My Second Life (15 page)

“Well?” Rachel said. She looked desperate.

I stood up and put my empty mug in the sink. “I'm going back to bed. I'm tired,” I said.

“Ana?” Rachel said as I went. “Don't shut me out. Please don't do that.”

And I nodded and said, “Okay,” because I did want to try, and because despite everything, despite my anger and my fear and my frustration, I remembered that I loved her. And I reminded myself that I shouldn't forget it.

I went upstairs and lay down on my bed.

I closed my eyes.

And I saw Mum standing over me, by the wall at number 38. I was hiding behind the bins in the front garden next to the wall with the rough-cut petal shapes. I was hiding from Catherine, and Dad, and from Frances, and from what I'd seen. And Mum was standing over me. She was telling me to come out from behind the bins, to come to her now, or I'd be in big trouble, and it was dark, and I couldn't quite see her face, but I knew she was angry.

“Come out of there. Now, Emma! Get out!”

I didn't move.

“What are you doing? Get out from behind the bins!” She was shouting now.

I didn't want to get out.

I didn't want to stop hiding.

I wanted to stay in my hiding place forever.

“Emma! Just get up!” she screamed, and when I didn't come, she reached down and grabbed me by the arm, and it hurt as she yanked me hard up off the ground. And then she bent down toward me and she said, “I need you to come with me. Just come now!” And I knew she was angry with me. I knew I had done wrong. I knew I was in the biggest trouble I could ever be in, in the whole wide world. And she dragged me back into the warm light and the humming noise of the party, and she sat me down in the corner of the room. “Stay there,” she said, and I could see she was about to start crying. “Don't move!”

I sat and I tried not to think about Catherine and how I'd left her at the river
—
and how I'd done and seen such horrible and ugly things
—
and how I would be punished once they all found out what I'd done.

It was only a matter of time before they knew.

It was only a matter of time.

I hated myself for what I had done.

 

28

T
HIS MORNING, BEFORE SCHOOL
, I lay down on the roof and imagined a time when I might slip again, because I could not get the feeling of falling out of my mind.

I don't know why. I was surprised that something that happened so quickly and so quietly could make me feel that way. But it did.

I wanted to reach out and grasp my fall again as I lay there.

I wondered, if I lay still and quietly enough, could I do that? Grasp it?

Because I wanted to feel it again, to give in to it.

To fall
—
light, weightless
—
where I was the space and the space was me.

 

29

I
JUST ABOUT MADE IT
through the day. Until last period. Geography.

I was meant to be writing up notes on the Richter scale. I was meant to get an A in geography. I was meant to get As in a few subjects. All these “meant to”s in life and none of them seemed relevant anymore. Not when all I had in my mind was Catherine's face, and her hair, and the way it fanned out as she floated in the dark waters, and her body like a little leaf in the swollen river. I could see her now, floating, motionless, and her body filling, filling, filling with the weight of the water. She was staring back at me, and in my mind she carried on floating … She went down the river and all the way out to the grand sea … I saw her body hit the horizon … I saw myself waving in the squinting brightness of the sun as she slipped over the line … Catherine … gone … She was gone …

“Ana Ross! Are you awake over there?” I'd fallen asleep. I'd been dreaming.

I heard Mrs. Fry's voice, calling me, asking me whether I was going to take part in the class today, and I heard myself reply and tell her I was, and then I think she left me alone. I wasn't sure though, because I felt as if I kept slipping momentarily into sleep.

I shook my head. My eyes wouldn't focus and my mind just wasn't giving me any kind of a break; it was full of images almost all the time. They were churning, spinning, repeating over and over. I thought I might pass out, but I didn't. I couldn't. However tired I was, I seemed to always be conscious.

I wished that I could sleep. And that I could forget.

But I didn't know how to do these things anymore. I couldn't control what was going through my mind, and all I could feel was the pain because of what I had done.

The bell rang.

Mrs. Fry turned her back on the class, and chair legs scraped the floor. The sound of it made me wince. I stared into space and I didn't move. I was just too tired to move.

“Ana!”

I heard my name being called. The sound of it broke my stare.

I looked over to the classroom door, where the voice was coming from.

Jamie.

I smiled.

Seeing him grounded me, almost instantly.

I stood up and walked over to him and he took both my hands in his, low, between us, so no one could see.

“Library?” he said.

I nodded, letting go of his hands. “But I need something, something sweet. Sugar!”

“Okay,” he said. “Let's go.”

We went to the shop and bought chocolate and cans of drink, and I fed myself fast, sitting on the park wall just up from school.

“How was your day?” I said, breaking off a fat chunk of chocolate and cramming it into my mouth.

“Fine,” he said. “Better now, for seeing you.” I looked at the ground.

I could feel his eyes were still on me.

“That's nice,” I said. And I looked back up at him. “That's about the nicest thing…” I broke off, afraid I might cry, but before I could Jamie bent down, and he kissed me gently on the lips.

It was a tender kiss.

“Are you okay?” he said, holding my face now in his hands. “You look upset.”

“No,” I said. “No, I'm fine.” I took a deep breath. “I just didn't sleep last night,” I said. “I'm a bit all over the place…”

“Shall we head back to the library?”

“Sure,” I said, and as we walked, I felt so happy. It was pure joy that Jamie liked me so much.

*   *   *

When we got back to the school library it was busy. We found a table with two spaces, but they weren't next to each other. We sat down anyway, and I glanced across at him and he blinked back a smile as we began to get out our books.

I bent down over my geography textbook as if I was reading, and I let my hair fall over my face slightly and closed my eyes.

