Between the Lives (2 page)

I pressed my fingers to my temples. I hated thinking about this stuff. Most of it was just weird
and made me feel … wrong. Like
I’m
wrong. To avoid mistakes, I
was careful
all
the time – trimming my hair only when I needed to,
keeping it long and its natural boring brown, never giving it the kind of style either of my worlds
would really approve of. Hovering somewhere in between. Safe. That’s where I stayed, all the
time. Safe. Prepared. Alone.

I have two lives and yet I’m a ghost.

In less than two hours I’d be in my other life and I’d have three
very
big problems. One, I’m not supposed to have a broken arm there and have no reason
to have broken it. Two, the cast won’t come with me; it’s a material object. And three,
it’s my belated eighteenth birthday party tomorrow night and a broken arm will not go with my
dress. At. All.

I lay back, stared at the paint peeling off the ceiling and tried to figure out a solution. The
only one that made any sense was going to hurt. A lot. But throwing myself down the stairs when I
woke up was the only way I could be sure to convincingly fake the same injury.

About half an hour before the Shift I changed out of my clothes, shimmying my
fitted mini off with one hand and wriggling into my oversized T-shirt nightie. I ditched the sling;
it was more hindrance than help. I left my black Doc Martens until last, wincing as I gave a
one-handed pull to loosen the laces before using my feet to kick them off.

I relied on rituals. Found comfort in the patterns I’d developed over the years. I settled
into bed, ignoring the sheen of sweat on my forehead and the sick feeling in my gut as I arranged
myself against the pillows as usual, making sure there would be nothing out of the ordinary to
return to tomorrow night.

I almost made it too.

But with only minutes to go, my mouth started its tell-tale watering. I had to bolt to the
bathroom to throw up before hurrying back to bed before midnight struck.

The last thoughts that slipped into my mind marked the beginning of the change in my worlds.
How could this have happened? How has nothing like this happened to me
before?

I
knew the Shift had happened.

I’d been asleep in this life, so it took me a while to rouse my body, despite my livewire mind. It’s an awful, drugged feeling, willing your eyes to open.

The second lucidity took hold, I sat bolt upright in bed and felt the panic flood my chest. I should have known better. Eighteen years of going through the Shift, I shouldn’t have been so frightened … but I was. Every. Single. Time. It petrified me.

I concentrated on taking slow deep breaths. My good hand slid out over warm silk sheets that exposed no signs I’d been somewhere else for the past twenty-four hours. Nothing about this world was aware I’d been cheating on it, living another life. Without looking, I knew it was the exact same time it had been when I left.

My eternal enemy … midnight.

I’d done all sorts of things to prove it, to document the
truth. When I was fifteen, I filmed myself through the midnight minutes. Not so much as a
Blair Witch
moment. One second I was there, the next I had a confused look on my face.
I
could tell something about me was different in that blink of an eye, but there was nothing that would prove it to anyone else.

Then there was the time I lit a match a couple of seconds before midnight to see what would happen. That was not a good idea. My bed – with me in it – almost went up in smoke. I just wasn’t quick enough to pull myself together after the Shift and blow it out before it touched my fingers. Hey, you live and learn.

I slipped out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to wash my face. But with still-sleepy legs my judgment was off and klutz mode set in. I staggered into the doorframe, my bad arm taking the brunt of the impact.

I froze, dreading the shooting pain that would follow. But after a few stunned seconds I was still waiting for the agony to set in.

‘No way,’ I gasped, slowly letting my not-so-broken – actually not hurt at all – arm straighten and move about. I fisted my fingers over and over.

‘No. Way.’

I wanted to spiral.

I wanted to press all internal panic buttons and scream for help.

I wanted to understand for once.

No, that wasn’t it. What I wanted … it was the same thing I’d always wanted, just in different packaging.

I wanted this not to be my life.

I wanted
this
– whatever it was that made me this two-lives person – not to be the definition of who I am.

I squeezed my eyes shut. ‘And you can’t do anything about that,’ I scolded myself, letting out a resigned breath.

I stumbled into my squash-court-sized bathroom where I threw up again, then went straight back to bed and tried in vain to get a few hours’ sleep.

It was useless.

Thoughts raced through my mind. I had to force myself not to jump up and start pacing. This changed nothing, I reminded myself.
This
was just one more thing that fit into the overflowing basket of weird that was my life.

I focused on the upside; for once I had been given a getout-of-jail-free card. It was a welcome relief that I wasn’t going to have to throw myself down the stairs in a few hours.

Take it! Be happy. At least the dress will look pretty tonight.

