Let Me In

  Let Me In

  Alison Keane

  Copyright © 2020 by Alison Keane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Ellie

  2. Ellie

  3. Ellie

  4. Ellie

  5. John

  6. Joy

  7. John

  8. Ellie

  9. Ellie

  10. John

  11. Ellie

  12. Mikey

  13. Ellie

  14. Ellie

  15. Ellie

  16. Ellie

  17. Joy

  18. Ellie

  19. Ellie

  20. Mikey

  21. Ellie

  22. Ellie

  23. Ellie

  24. Ellie

  25. Ellie

  26. Ellie

  27. Ellie

  28. Ellie

  29. Joy

  30. Ellie

  31. Ellie

  32. Mikey

  33. Ellie

  34. John

  35. Ellie

  36. Ellie

  37. Ellie

  38. Ellie

  39. John

  40. John

  41. Ellie

  42. Ellie

  43. Ellie

  44. Ellie

  45. Ellie

  46. Ellie

  47. Ellie

  48. Ellie

  49. Ellie

  Ellie

  Sunday night

  I jerk awake. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am. The couch in my flat. I gasp in a breath and tell myself to calm down.

  I’m safe.

  My plan worked.

  I look around as I sit up. It’s still dark. Disappointment washes over me—I’m impatient to get going but the first trains don’t leave until six in the morning.

  How long was I asleep for? It feels like I’ve only just drifted off.

  I yawn and reach for my phone, groaning when it’s not right in front of me on the table. I must have thrashed around in my sleep and knocked it off.

  I lean forward and feel around on the floor beside me. When I don’t find it there, I try the narrow space beneath the couch. It’s not there either.

  My heart starts to race. I know I’m being silly, but I have the strongest sense that I’m not alone in the flat. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I’m just being paranoid. I reach for the lamp on the side table before I remember that the bulb blew a few weeks ago and I still haven’t gotten around to replacing it.

  I stand up and move to the other side of the room where the light switch is. I’ve walked around the flat in the dark often enough to know its layout from memory, but I keep my hands out in front of me just in case—I can’t afford to trip over something and injure myself; not tonight.

  I only make it a few steps when my fingers brush off something. At first I think I’ve gone the wrong way and walked into the curtains, but that thought only lasts an instant because whatever I’m touching is warm. My flat is a lot of things, but warm isn’t one of them. What’s in front of me isn’t a wall or a window.

  It’s him.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  That’s not possible.

  But then I remember my doubts from earlier. Didn’t I wonder if it was all just a big double-bluff? I told myself I was being paranoid, but now it seems I wasn’t. I should have known I could never outsmart him.

  I hear the slightest snort of air and my heart hammers. He’s enjoying this, I think, and that only makes it worse.

  I want to scream at him. I want to lash out for all the pain and misery he’s caused me, but I hold back. I need to be smart about this. There’s only one way out of the flat and that’s through the front door.

  I’ll have to get past him first.

  How am I supposed to do that when I’m struggling to catch my breath?

  He still hasn’t said anything—it’s completely unnerving.

  I launch myself in the direction of the door, hoping there’s enough space to get around him and get away before he can stop me.

  It doesn’t work like that. The floorboards creak and I collide with a wall of muscle. Fingers close around my upper arms.

  He laughs cruelly as he throws me backwards. My head smacks against the edge of the table and erupts in a world of pain.

  Ellie

  Friday: nine days earlier

  My phone buzzes on the table. I glance down, expecting to see Dad’s name. But it’s not from Dad: the text is from a number that’s not in my contacts; just a series of digits that I don’t recognise.

  I slam my cup on the table and almost spill my coffee. A familiar wave of dread washes over me, made worse by the fact that I thought this was behind me.

  It can’t be. I want to cry. My life hasn’t exactly turned around in the last few months, but things had definitely died down—or so I thought.

  Opposite me, my friend Steph is oblivious to the turmoil in my mind. “Check it if you want—I don’t mind.”

  I close my eyes. How do I explain to her that this isn’t something I want to see? I’ll ignore it. I’ll pop to the shops after we leave here and buy a new sim card. Dad and Steph are the only people who ever contact me anyway. I can just lie and say I’ve changed providers or something.

  “Go on,” Steph says.

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll check it later. It’s probably nothing.”

  She watches me through narrowed eyes with a suspicious smirk playing at the edges of her mouth. I realise what she’s thinking. I’m just about to tell her she’s got it wrong when her hand darts forward and grabs my phone off the table.

  “Steph, no.”

