodded. “Isac seems a bit more himself.”

“Hopefully Steve will stop fighting Lucy so much soon; realise she’s serious. She’s such a great mum. It comes so naturally to her.”

Ruby had not found it natural. Once, when I was little, I’d accidently whined when she’d brushed through a knot in my hair. She’d twisted the bristles, yanking out a clump of brown strands in response. I couldn’t decide what had been more painful: the act, her coldness afterwards, or the daily reminder of what had happened as I tried to craft hairstyles around the ugly bald patch. I had never understood why she hated me so much.

Another time, I’d accidentally dropped a milk bottle on the floor of the caravan. As the white liquid splattered and dissipated into the thin red carpet, I’d gulped, instantly aware of how bad it was. I’d burst into tears as Ruby stalked over to me, dropping despairingly to my knees. With a sinister glint in her eye, she’d lifted her trainer, stamping the shattered bottle glass hard to into the carpet, before demanding I pick up all the shards with my bare hands. The sound of the harsh crunching still rang through my ears all these years later.

“Yeah, she’s always had a maternal side. When we were kids, she always tried to look after me, much to my annoyance. She used to make hospitals for my action men,”

Ben laughed.

I forced the image of Lucy’s doll hospital into my head, attempting to regain control.

“Do you want kids?”

I asked him, before realising how loaded the question might sound to him.

“I don’t, no.”

He seemed unfazed. “But I enjoy spending time with Isac and Sophie.”

Strangely, part of me felt disappointed. The feeling shocked me.

That evening, once I was certain he’d fallen asleep, the tears flooded down my cheeks as I quietly cried. Sophie had shown me her colourful, girly bedroom, and it had forced another uncontrollable cascade of buried, misunderstood emotions to the surface. I wondered if that was what Maeve’s bedroom had been like at Susan and Derek’s.

When I was little, I had a tiny room in Ruby and Frank’s caravan. They’d stay up late, drinking and arguing, other people always coming and going. I always had dark circles under my eyes, never quite learning how to tune the noise out. They were all too unpredictable; the walls too thin.

Why did I feel like this? Lucy and Ben were so kind; we’d had such a lovely day. It felt intensely selfish to be sad, and a powerful, consuming guilt overwhelmed me. The good feelings of the day had drained completely, leaving a raw wound. Happiness… security… it wasn’t my reality. This was all just a dangerous dream.

It wouldn’t last.

The following week, Ben had to make a long overdue trip to Ireland. He would only be away Monday night, but after the events of the weekend, a quiet day was welcome. I put on the saddest film I could find – Up – and cried my eyes out. It was ridiculous, but I was so sick of holding it in all the time. I wanted a guilt free bawl.

Ben

Missing me again? xx

Me

No, stay an extra night. How’s the client? Did they go for the acquisition? xxx

Ben

I hear that’s the secret to a strong marriage, time apart. Yes, they did, thanks. Did you doubt me?

Me

Ever the romantic. You messaged me first, I was making conversation.

Ben

I’m a realist. At least wait till after our date to judge me. And yes, I was actually thinking I message you first too often. It’s not usually my style. I’ll speak to you Friday.

Me

Okay x

I grinned at my phone as I brushed my teeth.

“Oh, so what?”

I said to my giddy reflection. I gave it five minutes and messaged him again.

Me

Good evening, fiancé dearest, how’s your night? xxx

Ben

Nice ?? It’s been a successful day. Thank you for asking. What you up to?

Me

I watched Up and cried, tried on my date outfit, and actually decided to write a CV. You know you won’t have me as a little housewife forever, right?

Ben

Was it when the gran died? A CV, good for you, I’ll take a look tomorrow, although there’s no rush. That’s a shame, I’m getting used to the burnt dinners.

Me

The whole thing makes me cry. Yeah, yeah, charming as ever. I’m in bed now, shouldn’t you be drinking a Guinness or something? xxx

Ben

We went for lunch instead luckily. Good night, sleep tight. Message me first in the morning xxx

There was a pause.

Ben

So you don’t actually miss me this time? Usually you add it in way too late in the conversation. I’m asking simply for continuity here.

Me

You caught me, I’m hugging your pillow and weeping.

Ben

That’s actually a really cute image.

Me

Jeez, I’m joking.

Ben

Sure. Good night, sweetheart xxx

Me

I’m not sure whether that’s a term of endearment or a fiancé joke. Sorry, calculating my response.

Ben

Good night, beautiful (genuine) xxx

Me

?

