The Girl I Used to Be(71)

I do remember the shock of hearing about Alex’s death, though. I’d been invited to Lauren’s nineteenth birthday party at her place in Nottingham, where she was studying English. Her birthday was at the end of January and I hadn’t seen her since we’d started university the previous September, so I got the train from London and went to stay with her for the weekend.

As soon as I saw her, I knew something had happened. Her eyes were red and swollen, and at first I thought she and Tom had broken up. She linked her arm through mine, just as she used to when we walked to school, and we walked out of the station and into the cold night and she told me then that Alex had died.

I was really shocked at my reaction. I couldn’t stop sobbing and she was trying to tell me it wasn’t my fault and I knew it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t, but it felt like one big burden on top of the rest of it. I think what got to me was that I’d suddenly remembered him as the boy who dressed up as a girl for the school play. There was a moment where he was so clearly enjoying himself and everyone had laughed. I remember leaning forward to watch him, loving his confidence and the way his smile lit up his face when the audience laughed with him.

Rachel was probably at the school that night. It was odd to think we shared that experience, so many years before we met. I pictured her as an eleven-year-old girl, and in that instant I didn’t know how I hadn’t seen the resemblance between her and Alex. They had different coloring, and he was six feet tall and built for the rugby pitch, which had made his acting debut even funnier. Now when I thought about it, I remember seeing him in the middle of our summer exams, looking as though he was really trying hard to think of the right way to say something in his essay, and I knew I’d seen that look on Rachel’s face at work.

I winced. I wish I hadn’t thought of that resemblance now. It would make it so hard to see her again.

Suddenly I felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t go on like this, working with someone who hated me. Being destroyed by her husband. I picked up my phone.

“Mum? Can we come up and stay with you for a few days?”





FIFTY-FOUR


    GEMMA


I WENT BACK to the office then and luckily Sophie was there, so I focused on work and avoided speaking to Rachel on my own. I knew I’d have to talk to her again about David, to persuade her to go to the police, but I couldn’t summon up the courage to do it just then. I sent them both home ten minutes before closing time and phoned Lucy to tell her that I wasn’t feeling well and that I would be taking some time off. She was great, offering to work every day for the next week.

“I’ll ask my mum to take Maisie to school and back,” she said. “She won’t mind. I can be there nine to five.”

“I’ll drop the keys off at your house on my way home,” I said. “All my appointments are in the diary. But, Lucy, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Not Rachel? You said you were promoting her.”

“You’re in charge,” I said again. “I’ll let the others know.”

She was quiet, then said, “Is something the matter?”

My eyes filled with tears and I started to speak, but I couldn’t go on.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Talk to me about it when you get back. And don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on everything. I’m really glad of the work, and if you need to stay off a bit longer, then that’s fine.”



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*

    WITHIN A COUPLE of hours I was driving to my parents’ house with Rory. Joe hadn’t been keen on coming up and offered to do some work in the living room and kitchen while we were away.

“There’s no point us all going,” he said. “It’s not like I’d have much to do there. I might as well stay behind and get some jobs done in the house. It’s impossible to do anything like that while Rory’s around. I could paint the kitchen if you like? Freshen it up a bit.”

Part of me wanted him to come with me, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk properly to my mum with him there. And I needed to. There was too much for me to deal with now.

It’s only about thirty miles from my house to my mum’s, but we tend to meet up in Chester to do some shopping and then she comes back to my house for dinner, rather than us going to visit them. It had been the same since I left home at eighteen. Every month my parents would come down to London for the day. My room there had been so small it was impossible for us to stay in it together, so we’d walk for miles, talking about my course and my new friends, and my mum and dad would talk about their jobs and the holidays they planned. We never spoke about what had happened.

That day, traveling up with Rory for company in the car, I found myself yearning to be back home, as I still saw it, despite everything.

Rory had been delighted to be visiting them with me.

“Just you and me, Mum?” he’d asked. “No Dad?”

“Daddy will stay behind and do some painting.”

Rory had looked bemused, and I guessed he was thinking of Joe using his watercolors.

We’d packed our bags and set off on our little trip. He was excited to be sleeping in my old bedroom and chatted constantly throughout the journey, telling me all the things he was going to do with his grandparents. I felt guilty then that he didn’t see them more often; they’d been really excited to have us visit, too, though I knew my mum had been concerned when I called her.