My Second Life (3 page)

I walked, and I thought.

I was a good person, wasn't I?

There had been times when I was desperate to tell someone how I'd lived before, but I never did. I'd held on to my secret to protect the people I loved. That was good, wasn't it? That had been the right thing to do? I was trying to be a good person. But now
—
Frances
—
and these memories
—
this feeling of shame, and guilt
—
I didn't know what to do with that
—

42 The Avenue.

It came to me, as I walked, like someone had posted a letter to my brain.

42 The Avenue.

It was there, suddenly.

42 The Avenue.

An address.

Frances's address.

I was sure.

*   *   *

Jamie was late.

It shouldn't have mattered. Going out with Jamie for a coffee after school was actually pretty normal. But now that Ellie had moved away and Zak was going out with Hannah, our gang had dwindled to almost nothing. Now there was just me and Jamie and it felt, well, awkward. I liked him too much. Way too much. And I wasn't sure I could hide it if the others weren't there.

I ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows
—
the lot
—
and sat down on the sofas next to a low table by the window. I played with the spoon, looking up every now and then to see if he'd arrived. I picked up my phone. No messages. I flicked through my photos, my contacts, and then I opened up a Web search and put in “42 The Avenue Frances Wells.” I didn't remember where I'd lived before. Frances being here, now, didn't give me anything to go on. Not really. I could have lived anywhere before. But I put in London anyway. It seemed like a good place to start. I scanned the pages. Nothing. A few people called Frances who'd lived on Avenues. Of course. What was I thinking? Like it was going to give me some kind of information on … what? What was I looking for exactly? I didn't know … Some proof, I guess
—
that Frances was who I thought she was.

“Sorry, I know I'm late.” Jamie was here.

“Hi!” I said, overenthusiastically, putting away my phone.

“I'm gonna get one of those too!” he said, pinching a marshmallow off the top of my mug, and then he walked up to the line to order.

I looked over at him and popped a marshmallow into my mouth and sucked it soft while I waited for him to come back and sit down. He looked nice.

“So, you all right?”

I felt awkward.

“Yeah, yes,” I said.

“How's your gran?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, she's okay. She'll be home soon.”

“That's good,” he said, spooning whipped cream into his mouth. “Mmm, this too.” He looked up and smiled at me, his eyes sort of holding mine. I wasn't sure whether to look away or carry on looking back at him, but somehow I couldn't let go of his gaze.

“What did you do last night then?” I asked, racking my brains for something
—
anything
—
to say.

“Went to Zak's, played Xbox…”

“That's all you two ever do!”

“No, it's not!” he said. “Anyway, I didn't hang around for long
—
Hannah turned up.”

If Zak wasn't playing Jamie on the Xbox then he was basically pretty much guaranteed to be hanging out with Hannah.

“You should come to Zak's next time,” Jamie said. “You'd make me feel like less of a third wheel.”

“Yeah, right!” I said. “Thanks!”

“What?”

“Well, that's not much of an invitation! And you know how much I love Xbox…”

Jamie smiled.

I quickly looked at my phone
—
I wasn't sure why
—
then at Jamie again.

When he looked back at me I felt a rise and fall. It was as if he'd lifted me up and then gently set me down again. But I hadn't moved at all. He'd done that with his eyes. I felt hot inside.

“Have you heard from Ellie?” I said, trying to change the subject, break the moment.

“Nah,” he said. “It's been what, a couple of weeks?”

“Four,” I said. “Nearly five.”

“She's probably busy. You know, settling into her glamorous new life in the US of A.” He grinned at me as he said it.

I smiled.

“I'm sure you'll hear from her soon,” he said.

His eyes were blue, more blue than I remembered. Beautifully blue.

“So are you going out tonight?” he asked.

I shook my head and picked up my mug, staring into the bottom of it. It was virtually empty now; I took a sip of foamy air.

“What's up, Ana?”

“Nothing…”

“You don't seem yourself.”

I wasn't being myself. I knew that. He knew that.

“I'm fine, really.”

“So come out then,” he said. “Come out with me and Zak. We're going over to Sammy's tonight.”

“Maybe. I don't know. I'll have to check with Rachel. It's a school night
—
”

“Tell her you're coming to my place, to study.”

“Yeah
—
maybe
—
”

As I broke off I could see he was hanging on for my answer, searching my eyes for a “yes,” and I wondered for a split second whether I could tell him. Could I tell him that in the hospital bed next to my Grillie there was this seriously old woman I'd known before from my first life, the life I'd lived before this one, the life only I knew about, the life that I'd kept a secret from him, from Ellie, from them all? I was desperate, suddenly, to say it out loud, to tell him, there and then, and just shout it, scream it
—

And there it was again. The little girl's face in the water. She was in a river. Pale, still, her eyes open and wide
—
the river so dark it was black
—
her clothes so bright in the water. She was floating.

“Just tell her we need to work on a presentation or something,” Jamie said.

And I looked back at him.

“I can't, Jamie. I wish I could but I can't.” And as I said it, I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, reflecting the disappointment that I knew was crouching quietly in mine. But all I could think about in that moment was Frances Wells and the shape of her body between the curtains in the dusk, and my anger, my fury, that she'd shut me out
—
that she'd left me outside the house, that she'd left me outside to play
—
and that there was no one I could tell. There was no one.

 

wednesday

4

D
OUBLE PERIODS OF CHEMISTRY
. Double periods of math. Wednesday was officially the worst day of the week.

