The Girl I Used to Be(84)

She put her shoulder bag on the floor and crouched down to look under the bed. “Oh thank God, they’re still here.” She crawled under the bed and dragged out several box files. They had stickers on them: Maths, English, French, Psychology.

“They look like your old school files.”

“That’s what I wanted them to look like,” she said, “in case he saw them.”

I was desperate to get out of there. “Do you want us to pack all this up while we’re here?” I picked up a pile of her family DVDs and looked around for something to put them in. “Have you got a box? A suitcase?”

“Until the other day,” she said, “I didn’t want to see any of it again. And now . . . now I don’t know what to do.” She turned away, but not before I saw that her cheeks were flushed. After a few seconds she said, “Gemma, you have no idea what it was like.”

A photo of Alex with his arm around his mum sat on the bedside cabinet and caught my eye. It looked like they were on holiday; a bright blue pool was behind them and a white towel lay on the edge of a sun lounger. He was about sixteen, tanned, his dark hair wavy and wet. His mother stood beside him, looking so proud. She was inches shorter than her son; even at that age he towered above her.

I turned away. I couldn’t look at him. I felt such a complicated mix of shame and pity and anger.

“Rachel, there are no photos of you here.”

She tried to laugh but didn’t quite make it. “Well, no. He was the one, wasn’t he? He always was.”

My heart ached for her. “What, always? Even before he died?”

She shrugged. “Look at her room, Gemma. You decide.”

“And yet you and he got on so well.”

“Oh I loved him,” she said. “Absolutely loved him. My mum used to say, ‘He was the light of my life,’ and I’d agree. He was the light of mine, too. But he’d gone and she and I were the only ones left.”

I closed my eyes as I thought of them both losing that one person who meant more to them than anyone else. How could either of them go on?

Then the tension in the room changed. I noticed it even with my eyes closed. I turned to Rachel. She was at the window, looking out at the driveway.

“Oh no,” she said. “He’s here.”

“What?” For a wild moment I thought she meant Alex. “Who?”

“It’s David. He’s here!”



* * *



*

I DROPPED THE DVDs onto her mother’s bed and flattened myself against the bedroom wall. My heart banged in my chest. “David?” I felt dizzy at the thought of seeing him. “What’s he doing here?”

Rachel’s face was white with shock. “I don’t know! What should I do?”

“Don’t let him in. Pretend you’re not here.”

“But my car’s in the drive. I’ll have to go down.”

“Put him off. If you have to go with him, don’t worry about me. Try to get him away from here.”

“Okay, okay,” she whispered. “But you’ll have to hide.” She backed away from the window and quickly shoved the box files back under her mother’s bed. “Have you got your phone? Mute it, just in case.”

Quickly I did as she said, and then his car door slammed and we both jumped. Rachel grabbed my arm and pushed me out of the room. I was willing to go; I wanted to run out of the house. “Don’t stay in here!” she hissed. “He might come in.” She hurried me along the corridor and pushed open the door to Alex’s room. “Wait in there. Quick!”

I found myself flung into the room, and then she pulled the door so that it was open just a few inches. “Don’t make a sound,” she whispered.

I stood behind the door to Alex’s room, staring at a room I’d last seen fifteen years before.

Everything was as it was then. His bed was ready-made, the quilt cover and pillows just the same. Two blankets lay folded on a chair by the window; I remembered blankets had been thrown over my head as he left the room. I’d had nightmares about that for years, where I’d relived the struggle to break free of them. In the corner were his drums and guitar, beside me the large chest of drawers. His desk overlooked the rear garden, and books and cardboard files were piled up high. I swallowed. He’d died after a term at Oxford. I thought of his mum—and Rachel, probably, too—going there to his rooms to collect his things and knew how brokenhearted they would have been.

And then I heard the doorbell ring and David call Rachel’s name. My heart pounded. He was here, within reach of me.





SIXTY-FIVE


    RACHEL


I’VE NEVER BEEN as frightened in my life as I was then, going downstairs to let David into the house.

“Hey,” he said, when I opened the door. He came into the house and put his arms around me. I reached around and squeezed him tightly and kissed his cheek. The last thing I wanted was for him to notice any difference in me.

“What are you doing here?” I said. “I thought you were staying over in Newcastle?”

“Yeah, the last meeting was canceled and I couldn’t be bothered hanging around for the guys to finish work,” he said. “I’ll see them next time I’m up there.”