Someone Like me

by Lesley Cheetham

  What did that mean? Sadie hadn’t replied.

  I sat back, tugging at my hair. I went back on to Facebook and searched through Sadie’s contacts again. No Ts which would fit. I snapped the laptop shut and rubbed my eyes. How was I going to find out who he was?

  I stroked the pink casing of my new phone. It was a deep crimson kind of pink, more of a raspberry than a blackberry. Mum had agreed to buy me a new phone and one hour later I was in the phone shop. Jason the phone man had tried his best to persuade me to buy a different kind of phone, but I had to have the exact same one as Sadie.

  I practiced typing a few messages, positioning my fingers in the exact same way as Sadie. The tap tap sound made me feel good, closer to her.

  A high tech ping made me jump and nearly drop the phone. Ping meant email. I hoped it was from Tess so that I could show off my new phone. The sender’s email address jumped off the screen into my brain: michaelrobertson@hotmail.com. OMG! My hand was trembling as I pressed the button to open it. It was short and to the point.

  Hi Jasmine, I’ll be on Skype at 5pm today and every day this week until I hear from you. Can’t wait, lots of love, Dad.

  I looked at my watch. It was 4.30pm. I read the email again. And again. It definitely said five o’clock. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. I felt a bit panicky and took some deep breaths, like they did on Casualty. I could do with a handsome doctor coming to my rescue. I was actually going to speak to Michael.

  At ten minutes to five I was logged on and waiting. There was no question of waiting another twenty-four hours. My heart would fail from anxiety. My face was cold, my hands clammy. Suddenly a little box lit up in the corner.

  Michael is online. Connect with Michael?

  I took a deep breath and clicked on ‘Connect.’ The screen flickered and I closed my eyes. When I opened them it felt like magic. Michael was on the screen looking at me. He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. I stared back.

  ‘Jasmine,’ he said, ‘It’s really you isn’t it?’

  I nodded like an idiot. Thoughts were racing through my head: Of course it’s me. Not that you would know what I look like. When was it you last saw me? Oh yes, when I was a baby. I’ve changed quite a bit since then. I don’t dribble as much anymore. You walked out and didn’t come back, how could I forget?

  My insides felt like ice. Even without the beard the face looking back at me was definitely the one I’d seen on the television, and in numerous newspapers ever since. Why had nobody seen him? His eyes were the same shape as mine.

  ‘Jasmine,’ he burbled, ‘I can see you’re in shock. Caroline said it was alright to get in touch with you. I’d like to see you.’

  Was I really going to do this? Images flashed through my head – Gran shouting, Mum crying, Miriam Jackson’s picture staring out of the newspaper, haunting me. Who was this man? I had last seen him on Crimewatch.

  ‘I’d like the chance to explain to you.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said.

  ‘The thing is, my partner – and I . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, or was it the connection – ‘we’re in the process of relocating to England. We’ve been in France for the past month, staying with her family in Lille, and we’re spending the last weekend in Paris before we leave, and we thought you might like to join us in Paris?’ He paused again, running his tongue around his lips. He looked nervous. ‘Have you ever been to Paris?’

  I wanted to shake my head but I was frozen into position. Partner? Paris? He was speaking again, his voice less confident, speeded up. ‘ . . . so would you like to come with us? It would be easier if you met us over there on the Saturday. That’s the 26th July. Then if you want you can come back to our new house after, although you might have had enough of us by then.’ He laughed, he sounded nervous. ‘Or you can come back to London and stay with your friend. Jess, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tess,’ I muttered.

  ‘You’ll love it in Paris.’ I rolled my eyes – what did he know about what I like?

  ‘You can get a direct train from St Pancras, I’ll meet you at the other end. I’ll email you a timetable - you choose the train you want to get and I’ll book the tickets for you. First class. My treat.’ He stopped as if he’d run out of air, chewing at his lip. It gave me a jolt. I had that same annoying habit.

  ‘We can’t wait to see you,’ he added. Big mistake. As far as I was concerned his new wife – Mum’s replacement – was an insult and an inconvenience. I looked away.

