Page 15

Shots fired

It wasn’t remembering, it was revising. Susan shuffled towards the edge of her sofa, leaning over to show me their photo album and pointing out family members. She had a brother, and Derek a sister. It was strange looking at the rosy-cheeked, jolly Christmas photos. Derek’s side of the family had stubby noses, and Susan’s all seemed to have wide, rounded eyes.

I could see their features so clearly in the photos, yet in the mirror, I looked nothing like them.

Susan beamed telling me about Harry, her baby great-nephew living with her nephew and his husband. I watched her profile as she spoke, wondering how it felt for her to be in all these photos with her brother’s children, but not her own daughter.

“You mentioned that you ride?”

she added. “That’s Mary, your aunt, she has a horse. They never were able to have children. Do you remember when we would go to the stables?”

I chewed on my bottom lip and shook my head. “No, sorry.”

She shut the book. “Nothing? You really don’t remember anything.”

“I—”

Out of nowhere, Susan put her hand on my arm. I don’t think she necessarily intended to break the physical barrier so brazenly, but it happened. We both looked at her hand.

“You can tell me, I can take it. You can tell me the truth,”

she said, gently moving back.

My heart clenched. She should be able to touch her daughter, I felt that pain for her, wanted her to have that solace.

“I only remember Henworth. I want to recognise the people in these photos more than anything, but… look, I’m trying, really, I am.”

“We know, dear,”

Derek assured me softly.

Susan hugged the album. “Do you think you might feel up to coming home, see if that helps?”

I looked down at the patchy grey carpet tiles. “I hate coming to the police station, but I feel like the harder I try to remember, the further I reach. I don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s the same.”

Linda looked up from her notebook. “I can send you my availability, if you like, for home visits. Later in the week is easier. Although, I agree with Elle, we don’t want to rush things. It’s such an adjustment. If she is going to remember anything, it is unlikely to be when she’s under additional stress.”

After a few pleasantries, we said our goodbyes. I left the room first, watching as Derek comforted Susan before they also entered the dingy hallway. A couple of officers walked past, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“I, um, have a mobile phone,”

I said, catching the couple off guard. I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to Derek. “If you like, you can put your number in.”

“Elle, I’m not sure that’s wise,”

Linda warned. “Susan, I know you’re finding this all very hard, but Elle needs to feel able to distance herself.”

I looked at Susan and she looked at me, her eyes glossing over as Derek held the phone loosely.

“It’s okay,”

I confirmed.

Susan let out a desperate smile, and it felt like something inside me fell out of place. Although it sliced through me, it was a pleasant feeling. I decided I liked it.

“We’ll try the front door,”

Ben suggested as he turned the car away from the raucous crowd surrounding the garage.

I wiggled lower into the leather seat, grumbling. He parked up onto a side road, twisting around and shuffling behind us before tossing a hoodie onto my lap.

“For stealth.”

“Stealth? Are you trying to be funny?”

I scowled, getting a waft of aftershave from the black jumper.

“Look, they haven’t got a good photo of you yet, this will buy us, what, thirty seconds?”

“Ben Carlson walking beside a girl with a crutch, wearing a hoodie? Really?”

He scoffed and opened the door. “Just put it on, sunshine.”

I pulled it over my head and clambered out, staring down the quiet side road at the traffic whizzing past. “You’re annoying when you’re chirpy.”

He stepped towards me, making me back up against the car. Running his hands past my neck, he pulled the hood up, sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re annoying most of the time. Now come on.”

He pushed off the car and gripped my waist, pulling me forwards. “I want to shower before my date later. We’ll just walk straight in the door.”

“I can’t, not without my crutch.”

“Trust me, I’ve got you.”

I wrapped my arm around his back as he practically lifted me off my feet at his side.

“Maeve, Maeve, have you seen your parents again today?”

“Maeve, how do you know Ben?”

The chorus was quieter with Ben, and he was right, we’d nearly made it to the big glass doors before the media stampeded.

“Told you,”

he gloated as we walked towards one of the lifts.

“Well, yeah, you practically threw me through the door.”

I squeezed his side.

“Oh, forgive me, princess. Want us to go back and try again?”

He let go to press the button.

I steadied my legs as my cast rested against the marble floor. “And Lucy says you don’t have a sense of humour.”

“Maybe you—”

Ben was interrupted by someone calling my name.

“Chantelle?”

It wasn’t the reporters; they knew they couldn’t cross the boundary. No, this was someone who had been sitting on the bottom step, but was now getting up. Someone in plaid, with messy hair, in his early twenties.

Sam.

