Never Leaves Me

by C J Morrow

  NEVER

  LEAVES

  ME

  by

  CJ MORROW

  Copyright © CJ Morrow 2017

  Tamarillas Press

  All Rights Reserved

  All characters, locations and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover artwork: Tithi Luadthong/Shutterstock

  Design: © A Mayes

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Grab a Freebie

  Acknowledgements

  Books by CJ Morrow

  One

  Gasp. I wake. My heart pounds in my chest.

  I was having that dream again. The one where the car rolls over and over, spinning out of control.

  The alarm is sounding; that’s what woke me. Its persistent beeping doesn’t stop. What time is it? It’s still dark outside, so it must be early. Do we have to get up extra early today? I can’t remember. It’s Robin’s alarm because it’s on my right. It’s his phone. I wish he would turn it off. It’s driving me insane. I bet he’s already up. He does that, sets his alarm then wakes before it goes off. I bet he’s in the bathroom. Yes, I can hear the water hissing. That’s why he can’t hear his damn alarm, he’s standing under his power shower and deaf to the world.

  The jets come from the sides and the back, sharp tingly darts that feel as though they will pierce your flesh. Even the waterfall showerhead at the top is hard on my skin. I never use it. It wasn’t meant for you. I prefer a quick dip in a warm bath, you can wash your feet so much easier in a bath, no precarious balancing to soap your toes. Robin likes to stand in the shower letting the hot jets pummel his skin. He called me a wimp after I tried it and complained, but secretly he was pleased because he wanted to keep it all to himself.

  Still, I wish he would come back and turn off his damn alarm. I suppose I could reach over and do it.

  It’s stopped. Thank God. Maybe it’s run his phone battery flat. He won’t be happy, but it’ll teach him a lesson. Not that I will say so.

  It’s still dark outside, very dark. Not a chink of light getting in. So, it must be very early. Too early. I can’t think why we need to get up so early today. Maybe it’s just Robin who needs to be up early but he’ll still want me to drive him to work. I’m just going to have another ten minutes. He’ll wake me when he needs me. Maybe he can get his own breakfast today.

  Gasp. I wake.

  Oh, my God, that dream. It’s making my heart pound. Bang, bang, thump in my chest. It’s painful. The car was rolling – roof, wheels, roof, wheels. So fast, such speed.

  I try to breathe easy. I try to calm down.

  I feel sick.

  For God’s sake; it’s just a dream.

  Robin’s alarm is going off. Why doesn’t he turn it off? It’s doing my head in. He’s in the shower; I can hear the water hissing down on him. My shower.

  The alarm’s stopped. Thank God. I’m so bloody tired. It’s too dark to get up now. Just five more minutes.

  I wake.

  The car is red.

  My car is red.

  I’ve counted the spins. Three. Wheels, roof, wheels, roof, wheels, roof. It landed on its roof. I hate this dream. It’s horrific.

  My whole body feels as though it has been thoroughly shaken. My heart throbs in my ears.

  The damn alarm is going off. That’s Robin’s phone alarm. I wish he would turn it off. He’s probably in the shower. Yes, I can hear the water running. He’ll be ages. He loves to stand under that shower. Power shower. I hope he has the extractor fan on otherwise he won’t be able to see his face when he cleans his teeth and he’ll be irritated and grumpy when he comes out of the bathroom. He always cleans them after his shower. I clean mine before – not that I have a shower, I prefer a bath. He says I should do my teeth after; I agree with him and say I do, but I don’t. I don’t see what difference it makes.

  The alarm has stopped, probably flattened his phone battery. He won’t be happy about that. I’ll need to remind him to charge it in the car on our way to work. I can still hear his shower hissing.

  Why are we getting up so early? It’s still dark? I don’t remember there being a reason to start early today. What day is it? I can’t remember; I’m still half asleep. I think it’s Friday.