  ‘Well,’ he said, running his fingers through his hair. I felt a huge pang of sadness and a shot of excitement at the same time, twisting my insides.

  I refused to meet his eyes after that. I could feel his, however, boring into my head.

  ‘Jasmine, look at me,’ he said. My eyes were fixed on the keyboard. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you, but not like this. I want to talk to you in person, not via a screen.’ The image flickered in and out of focus. I adjusted the camera a little. I wasn’t done with him yet. Was I slipping from his view too?

  ‘I can’t talk about it now Michael,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got time. Email me the details about tickets and I’ll let you know when I’m coming.’ I paused. ‘If I’m coming,’ I said and switched him off.

  CHAPTER 9

  My Skype encounter with Michael had made me feel worse than I did after cross-country on a Friday with Miss Meek. On waking I’d checked out the fridge. Two sausages were lurking at the back, alongside a large bottle of diet coke. I poured myself a glass and threw myself back onto the sofa. My phone pinged. Another email from Michael – Subject: Eurostar times. I swung my legs over the side of the sofa and padded back to the fridge. At that moment I heard Mum’s key in the door.

  ‘Jasmine are you home?’ she called.

  ‘In here,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ she said, her feet clattering up the stairs. I quickly opened the email from Michael.

  Hi Jasmine, it was good to speak to you earlier. Here are the train times for Saturday 26th July. Let me know when you want to come and I’ll book the tickets for you. Michael

  Mum’s face looked sort of collapsed. She was still wearing her work suit, but had kicked her shoes off. She plonked herself down on the sofa next to me, bottle of wine in one hand, glass in the other. I held up my phone.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘Is that the one you wanted?’ I nodded. I opened up Michael’s email.

  ‘Look at this.’ She took the phone from me, picking up her glasses from the table and perching them on her nose.

  ‘So he’s not calling himself dad anymore?’

  I shrugged. ‘He stopped being my dad a long time ago.’

  ‘So you spoke to him earlier? How was that?’

  ‘Well how do you think? It was weird. Skype is weird.’

  ‘Do you want to see him?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said, ‘I’m so curious that I kind of feel I have to.’

  ‘Are you going to do something about this strange hair colour before you go?’

  She picked up a tress of my hair and I pushed her hand away.

  ‘Don’t start about my hair, I’m not in the mood. Michael said if I choose the train time then he’ll book the tickets for me. First class.’ I snorted. ‘As if that will make me forget everything just like that. He mentioned her as well. I’m not going to speak to her, I’ll just pretend she’s not there.’

  ‘It was your choice to go and see him Jasmine. You’ll have to make an effort, otherwise you’ll have a horrible time and I’ll spend my two weeks in New York worrying about you.’ I gave her a look.

  ‘Really? I thought you couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t choose to be at work so much, you know.’ She poured herself another glass of wine. ‘If I gave up work and went on benefits you wouldn’t be sat there with that nice new phone in your hand. You wouldn’t like that one bit.’

  She didn’t get it all. She has no idea what I want and I
couldn’t possibly tell her.

  ‘Which train shall I choose? It takes less than three hours. Not far if I change my mind.’

  ‘Jasmine. You have to take this seriously. You cannot run away.’

  ‘Chill out Mum, I’m only joking. Help me with this.’

  Mum got out her laptop and we had a look at the Eurostar timetable. Despite myself, I felt a flicker of excitement.

  All I knew about Paris was what I’d learnt from my school text book; French people ate strange food like frogs legs and snails, French women are always chic and fashionable and wear Chanel perfume. I’d heard of the Eiffel Tower, but then of course, so has everyone.

  ‘Where did I leave my bag?’ Mum asked, her eyes fixed on the screen as her fingers tapped.

  ‘I’ll see if it’s in the hall.’

  Mum’s bag was abandoned on the floor. I took out the newspaper and glanced at the front page. A heading caught my eye:

  MIRIAM JACKSON BREAKTHROUGH PAGE 5

  I spread the newspaper out on the hall table and quickly turned to page five. At least the photograph of Michael had stopped appearing in the paper every time the case was mentioned. For once I was pleased that Mum inhabited a different reality from me most of the time and hadn’t spotted it.

