His voice had an eerie tone: amused and reflective, almost like a vocalised interior monologue. A distinct smell of alcohol wafted over from him. ‘Was I wrong?’ he said.
What the fuck was going on? Sinead forced herself to wake up properly, feeling fuzzy from the painkillers she’d taken before going to bed. ‘What you talking about? What time is it?’ She pushed herself up from the mattress, fumbled for her phone, and peered at the clock: 01.20.
‘Fate,’ Elliot said at just above a whisper.
‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Fate. You said it when you came to see this room.’ Elliot surveyed the bedroom as if experiencing a vivid memory or caught in a trance, turning his head in a new direction before shifting his gaze a moment later. ‘A strange thing to say. It’s been playing on my mind. I don’t believe in it, but you – you were convinced.’
Sinead’s eyes had adjusted to the light and she now saw him properly. He was holding one of her pillows on his lap. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, ‘Elliot, why are you in here?’
‘I made one simple request when you moved in. Do you remember?’
‘No I don’t. I’m trying to sleep.’
His hands were squeezing the pillow and his penetrating gaze was fixed on her face. Sinead’s senses immediately heightened. She was watching him very closely, listening very attentively, the smell of booze now even stronger in her nostrils. This was another Elliot; she’d never met this one before.
‘What do you want?’ Sinead demanded.
‘My phone number – it was not to be shared with anyone. That’s all I asked of you.’
‘Yeah, okay I remember. So…’
‘Why then did I receive a call tonight from Gwen Francombe?’
The name registered after a couple of seconds. ‘Shit. Gwen!’ Sinead was half-relieved – at least she finally knew the reason for this night-time interrogation. ‘She came round here. I totally forgot. You were in Bangkok.’
‘Why would you disobey me?’
‘Disobey you? I’m not your daughter, Elliot.’ If it wasn’t for the unnerving way he was staring at her, she might have laughed. ‘Look, I felt sorry for her. She was lonely, she missed you. What’s the problem?’
‘I was beginning to trust you. I should’ve known better.’
Sinead was thinking as fast as she could through the haze of her sleep hormones. He was serious about this phone number business. There must be some history between him and Gwen. ‘I’m sorry. She told me you were friends. I thought it was okay.’
‘So you hide things from me. What else haven’t you told me?’
‘I forgot! I had other things on my mind. God. What’s up with you?’
‘All this is over, now. Do you realise that? I’m not safe here. Neither are you.’
‘What are you talking about? Who is she?’ Sinead ensured her voice was calm and steady; she knew she couldn’t show him any fear.
Elliot looked up at the ceiling and said, ‘Elliot never had any real friends. Some acquaintances, but nothing more than that. He preferred it that way. Falling out with Gwen really ought to have been the end of it.’ Leaning forward in his chair he glared at Sinead. ‘But now she’s back. Thanks to you.’
There was no answer to that; what exactly was she being accused of, anyway? And now he was talking about himself in the third person like a madman. They both fell silent and each passing second was agonising for Sinead. She held the duvet close to her body.
How had she missed the signs? The man wasn’t just drunk. He was fucking crazy.
Elliot rose up from the chair. Despite the drinking, his movements were slow and precise and he moved towards the bed clutching the pillow out in front of him. Sinead’s knuckles tightened around the duvet. Her mind screamed to get out, but her broken leg held her back like a dead weight. Her whole body went rigid with fear. Horrifying predictions shot through Sinead’s brain as he came nearer: suffocation, rape, murder.
Sinead’s breathing was fast and shallow. Her mind was alert to every detaiclass="underline" the raised pillow, his stiff, extended arms, the drink-laced breath, his predatory eyes. He stopped by the bed frame. He had her trapped. Sinead’s fingernails dug deeper into the duvet. Her gaze flicked from the pillow and up to his face. He was staring down at her, pupils dilated, face expressionless. Sinead tried to speak, but no sound came from her constricted throat. If she could scream, would anyone hear?
Elliot leaned over her, lowering the pillow. ‘We agreed to a trial period, so we could become better acquainted. Unfortunately, Sinead…’
Sinead was completely still as the pillow hovered above her nose and mouth.
‘…Our time is up.’
Elliot leaned in and tucked the pillow behind her head. He let go of it and slowly withdrew his hands. He turned away and staggered to the door. Sinead couldn’t look directly at him any longer. In her peripheral vision she saw Elliot leave the room. The door shuddered as it closed. Sinead took a deep lungful of air and exhaled noisily. She heard his footsteps go down the hall, and then his bedroom door opening and closing.
Sinead grabbed her phone from the bedside cabinet, tucked it into her pyjama waistband, and swung both legs out of bed. Supporting her weight on her hands as she got down on the floor, she crawled over to the armchair, then sat up behind it with her shoulders firmly against its back. Ignoring the pain shooting up from her fracture, she pushed hard until the chair shifted. By using both arms and her right leg to propel her, she shoved the armchair along the carpet inch by inch. Sweat dripped from her brow as the heavy chair zigzagged across the room. She stopped and looked over her shoulder several times to check its progress until finally it banged up against the door.
She shuffled around, grabbed the chair base and turned it so the sturdy backrest blocked the door and covered the door jamb. The crutches leant against the wall; she snatched one, got up into the chair and sat with it across her lap. She retrieved her phone from under the pyjama waistband, pressed the number 9 twice – and then stopped before the third digit.
Hang on, Sinead – what’s the plan? What do you think the police are going to do? Elliot hadn’t actually done anything, apart from creep her the fuck out. She was completely petrified, but there was nothing anyone could do about that. What could she say? My landlord woke me up in the middle of the night, sat there talking drunken gibberish, and holding my pillow in a threatening manner. They’d think she was the crazy one.
No, she just had to deal with it on her own; stay calm, stay safe, and find somewhere else to live ASAP. And there’d be no more unannounced visits from the insane landlord tonight or any night. If she was forced to stay here any longer, she’d be fixing a deadbolt on the door.
***
Sinead thought she’d stayed awake the rest of the night, but sleep must have come in fits and starts because her head suddenly jerked up. The pain signals from leg to brain were loud and clear. Her fracture was aching badly; she’d not been able to elevate her leg properly in the chair and now she was paying the price. Massaging her upper thigh and pounding on the cast, she tried getting the blood flowing. As she did so, Sinead remembered that her check-up at the Fracture Unit was happening that afternoon.
Craning her neck towards the door behind her, Sinead listened out for Elliot. A bird was singing its morning song from outside the bedroom window, but no sounds came from inside the bungalow. The phone clock said 08.51. He could be out; God, she hoped he was. Who was this man? Doubts had been forming in her mind recently, but she’d always been able to rationalise them.