  She doesn’t understand. She only moved here a few months ago and even though we’ve become quite good friends, I haven’t told her about what happened last year. I can’t: she’s the only friend I have and I don’t want to lose her too.

  But she ignores me and taps the screen.

  I bury my face in my hands. She’s going to know now; she’s going to know that I’ve been hiding the truth from her.

  It doesn’t even surprise me that they found my number. Nothing surprises me anymore.

  I keep waiting for Steph to react. When she doesn’t, I look up and find her grinning at me over the top of my phone.

  My stomach lurches. Why is she smiling? She’s only ever been nice to me since we got chatting a few months ago after yoga. Why would she take pleasure in reading something nasty?

  “You didn’t tell me you’d met someone,” she says.

  “Eh?” My stomach lurches. I lean across the table so the older couple next to us can’t hear. I don’t want to talk about it, but her reaction has thrown me so the need to know outweighs the urge to run back home and barricade myself inside. “What the hell does it say?”

  She looks at me funnily before taking a breath. “Hi Ellie, it’s Nathan. We met in the supermarket. Was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink sometime.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, leaning back too far in my chair. The front legs slam against the floor tiles as I correct myself, but I’m too relieved to care. Of course! Nathan! I’d forgotten his name because the truth is I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of our brief chat in the supermarket.

  Steph watches me, waiting for me to explain.

  “I met him in the supermarket,” I say weakly. “I’d completely forgotten.”

  Her eyes bore into me. “Who did you think it was?”

  “No-one.” I can’t tell her. How can I? She wouldn�
��t believe me.

  She stares at me for a few moments and then seems to realise I’m not going to say any more. “So are you going to meet him?”

  I smile. I’ve been too busy worrying about hiding the truth from her that I haven’t really thought about it. Not that there’s much to think about. It’s been a long time since I was last on a date. The truth is, I’d given up hope of finding a boyfriend until I can move to London or Manchester and get away from this place. Manchester, most likely. I’ll never be able to afford London rents.

  “I don’t see why not,” I say as casually as I can.

  I can think of a thousand reasons why not, each of them valid. What I really need to do is keep my head down and live like a hermit until I’ve saved enough to rent a flat somewhere else.

  That’s what I’ve been doing for almost a year—and I’m still nowhere close to having enough money.

  “You should,” she says. “It’d be good for you.”

  “I should get back to work.”

  “But we’ve only just sat down! God, Ellie, they work you too hard there.”

  “You work far longer hours than me.”

  “I know, but…” She flushes.

  I shake my head. I don’t know why I’m defending my job. BE Call Solutions is the sort of place you work short-term whilst you sort out a better option. I’ve kind of gotten stuck there. I was planning to leave and had even done up my CV to apply to new jobs before it happened—now nobody else would hire me and I know I should count myself lucky that work hasn’t fired me.

  “Should I text him back?” I ask, chewing on a nail. I definitely fancy him: there’s no question about that. I just never expected him to get in touch. Most people around here have heard Mikey’s twisted version of what happened between us.

  “Of course! I just told you to. Do you want me to do it?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “What about the Builder’s Arms? That’s usually busy.”

  I recoil. There’s no way I’m setting foot in that place again. “It’s a nice pub,” I mutter, tapping in a reply. I suggest a drink tomorrow evening around seven in one of the new bars on Bridge Street. I hesitate for a moment before I press send because I’m not convinced this is a good idea.

  In the end, Steph leans in quickly and presses send for me.

  “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I just think it’ll be good for you.”

  I can’t be annoyed at her—she didn’t mean anything bad by it. “What about you? Have you been seeing anyone?” I ask before I can stop myself. We’ve never talked about past relationships because it’s obviously not a subject I want to get into. I kick myself for saying anything, but it’s too late: it’s out there now.

  Steph’s features tighten. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh?” That’s news to me. She’s such a straight-forward person that I can’t imagine her being involved in anything that’s not straight-forward. That’s naive of me, though: I should know better after what I’ve been through. I change the subject quickly before she can turn my question back on me. “Come on,” I say, wearily. “I’d best get back to work.”

  We put on our coats in silence—mine’s a tatty Primark one from a few years ago; Steph’s is soft black wool cut so well it has to have been expensive.

  I shiver as soon as we emerge onto the street—the temperature has dipped this week and it’s supposed to snow this weekend. Steph links her arm through mine, but instead of feeling comforting like it should, I’m gripped by a terrible sense of dread.

  I’ve kept my head down like a frightened rabbit the past year. I’m excited about the prospect of a date with Nathan, but it scares me witless too. I’ve barely been out after dark in all that time. I’ve been living in the shadows. What’s going to happen to me if I put myself out there again? How will Mikey react?

