My Second Life (19 page)

“Don't go!” I cried out, as she moved off toward the desk.

She turned. “I won't be a minute,” she said, but as I watched her get up and walk to the desk I willed her back to me. I needed her. I needed her so much, and the thought that she was going away from me now brought a loose uncontrolled sickness to my belly again.

I put my head between my legs.

My head was throbbing, but it didn't stop me wishing.

I hung my head low and I sat and I wished.

I wished that I might undo it
—
undo all that I did
—
and I blocked out the pain in my head
—
and I wished and I wished and I wished.

 

37

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
? You're meant to be resting, remember?” Rachel was guiding me back to the sofa and passing me the remote control. “Watch something. I don't want you wandering about. You need to relax.”

I couldn't relax. I couldn't stop thinking about Frances, and how she'd left me by the fireplace, and how I'd been hurt and she hadn't cared. And Catherine, my half sister, Catherine. It had all been a lie: my mum, my dad, my family. And Frances was a massive part of it. She stood between my parents and me. We were all connected. I didn't want us to be, but we were. It wasn't just the events of that night that connected us anymore.

“Sit down, Ana. Please. Let me get you something to eat,” Rachel said.

We'd only been back from A&E twenty minutes and she was already fussing.

“I'm not hungry.”

“I'll get you a drink then,” Rachel said, and she walked into the kitchen.

My phone buzzed.

There was a text from Jamie.

Thinking of you, lovely Ana. See you tomorrow. x

I texted back two kisses. I had nothing, in that moment, to say. I felt lost. If Jamie knew what I had done he wouldn't want to call me or see me ever again.

Rachel handed me a cup of tea. “Here, drink this. Will you be okay for a bit if I go and take a shower?”

“Sure.”

“I won't be long,” she said.

I looked at my phone again.

I pulled up Jamie's text and reread it a couple of times, then I put my phone away again and I went upstairs and lay down on my bed.

“I'm meant to be going out tonight.” Rachel appeared at my bedroom door after her shower. “But I'm going to cancel,” she said, and she walked out and into her room.

I followed her in.

“Don't cancel
—
not for me. I'll be fine.”

I went and stood behind her as she sat at her dressing table and brushed her hair, looking at herself in the mirror. She had gorgeous thick hair that bounced up in waves around the back. She called it uncontrollable. I called it luscious, which kind of annoyed her. She hated the attention. She could never take a compliment.

“I can't go,” she said. “Not with you like this.”

“I'm fine,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at me.

“I'm fine. Really.”

“Any pain?”

“No, no pain. No chance of that with the pills they gave me,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “But still, I think I should stay home, in case you need me.”

“Really?” I said.

“Really,” she said.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was glad.

I reached out and gathered her hair in my hands and scooped it up onto the top of her head, and we both looked at her in the mirror. She was beautiful. Elegant. I stood behind her. Plain. Damaged.

“I thought Jamie was nice,” she said.

“Really?” I shrugged, pretending like it was no big deal to hear her say that.

She smiled. “You okay?” she said.

I nodded, and let go of her hair.

I left it a moment before I spoke again.

“When did you first, you know, fall in love?”

“Oh,” she said. “Now there's a question!”

Our eyes met again in the mirror. I was embarrassed. But I'd asked her now.

“It was Year Seven. Ben Bolton.”

“Year Seven?”

“Yup!”

“And you knew it was love?”

“I knew,” Rachel said, smiling. “I put a note in his locker every day for a week. It had to be love.”

“But how did you know?” I said.

“Because when I wasn't with him I could only think of him. Because when I wasn't with him I was simply waiting until I was. And when I was with him, I didn't want to be anywhere else.”

I nodded again, looking at my feet.

“When it's right with someone, you just know, Ana. It's the simplest thing in the world.”

“Okay,” I said, as if I understood. But I didn't. I thought about Mum and Dad, and Frances and Al, and I thought about Dad and Frances. I didn't believe that all love could be as simple as Rachel had described it.

She turned around and squeezed the chub of my cheek between her forefinger and thumb like she used to when I was little; it was playful, and she seemed happy. “Don't look so worried, Ana. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

And as much as I wanted to believe her, to take her promise and hold it in the palm of my hand like it was the most precious thing on earth, I couldn't. Because I wasn't the same person I'd been two weeks ago
—
the person who saw the good in everything and believed in the truth. I had killed someone. I had done that. And not just anyone. I had killed my sister. My only sister. And nothing could reverse that or make it better. Surely I was here as Ana, now, to suffer in this life for what I had done. I had to be. That had to be why I was here. That had to be the reason. And the suffering, it had really only just begun.

 

38

A
S SOON AS
R
ACHEL
turned the hall light off that night, I climbed out of my bed and onto the roof.

The air was cool, and I was still.

No one knows I'm here, I thought.

No one needs to know that I'm here.

No one needs to know that I come to this high-up place with open edges and sloping sides. That's the whole point of this place. It's a place where no one can find me. No people, no memories, no one.

And everything that happens here is my own.

Ana's. Not Emma's. It is my own.

And if I fell off this roof …

If I slipped or rolled or let myself slide …

It would be mine.

It would be my own.

It would be totally my own.

Because I need it to be, to be Ana. I need something that is my own.

 

monday

39

I
SLEPT ALL NIGHT
. I slept like I was dead. It must have been the painkillers, but whatever it was, I didn't care. The sleep was good, and I felt better for it. Or at least I did in my first waking moments. And then Frances's voice was with me again
—

“She's dead! She's dead! She's gone! Because of you! How could you? We trusted you, and she's gone.”

