Someone Like me

by Lesley Cheetham

  ‘That’s him. That’s Miriam’s boyfriend.’

  Fiona dropped her head in her hands. Helen looked embarrassed; her fingernail had found its way into her mouth again. We sat in silence for a moment, then Fiona raised her head. She looked pale and defeated.

  ‘I’m glad in a way,’ she said. ‘It’s easier to hate him knowing that he’s involved in something like this.’

  ‘He’s not necessarily involved,’ I pointed out.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  There was a movement to my right and I realised that Helen was crying. Big fat tears dropped over her cheeks.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ she said, ‘I should have kept quiet.’

  ‘Come here,’ said Fiona and put her arm around Helen, pulling her towards her. They clung together,

  with me on the outside, looking in. ‘You did the right thing.’ She looked up at me and I nodded agreement.

  We were all lost in thought for a moment. Finally Fiona picked up the sheet of photographs, scrunched it into a ball and threw it as far as she could. ‘He was a rubbish boyfriend anyway.’ Helen giggled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘But I’m going to find out what he was up to that weekend.’ She looked at me, her blues eyes piercing mine. ‘And you are going to help me, Miss Detective.’

  ‘And me,’ said Helen, ‘You can’t leave me out.’ She pulled a pink notepad out of her bag along with matching pen and wrote the word CLUES in large square letters at the top of the page. She stuck her tongue out with concentration as she wrote. Then she wrote SUSPECTS on the opposite page. Fiona looked at me and we both burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER 16

  I kicked the wall, then looked back at the mirror. The shoes were wrong and the shirt didn’t fit properly. I turned to the side. That was even worse. This was what happened when I tried to find a look for myself. Nothing matched. Maybe I was colour blind. My hair was sleek and shining, but what good was that to me now? I sighed. She’d done me a favour really. Everything was going to have to change.

  I’d been round to Sadie’s yesterday after I’d left Fiona and Helen, having convinced myself that Khaled was the Mystery Man. I sat on the bench conveniently placed opposite Sadie’s house and pulled my beanie down over my head. There was no sign of the man with the bike this time; there was hardly any traffic at all. I was half reading a free paper which I’d picked up at the station. Miriam was still in the news but the story was further to the back of the paper now. The information was the same old stuff regurgitated. A door slammed and I looked up. A girl was coming out of Sadie’s house. As she walked down the drive and turned into the street my heart picked up pace. I knew that walk, but…

  I narrowed my eyes. The girl definitely moved in a familiar manner. She tossed her head and shook her chestnut coloured long hair. It was gorgeous. It was Sadie! She must have had extensions put in. That cost a fortune! She was disappearing down the road so I left the newspaper on the bench and set off after her. It had taken me so long to achieve the perfect likeness and now she had ruined it all. She’d made me feel stupid. I walked faster, trying to breathe deeply.

  I wasn’t far behind Sadie now, so I slowed my pace. She’d taken her phone out of her bag and was talking into the receiver. She looked around as she talked, as if someone was telling her where something was. Then she waved and put the phone back into her pocket. A car I recognised was coming down the road. I quickly knelt down, pretending to tie my shoelace, keeping one eye on the car. It was Mystery Man. This time she got straight into the passenger side, a grim look on her face. What was she playing at?

  The car had sped off and I had gone straight home and poured out a small glass of Mum’s wine. I was getting used to the taste and I liked the way it made my head go fizzy. Back in my bedroom, I had put the glass down and stared at the mirror. I watched as my reflection ripped the shirt over my head and threw it onto the floor. My clothes were wrong because the hair was wrong. My head was all muddled. I kicked the shoes off and went into the bathroom, extracting a pair of scissors from the bathroom cupboard. I hesitated for a second, then took the scissors to my hair, hacking it off as quickly as I could. Large red clumps fell to the floor, spilling around me like drops of blood. I stared at my face the whole time, anger propelling the scissors as they chopped more and more chunks until my hair stood in tufts on my head. I threw the scissors into the sink and went back into my bedroom. I felt better now, strangely relieved of a burden. I blanked what I had done from my mind and sat down on the floor, pulling my laptop down onto my lap. Mentally I added finding out whether Khaled could drive or not to my to-do list. I clicked open my emails where I was surprised to find one from Michael.

  Hi Jasmine, It’s not long now until your visit and I can’t wait to see you. We are looking forward to visiting Paris with you - it’s a beautiful city – and then hopefully you will come and visit our home in Amersham. I’m attaching a recent photograph so you know who to expect when you arrive at the Gare du Nord. Love, Michael.

  Curious, I clicked on the photo and a familiar face filled the screen. It was taken outside an old building. A man and a woman smiling broadly for the camera. Tears welled up inside me. He looked so familiar. I knew the woman too, I should have realised; she was the woman in the passport photo. They were both smiling, they looked happy. I stared at Michael’s face; wishing answers would jump out of the photograph. Why had he abandoned us? A rage started bubbling up inside me and I snapped the laptop closed. At the same time my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the handset. It was a text from an unknown number. I opened the message. It was from Mark, asking me if I wanted to meet up before I went away. Mixed emotions went through me. He was kind of alright, but I didn’t have time to get involved with a boy. However, I needed to find out about that weekend away. I texted back:

  Where and when?

