by Luana Lewis
‘Why don’t you take off your shoes,’ Stella said, thinking about frostbite.
The girl bent down and tried to undo her laces, but her fingers were rigid and it took ages before she managed to loosen the double knots. As Stella waited and watched, the girl pulled off her trainers and placed them side by side on the front door mat. She wasn’t wearing socks and her toenails were painted black.
‘You should take that off too.’ Stella pointed at her jacket. Up close, she could see it was no more than thin plastic.
The girl shook her head; no.
‘Come inside, there’s a fire – it’s warmer,’ Stella said.
She walked towards the living room, pointing at the doorway, as if encouraging a timid animal to follow. She felt energized, or perhaps she felt anxious, it was hard to tell the difference. The girl followed, barefoot and still clutching at the strap of her bag. She didn’t look as though she felt at home in her old house. She stood motionless next to the sofa with her damp hair and her damp clothes.
Stella felt bad for leaving her outside so long. She lifted the tartan blanket from the back of the couch and shook it out. She ventured a step closer, holding the blanket out in front of her. When the girl didn’t back away, Stella draped the blanket around her shoulders and wrapped her up tight. The girl’s stiff fingers took hold. Stella saw it again, the suspicion in her eyes, and she backed away.
‘Sit in front of the fire,’ she said.
The girl sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, her back to Stella, staring at the small flames. The shivering went on and on. Stella hovered behind her, unsure what to do next.
‘I should phone your parents and let them know you’re here,’ she said.
‘My toes really hurt.’
Stella wondered if she might end up having to find a doctor for this strange, reckless girl who wandered about half undressed in the arctic conditions. She walked round and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. She noticed how beautiful the girl was. Exceptionally so. Her deep-set eyes were the colour of the sky on a clear, sunshine-filled day. Her hair had begun to dry, forming soft golden waves that caressed her cheeks. Her skin was velvety smooth. Her top lip was a shade too thin, but her bottom lip was fuller, pouting. She was so young.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ the girl asked.
‘I’m Stella. What’s your name?’
‘Blue.’
Blue was the colour of her eyes. Blue did not sound like a real name.
‘Is Blue your nickname?’
‘It’s my real name.’
‘And what’s your surname?’
She rubbed at her dry lips, tinged blue with cold, and hesitated, her eyes flickering around the room from left to right. ‘Cunningham,’ she said.
Stella had no way of knowing if she was lying.
‘We need to get you home,’ Stella said. ‘We need to let someone know you’re here.’
‘I’m not going home.’ The girl spoke with a certain determination that concerned Stella.
‘Why not?’ Stella asked.
‘I had a fight with my mother. She won’t let me back in.’
‘Blue, even if you had an argument with your mother, she’ll still be worried about you.’
No response.
‘Well – I still need to call someone to let them know you’re safe. Is there someone else I could call, besides your mother?’
Blue shook her head, not looking at Stella, staring at the fire. The shivering had lessened, but now and again a small quiver passed through her shoulders.
‘We do need to find a way to get you home,’ Stella said. Her words sounded empty, repetitive, lame.
‘I didn’t really use to live here,’ the girl said. ‘I made that up.’ She turned to look at Stella. The colour of her eyes seemed to shift, so that the blue was deeper and more intense, the colour of cold, hard tanzanite.
Stella tilted her head from side to side, trying to release the muscles that had seized up in her neck and across her shoulders. ‘Then why have you come here?’ she asked.
If she panicked, if she breathed too fast, if she allowed her heartbeat to thunder out of control, she was lost. She should have gone upstairs when she heard the doorbell, shut the door of her bedroom, swallowed a sleeping pill, ignored the goddamn noise. There was a tightness in her chest, it was impossible to take in enough air.
‘I came because I need to see Dr Fisher,’ the girl said.
‘My husband?’
‘Yes.’ Blue’s mouth set in a stubborn line and she began to scratch at the skin on her forearms.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Luana Lewis is a clinical psychologist and author of two non-fiction books. Forget Me Not is her second novel.
Also by Luana Lewis
Don’t Stand So Close
and published by Corgi
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © S. L. Lewis 2015
S. L. Lewis has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448169061
ISBN 9780552169547
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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