Let Me In Page 3

  He sighed and looked around. The place was quiet, but it wasn’t relaxing—well, it may have been for someone else. John couldn’t relax. Not now. Not after what had happened with Ellie. Not since the letter. It had been waiting for him on the doormat when he came home from work last Tuesday. The familiar messy handwriting. The postmark blurred, but still legible, those few words instantly recognisable and dreadful.

  The barely-veiled threat inside.

  How the hell had he found John? He’d covered his tracks so well—or so he’d thought.

  It felt like everything was falling apart. It was all going so well a year ago, but then things began to crumble one by one. And now this.

  He was tired of the lies. He couldn’t even keep track of them anymore. They’d come so easily when Ellie was questioning him earlier. But he wasn’t a natural liar—nor a skilled one. The only factor in his favour was that Ellie wasn’t naturally inquisitive.

  He frowned. Today had been a different story. And she hadn’t let up when he asked her to. What did that mean?

  It was down to that lad. He just knew it. It didn’t make sense otherwise. He took another drink, wincing as the amber liquid burned his throat. Was this something to be worried about?

  He slammed his tumbler back down on the table with such force that the glass surface juddered in its housing.

  He didn’t know anymore. He was sick of the lies. He shouldn’t have said what he did, but he’d been worried. He was just trying to look out for her. Seeing her with that lad had been a shock to the system. What was he sniffing around for?

  A sharp knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts.

  Ellie? he thought, feeling a momentary burst of hope before he realised that it couldn’t be her: she always rang the doorbell. But aside from that, it couldn’t be her because he knew she wouldn’t be back. Not after what had been said earlier.

  Who the hell is there if it’s not Ellie?

  He didn’t have a lot of visitors and those he did have never showed up unannounced. Who knocked on somebody’s door this late on a Sunday? Then it hit him.

  No.

  No, it couldn’t be. But it made sense, didn’t it? First the letter and now this.

  There was another knock, more insistent this time. John got up. He cursed the whisky now. It had calmed him, but it had also clouded his mind.

  He knew as soon as he got to the kitchen doorway. The figure visible through the glass in the front door was too big and broad to be female. It could have been any tall, broad man, of course, but John suspected that it was one man in particular.

  I should have planned for this. I should have run when I had the chance.

  This was the last thing he needed. The timing couldn’t possibly be any worse.

  He pulled open the door and shook his head when he saw Tony standing in the porch, his lips twisted into that familiar smirk.

  “Hello, John.”

  John’s heart hammered uncomfortably against his ribs. What was it, twenty years since he’d seen Tony? His hatred hadn’t changed, but time had made him forget just how repulsive and frightening the other man really was. “What are you doing here? How the hell did you find me?”

  “I’m here to see you. Do you always speak to your guests like that?” Tony laughed. “Not that you have many of those.”

  John’s blood froze in his veins. It didn’t take a genius to read between the lines. He was being watched and he hadn’t even noticed.

  He thought back over the last several months. He’d gotten complacent. How could he have been such a fool?

  “So you’ve been watching me. Good for you. I thought you’d remember that I lead a very dull existence.” John’s heart thumped. That wasn’t exactly true though, was it? He wondered just how diligent Tony’s surveillance had been. John had been careful—but had he been careful enough?

  “That depends on who you ask, doesn’t it? Did you enjoy the market?”

  John’s heart sank. He should have known. Damn it, why hadn’t he taken the letter seriously? He should have gone into lockdown as soon as he’d seen it. He’d seriously underestimated Tony—he just hoped he wouldn’t have to pay the price for that. “What do you want?”

  John’s throat ached from the knot that had formed there. He had to face the possibility that Tony might ruin everything. He craned his neck to see the houses across the street. Passersby couldn’t see in from the footpath, but if any of the neighbours were upstairs looking out their windows…

  But what else could he do? He wouldn’t invite this cretin into his home.

  “Worried about what the neighbours might think, John?”

  He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Imagine how they’d react if they knew what you’d done?”

  John’s blood ran cold. “What could you possibly gain…”

  But Tony just smiled. “I’ll go to the police if you won’t help me.”

  He’s bluffing, John told himself. People like Tony didn’t go to the police. Even so, he couldn’t stop shaking. “I can’t help you.”

  He started to close the door. Tony shoved his foot in the way.

  “Don’t close the door on me! You owe me!”

  John was too surprised not to react. “Owe you?” he snorted. “You ruined my life.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” the other man spat. “I spent the last twenty years locked away but you want to act the victim?”

  You deserved every minute and more, John thought, but he said nothing. No good was going to come from antagonising Tony. He had to be clever about this. But what could he do? Things were complicated now. He couldn’t just pay Tony off—as much as he’d like to get rid of him.

  “Look, it’s not a good time—”

  “Bullshit. I’ve waited long enough.”

