Someone Like me

by Lesley Cheetham

  I picked up my bag, my heart bursting. Gran had always been my rock.

  ‘It’s her. It’s the other one. Get her out of here. Pretending to be Jasmine she is, how dare she?’

  ‘Let me get you a cup of tea Margaret,’ said the nurse. I made my way towards the door.

  ‘Just because you look like her,’ shouted Gran. ‘You can’t fool me.’

  I turned and ran down the corridor. ‘Where’s Jasmine?’ Gran was shouting, ‘Let me see her!’

  Her words followed me down the corridor, mocking me. I charged along, head down, not wanting anyone to see the tears prickling my eyes. I rushed into the nurses’ staff room and shoved my hands over my ears. Who did Gran think I was?

  I paced around the small airless room, trying to make sense of Gran’s words. What other girl?

  The nurse came back, hurrying down the corridor.

  ‘You poor wee thing,’ she said. She was holding Gran’s photograph. She caught my glance. ‘She threw this at me – it seemed to be upsetting her.’

  ‘I’ll look after it,’ I said, snatching it from her grasp. ‘It’s my mum and dad,’ I explained. ‘I haven’t seen this picture before. We don’t see him anymore.’ I slid it into my bag, before she could change her mind.

  ‘Yes, she talked about him a lot when she first came in. He’s her only son isn’t he?’ I nodded.

  ‘He left when I was a baby.’

  ‘Your mum told me. I was surprised when he turned up here the other day.’ I stared at her.

  ‘So he was here?’

  ‘Oh yes. She seemed really happy to see him.’

  I had to put my hand on the wall to steady myself. ‘When was this?’ I asked.

  ‘A few days ago,’ she said.

  ‘Did you speak to him? Or Gran? Do you know what she was talking about, saying I was pretending to be me?’

  She took my hands. Her eyes were soft. Mine were hard and my skin was prickling.

  ‘Jasmine, love, your Gran isn’t well. She forgets people and faces. She didn’t mean anything by her comments, so try and ignore them. Maybe come with your Mum next time?’

  I snatched my hands from hers and jumped up.

  ‘No way,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t got time for Gran. I’m the only one who ever has.’

  I turned and hurried along the corridor, unable to stop the tears now. I stopped at the signing in and out book at reception and glanced over my shoulder. There wasn’t a soul around. I flicked back to the page for the 25th May. There it was, Michael Robertson. I took out my phone and snapped a photograph of the page. He’d arrived at 1.45 and left at 2.30pm. I frowned. His address was listed as the Metropole Hotel, Bucks. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand I turned back to the current page and signed out. Then I ran as fast as I could out of the building.

  I ran and ran until I couldn’t breathe and doubled over in the street. I checked my bag; the photograph was still there. I went into a corner shop and bought a bottle of water, and then went into the park to sit down for a bit. I needed to think things through. I went back over Gran’s words in my head. The other one? I shook my head. The nurse was probably right – she was getting confused. It was the first time she had seen Michael in years, after all. It was bound to muddle her up.

  When I got home that evening I went straight into the kitchen and took out a cold can of coke. Mum was in her study working.

  ‘Hi Jasmine,’ she called out. ‘I’m in here.’ Papers were strewn all over the desk and she was punching furiously into a calculator. She pushed her glasses onto her head and picked up a large glass of red wine, which had smudges of pink lipstick on the side. ‘You timed it perfectly,’ she said, lifting some books from the chair next to her, motioning me to sit down.

  ‘Tina from Pear Tree House phoned. She told me what happened. I’m sorry, darling; I wish you hadn’t had to experience that.’ She paused to take a gulp from her wine glass. ‘But it links to some news I have for you. There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve been in contact with your father.’

  ‘What?’ I spluttered.

  ‘He phoned me. He’d found out about Gran being ill and he needed some documents from her. We arranged to meet.’