I’d just fallen asleep when there was a jarring clang of metal, like a rattle at the door.

I sat up.

Had Ben come back early?

It couldn’t be Vicky; it was too late. I hoped to god Jessica didn’t have a key.

Except… it didn’t sound like a key.

Swinging my legs out of bed, still drowsy and coming to terms with being awake, I walked out into the main living space, listening, my eyes adjusting to the dark. The sound was coming from where the lock was. In an instant, my fear snapped me awake.

I stumbled back into the bedroom, frantically jamming the buttons on my phone to call Lucy. The noise stopped.

“Does anyone else have a key to Ben’s?”

I whispered. “It’s probably just me, but I swear someone’s trying to get in.”

I was expecting her to be half asleep. Instead, she yelled down the line.

“Call the police, Elle, now!”

“Huh?”

I questioned, finding the light switch. That wasn’t what I’d expected her to say.

“No one else has a key, Elle. I spoke to Ben earlier and he’s still at his hotel.”

My heart dropped. Someone kicked the door. I jolted, feeling my body seize, dropping the phone on the floor with a crash, Lucy’s voice trailing away.

Thump.

The rattle started again. It sounded like the claws of a frantic animal. This is ridiculous, it’s probably a friend of Ben’s, or someone who’s got the wrong door. I sucked air in hard and fast, grabbed my crutch, and walked towards the front door. My feet became fixed in their position as two bloodshot eyes glared through the letterbox.

“Hello, Chantelle. Open the door, now. Let’s not cause a scene.”

Marcus.

Late at night, in the quiet moments, I’d thought about what I’d say if I saw any of them again. What I’d do if they tried to touch me again. How it would feel to stand up for myself. I had people now; people believed in me. I had worth; people wanted me.

I could do it.

I reached for the rage, but it was gone. My eyes started to well, desperate. Where were my words?

“Alright then, the hard way it is, you stupid bitch,”

Marcus spat as he drew away from the letter box.

The snap of the metal slot closing reverberated through the apartment. I heard thick, Bristolian accents bouncing down the hall. I felt the power drain out of me as my posture drooped. They’d break the door down and kill me. It would be the end, the end of the last chapter, the best chapter; what I thought could have been the first. I wouldn’t go with them, they’d have to kill me. I had to find that strength, at least.

There was a splintering metal clang from outside; a crowbar, or something equally sinister. My body started slowly backing away from the door as my mind emptied.

Marcus’s harsh, gravelly voice continued invading the sanctity of Ben’s apartment. “Come on now Chantelle, did you think you could speak to the pigs and get away with it?”

There was a clunk as another hinge was breached.

“You deserve this. Y’always did. Thought you were too good fer us, eh? With everything Ruby and Frank did for ya.”

I felt the door frame of Ben’s room behind me; it was cold, hard – a boundary. I leant into it, my eyes fixed on the front door. There was a huge crash as it flew violently into the apartment, clinging on by a single hinge. I blinked away a tear, fear gripping me entirely. Nothing would ever change. All I had done was bring this horror upon Ben and his family. I was a coward.

Marcus charged towards me with two of his greasy sidekicks, the usual smell of cheap whisky seeping from their pores. His pace didn’t change and my body wouldn’t move, until his fist hit my stomach, knocking me off my feet, along with the air from my lungs. My head rebounded, hitting the wooden floor hard as my nerves scrambled to find the right response. Light danced around the room; darkness threatened to cover my vision, but dissolved.

Marcus bent down, gripping my cheeks hard, digging his dirty nails into my already tear-soaked face. I could smell his musty sweat. My eyes struggled to focus on his face as I caught the light glinting in his feral eyes.

“I would’ve fucked you well, I would. Frank told me I could ave yer after yer went and ruined yourself.”

His followers began to trash the apartment; I could hear crockery smashing, glass shattering, paper flying through the air. Noise suffocated me until Marcus’s rough voice cut through it, laughing.

“But now, now yer go and do this. Diggin up shit you ‘ave no right diggin’ into.”

His fingernails pressed harder, willing my skin to rupture. “Yer really think that family would want yer back?”

Spit landed on my cheek as he stood up, wrenching me violently with him. I shut my eyes. Something inside me cracked. I waited for the dark to come, welcomed it. I pictured Ben’s face; imagined him stroking my hair.

A hard, round boot crushed my stomach, sending nausea rippling through me as my gut recoiled. I didn’t let out a sound, sealing my dry lips together furiously. I couldn’t fight or speak, but the least I could do was not give them the satisfaction.