  John sighed. He knew that look. He’d seen it often enough before. Tony wasn’t going to give in. But neither could he—not on this. “No. No way.”

  Anger flashed in Tony’s eyes. “You owe me.”

  John shook his head. “It’s just not possible right now.”

  Tony took a step closer—close enough that John could smell the smoke and stale booze on his breath.

  “I didn’t come here to listen to excuses. I know what you did, John. Don’t test me.”

  There was no point in denying it, was there? “You’d have done the same thing, Tony. Don’t try to deny it.” He looked around. He had to be careful. This was something the neighbours could never know about. That no-one could know about. “Think about it. You would.”

  Tony’s lip curled into a snarl. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’d never have betrayed you like that.” He took a step closer and jabbed John in the chest. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

  Joy

  24 years ago

  A sense of dread comes over me as I walk up the path to the house. It’s sunny and light out on the street, but never in here. The light is always blocked by either the house or the trees that border the footpath. John loves the privacy of it, but if I’m honest I can’t stand the place. Why do the trees have to be so high? It’s not like we have anything to hide.

  A lump forms in my throat.

  I don’t, but John does.

  I clear my throat and try to talk some sense into myself. It’s important that I keep my true feelings hidden. I’d rather be anywhere else in the world but here but he can’t know that. He can’t.

  I stop and force a smile. It takes me a few goes. I have no choice: I’m terrified he’ll see the truth in my eyes.

  When did it get this bad? When did I start dreading the sight of him? Things used to be so good. I’m more certain than ever that this house has turned everything rotten.

  I rummage in my handbag for my keys, resisting the urge to turn and walk away. Because I could. I could get on a bus to Leeds or even London. I could start again. I’d be starting with nothing, but anything would be better than this.

  My hand is
shaking so badly it takes me a few tries to get my key in the lock.

  I take a deep breath as I push the door open.

  He’s waiting for me in the hall.

  Damn.

  I should have prepared for this.

  “Joy.”

  I smile. And then I laugh because it’s so ridiculous. Even after everything that’s happened, I love him with all of my heart. “John.”

  “What’s so funny?” he snaps. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”

  Work, I think. If he only knew the truth. He can’t know. Which can only mean he’s picking a fight.

  My hand instinctively flies to my stomach, before I catch myself and move it away. I’m not showing yet, but he’s smart. I mustn’t underestimate him.

  This is the moment I should tell him. I know that.

  But I can’t.

  “I took the afternoon off. To run some errands.”

  “Oh?”

  Tell him, a voice inside me screams.

  But I can’t. Every time I open my mouth to tell him, the words get stuck in my throat. I’m frightened about how he’ll react. That’s the horrible reality I’ve been trying to ignore ever since the doctor confirmed I was pregnant.

  “Yeah. Just some things I had to pick up around town.”

  I stare at him. Now’s not the right time; not when he’s in this kind of mood. Maybe it’ll be different tomorrow.

  “You could have told me. I’d have gone.”

  “No,” I mutter, heart pounding. “Women’s stuff. Tampons. That sort of thing. Do you want a cuppa?” I hurry past him to the kitchen, relieved to have an excuse to escape his scrutiny.

  He follows me. “You look different.”

  It feels like my heart has stopped. All the warmth leaves my face and I resist the urge to turn and check his expression. Does he know? But how can he possibly know? I’ve only just had it confirmed myself.

  I clear my throat. “I got my hair cut this morning. Maybe that’s it. Do you like it?” I turn and fluff up the ends, making the movements dramatic so I have something to do with my hands.

  He shrugs. “It’s nice.” He turns away. “Did you remember to pick up biscuits?”

  I grit my teeth. Of course I didn’t. I had bigger things on my mind: not that I can tell him that. “I forgot. But I’ll pop out now and get some.”

  I hurry out before he can stop me. It’s good to have an excuse to get away. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

  I close the door behind me and hurry up the path. A horrible thought is playing on my mind: I can escape now, but soon it won’t be so easy. What am I going to do then?

  7

  John

  John ground his teeth and tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. “You don’t get it,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m in trouble here.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

  The voice at the other end of the phone sounded calm, and John knew it was genuine. He should have been reassured by that, but he wasn’t. This was too serious. He’d been around the block enough times to know that there was no easy solution to this. Nobody was going to ride in on a white horse and save him from the consequences of his own actions.

  John sighed. He didn’t know what to do either.

  “Look, you’re a smart man. Tony might be dangerous, but he’s a convicted murderer. Who do you think the police are going to believe?”

  Disappointment shot through him at the realisation that the other man didn’t understand the danger. “It’s not as simple as that. It’s not just his word against mine, is it?”

  “He’s probably bluffing.”

  “I’m not sure we can take that for granted.” John clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could massage his temples. Not that it did much good. No amount of poking and prodding was going to magically ease the tension in his brain.

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Do you really think he’ll stir things up?”