  I become aware of Steph tugging at my arm and realise at the same time that she’s yelling at me. I turn my head slowly.

  “Ellie! What is it?”

  I shake my head. I can’t tell her. I swore I wouldn’t. Everybody else I know walked away from me because they believed his twisted lies, even when I tried to tell them the truth. Everybody except my Dad—and that’s probably because I’ve never been able to bring myself to tell him what happened.

  “I just got a bit lightheaded, that’s all. I probably should have had more to eat.”

  I can’t tell Steph. I can’t.

  I need her.

  Ellie

  Saturday

  What was I thinking?

  I look around again. It’s dark out, but the streetlights overhead feel like they’re spotlight beams, highlighting my presence to everyone who walks past. And that’s a lot of people. Nathan suggested we come to the night market instead of going to the pub and I happily agreed because it seemed more anonymous.

  Now I’m regretting that decision. We agreed to meet at the gate to the park where the market is on. There’s not a whole lot to do around here and people have come out in crowds to wander around the stalls.

  I grit my teeth. I should have thought of this. It feels like everyone’s looking at me and there’s no sign of Nathan. I rummage in my handbag, pretending I’m hunting for my phone when I know exactly which pocket it’s in. It’s more for show; for something to do.

  I take out my phone and activate the screen. He’s late. We agreed to meet at seven and it’s almost ten past. That wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl right now. I don’t know how much longer I can stand here on my own, wondering who’s out there lurking in the shadows.

  Two girls around my age walk past. One says something to the other, who glances at me and smirks. I pull my coat tighter. I always used to trust my judgement. I can’t do that anymore. It’s impossible to know whether I’m being paranoid or whether they really are talking about me. I don’t know which is worse.

  I shiver and look around at the dark windows of the buildings that surround the park on all sides. A horrible thought strikes me.

  What if this is a set-up?

  It’s just too much of a coincidence that a single guy around my age hasn’t heard those lies about me.

  I shouldn’t have come. I should have stayed home where it’s safe.

  “I left my phone at home. Sorry I’m late.”

  Nathan appears in front of me just as I’m working myself into a frenzy. I’m so on edge that I recoil.

  He frowns. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t,” I say, working hard to sound relaxed.

  He nods and, amazingly, the tension inside me starts to ease away. “It’s cold. Shall we go look around?”

  I nod. As we walk through the gates, I try to force down the sense of hope that’s rising inside me. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to mess this up if he’s sincere, but I’ve got to know if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

  “When did you move here?” I ask as casually as I can, even though my heart is pounding. So much rides on his answer. If he’s from out of town then maybe, just maybe…

  He glances at me. “I’ve always lived here.”

  “Oh,” I say. My heart sinks. I hope my disappointment doesn’t show on my face. “Right. How old did you say you were?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  I frown. He’s only a year older than me. This isn’t a big town. “Were you one of the geeky lads who couldn’t bring themselves to talk to girls?” I ask playfully.

  His expression darkens and I curse myself for saying that.

  “So where did you go to school, then?”

  “I didn’t go to school here. My father taught at a private school in Bristol so we stayed up there during term and came back here for summers.”

  I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe he hasn’t heard.

  “Look.” Nathan elbows me. “They have mulled wine. Do you want one?”

  I say nothing, frozen b
y indecision. I haven’t had a drink in almost a year. I swore to myself that I’d never drink again, but I can smell the spices wafting towards us and I can only imagine the warm fiery sensation on my tongue.

  “Save us that bench,” he says, pointing up the path. “I’ll grab us two.”

  My protests die on my lips: he’s disappeared into the crowd before I can tell him no; that I’m fine with tea or juice or whatever else they have.

  I shiver as I make my way to the bench before anyone else can take it. It’s fine when I’m with Nathan, but when I’m on my own like this the fear returns. Maybe it’s good that he’s insisted on getting those mulled wines: the alcohol might help me relax. There’s nothing to fear—I’ve got to convince myself of that if I’m to have any hope of a normal life.

  I can just about see Nathan towards the back of the snaking queue. I can’t help but smile as I watch him look around and fidget. He can’t stand still for even a moment. Am I flattering myself by thinking he’s impatient to get back to me?

  Adrenaline surges through me. I watch him slowly make his way further along the queue and I can’t stop my foot from jiggling too. I’m impatient for him to come back, but it’s for different reasons.

  It gets darker all of a sudden and I look up to see why. My dad is hovering over me, blocking out the light from the nearest street light.