Bella by the Beach (Pt. 2)

 

 

He looked a lot younger, but there was no mistaking it; the man in the window was our trusted neighbour, Phil. But how was that possible? We didn’t even know who he was until he moved in next door- a whole decade after that video was filmed. Maybe it was just a really weird coincidence? 

 

I frantically fast-forwarded the tape until the playground at Booker’s Lodge appeared.  

 

“Do you want to go on the swings?” 

 

“Yes please!” 

 

I pressed pause.  

 

I’d missed it before, but there he was, thirty-five minutes into the tape, stood in the background amongst the parents. He was looking right at us. 

 

Once is a coincidence, but twice?  

 

Then it clicked. The photos. Red = yes, black = no.  

 

I rummaged through the shoeboxes marked with red, flicking through each of the photographs.   

 

“What the fuck…” I whispered. 

 

In every single one, Phil was lurking in the background.  

 

I took another look at ‘Bella by The Beach, Age 3’, searching the photo like I was playing a demented version of Where’s Wally? Then I spotted him. He was barely visible; I could only just about see him in the distance sitting on the pebbly beach behind me. He had fewer wrinkles and more hair, but it was unmistakably him.  

 

For some photos I had to look harder, and for others it was so infuriatingly blatant he was there. In one photo he was literally sat bedside me. 

 

‘Bella By The Beach, Age 7’- I was sat on a bench with the sea in the background, an elderly couple to the left of me and Phil to the right. My stomach turned at the sight of his arm brushing up against mine.  

 

I went through all the tapes confirming his presence for every time that Mum had listed. It took me all night, but I had to be sure. This was evidence, after all. Evidence I took to the police.  

 

I told them everything I knew. The first picture he appeared in was on my third birthday. The first video he’d appeared in was two days after that. He moved in next door seventeen years ago. He cared for Mum up until her death, six days ago.  

 

“Your mother passed away last week?” the police officer asked me. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“And your neighbour- he was the one to inform you of her death?” 

 

“Yes.” I said again.  

 

He stared at me. 

 

“Oh my god!” I said, jumping up from my chair, realising how stupid I’d been. “Oh my god. You think she’s still alive?!” 

 

“Is there any physical evidence of her death?”  

 

“No!” I said, as the officer turned to his computer and started tapping away on the keyboard. “I mean, she wasn’t at the house. I haven’t seen a body. I just assumed that Phil had-” 

 

“She isn’t registered as deceased.” The officer said, turning the screen to show me.  

 

I felt like screaming. I was livid with myself for being so gullible. Mum could still be alive somewhere, held hostage by this absolute creep.  

 

It was at this point that I began questioning everything. It was like my brain suddenly woke up. When did Mum find out about Phil? Why did she continue to let him care for her? Had she even been sick to begin with? All the information I knew about her had been given to me by Phil. Had everything been a lie? But why?  

 

I practically had to beg the police to let me come with them to Mum’s house. They made me stay in the car while two officers searched her house and three more went to Phil’s.  

 

They knocked on his door, and my blood boiled as I saw him answer it. He even had the audacity to look surprised, like he had no idea he’d done anything wrong. It took all my strength not to charge out of the car and punch him in the face, but as the officers informed me, I needed to hold back while they weighed the gravity of the situation.  

 

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but one officer stood talking to Phil while the other two entered his house. He stood there, not saying a word. He kept his mouth tightly shut, seemingly refusing to answer any questions.  

 

Then, he turned his focus to me. I felt my stomach turn as he gave me a smile. I shook with rage. How fucking dare he?  

 

Minutes later, he was arrested. He didn’t even struggle, he just let it happen. I jumped out of the car, running over to him.  

 

“Where is she, you sick fuck?!” I screamed.  

 

He looked straight into my eyes as he was guided into the back of the police car, and I saw a darkness in him that I hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t respond.  

 

Before anyone could stop me, I ran into his house and called out for Mum.  

 

I sprinted up the flight of stairs and into Phil’s bedroom. I tried pushing past the officers, but they restrained me, holding me back. But it didn’t matter. I’d already seen it. An image that will be burnt into my memory until the day I die. I collapsed to the floor, wailing in horror. 

 

It was Mum. At first, it looked like she was sleeping. She was so still, so peaceful. 