  His reply was instant:

  Breakfast 9am Starbucks

  I jumped up and went downstairs. I poured myself another drink and settled down in front of the television. Pictures flickered in front of me but in my mind all I could see was Sadie and her new hairstyle. I could change the colour but there was no way I could have extensions. Why couldn’t I just be myself? The picture in my head changed, Michael and his glamorous new wife sprang into view. Except she wasn’t a new wife at all, they’d been married for years.

  ‘Jasmine, are you home?’

  I drained my glass and padded out into the hall to greet Mum. My head felt a bit fuzzy. I went back and lay down on the sofa. Mum was pouring herself some wine in the kitchen.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, filling the doorway and blocking out the light.

  ‘Tired,’ I said. ‘I’ve got so much to do and I haven’t even thought about packing.’

  She came over to the sofa then did a double take when she caught sight of my hair. ‘Jasmine! What the hell have you done? How could you?’ She was shaking her head in disbelief.

  I shrugged my shoulders, avoiding her eyes.

  ‘I got sick of it. Anyway, I haven’t got time to go to the hairdressers now have I? Don’t forget we’re going shopping tomorrow.’

  Mum stared at me.

  ‘You can’t go anywhere looking like that. What on earth will your father think?’

  ‘Leave it Mum,’ I said between clenched teeth. ‘He has even less say than you do about the state of my hair. I like it OK?’ I was lying, regretting my spontaneous action now, but there wasn’t much I could do. She took a sip of her drink and sat down next to me.

  ‘So have you remembered about tomorrow?’ I repeated.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, Friday, the day before I go away, remember? The day you take me shopping and buy me loads of clothes?’

  ‘Jasmine, please.’ Mum hated me being sarcastic.

  ‘Well you’ve forgotten haven’t you? I can tell. Have you actually remembered that I am going away?’ I looked at my phone. ‘In approximately twenty eight hours’ time I am
going on my own to a strange country to stay with people that I don’t know, while you go swanning off to America. The least you can do is take me shopping to cheer me up.’

  Mum took a large gulp of her drink.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten, but something’s come up. I’m sorry darling, but I can’t possibly get tomorrow off. I need to be in the office. I’ll give you some money; can’t you take Tess out shopping with you?’

  ‘I suppose so – if she’s free.’ I didn’t want to go shopping with Mum in the least but I wished she hadn’t so clearly forgotten me and made other plans.

  ‘I’ll make you something nice to eat tomorrow evening and help you pack to make it up to you. How’s that? You can show me what you’ve bought. I’ll take you to the station and see you off on Saturday, of course.’

  ‘Don’t go mad,’ I said. At least she’d forgotten about seeing Gran. Mum went back to the kitchen and I reached over and took a large swig of her wine.

  ‘Michael sent me a photo of his wife,’ I said to Mum when she came back in with a plate of sandwiches for us. ‘She’s very pretty.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Mum, curling her lip.

  ‘I bet she’s stuck up.’

  ‘Gran met her once.’ She slapped her head against her forehead. ‘I was meant to take you to see Gran as well. What is the matter with my brain these days?’

  ‘I won’t have time to see Gran. I’ll see her when I get back.’

  ‘OK,’ she looked relieved.

  ‘I’m going to bed now,’ I announced, when I’d had enough to eat. The wine had made me feel very sleepy. ‘I’m getting up early tomorrow. I’m meeting a friend for breakfast.’

  Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t know what’s come over you lately,’ she said. ‘You’re getting very sociable all of a sudden.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ I said. ‘Anyway since when did you ever notice what I get up to?’

  Mum looked hurt. ‘I notice everything you do,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry I’m having to send you away, but this job in New York will hopefully secure me a lot more work over the next few months.’

  She didn’t get it, it wasn’t about the money for me, more work would mean her spending even less time at home.

  ‘Night,’ I said, picking up my plate to put it into the dishwasher. Mum grabbed my hand as I went past.

  ‘I am sorry about the shopping. I’ll leave some money out in the kitchen OK, in case I go out before you. And maybe you could find time to get a quick hair cut?’

  I pulled my hand away. ‘Forget it Mum. It’s my hair so get used to it. It’ll have grown back by the time we see each other again.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘See you in the morning.’ I cursed as I tripped over Mum’s bag which she had plonked in the doorway, I glanced at her, my breath held in tightly. I needn’t have worried. As usual she was oblivious to me, her eyes closed, head resting back on the sofa. Would she even notice when I wasn’t there?

  CHAPTER 17

  A beeping noise was piercing my head. I pulled the pillow over my ears. It didn’t go away. I realised it was my alarm. I stretched my arm out of bed, picked up my phone and turned it off. My head felt a bit thick. I had woken up in the night and been unable to sleep for ages, before falling into a nightmare about being lost in a foreign country, desperately trying to find the Eiffel Tower, but nobody could understand what I was saying.

  It was eight thirty, half an hour to go before I had to meet Mark. I ran my hands over my head. The uneven tufts reminded me. The hair cut. Why Jasmine?