  “Yes,” John said without hesitation. Because he did. Tony wasn’t bluffing.

  “Well then.”

  John swallowed; resisted the urge to fill the silence. He’d used this tactic before. It was amazing what people came up with when they were faced with a yawning silence. It was human nature to try and fill it with words.

  He waited, thinking. It seemed weak to wait for someone else to give him an answer to this problem, but he was stumped. Tony’s return couldn’t have come at a worse time for him and he was all too aware of the man’s impatient nature. Stalling him wasn’t an option.

  “Have you thought,” the other man said at last; slowly, like he was reluctant to even suggest such a thing on the phone, “about taking him for a drive? That would shut him up for good.”

  John winced as he realised what was being suggested. He hadn’t expected that. “No. Jesus, no. We can’t have anyone else knowing—”

  “He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, would he?” There was a bark of cold laughter at the other end of the line.

  “No,” John whispered. He didn’t want to go there. Not again. It was a nasty business and it had taken him a long time to get over it last time. He had a heart—despite what a lot of people seemed to believe.

  “Well I can’t think of anything else that’ll do it,” the other man said breezily, which reminded John that this new complication was his problem, and his alone.

  He sighed. There was no point in labouring the point. He’d got his answer. He’d have to decide whether to go through with it, even though the thought pained him. This double life was exhausting. All the lies; the secrets. He wondered when it would end—or would it? Things had been quiet for a while and then Tony’s arrival had thrown it all into chaos. He didn’t know what else he could do, though. He had to protect himself.

  “Right, well… Keep me posted, will you?”

  “Wait,” John said quickly, remembering the other reason he’d made the call. “That’s not all.”

  Silence.

  John’s heart pounded. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea to even mention this. What if… But he had to. Much like the Tony problem, he didn’t know what to do about Ellie’s sudden interest in her mother. “It’s Ellie. She’s been asking questions.”

  “Jesus Christ, John. And you didn’t think to mention that until now? What sort of questions?”

  “I’m sure you can guess,” he said flatly. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that she’s never noticed the inconsistencies in the stories I’ve told her about her mother.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Does she suspect?”

  John’s stomach flipped and for a moment he feared he was about to be sick. “No. No, of course not. But I’m worried she might if she starts digging.”

  “So what are you going to do to make sure she doesn’t? This could ruin everything for both of us.”

  “I don’t bloody know,” John hissed.

  “Well you’d better figure it out soon,” the other man said coldly. “Get her off the scent before she finds out something she shouldn’t.” He hung up before John could reply.

  John put his phone back in his pocket and stumbled to the couch. His palms were sweating and his heart was still pounding. It felt like things were coming to a head and he was powerless to control the outcome.

  Ellie

  Monday

  The sound of my phone vibrating against the bedside table worms its way into my consciousness. I open my eyes and blink, still not sure what’s real and what was part of my dreams. As soon as I sit up, the dreams fade away quickly and I’m left with nothing more than a vague sense of Mikey. I shiver.

  I reach for my phone and smile when I see I’ve got two messages from Nathan. One was sent at six this morning.

  How was lunch at your Dad’s?

  The other must have been what woke me up—it was sent just a few minutes ago.

  Would you like to go fo
r a drink some night this week?

  A smile plays on my lips as I close the message for now while I think about what I’m going to say. It’s then I see that I got a message from Steph around the same time.

  How was your date? You’ve been quiet. Good/bad? Coffee later?

  My smile widens. Having my friend quiz me about how my date went feels so normal. Not to mention the nerves and excitement fizzing in the pit of my stomach at the thought of seeing Nathan again.

  I should be cautious. I need to remember that there are people in this town who don’t want me to be happy.

  I reopen Nathan’s message and stare at it, drinking in the words as if they might disappear.

  Sounds good. I’m free Wednesday if that works for you?

  I’m free every night but I don’t say that to him. I want this to work. I want him to think I’m just a normal carefree single girl in her twenties. I’m about to respond to Steph when it all comes back to me. Yesterday. Dad’s house. Finding out he heard Mikey’s lies ages ago and never said anything.

  A lump forms in my throat as I force myself to get up and go to the bathroom. I’ve woken up early, which is great—I can take my time and still get to work early. I splash cold water on my face to try and reset my brain. It’s frozen on an image of Dad’s face—the look in his eyes when he realised he’d slipped and I knew that he knew. Or thought he knew.

  I turn off the tap and look in the mirror. Even though my head feels reasonably fresh, my face is a mess. Puffy bloodshot eyes. Greyish skin. I’m not hungover but I sure as hell look it. I bend down to look in the cupboard under the sink. I need a face mask.

  When I don’t find one, I go back to my room to set a reminder to pick one up on my way home from work. It’s tempting to go all out—to get a facial and a manicure—but I can’t afford that. Every spare penny I earn has to go into my escape fund—Nathan or no Nathan.