My scalp stung as individual hairs tore from their follicles. Instinctively, my hand reached for my head, feeling his cold, thick grip on my hair. My body hung uncontrollably, ruled by pain, as I realised that I was being dragged across the floor towards the door.

“No, no.”

I let out a whimper, a pathetic whimper. I choked it back down. “Kill me,” I pleaded, forcing my eyes shut, releasing a fresh pool of tears. I heard maniacal laughter. “Kill me!”

Marcus grinned. “Can’t have sweet Susan knowing them DNA results, can we? Fancy that, getting yer daughter back after all this time and findin’ out she’s a filthy whore.”

I kicked my leg out with all my energy, but it barely lifted. My jaw seized and my mouth filled with blood. My ears were ringing from the impact, my vision coming in flashes. I was drowning in agony.

I was Maeve White. I was the girl in the photograph.

Breath hissed past my teeth as more blows to my stomach landed. Adrenaline urged me to fight as, once again, my body was dragged. Killing me here would be a mercy. I felt the sharpness of my teeth against my tongue as my head crashed down to the floor again. My hands scrambled to find something to grasp as I saw them all head for the door. One of them dragged their arm along the walls, causing maximum chaos as all the pictures toppled. Something sharp grazed my cheek as I realised they were leaving, the pulling finally easing. I lunged to get my bearings but the apartment kept going in and out of focus.

Were they were running?

My ears picked up the sound of wailing sirens just before the apartment filled with people.

Arms were on my arms, on my face, on my neck, pulling at me. I thrashed, wanting to regain my space; come back into my physical body. I was numb, cold, and violently shaking. The multitude of hands helped me to the sofa. I sat there, frozen, muscles seized up, blood slowly dribbling from my nose. My eyes followed a shiny droplet as it fell onto my knee. Paramedics, in a sea of green uniforms, were crouching in front of me, slipping things onto my arms. I let them. I moved as if I were a puppet, fixated on the blood against my knee as it disappeared into my pyjamas.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually, they slowly raised me from the sofa, directing me towards the wheelchair.

“No!”

I gasped. “No hospital.”

I lowered my weight back down onto the sofa. I didn’t want to move; be moved. Suddenly, my body lulled as Lucy appeared and threw her arms around me. I remained rigid; my muscles wouldn’t let go.

She leaned away, grabbing my face and making me look at her. “What happened? What happened?”

I looked into her eyes as the voices transformed around me, forming understandable words.

“Marcus broke down the door,”

I stuttered, noticing how full the apartment was. Two police officers stood in front of me; others with bags and gloves were moving around the apartment.

It looked awful.

“I’m so sorry.”

Lucy gently brushed the tears from my cheeks with her thumb. “Sorry? For what?”

“They ruined it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her face was slowly coming into focus.

“Where are the kids?”

I asked, suddenly panicking.

“In the car downstairs. Don’t worry, Sophie is grilling a police officer and Isac is on his tablet.”

She stroked a wet strand of hair out of my face. “Where are the wipes and gauze?” she asked the paramedic. “Can I?” She gestured to me softly.

I nodded, allowing her to tentatively roll up my pyjama top and press against my stomach. I flinched. There was a flash of a camera.

“You take the kids home, I’ll be okay.”

Lucy shook her head, putting down a handful of bloodied dressing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly remembering Marcus’ words, I looked at one of the uniformed officers. “Is it true, the results?”

She nodded. “They match. You’re the Maeve White we’ve been looking for.”

I squeezed Lucy’s hand as she paled.

“Elle,”

she whispered. “It’s true.” She got up steadily as her phone buzzed. “One second,” she assured me.

A police officer quickly sat down to interrogate me all over again, flicking through pages of notes and asking for details that seemed no more than a terrible nightmare. When Lucy returned, I was staring at the blood highlighting the indentations of my palms. Why didn’t I recognise them, Susan and Derek?

Steadily, Lucy led me over to the ensuite, helping me peel off my pyjama bottoms and cover my cast. I lowered myself into the shower cubicle, leaving my top on and sitting, needing to be still. The water felt warm as it trickled over my skin, creating a dramatic pattern as it mixed with the red blood. I watched numbly, unable to move.

“Let me help you with your shirt,”

Lucy offered gently from behind the shower door.

I leant over so she could reach, the water splattering on her arms.

“Do you want me to leave?”

she asked.

