I made it to the toilet just in time to spew up my birthday celebrations.
Sweating, shaking, head spinning with panic, I crawled back into bed and clutched the duvet for dear life, as if a mound of stuffing could save me.
My past was about to catch up with me. In more ways than one.
* * *
The following day, I dragged myself out of bed just after eight. I needed at least four days’ more sleep, but that wasn’t happening any time soon, and I desperately needed water and painkillers for my pounding head.
Daniel arrived back from dropping Hope off at Billie’s while I was boiling the kettle.
‘Ouch!’ He winced at my bleary state.
‘Thanks,’ I croaked.
‘A good night, or a bad one?’
I shrugged. ‘Both.’
He vanished into his study, magically reappearing the second I’d finished my tea.
‘Right, are you ready to do this?’ He nodded at my phone.
I slid the phone closer with a frail hand. ‘Don’t feel the need to hang about. You’ve already taken yesterday afternoon off.’
He leaned against the worktop, arms folded. His expression was grim, but when he spoke the words were gentle. I wasn’t the focus of his carefully suppressed fury. I wondered how long it would be before that changed. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Okay.’
I made the call, giving the briefest of details and being reassured that someone from the local police department would be in touch. This was followed up with a return call and appointment made for later that day. By that point I needed a second cup of tea, and Luke had arrived with new bathroom doors for the recently made doorways leading to the smaller bedrooms.
Becky joined us soon after. ‘I was going to take it easy this morning, but then Mum called and said about the bees. Bloody hell, Eleanor. Why didn’t you mention it last night?’
I mumbled something along the lines of it really not being that big a deal, but then a wayward tear slipped out, and Becky wasn’t buying it anyway, instead wrapping me in a hug before plying me with yet more tea and leftover birthday cake.
Ziva called in ten minutes later, her face scarlet, hair bristling, hands wringing with distress. ‘The H boys are gone.’
It felt as though a trapdoor had opened in the kitchen floor right where I stood. To my relief, at that point the police officer arrived, a woman in her fifties who firstly insisted we called her Brenda and secondly took charge with a brisk efficiency that was simultaneously reassuring and intimidating in equal measure.
Having relayed why we had called her, and gone over the little we knew, she then asked the question I had been dreading.
‘Has anything like this happened before?’
I took a deep breath, kept my eyes firmly in Brenda’s direction and away from Daniel, Becky and Ziva. ‘Yes.’
Brenda’s eyes flicked to Daniel, sitting beside me, who had gone rigid.
‘Can you tell me about it, please?’
‘Um. Before moving here, I was a journalist. I wrote food reviews, and a few other things, and sometimes… people sent me… messages…’
Brenda, sensing I was on the brink of choking on my own witness statement, carefully put down her pen and notepad.
‘Dr Solomon, Becky, I think I’ve got all I need from you, for now. Please don’t let me take up any more of your day.’
Taking the hint, they made their excuses and left.
‘Okay, Eleanor. Take your time. You were telling me about your previous messages?’