At 7 a.m. I gave up on sleep and had a long hot shower. By the time I emerged, I felt more like myself again. Well,
this
me anyway – the one I needed to be in this world. But just to be sure, I moved slowly. Allowed myself a little extra time. Normally I wouldn’t stand for it –
pathetic lingering
– but today I took in my surroundings. My huge four-poster bed, with its
pink silk bedding and pillows piled high. I walked past it, my toes sinking into the plush cream carpet, letting my hand glide over the heavily lacquered walnut frame on my way to the large French doors. I pulled back the cream curtains, carefully tying them with the sash bow at the wall, and opened the doors to my small Georgian balcony.

Home. Everything just as it should be.

I took a deep breath, letting in the suburban Wellesley air. It was one of the best things about this place, the clean air. It was different in every way from Roxbury – thinner, sharper, and the smell: newly cut grass under the sun. I loved the smell. Today would be a typical June Massachusetts day – hot, and probably a flash storm in the afternoon.

I’d just closed my eyes to soak it in when a high-pitched car horn made me almost jump out of my skin.

I looked down to the driveway. My eldest brother, Ryan, was standing by his retro convertible Porsche, one foot in, one foot out.

‘If you want a lift, hurry up. I’ve got to get back to college,’ he said, looking up at me like he wished he could just get in the car and go. But at Thursday night dinner with Dad, he’d ordered Ryan to drive me to school this morning since my little Audi was at the garage getting new tyres. As far as Ryan was concerned, he paid his family dues by turning up at the house a few days a month. That, and that alone, apparently entitled him to the more than generous allowance he pissed
away at Harvard while half-assing his way through business school.

‘Hello! Earth to Sabine! You’re not even dressed,’ he said, exasperated.

I gave him a delicate middle finger and a blatantly fake smile. ‘Guess you’ll just have to wait, Ry. I’ll be down as fast as I can manage.’ As soon as I spun my back to him, my smile faded. I was being a bitch. I’m not sure exactly when it was that Ryan and I slipped into this type of role-play, but at some point it had become the norm. All part of living up to Wellesley expectations.

I got dressed and did my hair. When I was finished I surveyed myself in the full-length mirror approvingly. Simple yet chic. A high-waisted plaid skirt in shades of blue finishing just above the knee, paired with a cap-sleeved white silk top and grey wedges. After a quick brush and a touch of lip-gloss, I grabbed my Balenciaga bag and headed down the marble stairs to the foyer where my mother was waiting.

She watched me take the last few steps and then waited while I finished reading a text from Miriam that had me smirking. When I gave her my full attention, she smiled. ‘Make sure you remind your friends that there will be no drinking tonight at the party.’ She was in a cream suit and caramel flats, every detail purposely chosen: the natural flattering makeup, the hair in a casual up-do and the delicate showering of accessories.

‘Yes, Mom. Everyone knows how you feel about underage drinking.’
Which is why everyone who
is
drinking will be hanging out at the pool house just in case someone comes snooping.

She smiled and took a step forward, eyeing my outfit. ‘That’s a pretty skirt, darling. Plaid really has made a comeback this season.’ She brushed away non-existent lint from my shoulder and looked me up and down again thoughtfully.

‘But …?’

‘Oh, nothing, darling. It’s very sweet. You know me, I just love you in green – it brings out your eyes.’

‘Mom, I’m wearing green tonight. I don’t want to overdo it.’ I smiled to reassure her and didn’t take it to heart. Mom was the most insecure person I knew. It wasn’t just me; she was toughest on herself. I was sure she changed at least a dozen times each morning before she settled on an outfit, and she was rarely in the same one by the time I arrived home from school. She’s always been like that, but it’s been even worse since Dad left.

She nodded, looking contrite. ‘You’re right. You look beautiful. Like always. I’ll see you tonight, everything will be ready and perfect.’

I fiddled with my bag strap. ‘Ah … Mom, you know how we discussed …’

She looked at me for a moment, not getting it, but then she blinked, catching on. ‘Oh, darling. I know, I know … you’re eighteen now and I promised I’d give you some privacy. I’ll
be going out with your Aunt Lyndal. She’s sworn to keep me away from the house. I just want to be here to see you in your dress and make sure everything is –’

‘Perfect,’ I finished for her.

‘Yes.’

I reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘See you after school. I better get going.’

Mom watched me walk out the door. I closed it behind me so she wouldn’t see the next scene unfold. Just as I walked down the steps and Ryan sneered at me for having been made to wait so long, a white SUV came screaming up the gravel drive. Miriam, my best friend in this world, was behind the wheel. Perfect timing.