 

I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I vaguely recall being taken to hospital where I was told I was in shock. Police asked me questions; doctors asked me questions… I think I tried to answer them, though I really couldn’t say. In my mind, I was at the beach with Mum, eating ice cream and candy floss.  

 

“You and me, against the world.” 

 

Phil confessed easily I was told. After only thirty minutes of interrogation he broke, admitting to everything.  

 

He’d seen us at the beach. My third birthday. He’d seen how happy we were; how loving we were towards each other. 

 

“This beautiful woman with her beautiful child; they were in their own little world, oblivious of their surroundings.” He’d told the police. “I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted that woman to be my wife.”  

 

So, he followed us.  

 

He bought a house two roads down from ours, following us everywhere, tracking our every move. He did this for years, and we were none the wiser.  

 

Eventually, the house next door was put up for sale, so he seized the opportunity immediately, offering more than the asking price.  

 

He inserted himself into our lives. He befriended us. Gained our trust.  

 

But, after I left for Uni, Mum decided to make me a present. She’d gathered all our home videos and decided to make a compilation for me, knowing I’d be homesick. When she went through the tapes, she noticed Phil. She went through the photographs, too, making a list of all the times he’d appeared.  

 

Then she confronted him. She demanded an answer. Begged to know why he’d been following us. Why he was obsessed with us. She threatened to go the police. So, Phil knocked her out.  

 

“She wouldn’t listen!” Phil told the officers. “She was hysterical! I needed her to hear me, but she kept yelling. I didn’t want to hurt her, I just wanted to explain my side of things!”  

 

When Mum came to, she was tied up in her bedroom. She begged Phil to let her go, but he refused.  

 

“I told her I loved her, that I had since the moment I saw her. How beautiful she was, that I wanted to be with her. Have a family with her.” 

 

Mum promised she wouldn’t go to the police. She said if he let her go, she wouldn’t tell a soul, and they could forget the whole thing had happened. But all Phil had was her word, and that wasn’t enough for him.  

 

So, he threatened to kill me.  

 

Mum cried, pleading with him not to.  

 

“I’ll do whatever you want.” She told him. “I’ll be with you, I’ll keep my mouth shut, just please… don’t hurt Bella.”  

 

And so, Phil untied her. He had his conditions, of course. They were to live as a couple. He wasn’t interested in sex, he’d said. He just wanted to be near Mum. Watch her all day, every day. And in return, he’d leave me unharmed.  

 

I thought at first maybe Mum never really was sick, maybe it was another one of Phil’s lies. An excuse so I wouldn’t get suspicious. But as it turns out, Mum really wasn’t well.  

 

She went on hunger strike at first, refusing to eat anything Phil cooked for her. She refused to leave her bed, not even for the toilet, forcing Phil to clean up after her. She tried desperately to deter him; become unlovable to him. But nothing worked. So, she vowed never to speak again. If she couldn’t speak to me, she wouldn’t speak to anybody. Especially not Phil. She became a shell of herself, hoping that one day he’d give up. He never did.  

 

For thirteen years she was kept hostage in her own home, her physical and mental health deteriorating rapidly.  

 

“I did everything I could to keep her alive.” Phil said. “I cared for her. I spoon fed her meals, bathed her, clothed her, talked to her… I looked after her.” 

 

The coroner’s report showed Mum died from heart failure, approximately a week or so ago. Phil carried her body to his bedroom, where he tried to preserve her. He washed her daily. Combed her hair. Brushed her teeth.  

 

He was adamant she died peacefully in her sleep, but I guess I’ll never truly know. How peaceful could she really have been living such a horrible, twisted life? 

 

Phil didn’t know Mum had made the tape to warn me. He didn’t know about the notes she left or that she’d marked the photos. He didn’t know that by inviting me round to collect my things he was ultimately exposing himself. 

 

Even after his confession, Phil is still pleading innocent. He doesn’t believe he kidnapped Mum. He doesn’t believe she died because of him. It’s going to be a messy trial, but I swear to God I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his sad, pathetic life. 

 

As for me? I’m going to scatter Mum’s ashes today. I’ll set her free in our favourite place. A place we visited each year on my birthday. A place that brought us happiness.  

 

I’ll sit there for a while. Looking out at the vastness of the sea, Mum’s urn tucked beneath my arm. We’ll watch the sunset together, and I’ll tell her how much I miss her. How I wish we could be together again, in our favourite place. 

 

Just us, against the world; Mum and Bella by the beach.