My Second Life (10 page)

That's what I said to myself as I stood there, trying to take in what had just happened, my cheek burning with the rising bruise.

And then I picked up my bag and I walked out. And as I went I glanced at Frances, and I swear she was smiling.

 

16

N
O ONE TOLD ME
that standing up high, and I mean really high
—
on-top-of-a-building Spider-Man high, where all you can see is the sky, until there is no more sky to see
—
would make me feel okay. But then I don't know who could have told me that.

I am lucky.

Lucky that today
—
this afternoon, while Rachel was at work
—
I climbed out of my bedroom window and discovered that if I swung my leg around far enough to the right, I could lever myself up and make it onto the bathroom window ledge and then onto the flat roof.

I don't know what made me do it.

Well, maybe, thinking about it now, I do.

I needed to get away. Just for a little while. And there was literally nowhere else to go.

 

monday

17

I
DIDN'T SLEEP.

I couldn't.

Being shouted at like that, being hit. It stayed with me. I lay in bed, still, all night, with my eyes open, trying to feel blank. Trying to feel nothing. But my feelings were all over me, like itches I couldn't reach to scratch.

“Ana, sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Rachel was standing in the kitchen waiting for me the next morning. She looked hassled. Worried. I sat at the table and pulled up my knees to hug them to me. I wasn't sure I could eat any breakfast. I'd grab something if I needed to on the way to school. I took a sip of juice. It was cold. Too cold. It made my teeth hurt. I touched my cheek. I hoped my makeup had covered the mark on my face. I didn't think Rachel had noticed the bruise last night. She'd gone out, and we'd talked when she got in, but I was in bed with just the side light on. I looked tired this morning. I knew that. I had bags under my eyes, but in a way that helped; it masked the slight swelling on my cheek. There was no way I could have explained to Rachel what had happened yesterday. No way.

“You look tired. Did you sleep last night?”

“I'm fine,” I said.

“Right, but are you sleeping?”

“I'm waking up a bit, during the night. It's nothing.” I didn't want to tell her I was so exhausted I didn't know how I was going to get through the day.

“You cried out in your sleep last night. Did you realize?”

“No,” I said. I wanted to change the subject.

“Are you having nightmares again?”

“Again?”

“You had them before
—
”

“When?”

“Years ago now,” she said.

I shrugged, like it didn't matter, but I didn't remember having nightmares before and it bothered me. I was sure I hadn't slept at all last night, but I must have if I'd cried out. I didn't know what to say. All I knew was how I felt at night. That was what was keeping me awake. The frightening ugly feelings.

“Ana? I'm talking to you … Ana? Are you listening?”

I looked up at Rachel. “What?”

“What's going on? Is something worrying you?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“It must be tough, without Ellie. I know how close you two were.”

I'd almost forgotten about Ellie. With everything else going on, there hadn't been room to miss her anymore. The only person I missed was Mum. Always Mum. And since I'd seen Frances, I was missing her even more.

“I guess I do miss her,” I said. Because I didn't know what else to say.

“And Jamie?” she said. “Are things okay with Jamie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said awkwardly. “I'm just asking.”

“I'm not seeing Jamie,” I said. “If that's what you mean. We're friends. Nothing's happened.” I didn't want her to know about me and Jamie. It was all so new.

“That's not what I meant,” Rachel said. “But fine, if you're just friends
—
then fine.”

“What? You don't believe me?”

“I believe you, Ana. I just want to find out what's wrong. Something's up. Something's worrying you
—
I know it is. The way you've been
—
ditching school, crying out in the night…”

“I'm fine. Honestly. You don't need to worry.” And as I said it I shifted closer to her and took her hand in mine, to try to prove the point, to try to change the subject, to try to make it better. She couldn't know about any of this. Not ever.

She nodded.

“Maybe we could do something, you and me, after school?” I said. I knew that would make her happy.

“That would be nice,” she said, brightening at the suggestion, and she pulled her hand back onto her lap and patted her knees. “But it'll have to be tomorrow. There's too much going on at work today.”

“Okay. Tomorrow,” I said, and I forced a smile.

“Well, look … if you are sure you're okay then I'd better go into work. I'm late already. But I'll see you this evening.” And as she moved forward, to give me a hug, I closed my eyes. I sat still as she held me. I couldn't hug her back. Because I couldn't bear her not being Mum. Not even for all the lovely things she did for me.

“Oh, Ana,” Rachel said, as she drew back and stood up. “I wish just once in a while you'd let me hug you.” And even though I wanted to do something, to say something, to make up for it, I just couldn't think of anything that I could do.

*   *   *

When Rachel left I thought about climbing back into bed. I was so tired. But I'd promised I wouldn't bunk off again, and I owed Rachel that much. I grabbed my blue Converse and slung my school shoes in my bag. I'd change at the school gates. I wanted to wear my Converse today. The blue ones were my favorites. I knew they'd make me feel better, for now, and as soon as I pulled them on they did.

Except as I bent down to put my books in my bag my cheekbone started to ache again where Frances had hit me. I couldn't stop thinking about the blow. Frances's weak hand, her old skin. It hid such strength. Her power frightened me. I should have given her the card back. I knew that. I didn't feel good about the way I'd been or about what I'd done. But she'd hurt me, and I couldn't stop thinking about that, and how it was all that I deserved. Her striking me across the face was actually nothing; nothing compared to what I'd done to her when I'd killed Catherine.

I stood up and pulled my bag onto my back.

I checked my face in the mirror one last time. A pale, unhappy face gazed back, thick makeup covering the bags under my eyes and the bruise on my cheek. I almost didn't recognize myself. I put my hands through my hair to flatten it and then I took a deep breath and opened the front door to leave the house.