  I like Fridays. Everyone at work is looking forward to the weekend. Everyone is happy in anticipation. Not like Mondays, when everyone is grumpy and lamenting the loss of their freedom. Robin says it’s the same where he works, except that it is intensified by ten because they are always counting down to the next half-term break. He says it’s worse after the summer holidays. The kids look sad but the teachers look sadder – some are off sick within a week. The only ones who don’t look sad are the parents dropping their offspring at the gates, pushing them out of their cars and waving cheerfully. Who wants a stroppy teenager festering in bed all morning, hanging around the house all day and staying up all night? Stroppy teenager. Robin never called me a stroppy teenager.

  I can hardly remember being a teenager, even though it’s less than ten years ago. I don’t think I ever festered in bed. I’m sure I didn’t, though I can’t really remember.

  I’ll get up when Robin comes out of the bathroom. I’ll just catch a few more minutes until then. Thank God, it’s Friday.

  I’m watching that car now. I know it’s a dream. I’m watching it spinning, rolling. I wouldn’t like to be inside that car. Imagine what that must feel like, seeing the world turning over when it isn’t the world at all, it’s you. Imagine when it finally stops, landing on its roof. You’d be hanging there, suspended by your seatbelt. Hanging there feeling sick and helpless. Supposing you’re hurt. God, that would be awful.

  When it lands on its roof it just rocks, like a cradle. Side to side. Gives motion sickness a new meaning. Horrific. Frightening.

  I wonder what it means.

  Gasp. I wake.

  It’s just a silly dream. I know that. My mind knows that. My body doesn’t. Calm down heart. Shut up alarm. Get out of your shower, Robin. Stop that damn hissing.

  It’s just a dream. I wonder what it means? Isn’t a car a metaphor for your life? I remember, when Mum and Dad were being particularly difficult about me and Robin – they liked him then, they just didn’t like him for me – I had that dream, several times, where you’re trying to drive your car from the back seat. Your feet don’t quite reach the pedals, your arms aren’t long enough to steer properly. Your parents were trying to control you. After Robin said that, the dream stopped. He was right. I had to live my own life. They meant well, but it wasn’t up to them what I did, who I was with. I was an adult.

  Legally.

  The car is red. It’s definitely my car.

  Gasp.

  The alarm. My heart.

  This is too much.

  Just too much.

  I’m petrified.

  Calm down. Calm down.

  It’s just a dream.

  A stupid dream.

  Breathe. Breathe. Calm. Calm.

  That’s better. The alarm has stopped. If his battery’s flat, that’s his own fault, but I couldn’t stop it because he hates me touching his phone. No doubt he’s set it and gone in the bathroom before it’s
gone off. He does that.

  Why are we getting up so early today? What’s going on? It’s still dark outside. Which means it’s before dawn. What time is dawn?

  I can hear Robin’s shower, its power forcing the water into his skin. He likes it. I hate it. It’s not for you, Juliette.

  What’s that smell? Is it a new shower gel or deodorant? Not sure I like it. It smells antiseptic. That’s not a good smell. And alcohol. What do they put in those products? It must be very strong to work its way along the landing and into our room, even if Robin has left the bedroom door open. I bet he has. He likes the main bathroom; it’s bigger. I use the smaller ensuite; I’m grateful it has a bath.

  He’ll be in here in a minute telling me to get up. Lazy Juliette.

  I’ll get up before he comes back, best way to avoid annoyance.

  In a minute.

  Wake up Juliette. You’re dreaming.

  The car is red and mine. It’s on its roof. I’m running away as fast as my leaden legs will carry me. But I have to look back. I have to do that, don’t I? I couldn’t just carry on running. Why couldn’t I just keep going? My car is burning now. Flames lick the doors, engulf the roof. The stench of burning petrol and metal singes my nostrils. Acrid smoke. I want to cough.

  And I stand there and I watch. And nothing is happening except the car burning. I look around for people, for other cars. There are none. Just me. Alone.