I knew it was him, only… he’d changed; it was like I was looking at him through a different pair of eyes. He looked thin and short, young and flimsy. My body stiffened as my breath hitched. Ben looked at me, then at Sam, stepping away from the button and putting himself between us. The security team responsible for the building had contacted all residents about door access after Marcus got in, but the press outside were creating chaos.

“Chantelle, thank god, I’ve been so worried about you. Running off like that, after how we ended things?”

I swallowed, feeling my throat narrow.

Sam stepped closer.

“Who the hell are you?”

Ben asked aggressively, standing firm.

Sam chuckled. “Stand the old man down, Elle.”

“What are you doing here?”

I asked in a hushed, breathy voice as my stomach somersaulted. My body remembered Henworth; it remembered Sam walking away.

He craned around Ben, still keeping a couple of steps distance. “I’ve come to tell you I’m sorry. To beg you to come back to me. I miss you, so much. It was a stupid mistake.”

“I know about the money, Sam,”

I murmured as my heart instantly drank in his words, like a fool.

Ben stepped slightly to my side, still poised to intervene.

“Jesus. Look, you know I needed a new car. I needed the money.”

Ben looked at me; I felt the warmth of his gaze as my eyes stayed fixed on Sam. I willed myself to step forwards, to face Sam, to take control. I wanted to.

I was disappointingly empty.

“I love you, Elle, you know,”

Sam blundered on. “I’ve always loved you. We can fix this. I spoke to Frank; they just want to talk. They’re your parents, you should give them the chance to explain.”

I looked away to find Ben clenching his fists at his side. My toes curled in my shoe as my knees loosened, threatening to fold. The thought of Frank and Ruby, the thought of seeing them… the ingrained desire for their approval.

“Just go, Sam,”

I whispered, begging myself not to cry. Not in front of him, not again.

“You heard her,”

Ben hissed as the lift doors slid open and the bell pinged. He reached out a hand and gently nudged me in. I took a few tenuous steps.

Sam looked between us, his expression dissolving into something colder. He dragged his phone from his back pocket and there was a blinding flash as he took a picture, then another. I lost my footing and stumbled back. The light bounced off the mirrored walls of the lift. I scrambled to stand just as I saw Ben launch himself across the floor and the doors began to close, sealing me in. I reached forwards, thumping my palms on the moving metal. I turned and hammered the buttons as I heard shouting and clattering. Painful seconds passed as I heard the commotion, but I was trapped, unable to see.

The doors opened ridiculously slowly, taunting me as I desperately waited to see what scene would unveil itself. Diving through the gap and clinging onto the wall, I toppled back into the foyer. Sam’s phone was smashed on the floor and the two of them were scuffling by the doors, much to the excitement of the press. Red glistened on Sam’s lip as Ben dragged him, by his shirt, to the entrance, wrenching it open and tossing him onto the concrete step. The press swarmed hungrily as Ben straightened himself up, waiting for the door to click shut before stretching out his fingers and turning back to me; breezing over to where I remained frozen, suspended with shock.

“Ben, god, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe he showed up here,”

I gasped as he reached me.

The doors on the lift began to close so he pressed a hand against them, keeping them open, waiting for me to enter. Frantically focused on him, I did, scanning him for injuries as he followed.

Ben leant forwards and pressed the button, the doors closing again on the foyer, which was still lighting up with flashes

“Don’t be,”

he said with an exhale, gathering himself as if nothing had happened. “I’m not.”

“What?”

I mumbled, my mind frenzied.

He adjusted his glasses and looked at me. “He had it coming. He’s smaller than I imagined.”

I remained in stunned silence until we reached Ben’s floor.

“You coming?”

he asked as he casually exited the lift, extending a hand.

I limped out, trying desperately to process what had just happened.

“I’m going to call security. I pay enough bloody service charges and I made myself quite clear after Monday. I will find out who let him in.”

Walking into the apartment, Ben went straight to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses, filling them both with water. He slid one across the work top to me as he answered a phone call, attempting to reassure a frantic Lucy who’d seen the news. I dropped my head into my hands.

“You okay?”

I heard once he’d hung up.

I looked up from my hands, stretching my cheeks with my fingers. “I have no idea. I am so sorry.”

“I already told you, it’s fine. Don’t start, I’m looking forward to going out.”

“Ben, you punched him, in front of the press, because of me. He was in your building and all you do is make some joke about him being small?”

He shrugged, unclipping his cuff links and setting them in the glass bowl. “You think I’d let him talk to you like that, take your photo?”

Ben loosened his tie. “Hm?”

“You don’t have to defend me, Ben, you could’ve hurt yourself.”

He laughed, walking past me towards his bedroom. “Now I’m offended.”

“Wait,”

I flapped. “You still want to go out?”

Ben turned in his doorway as he unbuttoned his shirt. “It’s the least you owe me now.”