I know I probably shouldn’t, but I go straight to the back door and open it, pushing away all those judgy voices telling me that I should never open the door to strangers, that it could be a scam, that I don’t know who this person is or what she wants. Michael used to go nuts with me for being too trusting and for always seeing the good in people. But I also think that’s what he loved about me. He was the sensible, practical one in our relationship, whereas I’m the free spirit. The one who goes with the flow, who opens up her heart easily to everyone. No matter what happens, I never want to lose that part of me.
‘Hello?’ I step outside onto the wide flagstones, skirting over the wildflowers that have pushed their way up through the cracks.
The girl jumps at my voice and takes a step backwards. She looks older than I originally thought – maybe mid-twenties.
‘Are you hurt?’ I ask gently, looking her up and down. She’s tall and thin, her translucent skin so pale I can see the thread of blue veins beneath. Wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a pale-yellow vest top, her silvery blonde hair skims just past her shoulders and her pale eyes are the colour of Ashridge Lake. I can’t see any visible sign that she’s injured.
She bites her lip and shakes her head quickly, casting glances all around her. I wonder how she got into my garden. The side gate is usually locked, but I don’t like to ask. I don’t want to accuse her of anything in case she takes fright and runs off. She’s obviously upset and in need of some kind of assistance.
‘Are you okay?’
She doesn’t reply. Perhaps she doesn’t understand English?
I smile to let her know I’m friendly. ‘Can I call someone for you?’ I mime holding a phone to my ear.
‘No, please don’t call anyone!’ Her voice is low and somewhat husky, no trace of a foreign accent. She’s as jumpy as a baby rabbit. ‘Please… I…’ She lowers her voice. ‘I’m… it’s stupid, it sounds so dramatic, but I’m in trouble. I need—’
‘Trouble?’
‘Not exactly trouble, just…’
I give her what I hope is an encouraging look, but I can’t say I’m not a little shaken by what she’s just said. ‘Yes…?’
‘The thing is, I saw you in the paper – you did that fundraiser for victims of domestic abuse, and, well, I know that raising money for charity is different to helping someone in person. But… I really do need some help.’ She exhales and her shoulders droop, as though she’s already defeated. As though she already expects me to say no and send her packing. But she obviously doesn’t know me that well. She doesn’t realise that she’s come to exactly the right person. I would never turn away a young woman in need, especially someone who might be in danger from a violent or abusive partner.
‘If you need help… if you’re in trouble, then we should probably call the police.’
She flinches backwards. ‘No, please. Don’t call them. They won’t do any good.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do, okay!’
‘Has someone been hurting you? Because if they have then the best thing would be to talk to—’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.’ She turns and starts to walk quickly back along the side of the house.
I feel bad for scaring her off. If she’s running from someone abusive, I don’t want to make things worse. There’s something about her that tugs on my maternal heartstrings. ‘Hey, come back. I promise I won’t call the police if you don’t want me to.’
But she keeps going. I watch her fiddle frantically with the gate latch. The sensible part of my brain tells me it’s probably best if she leaves. After all, I don’t know who she is or what she’s running from. I don’t know anything about her. My life is complicated enough without adding a stranger into the mix. But, without thinking, I tell her to wait. I tell her that she can trust me. ‘Look, I won’t call the police, but you’re welcome to come in for a bit, if you like?’
Her hand freezes on the gate latch. She still has her back to me, but she’s stopped moving.
‘Just stay and catch your breath for a few minutes. You could obviously do with a bit of time to regroup.’
At this, she turns, fresh tears coursing down her cheeks.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ I soothe. ‘Come on. It’s hot out here. You’re obviously upset and in a bit of a state. You can have a quick drink and then leave, if that’s what you want.’
She doesn’t reply. But she also doesn’t make another move to go. The air is still and quiet. A car door slams in the distance.
‘Would that be okay?’ she asks, so quietly I can barely hear her. ‘To have a drink? I’m pretty thirsty.’
‘Yeah, of course.’
She swallows and wipes her face. ‘It wouldn’t be for long… I just need to get off the road. I need to stop him from…’ But she shakes her head and tails off.
‘Come on.’ I gesture to the back door. ‘Come on, come inside.’
