My Second Life (13 page)

Suddenly I was so tired. I felt utterly dead beat.

“It can make life quite bewildering
—
when you don't sleep
—
don't you find?”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“It's hard to know what's real and what's not.”

She was right. I was so tired. And I didn't have the fight I needed for this conversation anymore.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Frances said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You'll visit, when you've spoken to Amanda,” she said.

“I will,” I said.

And then she hung up.

And I went and lay down on my bed and slept for six hours straight.

I did exactly as Frances told me to.

 

wednesday

23

W
HEN
I
WOKE EARLY
the next morning all I could feel was the loss of Mum. It was a feeling I'd lived with my whole life. It was normal. The norm. It was all I knew. Except since I'd seen Frances it had gotten worse. So much worse. It was like an ache deep inside that I couldn't soothe. And here I was, with her number in my phone. I could call her, I could speak to her, and yet somehow it unnerved me.

All I had to do was press
CALL
.

I closed my eyes and told myself to do it. And I did.

Mum answered immediately.

“It's Ana,” I said. “We spoke
—
before
—
earlier in the week…”

“Ana!” she said. She sounded pleased. “I didn't think you were going to call back.”

Her voice was just as I remembered it, although
—
like the crackles on a glaze
—
it showed its age now. I'd forgotten that she wouldn't be exactly as I remembered her. I'd forgotten she'd be older now. Not that it mattered, because here I was
—
speaking to her. And I was so relieved. My whole body relaxed at the sound of her. If a person could shine, I'm sure, in that moment, I would have been shining.

“It's not too early, is it?” I said. “I just wasn't sure when else I could call.”

“It's fine,” she said.

“I'm sorry, I know I said I'd call straight back, but
—
”

“Don't be sorry,” she said.

Neither of us spoke.

“I
—
I wonder … could we meet?” I said. “It seems a bit hard, to talk like this, on the phone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let me get my diary.”

The phone clunked as she put it down, and I heard her walk across a hard floor. There she was. My mum. My real mum. I was going to see her again.

We arranged to meet the following day. A café in Hampton Wick. She said it wasn't that far from Twickenham, where I lived. She said it was a nice café, although she hadn't been for a while, but she was sure it was still there. She said she could get there by ten. I listened to her and I smiled to hear her talk. The familiarity of her was overwhelming. I didn't care about the café. I didn't even question that I'd have to skip school again. I just wanted to see her. Tomorrow wasn't going to be soon enough.

“I'll have to bring the dog,” she said. “Do you like dogs?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“Oh, good. He's a black Lab,” she said. “He has a red collar. He's chunky. If you look out for him, you'll be sure to find me. I'll be on the other end of the lead!” she said, and she laughed.

“But I'm pretty sure I'll recognize you
—
without the dog
—
I mean…”

She stopped laughing. “Right,” she said, and then she paused. “Really?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “Of course.”

“Well
—
okay,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.” And I could hear the change in her voice as she said it, like she was unsure, frightened even, and I wished I hadn't said a thing.

 

24

I
FELT SICK ALL
day at school.

I wasn't sure whether it was the thought of seeing Jamie at the end of the day that was making me feel this way or whether it was because I was seeing Mum tomorrow. Either way I felt sick; it was a heady mix of excitement and fear and hope that was making me feel this way, and it was new. It was all new.

*   *   *

“Hey,” Jamie said as the bell rang and everyone started to move toward the door.

“Hey,” I said back.

“Where shall we go?”

I shrugged. I actually hadn't thought about it.

“I was thinking the park. We can pick up something to eat or drink on the way,” he said. “If you want to?”

I nodded and smiled, and Jamie took my hand and we started to walk.

We found a bench by the ponds. We'd bought coffees at the kiosk but I still felt so sick I wasn't sure I could drink mine. And it was hot. Too hot. I set the cup down next to me at my feet and I felt Jamie move in closer as I bent down. I tucked my legs beneath me and sat back up.

There was no conversation we could have right now. The air we were breathing, the thoughts we were thinking were permeated only with the possibility of our kiss, and I could feel only the anticipation of it between us.

“Listen, Ana
—
I…”

I turned to face him on the bench.

“Can I
—
?”

And I didn't wait for him to say it. I didn't wait for him to ask whether he could kiss me. I just let my eyes search his beautiful face, and I looked at his lips and I lifted my hands up to hold him, to touch his cheeks, and as he came closer toward me I pulled him in and our lips met, and our mouths gently opened to each other
—
and we kissed
—
we were kissing …

 … and it was blissful.

It was the most blissful thing that had ever happened to me in my whole entire life.

And I held on to the moment

—
and I held on to him

—
and it was perfect.

 

thursday

25

I
DIDN'T SLEEP.
S
LEEPLESSNESS
was a permanent part of my life now. This morning my head ached with it. But at least when I told Rachel that I had a headache, and that I needed to stay home from school to sleep, it wasn't that much of a lie. I said I'd go in later, and she was okay with that.

I waited for her to leave the house, then pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my bag and coat and headed straight to the station. I didn't want to risk being late.

When I got to the station I could see that the next train to Hampton Wick was at 8:52 a.m. I was going to be massively early. I sat on the platform and texted Jamie while I waited.

Not in this morning but will be later. Headache. Need to sleep. Thinking of you. x

I felt sick again when I sent it. It was true, I was thinking of him, but as I hit
SEND
I felt like somehow I'd said too much.

I bought a hot chocolate. It tasted nothing like hot chocolate. I opened up the lid and looked inside. It looked like it was just brown sugary water. I didn't mind. I needed the sweetness, to keep me going. The granules crunched in my teeth, and I liked it. I put on my headphones and listened to my music and the train pulled in on time.

