My Second Life (8 page)

I stood up, unsure of what to do. Frances had turned her back on me.

I took in a breath. I wasn't sure whether I should just leave, but I was suddenly too frightened to move.

“If I had anything left to lose
—
anything at all
—
I would be asking you to leave,” Frances said. “But I don't.”

And then she turned around to face me. “I'll talk to you, Ana,” she said. “But don't ask me to forgive you for what you did. Don't ever ask me to do that.”

“I understand,” I said. “I understand.” And I said it twice, because I did.

*   *   *

“Hi! I'm back!” Rachel called out as she got in from work later that day. “How were the auditions?”

“Good, yeah,” I said.

I hadn't made it in for registration. I'd got a late. I wasn't going to tell her that now.

“Do you think you'll get a part?” Rachel asked, walking into the kitchen. I was making myself a snack.

“Maybe,” I said, opening up the bread bin. “Are you okay to give me a sick note, by the way?”

I turned my back on Rachel as I spoke, trying to avoid looking her in the face. I knew I was pushing my luck by asking for the note, but I just had to.

“Okay,” she said. “This time. But please, no ditching again. There are no second chances if you ditch again. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” I said, and I started buttering the bread. I was hungry.

“You've got your appetite back, I see.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'll just have a sandwich now, if that's all right?”

“Fine. I'll cook us something a bit later.” She paused. “Glad you're feeling better.”

My phone beeped with a text. It was from Jamie.

Zak's gathering is on. Will you come? x

“Rachel?” I said, turning to face her. “There's a gathering on Saturday night. At Zak's. Can I go?”

“Okay,” she said. “But I don't want you out late. Be back before eleven. If you can cope with that, then yes, you can go.”

“Thanks,” I said, picking up my phone.

“Well, I think I'll go up and have a bath,” she said. She paused for a moment in the doorway of the kitchen before she spoke again. “I love you, you know,” she said.

“I know,” I said, but still I was looking at my phone.

“And one day you'll actually look at me and tell me you love me too, Ana Ross. Because I know that you do,” she said.

I looked up at her, still smiling, and Rachel smiled back, like she always did. Except today I wasn't sure whether behind the smile there was a sadness.

But I didn't want to think about that. Not now.

I looked down at my phone again and texted back.

Yes. I'll be there. x

And suddenly the world felt full of possibility, and all the sickness and the sadness I'd been feeling had dulled. It was almost gone.

 

saturday

13

T
HE GATHERING WAS MOST
definitely a party. It didn't matter what Zak wanted to call it. There must have been forty or fifty people standing around in the house
—
up the stairs, in the halls, hanging out, drinking. The music was loud as we walked in and there were loads of people I didn't know, so I just followed Jamie. I could see he was checking out all the rooms, and who was there, until eventually we headed out the back door and into the garden, where there were people smoking cigarettes and chatting. Zak had his guitar out and was strumming some vaguely recognizable tune. Hannah was sitting next to him. She had her arm resting on his leg as he played and she kept looking up at him adoringly. They looked so good together. I wondered whether Jamie and I would ever look like that. Jamie's hand suddenly clasped mine, and he was pulling me over to sit with Zak and Hannah and the others. Someone passed me a can, and I opened it up. Cider. Hannah smiled at me and nodded at Jamie, and it was clear she and Zak were the king and queen of this little gathering by the back door.

“Cool party,” said Jamie.

Zak nodded. “Glad you could make it. All right, Ana?”

“Yeah,” I said, and I nodded, letting the cider slip down my throat. The sweetness on my tongue almost tingled, and the more I sipped, the warmer and sweeter I felt.

Zak carried on playing, and people kept joining and leaving our crowd, but Hannah stayed exactly where she was, and Jamie and I did the same. I felt safe here in the garden, next to him. The rest of the party wasn't making much sense to me. I hadn't been to loads of parties. I wasn't sure they were my thing. It felt good being with Jamie, but I felt separate from everything else that was going on. Occasionally I'd look into the house. People just seemed to be endlessly milling about, dancing, laughing, talking, occasionally jibing each other but only to then have a laugh about it, and the longer I sat there, and the louder it got, the more separate I felt. I kept thinking about what Frances had said to me yesterday: “Nothing will bring my Catherine back,” she'd said. “And yet you
—
you are here … There must be a reason…”

She was right.

Here I was, back in the world again, and yet the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Why was I here?

It was Catherine who deserved a second life. Not me.

I felt myself leaning into Jamie. He was sitting just behind me. When I turned around to say something to him his face was right there, close to mine. I could feel myself letting go, allowing myself to be drawn into him, the warmth of him, the solidness.

“Are you cold?” Jamie asked.

“A bit,” I said.

“Come on, let's go inside.”

He took my hand again and led me back into the house, grabbing a bottle of cider that was sitting by the kitchen sink. He turned and winked at me as he took it and I giggled, like a child, which surprised me. And I liked him holding my hand. I liked it a lot.

We snaked our way through people dancing in the front room. I was glad Jamie didn't want to dance. George and Jessie were kissing at the top of the stairs. We stepped over them as we went. They didn't even seem to notice we were there. Someone must have been taking an age in the bathroom, and a couple of girls I recognized from school were calling out and banging on the door. Jamie led me up to Zak's room in the loft. It was much quieter up there. I could hardly make my way across the floor for the mess, but it was quiet, and suddenly we were alone.

“Did you want to dance?” he said, letting go of my hand and walking over toward the TV.

“No,” I said, looking around. I wasn't sure what to do, where to sit.

Billy was passed out over a sofa bed on one side of the room, lying on his stomach with his mouth wide open.

“Look who's here!” I whispered, looking over at Jamie for his reaction.

“He always peaks too early,” Jamie said, messing about with the TV. “Do you want to watch something?”