I shook my head, staring into the distance as the red and brown water spiralled around the drain. The image of Marcus spitting lurched into my mind; I yelped and reached for the soap, squirting it frantically into my hands, rubbing it all over my face. Lucy placed her hands over mine as I carried on scrubbing, circling my hands, forcing the bubbles deeper. My eyes starting to burn.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,”

she repeated.

I reluctantly let her peel my hands down.

Another blurred amount of time passed before Lucy helped me stand up, wrapping a clean towel around me and squeezing the water out of my hair. She became my arms, my brain, so that I could focus on breathing.

“The kids?”

I asked again, lurching to face her.

“Shh,”

she soothed. “Steven has taken them to mine, I made him call from there,” she explained softly, leading me to the dressing table stool in the guest room.

She gathered the wet hair from around my neck and started to brush it, pulling it easily into a plait. Only once I was fully dressed, thanks to Lucy, did she ask if I was ready to head back out.

We rejoined the sombre party in the living room and Lucy made me some tea. My blue tracksuit was softer against the growing bruising, and the smell of shampoo was much better than vomit.

A stern looking police officer had shown up, dressed in a suit. He was probably in his forties, a little burly, and balding.

“We’re organising for you to come to a safe house, then we can arrange a meeting with Susan and Derek. You need to pack a bag; we need to go now. We have some CCTV footage, but we didn’t catch them, and we have reason to believe they’ll be back; we need to get you safe. Someone will stay with you.”

I could tell he was attempting to be reassuring, but the words washed over me. I looked at Lucy. She was standing in the kitchen, taking it in.

“Go when?”

Lucy asked for me.

“Now. You need to understand the gravity of this case, especially combined with the Henworth group. We’ve tied the community to a series of crimes, including burglaries, fraud, assault, and two rapes. With Maeve’s statement, we can get a warrant. We now have physical evidence, so we need to protect it. We need to do everything right; we can’t lose this opportunity.”

I licked my dry lips, still tasting metal.

“Can you help her pack?”

he asked Lucy.

She nodded, leading me back to the bedroom. The officer followed us, standing to the side as we packed my things into a bag. I moved rhythmically, mechanically, taking time to fold my clothes carefully, layering them into my old holdall.

“It’s all going to be okay now,”

Lucy reassured me, taking my hand. “They’ll help you. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, once you’re settled, yeah?”

“I’m afraid the safe house needs to remain secure,”

the officer interrupted coldly.

“What? You can’t just take her away, she needs us!”

Lucy argued. “How do we know she’ll be safe, that we can trust your team?”

The officer didn’t falter. “We’ll get someone to stay with her and call to let you know all is well. We need to do everything to keep her safe; she’s too valuable to be in this apartment on her own. This could have been a lot worse.”

Lucy took a sharp breath. I was confused as I reached for the bed and there were no more clothes to fold. I looked up. Lucy was staring at me intently. Why were there no more clothes? There were clothes there a minute ago.

“What do you want, Elle?”

she asked.

The officer stepped towards us as I fixated on the duvet.

“I don’t think it’s fair to leave this decision to her, given her current mindset,”

the officer stated as he looked to me before picking up my bag.

I pictured all the clothes tipping out of their neat piles… all that folding.

“Will you come with us, Elle?”

he asked, clearly and slowly.

I nodded and started limping to the lounge.

Looking around, I realised there were less people here now, less photos being taken.

“I can’t leave all this mess,”

I whispered, not knowing where to look in the chaos of colours and shapes.

The previously uncluttered coffee table was buried under papers and scattered earth. I spotted shards of a white ceramic on the floor by one of the table legs and instantly went to pick them up, collecting them in my palm.

I heard the increasingly firm voice of the officer pipe up again.

“You don’t need to do that, it’ll all be sorted. We need to get going.”

I ignored him, reaching for another piece. Lucy came to kneel beside me.

“Let me,”

she coaxed, dabbing a grey tea towel into the beige puddle of spilled tea, already holding out a bin for the mug’s remains.

I straightened back up. Everything was wrong.

The officer walked towards me, holding my crutches. “Elle, come on,”

he said, more delicately this time, reaching an arm towards mine.

I flew backwards, nearly falling, as I retreated from his grasp.

“What is going on?”

Ben’s voice boomed furiously through the chaos.

I heard Lucy gasp with relief as the officer headed towards him.

“Mr Carlson?” he asked.

Ben ignored him, striding straight for me and Lucy. I winced as his feet crunched over the broken decor. Lucy immediately stepped into him, throwing her arms around him. I remained rooted to the spot. As Ben hugged her, he looked over her shoulder at me.