  The thirteen-year-old best friend of Miriam Jackson has now told officers that fifteen year old Miriam was going out with a boy she had met online. Police are investigating the possibility that she had met up with him during the weekend drama course in London. While staying at the nearby Travelodge, Miriam had shared a room with a fifteen year old girl from Camden, who when interviewed knew nothing about the boy in question. Miriam’s mother, Sue Jackson, 35 said that Miriam had never shown any interest in boys. Police are asking for anyone who knows anything about the boyfriend to come forward.

  ‘Jasmine! What are you doing out there? Where’s my bag?’

  ‘Jeez!’ I muttered to myself, gathering up the newspaper and folding it back together.

  Back in my room, which I now thought of as my Detection Zone, I flicked through the comments from students at Miriam’s school. Miriam had been sharing a room with a Fiona Barton, fifteen, from Camden. The name Fiona Barton fizzed and sparked in my head. Of course! Unwelcome memories of primary school flooded into my mind. A skinny eight year old with long white blonde hair, leader of the Girl Gang, who controlled the playground at Park Primary. I had spent most lunchtimes hiding up a tree while Fiona tempted the gang with promises of toffees for the first one to find me and bring me to her. Tess had kept in touch with her when she’d moved away – Tess was good like that, or deranged, as I preferred to think of her. Whatever she was, I was glad of it now, as she was going to have to reunite me with the leader of the Girl Gang. I tried hard to convince myself that she wouldn’t remember me.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘So remind me again where we’re going?’ Tess was sitting opposite me, her feet up on the seat next to mine. The train rumbled along comfortingly. I had a few days to spend with Tess before I had to go off to Paris. I couldn’t believe she was finally here; it seemed like ages since we’d spent some proper time together.

  ‘Keston,’ I said, ‘it’s a tiny village near Amersham.’

  ‘And the reason is…?’

  ‘I’m investigating and you’re my map-reader. Michael is buying a house in this area, which gives him a reason for being in this part of England. I want to see exactly where Miriam lived.’

  Tess shook her head, her pale blonde curls bouncing up and down. Today she was wearing a floaty yellow dress and DM boots, with lots of silver bangles jingling around her arms.

  ‘I must be mad. This is what my mum would call a Wild Goose Chase.’

  I leaned against the window, watching the fields fly by. Sheep dotted my vision, then vanished, cows and haystacks taking their place. Not a goose in sight. The sky was blue and the sun was shining into my eyes, deflected by my Gucci shades.

  ‘So tell me why you’re even speaking to Fiona Barton,’ I said. ‘I’d just like to remind you that she terrorised me at primary school.’

  ‘I remember you climbing that tree every day. I never told on you, you know.’

  ‘Gee thanks. That makes it even worse. You know what she’s like.’

  ‘She went to the same Art Club with me at the Youth Centre. She was at a different secondary then. We weren’t friends exactly, but I stayed in touch with her when I moved. We’re only Facebook friends now. Why do you want to know?’

  I handed Tess the newspaper cutting. She took her time reading it, her hair coiling down over her face. At the end of it she whistled. ‘She certainly likes acting so it could be her. She still loves to be the centre of attention. She played Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz last year in her school play. She made sure that was all over her Facebook page so that she could show off about Khaled.’

  ‘Khaled?’

  ‘Khaled Hussein. Her boyfriend. He was the Cowardly Lion. They got together on the last night. Khaled plays in Mark’s band so he knows them both quite well. Mark still asks about you.’ She winked. I ignored her.

  ‘Where does she live now?’

  ‘Over in Marigold close. The posh bit.’ That got my attention. The posh bit was where Sadie lived.

  ‘Wait till you see Mark’s flat. It’s so cool that your mum says you can stay with us.’

  ‘If she’d sent me to stay with Clare I’d have

  reported her to the authorities.’

  ‘You prefer Mark to Jeremy eh?’ Tess poked me with her foot. I ignored her comment.