I pretty much doodled all the way through chemistry. Well, perhaps not all the way through. I took down the notes, copied out what I needed to, but I didn't actually think about any of it, or answer any of the questions. Instead, I doodled. And I did the same in math too. I was trying to block out the image of the dead girl, lying faceup in the water, her skirt puffed out around her sides. It didn't matter where I put the pencil on the paper; I just kept drawing lines that turned into trees and branches that turned into reflections on the river that turned into her hair as it floated outward from her little head. I'd turn the page and start again and all I could see was her wet hair spread out against the bank, her face pale, open and shocked. She was dead, but somehow still alive enough to look like she might, at any moment, simply sit up and blink, and ask me why … why had I killed her.

Because I had. I'd killed her.

I'd killed that little girl.

I felt a pain so clear and sharp in my stomach that I thought I was going to be sick. “I feel sick. Can I go?”

I stood up.

“Do you think you are actually going to be sick, Ana?” asked Mr. Roberts.

I nodded and started walking toward the classroom door so Mr. Roberts had no choice but to let me go.

I'd killed her.

I didn't remember how or when, but I could see her face, as I'd seen it then, and I knew she was in that river because of me. I might not have remembered leaving her to cough and splutter as her lungs filled up, until there was not a breath of her left, but I knew right down to my core that I'd killed her, that I was guilty. And I couldn't get the image of her face in the water out of my mind.

I didn't go to the toilets. I walked straight out of school and into the street, and I just kept walking. I wasn't really sure where I was going. I felt less sick now that I was outside. I guessed the school would call Rachel once they'd realized that I had gone. I'd never ditched before. I didn't really know how these things worked. I had been in for registration. Maybe no one would notice that I had gone. I looked at my watch. It was just after midday …

It was just after midday and I had killed a person.

I had to keep going, keep walking toward the Tube, get away. It was all I could think to do. The pain was there again. I held on to my side and I felt my heart speed up.

I had killed a person. A child.

I got to Richmond station, jumped onto the Tube, and sat down.

There was a buzz in my pocket. A text. Rachel.

Just got a call from the hospital. Grillie's checking out. Going to pick up some things for her and then to hospital to take her home. See you this evening. x

I put my phone away. She didn't know I'd ditched. Not yet.

I changed at Gloucester Road. I got on the Circle line and tried to lose myself looking at the route. All trains lead to Edgware Road All trains lead to Edgware Road All trains lead to Edgware Road … I could feel my eyes getting heavier … It was soothing here … safe … I could feel normal here … I was just sitting on the Tube like everybody else … and wherever I went I would never be lost … I would never be lost … I would never …

The little girl was wearing black patent shoes and white tights. The tights were new; they were clean and bright and stiff at the seams. They were poking out through the gaps in her shoes. I helped her with the shoes. She said she didn't like the way they felt. So I took them off and I straightened the tights. I tucked the seams under her toes, and slipped the shoes back on her feet. She looked so pleased to be dressed up, but still so uncomfortable. A red skirt and a cream blouse, with a cream ribbon at the neck. Nothing like anyone would wear these days. Her clothes were prim and straight and a bit static. Her hair was parted in the middle and clipped up high above her ears with tartan bows on each side. I could see her, looking at me, smiling.

“You look silly dressed like that, Catherine.”

That's what I said to her.

Catherine.

I was in my favorite outfit. Dungarees and a long-sleeved Snoopy T-shirt. We were across the road from the house on The Avenue, standing on the Green opposite number 42. A redbrick house with a clean white tile hung on the porch wall, decorated with glazed red numbers
—
42. There was a pretty pattern around the edges of the numbers too. It was raised, bumpy. I remembered running my fingers along its swirls and curls
—

“You okay there?” I'd fallen asleep.

“Where are you going?” It was a woman with bright red lipstick and severe bangs. Her face was way too close to mine. For a minute I couldn't see where I was. She was touching my shoulder, trying to wake me.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks,” I said.

And I saw I was at Edgware Road. I had to change. I stepped off the Tube and crossed over to the next Circle line train waiting on the opposite platform. I'd go around. I'd go right around and back to Gloucester Road again.

I closed my eyes.

The Green was a piece of common land, with some trees. I could see it so clearly in my mind. The houses on The Avenue overlooked the Green, and beyond it, the Thames. The Avenue was a quiet place. A quiet road with twenty or so houses, the common land, and direct access across the Green down to the river. It was peaceful.

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

I'd said that.

And all the time I was waiting for my dad. I wanted my dad to come and play, like he'd said he would. But he never came. And I could still feel the anger that I felt because he never came.

My heart started beating faster.

I felt hot.

I coughed and opened my eyes to check where I was.

We were moving slowly through a tunnel. I closed my eyes again.

I willed for something more to come. Nothing.

I could feel a pain
—
in my head
—
a pressure, building.

Where was my dad?

I looked up again to see where I was.

I couldn't settle.

The pain was hovering over my eyes now, crawling over my scalp.

Embankment.

I'd killed her.

The little girl. Catherine. I'd killed her.

I held my hands up to cradle my head … to soothe the pain.

I could just about see the sign. “Embankment.” It was definitely Embankment.

I was a good person, wasn't I? I'd always been a good person.

Did I have to pay for what I'd done?

I screwed my eyes shut.

Is that why I was here again? To pay?

I squeezed my eyes shut
—
tighter still
—
there was only pain.

I had to get rid of the pain. I had to.

My head felt like it was going to explode. A constant high-pitched tone in my ears was drowning out the rattle of the Tube. Every movement of the carriage hurt me … every rock and turn … I'd seen Frances
—
and now this. Was it only ever a matter of time? Frances and the memories, the feelings, this knowledge
—
that I'd killed Catherine
—
it must have all been sitting there, like a tumor growing quietly on the brain. And now
—
now I had to find a way to stop it, to nuke it, shrink it, make it go away … I wanted to scream out with the pain, with the fear, with the feeling that I might just explode into a thousand tiny pieces if I did nothing. If I just sat there and did nothing …