I stepped on and sat, gazing out the window. I thought again about what Frances had said to Mum. She'd said that I was someone who claimed to be Emma. It didn't sound very convincing. More like total madness. And yet Mum was coming to meet me, now. Frances must have said something more. She must have. Why else would Mum be coming? To Mum, I was a stranger. A fifteen-year-old stranger. To me, she was Mum, and I had to find a way to persuade her to accept me and to love me, like she had loved me before, like I had loved her, like I still loved her now. Because I was so sure that if I could see her again, if we were together again, I'd feel better. I'd feel like me. All of me.

I got off at Hampton Wick and walked from the station toward the shops. I searched the faces of everyone I walked past, urgently seeking Mum out. Her face was there, in my mind, all the time. Her soft blond hair resting against her pale cheek. And yet the more I looked for her in the street, the less I felt I could see. As I turned the corner I saw the café where we were supposed to meet. There was an old man sitting outside with a newspaper and a coffee, and a woman smoking in an apron, leaning against the door frame. There was no one else around.

I looked back up the street and started scanning my view for dogs. There was a small yappy thing tied up outside a newsagent's. I wished it would be quiet. It wouldn't stop barking for its owner to come out of the shop.

I was getting closer to the café now, and still I couldn't see her. For a split second I doubted myself
—
what if I didn't recognize her? What if I'd walked past her already? What if I had to go home without seeing her because I never found her? Because this woman I think I know isn't here? What then?

As I walked I felt hopeless, like someone had turned my heart inside out and emptied its contents onto the side of the road.

I stopped walking and stood utterly still.

I felt in that moment as if I had nothing, and no one.

And then I saw her.

Mum.

There she was. Walking along the street, toward the café, like today was the most ordinary day, like she was the most ordinary woman alive. Except to me
—
she was everything, and today was no ordinary day. It was just she didn't know it yet.

I ran across the road. I didn't even look as I stepped out. I just wanted to get to her. She must have left the dog at home, because there was no dog, no black Lab, no red collar. She looked old. She was old. Of course she was. Her hair was gray now, not blond, her walk slower, her back a little more curved than I remembered it. I hesitated for a moment as I neared her. I slowed myself down. It was her. I knew it was her. I knew her. I stepped up onto the pavement. She stood outside the café, her back to me now. I walked up to her and I touched her on the arm. She turned around to face me.

“Hi,” I said, and when she saw me she smiled, and I thought I might scream out with the joy of it.

I loved her.

And she was here.

“You must be Ana!” she said. “Well, it's very nice to meet you.”

I nodded and I swept my hand across my face to wipe away the tears. I was crying with relief and happiness and with sadness
—
to see her
—
but to see her so old, like this. It wasn't what I had imagined or expected.

“I left the dog at home in the end,” she said. “Let's go inside.” And she opened the café door to let me go in first and as she did she looked at me, searching my face for something, for some recognition. I prayed that there would be something in my face that was Emma.

We sat at a corner table and ordered tea. I wondered whether the dog, or the lack of it, had been some kind of test.

She stirred her tea, and then she spoke. “Emma never used to drink tea,” she said. “She didn't like the taste.”

“Oh … right. I do,” I said. “Well, I didn't as a kid, but I do now…”

If the dog was a test, I'd passed. If the tea was a test, I'd fallen short at the start.

She sipped from her mug and her eyes darted about the room. I could tell the tea was too hot and that she'd stung her lip but was holding in the pain. She was more nervous than I was.

“I'm not really sure what we say,” she said. “In a situation like this.”

“I know,” I said, looking at her hands, at her rings. She wore the same rings she always wore, but her fingers were wider around the knuckles and her skin was lined and brown in places with age. These were the hands I remembered, and yet not the hands I'd held and stroked and pulled on as a child.

We were quiet again.

“I don't know what Frances said to you,” I said. “About me.”

Mum frowned and I could see all the lines on her face
—
the lines marking the years I'd missed with her.

I saw myself in our kitchen. I was smaller. I could hear shouting above me, and I could see all the bread crumbs nestling under the toaster from where I stood. I tried to block the shouting out. I felt tiny, insignificant, like a mouse in a storm. Mum and Dad were shouting. Mum's arms were waving about and the wide sleeves of her dressing gown were flapping like some kind of prehistoric bird's wings. Dad was pacing, threatening at every step to just walk out of the room, but Mum reeled him back in again with more words, angry ones. I'd only wanted cornflakes. I just wanted the cornflakes. Would someone not just get me the cornflakes?
“Stop shouting!”
I'd said,
“Stop shouting!”
And they did.

“Frances didn't say very much,” Mum said. I nodded.

“And D
—
” I went to say “Dad” but I stopped myself. “Richard,” I said. “Is he…?”

“What?” she said.

“Does he know? I mean … that Frances called?”

I could feel myself getting tied up in knots. I didn't know what Mum knew about Dad and Frances. I didn't want to say anything, to give anything away, but I needed to know whether he knew about me, now.

“Yes,” she said. “He knows, but I'm afraid he's not
—
well, he's not convinced
—
if that's the word. Or at least he doesn't think he could ever be convinced. He's not interested in meeting you. Not right now, anyway.”

I nodded.

He didn't want to see me.

That felt like a blow. A blow that hit me deep in my belly.

I wanted my dad. It wasn't the same feeling as wanting Mum, but it was there. I needed him. Like I needed him that night, with Catherine.