My Second Life (11 page)

 

19

I
CAME DOWN FROM
the roof because the light was fading and I knew Rachel would be home any minute.

As soon as I came down all the feelings I'd been feeling since I'd spoken to Mum came rushing back.

I had to tell someone about her. I'd burst into a thousand tiny pieces, disperse, if I couldn't say out loud to someone, “I've spoken to my mum. I've spoken to her!”

I grabbed a drink out of the fridge and stuffed it into my bag.

My heart was beating, fast. I pulled on my coat. Rachel walked in.

“Ana? Where are you going?”

“Out!” I said. I didn't stop.

“But I've just gotten in
—
”

“I won't be long!” I called from the hall, and I went, ignoring Rachel's calls for me to come back. I got the bus and I went to The Avenue.

Because Frances was the only person I could talk to about Mum.

I had to go to her. I had no choice.

I had to.

I banged on the door several times before Frances came to answer.

“It's you,” she said, as she opened the door.

“Can I come in?”

“You can, but not for long,” she said, and she waved her hand to indicate that I should come in, and then she shut the front door behind me. She shut it hard
—
and as it slammed I had a sudden feeling of regret that I had come. “Have you had a phone call?” Frances said, as she walked along the hall.

“Yes…,” I said, following her through to the sitting room. “I have.”

“Sit down,” she said.

And I did what she asked. I sat.

I lifted my hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. I wanted her to see the bruise she'd left when she hit me.

“I called them,” Frances said, ignoring me. “Richard and Amanda. I spoke to Amanda and I explained about you.”

Her eyes bored into me as she spoke. I felt my eyelids flicker again and again. I didn't know where to look.

What was I doing here? What was I thinking, coming here again?

Suddenly I was so tired.

I shook my head to try to wake myself up.

“Why did you come here today, Ana? To reprimand me for hitting you?” Frances said.

“No!” I said.

“Good,” she said.

There was a silence.

“I came because I spoke to her
—
to Mum. I wanted to tell you, and I wanted to ask you what you said to Amanda about me. When you called?”

“I told her that you'd come to see me, and that you claimed you were Emma. And I passed on your phone number, your address
—
the details you'd left the last time you were here.”

“You said that I
claimed
to be Emma?” I said.

Frances nodded.

“I thought you believed me.”

“Did I say that, Ana? Did I say that I believed you? I'm not sure that I ever did. Anyway, I thought you'd be pleased. I did what you asked me to do: I contacted Amanda and Richard. And now Amanda has contacted you.”

“Yes,” I said, and I nodded. She was right. She had done what I'd wanted her to do, and Mum had called.

“If I was given the chance to see Catherine again,” Frances said, “I'd take it now, just as Amanda has done. But I can't. Can I?”

Frances's voice was strong, slow.

“Do you not have anything to say?” Frances said.

“I'm not sure what to say,” I said. “Except that I'm sorry I'm not Catherine. I'm sorry I can't bring her back for you, now, when you are old and ill and
—
”

“Don't you dare pity me, Ana!” Frances interrupted. “I may be old, and I may be ill, but I still have life. And I intend to hold on to it for quite some time yet.”

“How can you be so sure of everything?” I said.

“Are you not sure of yourself, Ana? You say that as if you are not sure, but you must have been sure to have come here, to me, like you did. You must have been very sure.”

“I've never been so sure,” I said. “And so frightened
—
” I could feel my hands start to shake.

“Fear can change a person,” Frances said. “Make them less strong.”

There was a moment between us. Neither of us spoke.

“I'll have tea,” Frances said eventually. “You can make it.”

I turned and went straight into the kitchen. I was glad to get out of the room and away from Frances, just for a minute. I found where everything was and made the tea, then gathered the mugs, milk, and sugar onto a tray as well as I could and carried it into the front room. Frances started speaking again.

“So will you see them? Amanda and Richard?”

“Yes, I will. If they'll meet me,” I said.

“You mustn't be afraid of them,” she said.

“Afraid?”

“You'll just have to find a way to persuade them, like you persuaded me.”

I looked at Frances. Was she now saying she believed me? That she believed I was Emma? I felt like I was walking on shifting sand; every turn in the conversation with her felt like a test. I never knew whether my next step would be secure, or a slip into softer, deeper ground.

“Everything is so fragile,” she said, “isn't it?” And she smiled. My fragility had pleased her, and in one tiny moment between us, as she smiled, I could see that she had once been pretty.

I nodded in reply.

Fragile. I knew exactly what she meant. Except if you'd asked me to explain it, I wouldn't have known how.

“Catherine loved you. She idolized you. ‘Emma Trees,' she would say. ‘This was Emma Trees's jumper…' ‘Emma Trees had this book…' ‘I want a room at the top of the house like Emma Trees…' Do you remember that?”

I shook my head.

“No,” she said. “I guess you wouldn't. Catherine was waiting to see you when you came over that evening. Do you remember how excited she was the night of the party?”

“No,” I said.

Because suddenly I was filled with another memory. I could see Dad carrying a baking tray into a kitchen. There were other people in the room, moving about, getting things out of the oven. I was carrying a tray too. Mine was full of cheese twists. They looked dry. Some of the cheese had turned black on the baking tray, sticking to the metal like burned rocks. Dad set his tray on the side and then leaned over and took mine from me, to set it down next to his. And then he turned and put his hand on Mum's shoulder. He told her that he was going to take me over to play on the Green. He said that we would knock for Frances and Catherine and come back over with them at half past six. And I remembered Mum's face when he'd said that. She'd smiled. But I could see it was a smile that you put on for other people
—
for the woman who stood next to her, and for him, for Dad, and for me. Mainly I think she smiled for me.

The memory of it hurt.