  I had a quick shower and dressed in dark jeans and my favourite grey sweatshirt. I attempted to dry my hair into some sort of style, failing miserably. I pulled my beanie over it in disgust. I pulled on my red converse and grabbed my keys. Mum had left me some money on the table, which I dropped into my purse. At least she hadn’t forgotten that.

  Mark was already sitting in the café, a plate of sausages, bacon and beans in front of him. I ordered a tea and a chocolate croissant. He was wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt; I had rarely seen him wear anything else. The same hat he had been wearing last night covered his short dark hair.

  ‘Are you practising for France?’ he asked, nodding at my chocolate croissant. ‘Un pain au chocolat pour Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Do you speak French?’ I was impressed.

  ‘Hardly. It’s one of the few things I remember from school. ‘A croque-monsieur is the other, but I couldn’t tell you what it is.’

  ‘I’ll find out and let you know,’ I said, biting into my pastry, brown flakes snowing down over my plate. ‘Thanks for saying I can stay, by the way.’

  ‘No worries. Are you looking forward to going to France?’ he asked.

  I pulled a face. ‘Not really. Well, kind of. It’s complicated.’

  ‘I like complicated,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Well I’m spending a few days with my dad and his wife in Paris, but remember, this is the dad who abandoned us when I was a baby and I haven’t seen since.’

  ‘You must have spoken to him at least, surely?’

  ‘He’s emailed me and we talked once on Skype. It was weird. Part of me wants to go, but most of me hates him for leaving us. I’m a bit scared, to be honest. I don’t want to meet his wife, although I’ve seen a photo and she looks really nice. Plus I’d much rather be in New York – although not necessarily with Mum.’

  Mark took a swig of tea. ‘I thought Tess said you wanted to stay with us?’

  I put my hands over my face. ‘You must think I’m so rude,’ I said. ‘I really do want to stay with her – and you – I was only joking about New York . . .’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said, ‘I’m only teasing.’ He mopped up his plate with a piece of toast.

  ‘So what did you think of the band?’ he asked. I was grateful for the change of subject.

  ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘You’ve improved a lot since that gig at school.’

  He laughed. ‘Khaled’s the reason,’ he said. ‘He makes us work really hard. He wants to make it big.’

  ‘I’m surprised,’ I said, ‘he doesn’t seem that serious about anything. He didn’t seem bothered about splitting up with Fiona.’

  Mark shook his head. ‘I knew that was going to happen. He wasn’t that committed to her.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’m not sure I should talk about it really.’ He scratched his head. ‘Well, just don’t say anything to Tess, OK?’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘You know that weekend we went away together, to stay at my mates’ flat in Camden?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well I think he was seeing someone else. We went to the concert together but he left early and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. I think he was worried I would tell Tess and Fiona would find out. He came back really late – in the early hours of the morning. His boots were covered in mud – I don’t know what he’d been up to. He got annoyed when I started teasing him about it so I haven’t mentioned it since. I’m glad Fiona knows the truth; she’s better off out of it. I would never two-time someone. What’s the point? I would only go out with someone if I really liked them, so why go off with someone else? Idiot.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s told Fiona too,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you two didn’t get on?’

  ‘We didn’t get on at primary school, but…’ I glanced at my watch.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ asked Mark.

  I nodded. ‘I’ve got to buy some stuff for France and I need to pack, and…’

  ‘No worries.’

  We hovered awkwardly outside the café. ‘Which way are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Into town. I need some hair dye.’

  ‘What colour will it be this time?’

  ‘Brown. I’m sick of this red.’

  ‘It will suit you. To be honest, your hair looks too much like that Sadie’s – you know the one who caused all the trouble wi
th Khaled, although I think he just used that as an excuse to break up with Fiona. You don’t want to look like her.’

  Colour rushed into my cheeks. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She’s so fake. Her brother’s thinking of joining our band so I’ve run into her a few times. She’s a bit snooty. You’ve got lovely hair, it will look better brown.’

  He wouldn’t be saying that if he could see my effort at DIY hair styling.

  ‘I think Sadie looks good.’

  ‘She’s not original, though, is she? She looks like a hundred other girls. I prefer people who stand out from the crowd.’

  His words were running through my head as I set off towards the town centre. Nobody had ever called my hair lovely before. The chemist was fairly empty as it was still early and I spent ages looking at the vast array of boxes of hair dye in front of me, each with a pretty girl and a plastic smile on the front. I settled for a chocolate brown colour, that should be dark enough to cover the red. Mark had got me thinking; I was going to be quite anonymous in France. It would be good to cultivate a new image for a couple of weeks, a sort of trial run.

  I loaded up my basket with travel stuff for my trip, lots of cute miniature creams and gels.

  ‘Going on holiday?’ asked the sales assistant.

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure exactly how much of a holiday it was going to be. I spent the rest of the morning buying clothes, mostly boring items such as tights and underwear, but I did buy a cool pair of turquoise jeans. They would look great with my new black boots. It struck me that this was the first thing I had bought for ages that wasn’t recommended by Sadiestyle. It felt wrong somehow, but also liberating. Was it because of what Mark had said? I didn’t think so. What did he know about fashion after all?