Don't Stand So Close (31 page)

‘I just wanted you to know how sorry I am that I didn’t believe you before.’

‘I don’t care what you believe,’ Blue said.

‘OK,’ Stella said. She stood up and tried to smile at Blue, to give her some comfort, but the corners of her mouth were trembling and tense.

The nurse looked out of her depth. She seemed relieved when a small, grey-haired woman with a tag around her neck appeared at the door.

‘Hi, Lauren,’ the social worker said. ‘Let’s have a quick chat and then your mum’s waiting to see you.’

The nurse and the social worker stood on either side of Blue.

‘I’d like to make a statement,’ Stella said.

‘Of course,’ the social worker said. ‘I can contact you once we’ve made sure Blue is settled.’

Blue’s arms were still as straight as pokers at her sides, her shoulders up around her ears. She was on her own, with strangers, again. She must be afraid. Stella put her arms around her and gave her a brief, tight hug. Blue let her head
rest against Stella’s cheek for just a second. Stella touched her face to the beautiful blonde, lavender-scented hair, before Blue stiffened and pushed her away.

Peter was waiting for her, in the corridor right outside.

‘What the hell took you so long?’ she said.

‘Couldn’t find a parking place.’

She knew he was lying. She understood.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out Blue’s phone. She handed it to him. She heard herself sigh. It was over. Her life at Hilltop.

The waiting room had emptied out. Only one large, dishevelled-looking man lay snoring across two chairs. The shift must have changed, there was a new receptionist on duty: a young man with startlingly bright blond hair and tattooed arms. He was staring at his computer screen and ignored them as they walked past his plate-glass window.

The automatic glass doors swished open in front of her. They closed smoothly once again. She had not moved. Peter’s hand rested on the small of her back and she tried to absorb some of his courage.

She wasn’t ready to go back outside.

She hovered at the exit, safe in the temporary calm of the well-lit waiting room. ‘I have nowhere to go,’ she said.

‘You could come to my place,’ Peter said. ‘I have a sofa bed – it’s yours for as long as you need it.’

She shook her head. There was no way she was sleeping in any house with any man unless she was absolutely certain he wanted to be in bed right next to her.

‘I could take you to Hannah’s place,’ he said.

‘Not yet. I haven’t spoken to her since that night. I don’t even know where she’s living.’

Stella pushed her hair back from her face. She needed a shower and a change of clothes. She was very, very tired.

‘I want to go back to Hilltop,’ she said.

Peter nodded, but his lips formed a tight, disapproving line.

‘I need to pack,’ she said. ‘And then I’m leaving. Permanently. I just need another couple of hours of your time – I promise.’

‘Sure.’ She could see relief on his face, and hope.

He took a step towards the doors. They whooshed open. He walked right through. Then he stopped and waited for her. She ran forward. She kissed him several times all over his prickly face.

He cracked a smile. Finally.

‘Do you want me to come inside with you?’ Hannah said.

Stella shook her head.

‘I’ll wait right here.’ Hannah opened her car door and stretched her legs. From behind her sunglasses, she gave Stella an encouraging smile.

Stella did not relish leaving the well-worn front seat of her friend’s car, but she did so anyway. She was getting better at it: not over-thinking, forcing herself into motion. She walked straight on, a little unsteady on the gravel in her heels, the sun warm against her shoulders.

She stopped to look at the small white-painted wooden sign.
HILLTOP
. She peered behind it. The sensor was still in place, poking out of the overgrown grass.

A convertible, the top down, was parked at the top of the drive. The car was shiny on the outside, immaculate on the inside.

Stella carried on walking, one foot in front of the other.

She could see herself reflected in the undulating steel of the front door: her hair tied back from her face, sunglasses, vest, cigarette trousers. She wasn’t displeased.

She rang the doorbell and waited.

Sandra looked just as Stella remembered her, with lively eyes and bright red lipstick. She had a wide, welcoming smile on her face and was evidently delighted to earn sales commission on the house twice within the space of as many years.

Stella was much taller than the estate agent, who was already in stockinged feet. She removed her sunglasses but decided to leave the heels on. They shook hands.

‘Mrs Fisher,’ Sandra said.

‘Please call me Stella.’

Sandra stood back and Stella stepped into her house.

‘So you’ve decided to sell?’ Sandra said. Her words echoed inside the dim, bare entrance hall. Only a couple of bulbs were still working, and the chandelier had lost its power to dazzle.

Stella nodded.

The inside of the house was much cooler than outside, and full of shadows. Stella wished she had worn something warmer.