“You remember Richard bringing you here though?” Frances said.

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

We had left the Williamses' and walked out onto The Avenue, and I remembered running alongside him to try to keep up. He was walking fast. I'd held on to his big warm hand and I'd pulled at him to try to make him come with me onto the Green. I'd pulled on him until my feet left the ground and I was swinging against his legs. I wanted him to play with me on the Green
—
like he'd said, like he'd promised. But he was knocking at Frances's door now. I wasn't going to give up trying to get his attention. Frances answered the door. And even though I knew that however much I pulled on his arms, I'd never be able to move him, I kept hanging off him as he stood in the hall, talking, so he couldn't ignore me. Eventually he shook me off, like rain from an umbrella, and I stumbled a little. I was never going to win this battle, and it hurt.

It still hurt now.

I sighed. I could feel a sob crouching low in my chest. I heaved with it as I took a breath in. I stood up and walked over to the bookshelves in the alcoves next to the fireplace. Frances was watching me all the time. I could feel her look, her stare.

“You were wearing a navy dress and boots. You looked nice,” I said eventually. I could see her, in my mind. Her hair around her neck. Soft, gentle.

I touched the books. Here were the same books that had sat on these same shelves the night Catherine had died. The night that I was here when I was Emma. The thought that they were still here, unmoved, unchanged, but I was here, now, in another life
—
it frightened me.

“I wore it for the party,” she said. “But of course, I never made it there in the end.”

“Dad said he'd come in a minute, that he'd come out with me and Catherine in a minute. That he would play with us. He told us to go out and play with the ball.” I ran my fingers across the spines of the books as I spoke, and I felt cold as I touched them.

“We've gone over this already,” Frances said. “Too many times.”

I shivered.

“No, we haven't!” I said.

“You sound like Emma when you say that,” Frances said. “You are so like her when you say that.”

I moved my shoulders to release the shivers in my back. I was cold. Even the insides of my bones felt like they'd caught the chill.

“We're going to the river, Catherine. We'll play hide-and-seek by the river.”

“If you don't play I'll tell on you. You have to come or that's what I'll do.”

I turned to look at Frances. I didn't speak.

“We watched you and Catherine go over the road and onto the Green,” she said. “We didn't leave you to cross on your own.”

“Dad blew me a kiss. And Catherine. He blew us both a kiss, from the window. He was standing in the window and he blew us both a kiss.”

“Yes,” Frances said.

“And you closed the curtains. I saw you. You closed them.”

Frances nodded.

“Why?”

She'd shut me out.

“You were with Dad…,” I said.

She was with Dad, and she'd shut me and Catherine out.

I was in territory I didn't know enough about. I was so cold I started to shake. Frances was staring at me, all the time. I tried hard to keep myself still, but I couldn't keep hold of my body. I didn't want to think the thought that I was thinking
—

“You were with Dad,” I said. “What were you…?”

“I was in love
—
with Richard
—
with your father,” she said.

I felt my throat close up. I didn't want to cry.

“He didn't come and play
—
because of you?” I said. I started to cry. “You closed the curtains and you left us…”

“That's right,” Frances said.

“You left me
—
with Catherine
—
without my dad…”

“You were always a daddy's girl, always jealous. You wanted to be with him all the time,” Frances said, almost scowling now.

And I saw them
—
as I saw them then
—
when I had peeked through the letter box that night
—
Frances's legs bare and the skirt of her dress way up high as she lay back on the stairs
—
Dad kissing her, kissing her arms, her neck
—
and I didn't want to keep looking, but I did
—
and I heard Dad say Frances's name like a whisper between the kisses
—
and I wanted to cry and scream with the hate
—
so much hate
—
and I didn't understand
—
I didn't understand
—
and I didn't want him to be doing this …

“No!” I'd screamed.

And I saw Frances's head turn, just slightly, toward the front door, and I pulled away from the letter box and it banged shut.

I faced the Green, panicking now. I'd left Catherine at the river. I hadn't told anyone where I'd left her or how I'd left her. She was alone. And now I'd seen this
—
my dad
—
and Frances
—
and I had to hide. It was bad. It was all so bad. And I ran and hid behind the bins in the front garden, next to the wall with the rough-cut petals, because I had to hide. Because no one could know what I'd seen and what I'd done
—

“You aren't listening to me, Ana.” Frances's voice momentarily broke through.

I'd taken Catherine to the river and I'd told her to go and hide, and then I'd followed her. She'd thought I was counting, and I was, but I was looking through the gaps between my fingers and I was watching her go. I saw where she hid. I waited for her to go quiet. Completely quiet. I made sure she wasn't going to come back to me, or to the house again. I did that. And then I left her. I knew it wasn't right, but I didn't want to play with her. I left her at the river and went and knocked on Frances's door for my dad. But still, he didn't come. I'd stood and I'd waited and I'd looked through the letter box … It was all so bad
—
I had to hide
—
I had to hide from them all. Me and Catherine, we were meant to be playing hide-and-seek. It was getting dark. It was my turn to hide now. I'd hide in the dark so no one could find me. I didn't want anyone to find me. Not now. Not ever. It had to be my turn to hide
—
and then no one could ever ask me what I did
—

“Ana?” Frances said.

I turned and I stared back at her, hard.

“You never came for us,” I said. “For me or for Catherine. No one came.”

 

tuesday

20

R
ACHEL BROUGHT ME A
cup of tea in bed the next morning.

I woke slowly. The first thing I thought of was Mum. I hadn't called her. I'd said I'd call her back, and I hadn't. I wanted to call her. I needed to. But after I'd seen Frances, after remembering what I'd seen, I didn't feel like I could call. Not just yet. I didn't know what I would say to her about me, about her, about any of it.