The Missing Pieces of Me: Discover the novel that will break your heart and mend it again

by Amelia Mandeville

  He nods his head, smiling again. ‘Gotcha! Put your hand on my shoulders, I’ll lead the way.’ So I do, and he leads me out, and as soon as I step outside I instantly feel better.

  He directs me to a bench and sits down next to me. He doesn’t say anything, maybe sensing that I need silence right now. I close my eyes, stroking my necklace. I can feel the panic attack subsiding.

  ‘I like that necklace.’ I drop my hands and look back at him, startled. I need to stop bringing attention to this necklace.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I notice you always wear it. What’s on it?’

  ‘It’s an angel,’ I say quickly. He doesn’t say anything else, and I’d rather just say it all now than him asking questions later. ‘It’s for my parents.’ I am almost rushing to get the words out.

  ‘Oh,’ Dustin says. It’s rare for him to be so short of words. ‘Georgia didn’t tell me anything about your parents, she just said not to mention them. Sorry I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘They’re not in my life any more, but I like to think of them as angels looking out for me.’ He’s unusually quiet, which makes me unusually talkative. ‘I think that angels are always there in everyone’s life. Maybe it’s a person you lost, someone who is gone for ever physically, but who is always somewhere looking out for you. I think anyone can be an angel – everyone has a bit of good in them, despite the things they do, everyone is a little bit of an angel.’ My words are garbled. Am I even making sense? What must Dustin think, with me babbling away like this? And now I can feel tears start to form in my eyes. Great, that’ll definitely make this less weird.

  ‘Yeah, totally,’ Dustin mumbles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so lost for words. Eventually he says, ‘I’m sorry about your parents, Willow.’

  ‘Thanks. These things happen.’

  ‘I know, but still that’s really sad. I’m so sorry.’

  We are silent for a minute or two. It’s so peaceful out here, the party just a distant hum through the closed door.

  ‘My gran says, there’s good times and hard times in life; when you are going through a hard time, that just means there’s good times coming.’

  Dustin seems to consider this for a moment.

  ‘I know what you mean. Like my dad has never really been in mine or my sister’s lives. He left, not long after my sister was born. He didn’t like the fact his life totally changed, he didn’t like responsibility, the financial struggle, any of it, I guess. And sometimes it would make me so mad, so annoyed – I’d think, why can’t I have a dad like everyone else? But eventually I knew I couldn’t dwell on it. This is my life. I should take what happens and live with it. And the good news is I know I’ll never become my dad. I would never walk out on my family. I’d never hurt my mum and sister the way he hurt me … ’

  Oh wow. ‘You get it,’ I say.

  He frowns. ‘I used to feel so unlucky, then I hear you’ve lost both of your parents and I feel selfish. I am very lucky.’

  ‘You can’t compare, Dustin. Every life is different. I guess it’s just about not letting what’s happening in your life take over and completely weigh you down.’ I smile. ‘Besides, I think certain people bring good times with them.’

  His mouth twitches. ‘I think they do.’

  I spend the rest of the evening with him. He’s easy to talk to. He makes me calmer. He asks me questions about myself and seems genuinely interested in my answers. And suddenly I’m telling him all the things I’ve never told anyone else. About how nervous I am about college, and yet how education is really important for me. How I think the lack of qualifications didn’t help my parents, and I don’t want to be the same. I want to make my gran proud. How I want to go to uni, study graphic design. How there’s something amazing about creating something, having control over the product you make. There’s not a lot you can control in life, so having control over your job, and everything you do day-to-day would be pretty cool. Dustin says he’s not as set on what he wants to do for a career, he’s taking a gap year to figure it out. He knows all he wants is to be happy every day he goes into his job. He doesn’t want to be stuck in a job forty hours a week if it makes him miserable, if it brings him down. He says his mum is worried about his lack of direction but he’s not. He is confident he will find a job this year, but if he doesn’t he will go into uni, or he will get an apprenticeship. He says positive thinking is the way to success. I say I could see him doing sales. Apparently a lot of people tell him that.

  Late in the evening, when someone suggests karaoke, we grin at each other.

  ‘Do you think Capturing Nessie might put in another guest appearance?’ I ask.

