B. A. Paris - Bring Me Back - The gripping Sunday Times bestseller now with an explosive new ending!

I put the doll into my jeans pocket and go into the house. I expect to find her in the kitchen but she calls down to me from upstairs. I send Peggy to fetch her while I check the markets on my phone. A couple of minutes later Ellen comes into the kitchen, looking so desirable in her skimpy pyjamas that I want to scoop her into my arms and carry her back to bed.

‘I hope you didn’t go outside like that,’ I tease.

‘Outside?’

‘To put the Russian doll back.’ I slip my hand into my pocket, intending to surprise her with it, because why shouldn’t she keep it?

‘I haven’t put it back yet.’

I look at her, thinking that she’s joking. But her cheeks have flushed red.

My fingers, clasped around the Russian doll, freeze. ‘What do you mean, you haven’t put it back yet?’

‘I was going to do it after breakfast,’ she says, mistaking my shock for annoyance. ‘I wasn’t going to keep it.’

‘Where is it?’ I hate that I sound angry because I’m not, I’m rattled.

She hurries out of the room and comes back carrying the large Russian doll that has sat on top of the teak cupboard in our dining room since she moved in with me last year. She unscrews it in the middle, takes out the Russian doll inside, unscrews that one in the middle, takes out the next one, unscrews it, then takes out the next one. As she twists the last one apart, I realise that she’s joking, that there’ll be nothing inside and she’ll smile and tell me that of course she put the doll back outside. I raise an eyebrow and begin to smile.

‘Here it is.’ She takes a little Russian doll out and puts it down on the worktop amid its dissected relatives. ‘I was only going to keep it for a while.’

Keeping the smile on my face, I casually remove my hand from my pocket, leaving the doll I found on the wall where it is. ‘Hey, it’s fine, keep it if you want to.’

She looks at me doubtfully. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, nobody’s going to come looking for it, are they?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ She begins putting the Russian dolls back together but instead of stacking them one inside the other she places them side by side on the kitchen worktop, starting with the biggest and ending with the little one. It matches the rest of her set exactly. ‘There we are, a complete family of five. How strange that after all these years, I’ve finally found what’s been missing.’

I turn away, wondering what she would say if I told her that I just found a second Russian doll. If Layla’s body had been found, she would put it down to a bizarre coincidence. But her body has never been found. And if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s Ellen thinking that Layla might still be alive.

I’d hate for her to have false hope.

FOUR

Before

That night, it took thirty-six minutes to get from Liverpool Street Station to St Katharine Docks. As we made our way through the crowds standing outside pubs and wine bars, already celebrating the New Year, I told myself it was the atmosphere that made me feel drunk. But I knew it was because of you.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Layla.’

‘I expected something more Scottish,’ I admitted.

‘I was lucky, my mum got to choose my name. My dad chose my sister’s name and she wasn’t so fortunate. He’s originally from Islay so he called her Ellen, after Port Ellen.’

‘It’s still a pretty name.’

‘Yes, it is. What about you? What’s your name?’

‘Finn.’

‘Irish?’

‘Yes. I was born and raised in Ireland,’ I explained.

You couldn’t get over the size of the Tower of London, proudly illuminated against the night sky, or the majesty of Tower Bridge. By the time we reached the docks, where people were partying on the various yachts and boats moored there, you were completely overwhelmed.

‘This is London?’ you asked.

‘It is,’ I said, pleased at your reaction to the city I loved. I stopped in front of my apartment block. ‘And this is where I live.’

‘Where you live?’ You seemed suddenly doubtful and I remembered that I was meant to be finding you a hostel or hotel.

‘Yes. You’ll never find somewhere to stay tonight so you can stay with me and Harry. Tomorrow, we’ll find you a hostel.’ You still weren’t convinced. ‘We have a little study with a sofa-bed, you can sleep there. You’ll be fine, I promise.’

I tapped in the door code and after a moment’s hesitation you followed me inside. In the lift, your unease grew – but of course, I had more or less kidnapped you. I wanted to put your mind at rest, to tell you that I hadn’t been lying, that you would never have found anywhere to stay that night because every hotel, every hostel would have been booked up months ago. But we were already on the third floor and I hoped that once you saw the flat, you’d feel more comfortable.

‘Oh my God, is this really yours?’ you breathed as I showed you around.

‘Mine and Harry’s.’

‘It’s beautiful!’

The next couple of hours passed in a blur. You were hungry, do you remember? So I made an omelette and while we ate, we exchanged information about our lives. You told me you’d lived on Lewis, a remote island in the Outer Hebrides, all your life and had been fairly happy until you were fourteen and your mother died. After, things had become difficult, you said. Your father became an alcoholic and ever since, you’d been counting the days until you could leave.

‘I stayed for Christmas,’ you said. ‘Then I packed up and left. I was determined to be in London for the first of January.’ You paused, and the light from the massive lamp that hung above the dining room table bounced off your hair. ‘A new year, a new life. That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway.’

‘What about your sister?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t she want to leave?’

Your eyes had filled with tears. ‘Yes. But in the end she couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

You took a long time answering. ‘My dad has cancer. He’s also diabetic. Somebody has to look after him.’

‘I’m sorry.’

You laughed suddenly, unnerving me. ‘Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to be sad on New Year’s Eve.’

‘I’m meant to be going to a party tonight.’ I pointed through the window at a building on the opposite side of the dock. ‘My boss lives on the top floor. We should go.’

You looked doubtful. ‘I don’t really have anything to wear to a party.’

‘You’re fine as you are,’ I told you.

I don’t remember much about the party except feeling as if I’d stepped into a parallel universe. You were completely out of place among the women in their dresses, their nails manicured and polished, their hair styled, and I couldn’t believe it was a world I’d inhabited just a few hours before. It felt stifling and dull, and when Caroline slid her arms around my waist and asked me how I’d enjoyed the theatre, I had trouble remembering she was my girlfriend. I introduced her to you and explained something of what had happened. Maybe it was the mention of a youth hostel, but the story amused her and when she turned and raised her eyebrows at me, I knew she was laughing at you. And my fists clenched, hating her for it.

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