  I check myself. Am I on fire? No. I’m fine. I’m wearing my black coat, the one with the too-big buttons; it’s tight across my chest now. I’ve had that coat a long time, Robin bought it for me for Christmas – our first Christmas. My parents weren’t pleased when they finally found out. Mum said it was wrong of him to buy it and wrong of me to accept it. Too late, I’d chirped back at her. Dad didn’t say anything, just glanced at me and glanced away. He looked sad. I’ve noticed how Dad always looks sad. I wonder if I’ve done something to upset him. Recently, I mean. I know I upset him before, but that’s years ago now. Ten years. Probably more. And it’s all worked out fine, so he had no reason to worry. Did he?

  Perhaps it’s not me. Yes, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Juliette. Perhaps it’s Mads. I suppose she’s got to that age now; fifteen. I can’t imagine Madeleine being stroppy, she always seems so sweet. Maybe that’s just for me. She’ll always be my baby sister, no matter how old we get. She’s twelve years younger (well thirteen sometimes, depends on which month we’re in) and I remember the day she was born like it was yesterday.

  I remember the day Mum and Dad told me they were having a baby too. It was my birthday, my twelfth. They thought it would be a nice surprise for me, a nice present. I was repulsed. Disgusted. Looking back it seems hilarious now, but when you’re twelve you really don’t believe your parents have sex. I really thought they were far too old to be having another baby. My mum did too. I heard her telling Sally next door. She was forty, dad was forty-three. They weren’t expecting that to happen.

  I was embarrassed. I didn’t tell my friends at school. But then I was spotted out shopping with Mum; we were in big Tesco. We were looking at the clothes. Mum was enormous by then but it was all out front, her skinny legs dangling from below her immense bump. There was no mistaking she was pregnant; it couldn’t be passed off as just fat. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me as Angie and Cara waved at me across the underwear aisle. They smiled. I smiled. Mum said her back was aching and we needed to get home. Then she marched us straight past them towards the tills.

  I dreaded going into school the next day. How could I hide the fact that my parents had sex? The evidence was there. Disgusting. But nobody said anything. Nobody cared. Angie waved to me across the room in Maths and never mentioned it. Nor did Cara. They had their own lives to live.

  Two days later Madeleine arrived. Blue eyes in an angry, red face stared out at me when I went to visit mum in hospital.

  ‘I like her hair,’ I said, moving to touch the crusty halo that stuck out from her head.

  ‘Don’t.’ Mum shuddered and batted my hand away. ‘She hasn’t had a bath yet.’

  ‘She’s perfect,’ Dad said, putting his arm around Mum’s shoulder. He glowed with pride. I’d never seen him like that before. ‘All my girls are perfect.’ He put his other arm around my shoulder and Mads stared at us as if she knew what Dad meant.

  I suppose I fell in love with Mads that day. She was my baby sister. Mum let me hold her for five minutes before putting her back into the safety of the clear Perspex crib.

  Mads was the perfect baby, apparently. Fed well, slept well, grew well. ‘Just as well,’ Mum told Sally when she visited from next door. ‘Given my age, I couldn’t cope with a difficult baby.’

  I remember wondering if I had been a difficult baby. I tossed that remark around in my head for days. But, surely Mum would have said another difficult baby, if I had been. Wouldn’t she? In the end, I asked Dad. He smiled and said I was perfect, just like my little sister.

  Yes, it’s probably Mads who’s making him sad now. She’s got to that age.

  ‘Come on, Juliette. Wake up.’

  I’d better get up before Robin gets annoyed. He’s not known for his patience. Well, not with me anyway. He’s patience personified with his pupils. He says he has to have the patience of a saint to teach Maths. Especially now because pupils are getting lazier.

  That’s how we met.

  Not at school. He wasn’t my teacher at school. Our meeting wasn’t tacky or sordid like that.

  I will get up any minute now. I will.

  Oh God, I’ve dozed off again. I’m back in this bloody awful dream. My car just keeps on rolling and burning. I run and stop and look back. Why don’t I just keep running?

  As I stand there, staring at the flames, I see a body on the grass verge.