“Hi!” said a voice as soon as I stepped out. Jamie.

He was sitting on the front wall in the garden, waiting for me.

“Hi,” I said, and as I turned to lock the door I touched my cheek again. I hoped he wouldn't notice the mark.

“I thought we could walk together,” he said.

“Sure,” I said. I couldn't quite believe he was here. That he'd been waiting for me.

“You okay?” he said, as we started to walk.

“Yeah. How long have you been waiting?”

“Just a few minutes,” he said. “I thought I might have missed you.”

I nodded.

“You're wearing your Converse.”

“Yeah. My school shoes are in my bag. These blue ones are my old faithfuls,” I said, looking down.

“Not feeling blue?” he said.

I shook my head, smiling. It was a relief to smile.

“I like the blue,” he said, and as he said it he slipped his hand in mine and we walked together, quietly, holding hands, almost all the way to school.

And then my phone rang.

“Hello?” It was a woman's voice. Familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. “Ana?” she said.

“Yes?” I could feel my heart pounding in my rib cage, shaking my frame. I had this feeling like a bomb was about to go off, like it was strapped to me, fused, and ready to blow, but there was nothing I could do.

I let go of Jamie's hand and stopped walking, motioning to him that he should walk on without me. But he didn't.

“Is that Ana?” the voice said again.

“Yes,” I said. “Who is this please?” And as I said it, I knew.

“It's Amanda—Amanda Trees.”

I turned away from Jamie and faced the way we'd just walked. I needed the privacy. As I turned it felt like the whole world was turning with me, and there I was, alone, in the middle of it; the spine of a spinning top, twirling tall, the world fanning out just a little bit faster all around me.

“Amanda,” I said. “Yes, it's me.” And a single tear left my eye and slipped as smooth as a raindrop on glass down my reddened cheek, the salt burning my skin as it went.

“What is it? Ana?” Jamie whispered, following me around, his face crinkled with concern as he wiped the tear from around my neck.

“I…”

He grabbed my hand, but I shook my head so he would let go and I turned away from him again. My fingers were wrapped around the phone so tightly
—
I didn't want to drop it … lose her
—
that I was almost wincing with the grip.

“Is this a bad time?” Mum asked. “I can call back. I wasn't sure
—
”

“No
—
it's fine,” I said. “I just
—
”

“Do you need to call me back? This is a bad time, isn't it?”

“I'm on my way to school,” I said. “I…” I couldn't form the words to explain.

“No problem,” she said. “Maybe later then. Call back when it's good for you. I'm here.”

“Okay,” I said.

“You'll have my number now, in your phone, won't you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I will.”

“Right,” she said.

There was a pause.

“Can I ask … how you found me?”

“Frances Wells,” she said. “She called. Last night.”

I couldn't believe that Frances had done that, after what had happened yesterday.

“So you'll call me?” she said. “We'll speak later?”

“Yes, yes…,” I said.

“It is okay, isn't it
—
that I called?”

“Yes. Yes,” I said, but somehow I wasn't sure that the sound of my voice convinced her how completely and utterly okay it was that she had called. I never thought that I would see her again. Not really. I'd wished for her. I'd longed for her. But I never truly believed I would ever get to speak to her or see her again. I'd been lost in the surprise and the joy of hearing her voice, and I hadn't told her how completely wonderful it was that she had called.

“Right, well, goodbye then…,” she said.

“I'm glad,” I said quickly, “that you called…”

But there was silence now on the other end of the line, and she had gone.

Jamie was standing a little way up the street, waiting for me.

“Is everything okay?” he said.

“I think so, yeah.”

“You looked so sad, just then.”

“I'm fine, really,” I said.

“Who was it?”

“Someone. No one. Come on. Let's go,” I said. “Or we'll be late.” And I took his hand in mine again, and I squeezed it, pulling him with me into a run, and as we ran Jamie laughed, and I laughed with him, and I felt so free. Please, I thought. Please let Jamie never have to know about me. Let him never have to know anything bad about me.

“I'll see you in class,” I said when we got to the school gates. “I've got to change these shoes. Go in or you'll be late.”

I sat down on the wall by the gates and started to pull at my laces.

“Ana…,” Jamie said. “I…” He stopped.

“What?”

We looked at each other. His eyes held mine.

I willed for him to finish what he was going to say.

I let my eyes scan his gorgeous face while I waited for him to speak.

“I
—
I guess I'll see you later,” he said, taking a step away from me toward the gates.

“Yeah,” I said, and I smiled. I wished I knew what he had really wanted to say, but in my heart I thought I knew. Because all I was thinking about was when I was going to kiss him, and I guessed that was what he'd been thinking too.

 

18

I
WENT BACK ON
the roof today after school.

I couldn't help myself.

Hearing Mum's voice had excited me. The sound of her, the bliss of hearing her again. It made me more Emma than I'd ever felt before, and I liked it. I had twinges in my stomach, nice ones, bright ones, like silver sparklers in the darkness. And each time I replayed the call in my mind, another one was lit. And there was Jamie too
—
adding to the brightness. This was dangerous
—
to feel like this
—
I knew it was. Because I'd felt like Emma again, just in that moment, talking to Mum. And it had made me happy. But I didn't deserve to feel this way. I knew I didn't. Not after what I had done.

So I pulled myself up onto the roof and lay on my back and looked up at the sky and I didn't let myself blink.

Not even once.

When you lie on your back and look up at the sky without blinking, your eyes fill with sky and your head fills with sky and everything feels … blank.

I lay on the roof with my eyes open and I felt so blank that I wept.

I wept and I wept.

And I wept for myself, not for Catherine, because right now feeling blank
—
feeling nothing
—
was far better than feeling all the pain and the guilt that I'd been feeling before.