I turned over and pulled the duvet in, closer, so it was all around me.

I was going to see Mum and Dad today. I was going back to The Avenue and I was going to see them both, together, with Frances. I was going to find out exactly what I had done.

I got up and made some breakfast. I opened up my laptop and typed a permission letter for school while I ate. I printed it off and forged Rachel's signature. It looked pretty close. It would do. I'd decided not to ditch
—
well, not completely. I'd go in for registration and then leave. I'd put in the letter that I had a hospital appointment following up on my stitches, that I'd be back at lunchtime. I didn't want Rachel to find out and have any more reasons to worry. She had enough reasons already.

As I walked into school I saw there was a missed call on my phone, and it beeped to let me know there was a message. I stopped and walked back to the gates to pick it up.

“Ana, hello. It's Amanda
—
Amanda Trees. I know we're seeing each other this morning, but … I said I'd be in touch
—
and, I know I haven't
—
and, well
—
I found something
—
something I'd like you to have. I don't really want to say any more, not on the phone … but I wanted to let you know that I'll bring it today
—
and I'm sorry I haven't called until now
—
but I'll see you later. Bye now.”

I looked at my phone. It was 8:40 a.m.

One hour and twenty minutes until I would see her. I just had to get through registration.

Then I could leave.

I could see my mum.

I walked to my classroom and as I did the stitches in my head started to pull, sharply, above my ear. I took a deep breath in, to steady myself, and I put my feet down … one in front of the other … to the pulse in my head … one in front of the other to the pulse in my head … one in front of the other to the pulse in my head … I was marching to the beat of my own adrenaline.

“Hey, Ana!”

Jamie was sitting on one of the tables, calling me over as I came into class.

“How are you?” he said.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Just okay?” he said.

“Well, apart from this.” I raised my hand to my head.

“What happened?” he said.

I lifted my hair up over my ear. He put his hand on my neck as he looked, and he smoothed the skin close to my cut with his fingers. It tingled with his touch.

“I fell,” I said. “It was stupid
—
”

Mrs. Kavanagh walked in.

“Everyone sitting down for registration now please.” And she started to run through the names.

As soon as the register was finished Jamie stood up and came back over to me.

“You should've called me. I'd have come over.”

He took my hands gently in his.

“I was just too tired,” I said as the bell sounded. “On major painkillers
—
look
—
”

“I wish you'd called me,” he interrupted. “Seriously.”

“I'm sorry, Jamie
—
I am. I didn't think
—
”

“What? That I'd want to know?”

“That's not what I meant
—
look
—
I'm sorry,” I said, and I pulled my hands out from his without looking at him
—
I couldn't bear to
—
and I ran out of class and down the corridor and out onto the street because I had to get out. I just had to get out of school and into the cooler air, and I had to get to The Avenue so I could see my mum. Because I couldn't wait any longer to see her now.

 

40

I
RAN FROM THE
bus stop and knocked loudly on Frances's door.

“Frances,” I said, when she answered.

My breath was short from running, my heart drumming, my wound throbbing. I hadn't realized I was feeling so strung out until I spoke and my voice was uneven, raspy.

“Are
—
they here
—
yet?” I said, but before she could answer I bent over and put my hands on my knees, dipping my head down to stop myself passing out.

She opened the door wider. “Come in,” she said. “I'll get you some water.”

And she closed the door behind me.

I went into the living room. It was empty. I looked out the window for Dad's car. The street was so quiet. I couldn't see anyone. They weren't here.

Frances was in the kitchen. I could hear all sorts of things being moved about, not just cups and cutlery, but chairs and cupboard doors, like she was arranging and rearranging things. It distracted me, but not enough to make me go into the kitchen to see what she was doing. And anyway, I didn't want to be near her. I was glad to be away from her, in another room, standing at the window, waiting for Mum and Dad.

“Your water,” said Frances, suddenly behind me with a glass. She made me jump. “Are you nervous, Ana?” she said.

“No,” I said, lying, turning to face her. She handed me the water. I took a sip.

“They'll be here,” she said. “In a minute.” And she walked back out of the room and through into the kitchen.

I turned to the window again and saw Dad's car, the one that had picked Mum up when we'd met in Hampton Wick. It was parked, but I couldn't see anyone inside. I walked up to the window, pushing the curtains along so I could see better, but they must already have been at the door, as the next thing I heard was their knock.

I panicked. I put my glass down on the table, spilling the water. I wanted to get to the front door before Frances. I wanted to see Mum, to talk to her, find out what she wanted to give me. And as I moved, I saw it
—
the photograph
—
on the sideboard. Catherine. Her hair down, blowing around her face in the wind. She was smiling, laughing, standing on a rock, her arms out to the sides like she was balancing. I hadn't ever seen it before. There had never been any photographs here before. Frances must have set it out, for today. For Mum, for Dad, for me. And Catherine was smiling at me
—
my friend, my sister. I thought I might collapse under the weight of the feelings I had for her
—
and then I saw her face, again, in the water. Her hair splayed out all around her in the deep, black water, her eyes wide open with the shock. I felt a pain in the middle of my stomach like a punch, a repetitive punch. I couldn't breathe. I grabbed the arm of the chair next to me with both hands and I closed my eyes and started counting, counting, counting to try and bring myself back into the room.

Mum and Dad were in the hall now. I could hear them. They were about to come into the room. They were about to see me, like this.