The Girl With No Past (5 page)

When our time was up, I shook Dr Redfield’s hand, promising to keep my appointment next month. I wanted to. I didn’t want to let her down, but something told me it would be a while before I was back there.

Once I was outside, I stood for a moment on the pavement, breathing deeply, trying to shake off the session. I always did this, it was just another ritual I couldn’t explain but needed to do before I could head home. But this time, walking away I didn’t feel clear. I decided to head across the bridge to East Putney station to give me time to shake off the conversation Dr Redfield and I had just had; it had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Stopping on Putney Bridge, I leaned against the railing, watching the boats glide past on the Thames. If such a place existed, then this was my safe place. When I had first moved to London, it had taken me a long time to adjust, but coming here always comforted me. It felt like being in the middle of everywhere, surrounded by hundreds of people, but still somehow invisible.

Droplets of rain began to fall as I stood there so I didn’t stay for long. I only had the morning off work, and needed to get some food before I started. I’d told Sam I had a doctor’s appointment, which was true, she just didn’t need to know what kind of doctor it was with. Walking off, I wished getting drenched with rain was all I had to worry about.

I passed many people as I walked, but the only ones I noticed were those clutching each other’s hands, or wandering along with arms wrapped around each other, oblivious to the rain. I tried to imagine being part of a pair, attached so firmly to someone that their life was entwined with mine, but I struggled to picture it. There would always be a shadow over me, and it could only be made worse by someone being part of my life.

Yet somehow when I thought of Julian, I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, address any of that. Going with the flow, people called it. That’s what I would do. It didn’t matter if nothing came of it, I would just enjoy talking to him. Even if there was a cyber wall, as well as many others, between us.

Thinking of Julian – as strange as it seemed considering I barely knew him – helped me put the morning with Dr Redfield behind me, and by the time I stepped off the train at Wandsworth Town, I felt better.

I still had half an hour until I was due at work, so I stopped at the café by the library and ordered a ham and cheese ciabatta and a hot chocolate to warm me up. It wasn’t too busy that morning so I didn’t feel the need to flee. I pulled out
Rebecca
and read in peace until my phone beeped, alerting me that it was time to get to work. I always had to set the alarm if I read before work, otherwise I’d find hours had passed without me once glancing up.

I might have loved my job but all afternoon I was once again impatient to get home, to see if Julian was around. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to talk to him again, that I’d find things to say, that he’d make me feel comfortable. I don’t know what made me so certain of this but it felt as if I knew him already.

It was nearly half past nine by the time I’d finished visiting the care home and the minute I was through my door I wasted no time logging on to the website. Once again, my stomach growled in protest at my neglect, but I ignored it and didn’t even get myself a drink, although my throat was parched. Deviating from my routine was starting to become a habit. But I soon discovered there was no message from Julian, and no alert inviting me to a private chat. Disappointed, I shut my laptop and decided to distract myself by making some food. I couldn’t help thinking life had been simpler before Julian. Before there was anything to be disappointed about.

I enjoyed the ritual of cooking, the carefully planned steps that, if followed precisely, meant nothing would go wrong, nothing should change course or throw anything unexpected at me.

Dr Redfield had talked about this once. About how I needed structure and ritual because I was scared of the unexpected. She was right.

But tonight I didn’t feel like cooking, so I foraged in the cupboard and found a packet of Uncle Ben’s egg fried rice.

While it was in the microwave, I had a few minutes to spare so, with Dr Redfield’s words from earlier today swimming around my head, I picked up the phone to call Mum. She probably wouldn’t be home, but at least I could leave a message.

But I was wrong. Rather than being out, she was just back from her book club and sounded out of breath, unable to keep the shock from her voice. ‘Leah, are you okay?’

My heart sank. She thought I was only calling because something was wrong. In a repeat of my earlier performance with Dr Redfield, I assured her I was fine, grateful she was not one for pushing. She had no energy left for any trouble, and I could sense her relief, even before she let out a deep breath.

I listened while she rattled off a list of all the activities she had planned for the weekend, wondering how she had time to sleep. We were mother and daughter, yet our lives were polar opposites.
We
were polar opposites. Mum was rarely alone, while I craved solitude. I understood her need to be surrounded by people; it was a way for her to block out Dad’s death, and everything else, but I had honed better techniques, and learnt to block it out without needing anyone else to distract me.

Until now.

The microwave beeped and, even though I was sure Mum could hear it, she seemed upset that I had to get off the phone. ‘Will you come soon?’ she asked.

I told her I would and that I loved her, ignoring the growing dread I felt at the prospect of going back to Watford.