  ‘So you’ve seen him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He came to my office.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A few days ago’

  I felt as if ice had been poured into me. I stared at her. ‘You mean you actually saw him and you didn’t tell me?’ And he’s wanted on Crimewatch – I managed to stop myself blurting out the words. I shoved my hands under my thighs and squeezed hard.

  ‘Look, I should have told you, I was going to but… I’m telling you now.’ She sat up straight and put her hands on the desk.

  ‘Actually, he wants to see you.’

  The mouthful of coke I’d just taken hit the back of my throat and almost burst back out of my mouth, making me cough.

  ‘Why now?’

  ‘His family are relocating to England this summer, from France. I imagine it has something to do with that.’

  I felt hot all over, just thinking about him. Gran had eventually told me that Michael had left Mum for another woman. I didn’t understand how he could abandon us like that. And now he had another family.

  Mum picked up her wine glass. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Mum! How can you say that? You can’t make decisions like this without asking me.’

  ‘You don’t want to see him do you?’

  I closed my eyes, feeling nauseous. ‘I don’t know what I think at the moment.’

  Mum went out to the kitchen and came back holding a wine bottle. She poured the rich red liquid into her glass and took a large mouthful. I wondered what it would taste like. Would that calm me down?’

  ‘I am so angry with your father. How dare he interfere like this? Margaret made it clear a long time ago she wanted nothing more to do with him and now that she’s ill he is taking advantage of her. Sneaking over to see her like that.’ She took another large gulp of her drink and sat down again.

  ‘It was horrid, Mum, with Gran. She was OK at first, a bit snappy, but at least she knew who I was, then suddenly she changed and started accusing me of being someone else.’

  ‘What exactly did she say?’

  ‘She said she knew I was “the other one” and that he had promised not to bring her.’

  A shadow crossed Mum’s face. ‘What is it Mum?’ I asked. ‘Do you know what she was talking about?’

  She paused for a second, then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. Gran doesn’t know what she’s saying any more. It’s sad, I know, but you must try not to attach any meaning to her words. I’m so angry with your father, I’ve a good mind to ring him up and tell him exactly what I think.’

  ‘I didn’t know who Gran was talking about at first when she said that Michael had been. It was only when I saw his name written in the book that I believed her.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘When did you see Michael, what date?’

  Mum went over to the side table and opened her diary.

  ‘Friday, May 26th. He came to my office. He was on his way to the station to get a train to Amersham.’

  ‘Amersham?’

  ‘It’s in Buckinghamshire. That’s where he’s moving to.’

  ‘Mum,’ I said, drawing the word out as I tried to make sense of all the jumbled thoughts in my head. ‘I think I would like to meet Michael.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Jasmine I don’t think…’

  ‘Let me speak to him at least.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And about the summer, please let me stay with Tess and Mark. I promise I’ll check in with Clare while I’m there so she knows I’m OK, and maybe I could meet up with Michael then.’ I was tripping over the words now, they were spilling out of my mouth of their own accord. ‘You can ask him, can’t you?’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.

  Mum looke
d perplexed. ‘I don’t understand you Jasmine, why this sudden urge to see your father?’

  ‘I need some answers, Mum.’

  She stared into her wine glass and sighed. ‘That means I’ll have to speak to him again.’ She looked as if she had something nasty in her mouth. ‘You realize he has another family now.’ She looked directly into my eyes. ‘It isn’t going to be easy for you. He said he was on Skype, that’s probably the best way to go about it.’

  Mum was always on Skype. Tess and I had tried it a few times but had spent the whole time laughing at the sight of each other. I doubted whether Michael would have that effect on me.

  I left Mum to get on with her work. I went to the fridge and studied the array of wine bottles lined up in the door. I glanced over my shoulder. Mum was on the phone now. The pink coloured one was half empty. The bottle was icy to touch. I poured myself a small glass and took it up to my room.

  I typed out the address which had burned itself into my memory into Google maps. While I waited for the site to open I pulled the photograph out of my back pocket. It was a passport sized picture of a woman with dark skin and shoulder length black hair. I had never seen her before.