  ‘I think it’s entirely possible,’ he replies with mocking solemnity.

  The cheers are deafening when he gets up to sing and he pretends to get shy which makes everyone laugh. I can’t take my eyes off him. How does he do it? He seems so relaxed, so completely at ease with himself and with his audience. I linger at the back, watching him. He doesn’t look at me, too caught up in the music, until the third song. Suddenly he meets my gaze, and he doesn’t look away once during the whole song.

  Chapter 13

  Dustin

  I wake at four a.m. to Zara screaming ‘Blankie,’ at the top her lungs. Unfortunately for Zara, I’m pretty crap, and I forgot blankie, so rocking her in my arms was my only hope. I try not to listen for sounds of Alicia and Elliott stirring in the next room as I gather her up into my arms and head downstairs. After an hour of walking up and down the kitchen with the door to the living room closed in an effort to muffle her wails, trying and failing to get her to take a bottle, I finally lose the will. I put a jacket over my pyjamas, bundle Zara into a coat, and carry her into the living room. I am just getting the pushchair ready when I hear footsteps on the stairs and there in the doorway is Mum. Bleary-eyed, hair scraped back, a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her silk pyjamas. She looks from me to Zara, half strapped into her pram, and I register the fear in her eyes.

  ‘I’m just going for a walk,’ I say quickly.

  She blinks slowly, as if trying to decide whether she believes me or not before forcing her lips into a tired smile. ‘Oh well, do you want—’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly.’ I try to look reassuring.

  She nods. ‘OK, well, have a nice time, breakfast will be ready for when you are back.’

  It’s a clear message: I’ll be waiting for you, just in case you’re thinking about leaving again.

  It is barely light outside and my breath frosts in the crisp morning air. I pull Zara’s hood closer around her little cheeks and head for the park. It’s so quiet and peaceful – there’s nobody about, and for the first time in two days, I feel something close to calm. I walk past the White Hart, the Co-op at the corner of the road; I turn right and there’s the pizza shop, next to the bus stop. Nothing seems to have changed here, nothing at all. If I didn’t have Zara with me I could almost believe the last three years hadn’t happened.

  She has finally quietened down as well and is gurgling away happily in her pram. I turn into the gates of the park and am immediately hit by a wave of memories. Sitting under the trees, smoking weed with Joe, Tony and Liam, talking excitedly about a string of meaningless dates, completely clueless that I would soon stumble into Willow at a pub and my life would change for ever.

  I park the pram next to a bench, sit down and retrieve my phone from my coat pocket. I check Willow’s social media for her ‘last seen’s. She hasn’t been online since the morning she left. I call her for what is possibly the thousandth time in under forty-eight hours. It rings, it rings again, and then it goes to voicemail. It’s not ringing long enough. I’m being cut off. Is it Willow? Or has someone else got her phone? If it is Willow why won’t she speak to me? Let me know she’s OK at the very least? I feel so helpless. Is she mad at me for something I’ve done? Or is it something she’s done? Constant messages don’t work. Nothing works. I drop my head to my hands, massaging my te
mples. I just don’t understand.

  I suddenly feel so angry that my hands clench automatically into fists, and I realise this isn’t helping me. The more time on my own, the more time I have to think, and thinking is getting me nowhere fast. I get up and start walking, pushing the pram with so much force that Zara turns her head to me in surprise. I am suddenly tired and hungry and can’t think of anything better to do than head home. I am walking so fast I’m practically trotting. The faster I move my feet, the better. The more I focus on counting my steps, the more the questions in my head seem to recede. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9—

  What the …

  I’m momentarily winded as Zara’s pram collides with something solid, and the handles ram into my stomach. I’m at the corner of Mum’s street, and I look up to see a bulky guy with a full salt and pepper beard. He’s easily over six foot and wearing a heavy dark coat. For one split second I am sure I recognise him, but as his light blue eyes meet mine I realise I can’t place him.

  ‘So sorry,’ I mumble, very aware of his size and the fact that I have just rammed a pram into him.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me and I can feel the back of my neck grow hot. For a moment we stay locked like that, then I awkwardly manoeuvre the pram around him and dash into the driveway of Mum’s house.