Ryan watched the SUV until it pulled to a halt and then looked back at me, eyes narrowed.

I smiled the special smile I reserved for him. ‘Oh.’ I batted my eyelids. ‘Sorry, Ry, did I forget to tell you that Miriam was giving me a lift to school?’

He returned the finger I’d delivered to him earlier and took off in his car, leaving a spray of gravel in his wake.

For a moment I felt bad. But then I reminded myself – this is me. This is who I am here. I’d tried other ways, but soon learned that if I wanted to function in each of my worlds then I had to really embrace them. Accept my place. The Sabine in this world had to deal with a twenty-two-year-old jerk of a brother called Ryan – a guy who, when I was eleven, once
locked me in the garage for five hours while he had a bunch of friends over – and
that
was the only way to do it.

I slid into the passenger seat beside Miriam.

‘Your brother is hot,’ Miriam said, her eyes fixed on the dust storm Ryan’s car had left behind.

‘Yeah, well you see hot, I see pain in my ass. He’s just –’ A frustrated noise escaped my lips. ‘He’s so
selfish
. He never helps Mom out, never … anything. All he has to do is turn up at the house for a few days each month. Get this, he can’t stand to be without his drinking buddies for more than a day, so next month he’s bringing one of them with him.’

‘Ooh, is he cute?’ Miriam asked, her face lighting up at the thought of potential eye-candy.

I shrugged. ‘Don’t know, don’t care. All I know is that next month I’ll have to deal with two of them.’

As we drove through the village centre my mind suddenly flashed back to yesterday – well, my version of yesterday. ‘Hey, can you stop. I … I want to grab some fruit.’

Miriam didn’t slow down. ‘You can get fruit at school.’

Already my subconscious was niggling uncomfortably, but before I’d thought it through, my mouth was open again.

‘Yeah, but I want
this
fruit. Just stop. There. Just outside the fruit shop.’

Miriam looked at me like I was mad. I gave myself a mental check and yep … it
was
mad. This was exactly the type of thing I worked obsessively every day to avoid, and here I
was slipping right into the kind of behaviour that earned me crazy stares.

Shit.

I was about to tell Miriam to forget it when she swerved into a parking spot out the front of the shop.

‘If you’re going on a fruit diet, there’s no
way
you’re doing it without me.’

‘Oh.’ I opened my mouth to explain that wasn’t what I was doing and then realised I’d been thrown a safety net. I stopped fidgeting and raised an eyebrow. ‘Party season
is
upon us, Miriam,’ I said, with a tone that told her she should have already been prepared.

She nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’

I took my chance and jumped out of her SUV.

Inside the shop, everything was demoralisingly normal. No sign that anything was any different from how it had always been. Then, through the multi-coloured plastic strips hanging from the internal doorway, came fruit shop guy. Tubby, balding, wearing oversized jeans and flashing an unwelcome glimpse of his butt-crack when he bent over a stack of apples. The same guy who’d owned the store for as long as I could remember.

‘Can I get you something, missy?’ he asked, casting me a quick glance before returning to his apple pyramid.

‘Oh, um, yeah. Just, um, just some apples and strawberries, please.’

He grabbed a paper bag. ‘How many of each?’

I felt sick. ‘Two apples and two punnets of strawberries, thanks.’

He had them bagged within a few seconds and was at the register.

As I paid him, I cleared my throat. ‘I’m … I think I saw you yesterday. Coming out of the subway … in Boston.’

He glanced at me briefly. A crazy-stare. ‘Not me, missy.’

‘Um, oh, well, it looked like you and I was just wondering if you saw me too. You were, um, you were in a light-brown suit coming up the stairs. You, um, you walked right by me.’

Fruit shop guy passed me the bag and gave me another crazy-stare on the house. ‘Not me. I don’t even own a suit and I haven’t been in the city for, oh …’ He thought about it. ‘At least a month since my last visit. Must’ve been someone else.’

I nodded vigorously. ‘Yeah, yeah. I was probably … It was getting dark and I couldn’t see clearly.’

‘Young girl like you shouldn’t be in the city late like that. You should be careful.’

I nodded again, backing out of the shop.

Shit.

I never should’ve gone in.

‘Yeah.’ I held up the brown bag. ‘Thanks, I better get to school.’

My heart pounded in my ears; the dry bitter taste in my mouth was the familiar flavour of disappointment.

Whoever I’d seen, whether it had been him or not, he had no idea. He wasn’t like me.

No one was.