“What's Zak got?” I asked.

I wasn't sure I really wanted to start watching a film but I grabbed a couple of beanbags anyway and slid myself into a vaguely comfortable position, kicking all Zak's clothes and shoes out of the way.

“Let's try this,” he said, grabbing the remote and lying down next to me on the floor.

As soon as the movie started I felt like my senses were on overload; my whole body felt charged by the possibility that Jamie and I might actually touch. Jamie sighed and started to move around, to get comfortable. He was getting closer, shifting himself onto the beanbag next to me. And then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Zak and Hannah walked in. Hannah could hardly walk straight and she was holding Zak's hand and giggling.

“What are you watching?” Zak asked, sitting down. “Shhh,” said Jamie. “It's started.”

I smiled at Hannah and she giggled and looked at me and mouthed, “Sorry to crash your party.” And as she did she slipped down to the floor next to Zak like a puppet coming off its strings.

Jamie and I moved closer into each other again to make room for them and Jamie tilted his head to one side, toward me. I knew I wanted to kiss him. I knew in that instant that I wanted to take his head gently in my hands and lift his lips to mine and kiss him, like I'd kissed someone before, when I was Emma. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it because Zak and Hannah and Billy were there and I was scared. Emma wouldn't have been scared. I was sure of that. But I was. And then Frances's words were with me again: “Nothing will bring my Catherine back. And yet you
—
you are here … There must be a reason.”

I sipped some more cider. I took three or four smooth sips. I wanted more of that warmth, and the slowness it brought. I looked at the screen in front of me. Did I not have a right to be here? I didn't ask to be born again. I didn't will it to happen. Me being here again, living my second life, this was just the way it was, the way it had always been. I turned my head to look at Jamie. I wanted to reassure myself that he was still there, right there, next to me. All of him next to all of me. And I closed my eyes. And I wished for a moment where none of it mattered.

“Are you okay?” Jamie whispered.

I opened my eyes to him.

“Ana…,” he said, and he lifted his hand up and stroked my cheek as he said it.

Surely I had a right to be here.

Surely I had every right in the world.

 

sunday

14

“H
OW ARE YOU FEELING
?” Rachel asked as soon as I walked into the kitchen the next morning.

“Okay,” I said.

“Tea?”

I nodded.

My phone buzzed. A text.

Great to see you last night. x

I smiled as I remembered how we'd laid down next to each other at the party. It'd felt so good to be close to him like that. And I smiled too when I remembered how he had looked at me when he stroked my cheek.

Rachel handed me my tea. I took a gulp. It was hot and sweet. Just what I needed.

“Did you drink last night, Ana?”

“Just one,” I said. “Maybe two.” I actually didn't know how much I'd had. My head did hurt a little this morning.

“I worry when I think about you drinking too much,” Rachel said.

“I didn't drink too much,” I said. “It was only cider anyway.”

“It's still alcohol. You know the rules. You look terrible. And I'm not here today, did you remember? I've got to go into work to pack up for the office move.”

“I'll be fine. Don't worry,” I said. I hadn't remembered Rachel would be out.

“So have you got plans?”

“I don't know, but I'll be fine,” I said, and as I said it I thought about The Avenue. I could go back to The Avenue. Talk to Frances again.

“Well, look, I think you should just stay here and take it easy. You've got homework anyway, and I guess there's stuff you need to catch up on from last week?”

I nodded.

“I'll be as quick as I can,” she said, and she drained her cup and put it in the sink. “Call me,” she said. “Later.”

“Sure,” I said, but in my head I was already halfway to Teddington, my mind bursting with the things I could talk to Frances about.

 

15

“T
HERE WAS A PARTY
. Do you remember?” Frances said, as we sat down in the sitting room.

I'd got to The Avenue by eleven, and Frances seemed almost pleased to see me when she'd opened the front door.

“I don't remember a party. But Catherine was dressed for a party. I remember that. Was it a birthday?”

“No,” Frances said. “There was a party at number 50 every September. It was an annual thing. The Williamses put it on. It was drinks. It wasn't a children's party.”

“I didn't want to go,” I said. It came to me. “I remember saying to Dad that it would be boring. He promised he'd play with me on the Green before the party. He said he'd make it fun, and I believed him.” And I could feel, as I said it, how much I hadn't wanted to go to the party, and how much I didn't want to have to play with Catherine and how much he'd let me down when he hadn't come and played with me on the Green.

Frances looked at her fingers. They were clasped together in her hands. She was utterly composed. I knew what she was thinking. That she wished I hadn't come to play with Catherine, because maybe then none of this would have happened. Catherine would still be alive today. “The evening might have been many things,” Frances said, “but I don't think you could have said it was boring.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. She nodded.

“They should have left me at home,” I said. I was trying to make better what I had said.

“They couldn't have done that, Ana. Someone would have had to look after you. Amanda, your mum, couldn't find anyone to babysit that night.”

“They could have left me at home with a friend or a neighbor, couldn't they?”

“That was the problem. Everyone in the neighborhood was invited to the party, Ana!” Frances said.

I looked at her blankly. “What do you mean, everyone in the neighborhood?”

“You don't remember?” Frances said.

“I…”

I felt panicked now. A vague sickness began to shift and rise in my belly.

“You lived here, Ana, 42 The Avenue,” she said. “This street was your home.”

My ears started filling with air, and the familiar sickness rose
—
it was in my throat now. I thought I might pass out … the tiles, the pathway, the house. It was mine. It was where I had lived
—
42 The Avenue. Emma's home. It was mine.

“You were born here,” she said. “I'm sure you would have lived here your whole life, but Amanda, well, she said that after what happened, the family couldn't stay. That you had to move
—
in order to ‘move on,' is what she said.”