“They broke in, Ben,”

Lucy stuttered. “The police barely got here in time. If Elle hadn’t called… if she hadn’t called…” She broke off, her fingers gripping his back. “She’s Maeve, Ben. It’s all true, the DNA results came back.”

The officer in charge tightened his hold on my bag. “We’ll get Maeve to a safe house tonight, but we need to go now.”

“She’s not going anywhere,”

Ben stated gruffly.

Lucy eased away from him, wiping clumsily at her face.

He moved to stand in front of me. I looked past him to the door, at the ugly crack in the wooden edging. Neither of us spoke.

The officer continued, becoming impatient again. “She needs to go, Mr Carlson. It’s procedure. She won’t be left on her own.”

“She could’ve been killed, Ben,”

Lucy sniffed.

He twisted to look back at her, rage radiating from his face. “You would’ve let her go, on her own?”

Lucy started sobbing again. There was a trickle of tea running towards the edge of the breakfast bar.

“She goes nowhere without us,”

Ben demanded angrily, looking back at me, hesitating to touch me.

“With respect, Mr Carlson, it’s not your decision. The safe house is ready, and we’ll call you,”

the officer stated. “This is a long running investigation—”

“It’s not your decision either,”

Ben interrupted. “You have no right to stand here, in my apartment, making decisions for Elle.”

“She’s in no fit state to fully understand—”

Ben threw his hands up. “Exactly!”

I felt my leg wobble underneath me, a warning from my body that I was about to fold. I’d been standing for a while. Before I thought to reach out, Ben’s hands flew to my arms, the steadying force a relief as he gripped me.

“You don’t have to go.”

He spoke quietly, tentatively, searching for eye contact.

“I’m sorry, they messed up your apartment. They made such a mess, I’ll clean it,”

I muttered, staring at the blood splatter on the wall.

Ben paused, still supporting my weight. “I don’t give a shit about the apartment.”

He turned to the others. “You all need to go; can’t you see the state she’s in? You need to go so she can rest. Now.”

“Ben,”

Lucy rasped.

“Don’t you start. You really think she wants to go with the police? So what if she’s Maeve, she’s also Elle!”

Lucy shook her head and fumbled. “I wasn’t thinking…”

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

The officer interjected abrasively. “Elle… Maeve… we need to leave now. Leave Ben and Lucy to sort out the apartment, we can go find you somewhere to rest, away from the press.”

“Get the fuck out,”

Ben growled, twisting to face him.

“Be careful, son,”

the officer commanded, anger rising in the air.

“What are you going to do, arrest me? Try it.”

Somehow, he stood taller, still holding my arms but now practically holding me up as my strength drained. He looked at me again, his expression instantly softening. “Elle, what do you want to do? Let me help you. Do you want to go?”

I looked around the room and, finally, a tear rolled down my cheek. As it tracked down my skin, I felt it bring with it pain, sorrow, and pangs of absolute terror. Ben understood.

“You need to say it,”

he spoke in almost a whisper. “Stay with me,” he almost pleaded, making the other faces fade into nothing.

I looked at him, and what the tear had started, his eyes finished. My legs buckled.

“Don’t make me go,” I sobbed.

He pulled me tightly into him, his hand running through my hair as he tucked my face into his warm shoulder. I shut my eyes, feeling the soft cotton and breathing in the familiar smell of him; diving into the darkness and away from the chaos.

“Everyone happy?”

he said aggressively to the officer.

The officer sighed in response and walked towards the door, waving his arms and talking to one of his uniformed colleagues. “We’ll station an officer outside for tonight and speak in the morning, when we’ve all had some rest. I invite you to take this time to see sense.”

As the police and forensics team departed, Ben moved so he could sit me on the sofa. Once the apartment was quiet, he said goodbye to Lucy, making sure the door was secure as she left. I heard the kettle boiling while he made some phone calls. Reaching over the coffee table, I started picking up shards of glass from a broken candle. One of the pieces pricked my hand, but I didn’t feel it.

“Hey, hey, stop,”

he murmured, jogging over, placing down a steaming drink as he crouched in front of me, bringing one hand underneath mine and using the other to uncurl my fingers from the glass.

He tipped my palm gently so the pieces fell to the table, sticky with blood, before taking a tissue and dabbing the fresh specs of red from my palm, inspecting for shards. He closed my fingers around the tissue, lifting my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles.

