maybe you’d know just how funny it really was. And let’s not even start on how it may affect the family if any of this gets out. It’s not just me, Ella. It’s all of us on the line here.’ He releases my wrists with an angry thrust.
I rub them, wincing a little. I stare at him in alarm.
His eyes burn into mine. ‘But believe me, Ella, however bad it hurt then was nothing compared to how much it hurts now.
You
, of all people.’
He turns away to stare out of the window, his profile like stone. I try to speak – to tell him I’m desperately sorry, that I love him and that I want to help him. No words come.
And all at once it’s too late. He’s already glancing at his watch. Beside me the car door has swung open and Bullen is waiting for me to get out.
The audience is at an end. And by the looks of it, so are we.
So this is how he dumps his women. Not with a damp, fresh-washed blonde drifting through his mansion
draped in a towel. Not with a wisp of lace flung on a multi-million dollar painting.
He simply cuts a signal.
I walk home slowly, wishing for once I’d brought the car. I haven’t used it in a while, since I first stepped into his weird wealthy fairyland where I get chauffeured everywhere.
From now on I guess I’ll be driving myself.
It’s a long walk. This morning I was so happy it took no time at all. Tonight it takes for ever.
I’m weary when I get in, too tired to eat, too listless to open wine. I uncap a fizzy fruit drink and walk over to the window to draw the crisp white shades Billy’s fond dad installed in her tiny apartment. Before I do it I gaze at my reflection in the glass, not really seeing it.
I still have to apologise, somehow. I reach for my phone and jab at Darnley’s number before I remember he’s not talking. With a sigh I start a long, emotional text, stabbing at the keypad in a fury, and press ‘send’.
As I look up I see a movement in the shadows across the street and a woman steps out from behind a gatepost.
It’s
her.
This time she knows it’s me. She’s looking straight at me.
She was waiting for me.
My phone rings. Automatically I lift it to my ear.
‘
Ella?
’
Darnley’s voice sounds in my ear but I’m not listening.
I’m staring in fascinated horror at the woman. Now I get a good look at her I take in tiny details I’d missed: tired skin, dusty-looking from a poor diet, dry and patchy from poor skincare. A sharp-looking woman, older than I am. She verges on trailer-trash, flashily dressed in shabby boots, tight jeans and a cheap pink jacket edged with fake fur. She’s chewing gum.
I shake myself.
It’s just coincidence
…
‘I – I’ll call you back. It’s that woman. She –’ I break off. The woman is preparing to cross the road. She’s waiting for a gap in the traffic. She’s coming here.
I freeze.
‘
Ella? What about her?
’
His voice is louder now but I’m watching
her
. I must be hallucinating; after everything that’s happened today, now this?
‘I – I …’ My throat’s seized up.
Oh, no. Please God, no. Not now.
I stare at the woman as she walks slowly towards me, her eyes fixed on my face. I’m in a bad dream. I’m on a phone, I’m paralysed with fear
and I can’t talk
.
‘
Ella.
What the …? Are you home? Is she in the room
?’
I open and close my mouth but nothing comes out. I lower the phone as I realise the street’s empty.
She’s already here.
She must be in the building.
I shove the phone down into my pocket and race round the apartment, double-checking all the locks. Then in a panic I race round again and check the windows.
I should call the police.
But what can I say to them? That I may have a stalker? That I’m a scaredy-cat teacher who hyperventilates at the sight of somebody in the street simply because she’s just broken her lover’s heart by staging some skewed Shakespeare that went all wrong?
And suppose I still can’t say anything?
I lean my head on the glass and try not to
I rub them, wincing a little. I stare at him in alarm.
His eyes burn into mine. ‘But believe me, Ella, however bad it hurt then was nothing compared to how much it hurts now.
You
, of all people.’
He turns away to stare out of the window, his profile like stone. I try to speak – to tell him I’m desperately sorry, that I love him and that I want to help him. No words come.
And all at once it’s too late. He’s already glancing at his watch. Beside me the car door has swung open and Bullen is waiting for me to get out.
The audience is at an end. And by the looks of it, so are we.
So this is how he dumps his women. Not with a damp, fresh-washed blonde drifting through his mansion
draped in a towel. Not with a wisp of lace flung on a multi-million dollar painting.
He simply cuts a signal.
I walk home slowly, wishing for once I’d brought the car. I haven’t used it in a while, since I first stepped into his weird wealthy fairyland where I get chauffeured everywhere.
From now on I guess I’ll be driving myself.
It’s a long walk. This morning I was so happy it took no time at all. Tonight it takes for ever.
I’m weary when I get in, too tired to eat, too listless to open wine. I uncap a fizzy fruit drink and walk over to the window to draw the crisp white shades Billy’s fond dad installed in her tiny apartment. Before I do it I gaze at my reflection in the glass, not really seeing it.
I still have to apologise, somehow. I reach for my phone and jab at Darnley’s number before I remember he’s not talking. With a sigh I start a long, emotional text, stabbing at the keypad in a fury, and press ‘send’.
As I look up I see a movement in the shadows across the street and a woman steps out from behind a gatepost.
It’s
her.
This time she knows it’s me. She’s looking straight at me.
She was waiting for me.
My phone rings. Automatically I lift it to my ear.
‘
Ella?
’
Darnley’s voice sounds in my ear but I’m not listening.
I’m staring in fascinated horror at the woman. Now I get a good look at her I take in tiny details I’d missed: tired skin, dusty-looking from a poor diet, dry and patchy from poor skincare. A sharp-looking woman, older than I am. She verges on trailer-trash, flashily dressed in shabby boots, tight jeans and a cheap pink jacket edged with fake fur. She’s chewing gum.
I shake myself.
It’s just coincidence
…
‘I – I’ll call you back. It’s that woman. She –’ I break off. The woman is preparing to cross the road. She’s waiting for a gap in the traffic. She’s coming here.
I freeze.
‘
Ella? What about her?
’
His voice is louder now but I’m watching
her
. I must be hallucinating; after everything that’s happened today, now this?
‘I – I …’ My throat’s seized up.
Oh, no. Please God, no. Not now.
I stare at the woman as she walks slowly towards me, her eyes fixed on my face. I’m in a bad dream. I’m on a phone, I’m paralysed with fear
and I can’t talk
.
‘
Ella.
What the …? Are you home? Is she in the room
?’
I open and close my mouth but nothing comes out. I lower the phone as I realise the street’s empty.
She’s already here.
She must be in the building.
I shove the phone down into my pocket and race round the apartment, double-checking all the locks. Then in a panic I race round again and check the windows.
I should call the police.
But what can I say to them? That I may have a stalker? That I’m a scaredy-cat teacher who hyperventilates at the sight of somebody in the street simply because she’s just broken her lover’s heart by staging some skewed Shakespeare that went all wrong?
And suppose I still can’t say anything?
I lean my head on the glass and try not to
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