I thought that perhaps, if I kept still, with my eyes closed and my head down, I might eventually fall into sleep. Maybe no one would notice me either. I so wanted to sleep now. I was desperate for it. I needed it to envelop me, to close me down and rest me, and it almost did. Until I saw Catherine's body again, slipping over the horizon, and the sun going with it, and there was darkness and it was all around. I wanted to open my eyes, to get away from it, and yet part of me wanted to stay
—
to give in to it
—
to see what would happen. And in those next few seconds I saw blue flashing lights, small groups of people turned inward to one another, and a huddle of encircling arms all around. There was moaning, weeping. It was grief. And it was like a cloak gathering everyone who was there into a perpetual night.

I opened my eyes before I sank any further.

The bright lights above the table in the library scorched my sight.

I squinted to look and find Jamie again. “I've got to go,” I whispered across to him.

“We've just got here!” he said.

“I can't concentrate. I can't think. I just
—
”

“Okay,” he said. “Let's go.” And he nodded and zipped up his bag.

We stood up together, to leave.

*   *   *

We got out of the school grounds and walked up to the end of the road. Jamie took my hand again and turned toward me.

“What shall we do?” he said, hitching his bag higher up onto his back. “Do you want to go home? Get some sleep?”

“I don't know,” I said, looking at him. I needed to sleep, but I didn't want to leave him. Not yet.

“We could go back to your house?” he said.

I checked the time on my watch. Rachel would be home. She always got back early on a Friday.

“We could…,” I said.

“What is it?”

“It's just Rachel might be in.”

“So?” he said. “You don't want to come to mine
—
it's like a madhouse.”

I'd been to his a couple of times before. Last semester, before Ellie had gone to the States and Zak and Hannah had got together. We'd all just hung out and watched a DVD and gotten pizza. I knew what he meant. His house was full of people. He had an older brother and a younger sister, and his mum and dad seemed to always be around. I thought it was fun. It couldn't have been more different from mine. It was quiet at mine. It was totally and utterly quiet all of the time.

“I'd rather go to yours
—
if that's okay,” I said.

“Really?” he said.

“Really.”

“Okay,” he said. “If you're sure.”

“I'm sure,” I said, smiling. Because I didn't want him to come to mine. Not yet. I didn't want to have to share him with anyone yet. And I turned in toward him and squeezed his hand, and we began to walk, and, just for a moment, I almost completely forgot about Catherine.

 

saturday

30

I
T HAD BEEN FOUR
days since Frances had called me. “You'll visit, when you've spoken to Amanda.” That was the last thing she'd said to me, and still I hadn't been back to see her. I wondered what things would have been like if I'd never seen her that day in the hospital. If I hadn't recognized her like I did. I think I would have been walking around the rest of my life pretending I was normal, or a version of normal anyway, and I might just have got away with it.

Instead, right now, I was too tired to pretend. And I felt so far from normal, because I just felt so much. Feelings were coursing through me like a drug
—
fast and dirty
—
and somehow, even though I hadn't slept, I was awake. I was awake, all the time. Thinking and feeling, all the time. And my feelings were eating me raw. I was raw right down to the marrow in the deepest cracks and crevices of my bones. I had to go and see Frances. I had to. She'd asked me to go after I'd seen Mum, and I'd only seen Mum because of her.

I owed her now, in so many ways.

I got to The Avenue and knocked hard on Frances's door.

She answered.

“Hi, Frances,” I said. “Can I
—
?”

“Ana!” she said. “Come in!” Her voice was lighter than it normally was.

She walked through to the sitting room and she was strong on her feet, moving more quickly than I'd seen before.

I closed the door and called through from the hall as I hung up my coat.

“Do you want me to put the kettle on?”

“No, no. I've just made a pot,” she said. “Get yourself a mug from the kitchen and come on through.”

I went to the kitchen and took a mug from the cupboard. I wondered what had put her in such a good mood. I'd never seen her like this before. When I walked into the sitting room, the answer was there.

A man stood by the fireplace. He had his back to me, his hands in his pockets.

She had a visitor.

I had this feeling suddenly, like I shouldn't be there, in the house, like I'd intruded.

I looked at Frances.

Was she going to introduce us?

She smiled. “So!” she said, clasping her hands together.

“So…,” the man repeated.

And then he sighed.

And in that sigh I recognized the man.

He turned.

My dad.

It was my dad.

Standing in front of me.

And when he turned to face Frances and saw me, his face twisted with irritation and pain.

He looked away as soon as he had seen me.

“I was just leaving,” he said, quickly taking his hands out of his pockets.

His hair was gray
—
no, silver
—
like thread, and his eyes were sunken, but he was still Dad.

“No, you weren't,” said Frances sharply. “You just got here, Richard. Now sit down.”

And he did. He did exactly as Frances told him to.

My heart started beating, loud.

I went to introduce myself, to explain who I was. “I'm
—
”

“I know who you are,” he said.

He wouldn't look at me.

It was strange. Here was the man who had been my dad, but I didn't have that immediate rush of love, like when I'd seen Mum. I didn't know why. I'd loved my dad, I really had.

“Sit down then, Ana,” Frances said. “Pass me your mug.” I too did as I was told.

I looked at Frances. She was so confident. She almost sparkled in Dad's company. It was like she was visibly twinkling.

She methodically poured the tea into three mugs, then the milk, and offered around a sugar bowl.

“So … you came to see Frances?” I said. I couldn't believe that he was here
—
still here
—
all these years on.

“Did you set this up, Fran?” Dad asked, ignoring me completely.

“She didn't,” I said, interrupting.

I didn't like being ignored. I didn't like what he was doing to Mum, by being here.

“She didn't know I was coming,” I said.

“It's true, Richard. I didn't.” Frances turned to me. “In fact, I'd been wondering when you were going to come, Ana. I had hoped to see you before now.”