Before bed, I checked Two Become One again, but there was still no word from Julian. I hovered for a while in a chat room, reading a conversation about a reality TV show I’d never heard of, but he didn’t appear. He’d probably found someone else to talk to, maybe even met up with someone, so wouldn’t be interested in talking to me any more. But wasn’t this to be expected? I had fooled myself into thinking there was something between us, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I loathed myself for daring to think I could be anywhere near normal. That I could be like Maria, and take my chances with someone. I should have known that wasn’t possible.

As I shut down the website I noticed an email in my inbox. I never got anything interesting sent to me, but I always checked my emails, quickly moving them to the trash bin when they invariably turned out to be spam.

That’s what I thought I was looking at when I clicked open the mail from a sender called
[email protected]
. But again I was wrong. The page was blank apart from a hyperlink. I would normally have dismissed it but the name stood out, as if it was written in bold, flashing capital letters. I hadn’t seen it, or even heard it spoken, for years. I stared at it for a moment, then holding my breath, clicked the link.

When it took me to an archived newspaper report, I quickly shut it down, feeling as if my chest would collapse. There was no way I could read that article. No way I could live that time again.

But the woman’s picture accompanying the story was now firmly embedded in my mind.

FIVE

The bell is still sounding as I race out of the maths block. I’m not alone; already kids are erupting from all the buildings, as desperate as I am to be free, even though it is January and bitterly cold outside. I never rush out when English is my last subject because I always want to talk to Mrs Owen about the latest book the class is reading. It is
Lord of the Flies
this time and I love it. I easily identify with Piggy because I’m always on the edge of things too, never quite fitting in. But at least I have Imogen. This place would be a worse kind of hell without her.

I suppose, in a way, we have Corey now as well. Somehow – I can’t remember how it happened – in Year Eight he attached himself to us, and now we consider him a friend. Well, I do anyway. I can’t vouch for Imogen because lately I’ve had the feeling she wants Corey to be more than that. Perhaps I will ask her about it later. We’re having a sleepover at her house so there will be plenty of time to talk about anything we like.

And now, as if I’ve conjured him up just by thinking of him, Corey appears and taps me on the shoulder. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘You walking home?’

‘No, waiting for Imogen. We’re going to hers.’

‘Oh,’ Corey says, frowning.

I wonder if he is waiting for an invitation. ‘It’s kind of a girl thing. I’m staying the night.’

Corey looks around as if expecting Imogen to appear any second. ‘Okay. You meeting her here?’

‘No, by the art block. Walk with me if you want?’

He shrugs. ‘S’okay. I’ll catch you both on Monday.’ And with that he is off, almost gliding towards the gates, with his bulging rucksack bouncing on his back.

It is strange that Corey has rushed off so quickly, but I don’t have time to dwell on it too long. The art block is on the other side of the school and Imogen might think I’m not coming if I don’t hurry.

As I expect, she is already there when I arrive, sitting on the steps with her head buried in her hands. She does not look happy. It is only now I realise how stupid it was of us to arrange to meet here when the maths block is right near the school gate. But that doesn’t matter now, we are together and the weekend is just beginning.

‘About time, Leah,’ she says, looking up.

I open my mouth to apologise but then I notice Imogen is smiling, her face a different picture now that I’m here. She jumps up and grabs my arm. ‘Come on, I’ve got
so
much to tell you.’

Imogen’s mum is still at work when we get to her house so we have the whole place to ourselves. It is a luxury I never have at my own house because Dad works from home most days. He’s an architect so doesn’t need to be in the office much, and when he does have to go anywhere, Mum always arranges it so that she is home instead. I liked having the company when I was younger, but I’m fourteen now so need my own space. They just don’t get it. So now I intend to make the most of any second when there are no parents around, even though I like Imogen’s mum.

We sprawl on the two large sofas in the living room, stuffing ourselves with microwave popcorn while we talk about school. ‘I hate Miss Hollis,’ Imogen says, throwing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth. ‘She couldn’t even get a word in at form time today, could she? Nobody listens to her and it’s just such a waste of time. Have you noticed how the other forms get all the notices passed on and we don’t find anything out? It’s because she can’t shut everyone up long enough to tell us stuff.’

I nod and swallow some popcorn. It is true. I don’t hate the woman as much as Imogen seems to, but it is starting to annoy me that we are wasting so much time during form period. And it has been like this since Year Seven. ‘You’d think she’d have learnt how to teach by now,’ I say.

Imogen snorts. ‘She’d have more chance of flying to the moon without a rocket.’ A giggling fit overcomes us both and we end up spraying popcorn all over the sofa and floor. It lasts until Imogen’s mum gets home.

Mrs Bannerman is tall and neat, her body made up of elegant angles. When I was younger, I thought if goddesses existed then she was what they would look like. The woman had seemed mythical, almost perfect, with her deep melodic voice and sounds that rolled effortlessly off her tongue. But I’ve grown up since then, and now I know she is just another mum. Not at all like my own, or Corey’s, but still a mother. And at this moment she is annoying the hell out of me.