  Dreams are amazing really, aren’t they? One second you’re running away, next you’re watching from afar, then suddenly, you’re right there, close up, staring at a body. And all without any effort from you. If only waking up was so easy.

  She’s wearing a coat like mine; the buttons are too big. And it’s a bit tight on her. She’s not fat. Not what I call fat anyway. Robin might, but he’s far too critical. But the coat is tight, she probably should have bought a bigger size. I bet that’s what mine looks like. I don’t think I’ll wear it again. I haven’t worn that coat for years. It’s been in the back of my wardrobe forgotten and unworn. I should have got rid of it, stifled back sentiment and stuffed it in the charity bag. I did consider selling it on eBay but it wasn’t that good, I mean it wasn’t expensive or good enough, or fashionable, or even classic enough that anyone would buy it. But donating to charity would be a good thing to do. I’ve only kept it because of the sentimental value; it was the first thing Robin ever bought me.

  ‘Wake up, Juliette,’

  I wish I had some energy. I am just so tired. I wonder what the hell the time is? It’s still dark outside. I’m surprised Robin hasn’t put the light on. He’ll be shaking me in a minute to wake me up.

  Was I drinking last night? I can’t remember. I think I must have been because I do have a headache. Not a cranking, hanging one. Just a dull, persistent thud. It’s dehydration, I know that. A pint of water and a strong coffee and I’ll be fine. And my mouth is dry. Dry and sore. That’s definitely too much wine. Actually, my throat is sore too. Maybe I’m ill. Maybe I’ve got a fever. That would explain why my muscles and bones ache, why I can’t summon the energy to get up. I’ve got flu. Not man-flu like Robin had last Christmas. No, just normal flu, woman-flu. A couple of paracetamol and I’ll be right as rain for work. I’ll have to go. You can’t be off sick on a Friday, it looks like you’re skiving. When you go back in on Monday everyone gives you that smirky sideways look. They know you are lying. So everyone drags themselves in on a Friday and spreads their germs. That’ll be me today.

  If it’s not flu, it’s definitely a hangover. No one dares take time off work for a hangover. But everyone knows. If y
ou’ve got a hangover that bad, apart from the tell-tale signs, the wan face, the slow movement, apart from that, you can smell it. The alcohol oozes out of your pores.

  That’s what it is. I can smell alcohol. We were drinking; correction, I was drinking because Robin rarely does.

  I wish I could remember.

  My God, that’s bad.

  My feet are cold.

  And my hands. Like ice.

  Maybe that’s why I keep dreaming about a burning car, it’s because I want to be warm. The world of dreams doesn’t always make a lot of sense but that could explain it.

  Mmm. I might pop over to Mum and Dad’s over the weekend. Check Mads will be there for a catch up – I haven’t seen her for ages. It must be weeks and weeks. Maybe I can persuade Robin to come with me. Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps it’s not a good idea for Robin to come. There’s always an atmosphere when he comes to my parents. Everyone’s very polite and nice but it’s strained. My dad doesn’t say much and Mads usually disappears up to her bedroom and my mum makes too many cups of tea and keeps trying to make us eat cake so we can be a normal family.

  We are a normal family.

  Mmm. I’ll see how it goes. I can’t remember the last time Robin came to Mum and Dad’s.

  Never mind the weekend, I’ve got to get on with today. I’ve got to get up and get dressed and drop Robin off at school on my way to work.

  The face is mine. The face is mine. No wonder she’s wearing my coat. She is me. I am her.

  I’m the body by the burning car.

  She’s just lying there. I’m just lying there. My eyes are closed. I look fine. No blood. No horrible twisted limbs.

  This is a nightmare.

  The alarm is going. I need to get up. Robin’s in the shower. I should get up, make the bed, lay out my clothes, before he comes back. He gets annoyed if I stay in bed. Lazy Juliette.

  I need to get up so I can shake that horrendous dream out of my head. I’m definitely getting rid of that black coat. It doesn’t fit me anyway. It’s too tight. The buttons are too big. It’s old and outdated. Can this dream really have been about that coat?