‘I have the sales contract with me,’ Sandra said. ‘Will Dr Fisher be joining us?’

‘Dr Fisher is tied up at the moment,’ Stella said. ‘I have his proxy.’

She was drawn towards the living room, to the window. The garden was bathed in bright sunlight. The grass was overgrown, a cheerful and vibrant green, and the trees were crowded with leaves. Stella looked back into the living room, at the empty space in front of the hearth. She could see a grey sofa, a waterfall of glistening blonde hair and a sharp, mesmerizing face with big blue eyes. She saw Peter at the window, doing battle with a black plastic bag and a roll of masking tape.

‘Have you and your husband bought somewhere else?’ Sandra enquired. ‘Or are you still looking?’

‘We’re not together any more.’

The last time they had met, Stella had been a newlywed.

‘Oh,’ Sandra said, taking a second to bounce back from this unfortunate news. ‘Are you still living in the area?’ she asked.

‘No. I’ve been in a clinic for the last few months. Detoxification programme.’

‘Good for you,’ Sandra said, encouragingly.

Stella spotted something outside: a rotund shape, peeking out from under the window. The key in the door was stiff and she had to work at it a while to get it to turn. She pushed the doors wide open, and then hesitated, the old familiar tensing in her stomach, her mouth going dry out of habit. She ignored the signs. She stepped outside. The jade Buddha lay on his side on the patio.

‘Is that yours?’ Sandra asked.

‘It belonged to Dr Fisher,’ Stella said.

‘We did ask the movers to pack everything up, they must have missed that.’

‘I only had one guest the whole time I lived here,’ Stella said. ‘And she threw this Buddha through the window.’

‘Oh,’ Sandra said.

‘She was madly in love with my husband,’ Stella said, unable to resist testing Sandra’s polite reserve just a little longer. The estate agent was doing an excellent job of not looking shocked.

‘I’d like to take him with me,’ Stella said.

‘Of course.’ Sandra looked sceptical as she watched Stella attempt to lift the heavy ornament, swaying on her heels.

The Buddha was no lightweight. Blue must have been in
a fury to have lifted him, to have hurled him through the glass. Stella thought she would like to have even half of her spirit.

‘Did you want to take a last look around?’ Sandra said. ‘To check if there’s anything else they’ve overlooked?’

Stella shook her head.

‘Are you sure?’ Sandra said. ‘You’ve come all the way out here.’

Stella walked through to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard above the sink, for old time’s sake, and because she still longed for the bitter taste of diazepam on her tongue. It was empty. She wanted to go up to her bedroom. Their bedroom. To lie on the bed and see small fluorescent stars on the ceiling and to wait for Max to come to her.

Stella sat the Buddha on the kitchen counter. She reached into her bag and found two sets of keys, both of which she handed over to Sandra.

‘You know,’ Sandra said, ‘I remember thinking you looked so unhappy when I first met you. I thought that was unusual, for someone who had just got married and who was buying such an extraordinary home. The couples I meet generally only start to look that miserable after the first five years or so.’

Stella smiled at her.

The contract signed, Stella struggled out, back down the driveway with the Buddha in her arms. She was sure Hannah wouldn’t mind having the cheerful, plump green man squatting at her place for a while. She placed him on her lap and fastened her seatbelt.

She sat back, leaned her head against the headrest, and closed her eyes as Hannah drove with care round the steep bends of Hilltop. She took pleasure in the feel of smooth jade
under her fingertips and the sensation of the sun against her forehead, her nose, her cheekbones, her lips. They would be back in London within the hour.

Thanks go first to my brilliant agent, Madeleine Milburn. I have been privileged to have the guidance of a gifted editor, Harriet Bourton, and I am grateful to everybody at Transworld for their commitment to this book and to Sophie Wilson for her early insight and enthusiasm.

I have had several inspirational teachers, and I thank all of them, in particular Tricia Wastvedt and Scott Bradfield. Thanks to Emma-Jane Barton for all your support and encouragement.

My thanks go to Detective Inspector Nick Mervin, who gave generously of his time and expertise, and to psychiatrists Eduardo Szaniecki and Pamela Ashurst, who commented on medication and adolescent mental health issues. The errors are all mine.

Last but not least, thank you to my family for making everything possible.

Luana Lewis is a clinical psychologist and author of two non-fiction books. She was born in Zimbabwe and has lived in South Africa, the Netherlands and England. She shares a home in Buckinghamshire with her family and assorted pets.

TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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First published in Great Britain
in 2014 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright © 2014

Luana Lewis has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448169054
ISBNs 9780593072301 (cased)
9780593072318 (tpb)

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