“Vicky’s on her way over, do you need anything for the pain?”

I shook my head, wincing. He leant over and gingerly rolled up my tracksuit top, failing to hide his flinch.

Taking the tea in one hand and supporting me with the other, Ben led me to his bedroom. I tucked my legs in as he pulled the cover up, gently kissing my head.

“Give me an hour to get everything safe and I’ll be in. Just call me if you need anything.”

I lay there, listening to him clattering around; Vicky arrived shortly after, swearing obscenely. The clinking of glass and rustle of bags filled the apartment.

Maeve.

Maeve White.

“Thank you so much, Vicky,”

I heard Ben say. “Here, take this, please.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s far too generous. I would’ve come regardless, and you know it. I like Elle, she doesn’t deserve this. I mean, no one does.”

“Take it, please, or I’ll just transfer it to you.”

I heard muttering after that, then the door closing. The sound rang through me, my mind flashing through images of Marcus bursting through, how his steps had thundered towards me. I heard Ben in his bathroom and tried to focus on the familiar sound of his toothbrush, forcing air in and out as my eyes fixated on a small spot of white wall.

Ben climbed into the bed, pulling me towards him, one arm under my waist, the other over the top, gripping my hands. He was so much taller and broader than me, it felt deeply soothing to be held by him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

His voice drifted through the darkness.

He sounded exhausted.

I forced an overdue blink. “I should go. It’s not going to stop. It won’t ever stop.”

I felt his firm hand squeeze mine. “Don’t you dare say that.”

I found his confident, familiar tone soothing.

He hesitated. “What did he do, Elle?”

My voice was devoid of emotion. “Kicked me – I think. It was hard to tell. I… they wanted to take me back.”

There was a pause as I felt his shoulder stiffen. “I should’ve been here.”

“I’m glad you’re here now.”

He tucked his chin into my shoulder.

“The apartment, is it okay?”

He tucked both my hands into one of his, using the free one to stroke a strand of loose hair from my face, kissing my cheek. “It’s all clean and tidy, don’t worry. Just shut your eyes and try to rest.”

Daylight stung my eyes, the reality of the night before punching the air from my lungs. The horror in Lucy’s eyes… Ben’s pain… it made it so much harder – not being alone. My hands flew to my mouth as panic suffocated me.

Ben tightened his arms around me, still curled against my back.

“It’s okay, we’re safe. You’re safe.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

I asked, suddenly confused, struggling to calm myself.

Ben ran his thumb over my knuckles and the panic loosened its grip on me, the sensation helping me draw another reviving breath.

“Lucy called me, when you rang her and I knew something was wrong. I went straight to the airport; my hotel was onsite. There was a flight within the hour that they managed to get me on. I came as fast as I could.”

I nestled back into him even further. “What about your client?”

“They’ll understand.”

My throat felt like it was going to close up again. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry that people attacked you, in your own home?”

“My home?”

I rolled over carefully to face him, wincing.

I rested my hand on his arm, taking in his face. I didn’t often see him without his glasses; it made him look younger, more vulnerable. His dark eyes stared freely into mine.

“I’m glad that’s what you decided to focus on.”

He paused, eyes roving my face. “You could have gone, Elle, to the safe house. I didn’t think you would want to, but considering the news, maybe you should?”

It hit me then, how I could’ve been alone right now, left to face all of this by myself, not tucked up in bed with Ben.

I shook my head. I remembered the details now. Ben’s angry exchange with the officer; Lucy helping me pick up the shards of ceramic from the floor.

“Lucy, oh god, is she okay? She… she plaited my hair.”

I bought my hand up to feel my soft braid.

He kissed my forehead tenderly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get up and call her in a minute.”

I nuzzled into him, surrounding myself in his warmth.

“It’s all going to change again. Isn’t it?”

I whispered.

Ben pulled me tighter. “Yes. It is.”

The rest of the day was sore and bizarre. The police came back and Ben argued with them again. This time, I made my feelings clearer. I didn’t want to go, no matter who I was. Ben told them if they wanted my help with putting the case together, the least they could do was offer protection until arrests were made. After much back-and-forth, it was agreed that residents would be spoken to and building security upgraded. We both spoke to Lucy; I thanked her for helping me, and Ben apologised to her, although I’m not sure he meant it.

The police told us they were in the process of talking to Maeve’s family, and a case worker, Linda, would be around in the afternoon to organise the next steps.

Just as I’d found my feet, I was back at the peak of the rollercoaster track, waiting for another free fall.