  I turned the small square over. The name Nora was written on the back. I took the other photograph out, deliberately not looking at the unfamiliar smiles of my parents and pushed them both into the box with all my other dad stuff under the bed. I turned my attention back to the computer. Did I really want to make contact? Hesitation only lasted for a second. I had to find out exactly who my dad was and what he was up to.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘Don’t tell me – you’ve got a homework project. Read as many newspapers as possible this weekend! You’ve forgotten the Financial Times.’

  Our local newsagent thought he was hilarious. Irritating is how I would describe his stupid jokes. If there was a nearer shop, I’d be there. As it was, I gritted my teeth and pretended to smile as he packed a copy of each of this morning’s papers into a carrier bag.

  At home I spread the newspapers around the floor. The word MIRIAM was all over the front pages. I propped myself up onto my elbows and started to read.

  The family of murdered teenager Miriam Jackson last night appealed to witnesses to come forward.

  ‘There must be someone, somewhere, who saw her on the train from Marylebone.’ Police confirmed that evidence from CCTV cameras at the station was being looked at. Miriam was described by her Headteacher from the local comprehensive in Keston as ‘a delightful girl, who was popular and very gifted in drama. She will be missed by everyone at Keston school.’

  Miriam, 15, had been spending the weekend at a drama school in London, where she had won a place on an acting course. All students on the weekend course were staying at the Travelodge, which is adjacent to the hotel. The girl who shared a room with Miriam said that she seemed to be enjoying the weekend, and they’d made plans to stay in touch.

  Miriam had been due back in Keston on Sunday evening. She texted a friend to say she was leaving London Marylebone at 4.30pm. and although her bike was collected from Keston station, she never arrived at her destination. Buckinghamshire police received a phone call from a man at 7.30am the following morning saying that he had found the body of a young girl in a field. The police took the man’s statement but, distracted by the arrival of an ambulance, he disappeared before the policeman could take down his details. The man was described as clean shaven, with short dark hair and blue eyes. He was wearing running clothes as he had been out for a morning run.

  Police appealed once again for the unidentified male who reported the body being missing to come forward. Detective Inspector Andy Summerfield said, ‘We would like to be able to eliminate this person from our enquiries.’

  By the time I had read through everything that was written about Miriam the newsprint was wriggling like ants in front of my eyes. I closed my eyes and lay back on the floor.

  I called up a map of England to see exactly where Keston was. It was pretty near Amersham and less than thirty minutes from London on the train. I double-checked the date. Yes, it was the same date that Mum had met up with Michael. That was a bit of a coincidence.

  I took Gran’s photograph out of my bag and studied it again, before hiding it with my dad stash under the bed.

  My stomach made an embarrassing growling noise. I went downstairs and peered in the fridge. There was a piece of pizza on a plate left over from the other day, so I ate that. The cheese was yummy and gooey and I realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I was going over in my mind what on earth I was going to say to Michael. What do you say to someone who walked out on you fifteen years ago? He wouldn’t recognise me, obviously. I wandered over to the bookcase and took down the photograph album that Mum had kept when I was younger. There were no photos of Michael, a few of Mum and I together but the rest were all me. Gran had taken most of these photos. I turned to the pages when I was about ten. I was standing on a country gate, wearing cut off denim shorts and a green t-shirt with Minnie Mouse on it. My hair was in plaits and the sun was shining on me, making my hair look golden and interesting. I had freckles on my nose and a scowl on my face. I looked angry even then.

  I put the album down and stood and looked at my fifteen year old face in the mirror. The freckles had all but disappeared, and my hair was no longer blonde but I had been dying it red for ages. ‘Scarlet Power’ was the shade it was supposed to be. It fell just below my shoulders. Naturally it was a kind of nondescript colour. It was pretty straight so it was no trouble to emulate Sadie’s red bob, but my eyes were deep set and I hated them. Hers were large and her eyelashes were like thick spiders. I tried to imagine how I would look to someone seeing me for the first time. My stomach lurched. Was I really going to let my father into my life?