  ‘Do you think you can arrange for me to meet her?’

  ‘No probs. Now shut up and let me have a kip.’

  I spent the rest of the journey looking out of the window, seeing nothing, everything going round in my head, along with the rhythm of the train. ‘Michael, Sadie, Miriam, Michael, Sadie…’ Tess dozed; head lolling back, mouth half open. It was a relief when we arrived, stepping out into one of those picturesque old stations that you usually only see on jigsaw puzzles.

  I rummaged in my bag and handed Tess the map. She’d been a Girl Guide and was much better than me at that kind of stuff.

  ‘So tell me exactly what we’re doing,’ she said.

  ‘First we’re going to find the school where Miriam Jackson went. It’s marked here, look.’ I pointed to the arrows and letters I had drawn onto the map. A large S marked the school and an H marked the house. My methods were advanced. ‘Then we’ll walk from there to her friend Helen Brown’s house. I just want to see how far everything is from the station.’

  Tess rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not very scientific, this, is it?’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, ‘Now which way do we go?’

  Tess led me off down a long winding street, which eventually led into a village. It was completely unlike London.

  ‘I think we’ve walked into a postcard!’ Tess said. ‘It’s so quiet.’ She was right. The only sounds were birdsong and an occasional car in the distance.

  ‘Here we are,’ Tess pointed. A sign to the left read Keston School and we took the turning, forced into single file. It was a proper country lane, but there wasn’t much traffic to worry us, as we kept close to the side of the road, facing oncoming traffic as instructed by Tess.

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere like this before,’ she said. ‘Where would you go shopping?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said, ‘I wonder if Amersham is like this too.’

  ‘Is that where your dad lives?’ asked Tess.

  I nodded.

  ‘You don’t expect this kind of thing to happen in a quiet country place like this do you?’

  ‘I know what you mean. In dirty old London, which is full of weirdos and druggies, maybe, but…?’

  ‘Hey, do you think we need to be careful? The killer might be lurking behind a bush, following us right now.’

  I glanced quickly behind me but the road was empty.

  ‘Tess! Don’t say things like that.’ I shuddered, rememberin
g the photographs from the newspaper, then Michael’s face flashed into my head. Surely he couldn’t be a murderer?

  After that we walked in silence until we reached the school. It was not unlike Park Primary where Tess and I had met, a lifetime ago now. It was funny to think how we used to spend all our time together.

  ‘OK,’ said Tess, ‘Follow me.’ She studied the map for a moment. ‘Yeah, this way. It’s not that far.’ She put her hand on her hip. ‘A good detective would time how long it took to walk from the station. What do you think?’

  I set the timer on my phone and we headed off, imagining the girl on the bike who never made it home from the station. I couldn’t see Michael coming here – why would he? There was nothing much to do. It didn’t look like the kind of place you pass through, it was a bit off the beaten track for that.

  About twenty minutes later we arrived in a cul-de-

  sac.

  ‘We’re looking for number twelve,’ said Tess, then pointed, ‘I think that’s it over there.’ I followed her finger to the house on the end with a blue front door. I switched off the timer on my phone. ‘Seventeen minutes and twenty seconds,’ I noted. Tess turned to me.

  ‘So we know how far it is. What now?’ she said.

  Good question. We were standing staring at the house when the front door opened and a woman came down the drive. She looked just like the picture of Helen’s mum I’d seen on Facebook, only fatter, with darker hair.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. She was wearing an apron and holding a dustpan and brush. She shielded her eyes against the sun with her hand as she came towards us.

  ‘Let’s run!’ muttered Tess. I stepped forward.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I’m Jane and this is my cousin Tania. We were looking for Helen.’ The woman squinted at me, suspicious, her eyes lingering on the map in Tess’s hand.

  ‘You’re not from round here are you? How do you know Helen?’

  ‘We’re friends on Facebook,’ I said quickly. ‘When I heard about what happened – with her friend – I wanted to come and see if she was alright. She said it would be OK…’ my voice drifted off at the sight of a girl in the doorway. Helen.