  My phone buzzed. Facebook update. I clicked on the link and waited. And waited. I must speak to Mum about getting a new phone. This one was positively roman. I would be a much better detective with the right gear. It was a post from Sadie. My heart quickened. I hoped I hadn’t missed anything while I was obsessing over Michael.

  Loving my new Gucci shades. Thanks mum I love you...

  There was a photo posted. I made it as big as I could. I wanted those glasses. I scrolled through the rest of her page. AJ was still listed as her boyfriend, and there was no mention of Mystery Man. I closed her page then set about finding those shades. It didn’t take me long to find the exact same pair. £225. Jeez. Might as well go down town now and see if I could find anything similar.

  Exactly one hour later I was outside Sadie’s house, Gucci shades perched on my nose, cap on my head, hiding my distinctive hair. Now I had no birthday money left. I hadn’t had a chance to check the shades in the mirror but they were good and big for a girl detective to hide behind, and I was wearing Mum’s long black mac as dark clouds glowered overhead. I hoped I looked like an escaped celebrity.

  I soon realised I wasn’t alone. A man clad in leather was sitting astride a motorcycle along the street, slightly along from Sadie’s house on the other side of the road. He was drumming his fingers on the handlebars. He was tall and stockily built. I wondered what he was doing. He appeared to be waiting for someone. He turned his head and caught my eye. I hesitated, then headed towards him. Close up he was much older than I had realised, with peppery stubble and dark shades covering his eyes.

  ‘Yeah?’ he asked, firing the word out like a bullet. I swallowed, then went for it.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know someone called Sadie, do you?’ I babbled, ‘only she invited me round and I can’t remember what number she said she lived at.’

  ‘Sadie?’ he said and turned his head to face me. I could see my reflection in his glasses. He took his helmet off of the handle bar. ‘Can’t help you love,’ he said and pulled the helmet over his face. He turned the ignition key and the bike roared away from the kerb, the pressure forcing me to stumble back onto the pavement. I watched as the bike disappeared round the corner. Funny
that, as soon as I mentioned the name Sadie he had driven off. Why was he in such a hurry?

  CHAPTER 8

  It took me precisely three minutes to find out the name of Miriam’s friend. Helen Branning. Either my detection skills were improving, or the internet just made things too damn easy. Miriam’s school site had an extremely enlightening chat forum. Helen was in Year eight at Keston Secondary School and had been Miriam’s best friend. Although Miriam was in year ten, they had met at the drama club they both attended on Saturdays. Her address was also mentioned on Facebook. Job done, I turned my attention to Sadie.

  It crossed my mind that now that I had a real mystery to solve, I didn’t need to use Sadie as a guinea pig any more. It had become a bit of a habit though. The first time I had logged into Sadie’s email account was like unveiling a box of treasures. The best part was her fashion blog SadieStyle where she posted daily tips on what to wear. It didn’t take me long to get hooked – choosing what to wear every day was such a pain.

  Dressing like Sadie was pretty easy. I just followed the tips on her fashion blog.

  Maybe next I’d learn how to get a boyfriend. I wondered who this Mystery Man was. He sure as hell wasn’t AJ. Was he the leather man with the motorcycle? The answer had to lie in Sadie’s Facebook contacts. I spent ages scrolling through her friends. Nothing there.

  I went back into her email account and spent the next hour reading any personal emails. My eyes were drying out and I was about to give up when I noticed a message from someone called ‘T.’ I hadn’t noticed it before.

  Hi Babe, don’t forget I’m picking you up from your place at 4. Don’t be late.

  Nothing incriminating, but I checked the date. I was right! It was the day I had followed Sadie home from the café and first seen Mystery Man. I wrote down ‘T’ and the number plate I had for the car. Then I went further back into Sadie’s emails. There was only one.

  Happy Families! it said.