  Only once I’ve got the door open do I check Zara for signs of any injury in the collision. She seems fine. As I wheel the pram inside I look instinctively over my shoulder for the bearded man. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 14

  Willow

  Then – September 2017

  After spending days when we first moved to New Haw worrying about how I would fill the remaining five weeks of the summer holidays, I am somehow starting college tomorrow and I’m stressed. I have two huge spots on my face, my stomach is playing up so badly that I haven’t been able to touch anything since breakfast, and my hands are cracked and flaky because I’ve washed them so many times.

  Dustin messaged me earlier:

  Good luck tomorrow, it’ll be fine.

  It’s not going to be fine, I don’t know anyone.

  You know Liam and Joe. And then you can make friends.

  I can’t make friends.

  Oi, so what am I then?

  I was too distracted to reply. I put a face mask on. Washed it off, washed my hair, plaited it, applied spot cream to my forehead. Made a cup of peppermint tea. Now I am wrapped up in a dressing gown, watching back-to-back episodes of The Office on my laptop. I know if I try and watch TV with Gran she’ll end up interrogating me on how I’m feeling about tomorrow, or attempting a pep talk and I just can’t face it. So I’m curled up on my bed instead, knitting and trying to relax. Just relax, Willow, and be normal for once in your life!

  My phone pings.

  It’s Dustin.

  Front door, two minutes.

  I stare at the message, baffled. Did he mean to send that to me? Was it meant for someone else? I wait for the ‘Sorry, wrong chat!!’ message but it doesn’t come. Curious, I go to my bedroom and pull back the curtains. There he is, strolling down the road, holding something in his hand. I can’t see in the darkness. Oh my God. What? What is he doing there?

  I rush to the living room, where Gran is snoozing on the sofa, and open the door before he manages to knock. He has the dorkiest grin on his face, and in his hands is a bunch of flowers. He offers them to me and I notice that the stems are uneven and he’s wrapped them in newspaper. It looks like he has just picked a big hole in someone’s garden.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  He gestures towards the flowers. ‘I’m here to wish you good luck?’

  I try to process his reasoning. Is this a joke? What is he thinking of, showing up at my house with flowers like he’s in a Ryan Gosling film? How does he even know where I live? Aware that Gran is still snoozing, I hastily step outside and pull the door shut behind me. ‘I’d let you in, but we might wake up my gran, and then she will start asking a hundred questions and she also—’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to come in, the weather’s nice out here anyway,’ Dustin says, smiling at me.

  ‘OK, well … ’ I walk towards the small green opposite our building and sit down, motioning him to follow. I don’t know what else to do.

  ‘Willow, I know I surprised you and all, but you don’t have to come out armed,’ he says with a chuckle.

  I look down and realise I’m holding my knitting needles.

  Oh shit.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t even realise I brought them out with me … ’

  ‘Oh wait, is this my first knitting class?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You promised to teach me. Remember? The night we met?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Maybe next time.’

  Dustin grins, digs his hand into his rucksack and gets out a bottle of water. He swigs from it and offers it to me. I shake my head.

  ‘How did you know I live here, anyway?’

  He arches an eyebrow. ‘How do you think?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Georgia.’

  I look down at my hands. The flowers he’s brought are a real mishmash of colours and scents – they smell beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever been given flowers before.

  ‘Thank you for these, it’s super sweet.’

  He shrugs. ‘I know you get nervous about things, so I thought this might help.’

  He says it like it’s nothing, like this is the kind of anxiety everyone experiences now and then, but he must think I’m crazy really. ‘I know, it’s ridiculous how nervous I feel,’ I say, forcing a laugh that sounds so fake I instantly cringe. ‘Sometimes I think I just shouldn’t bother. Like it’s not worth the stress.’

  ‘No!’

  Dustin’s response is so forceful that I start. I wait for him to apologise but he doesn’t. Instead he says quietly: ‘Don’t ever say that, Willow. This is super important. This is your future. All that stuff you were saying at the party, about how design makes you feel in control when you don’t have control over your life? But you do, Willow, this is control. You can’t let irrational worries get in the way.’ He hesitantly reaches for my hand and this time I let him take it. It feels good. ‘I believe you can do this, you really just need to believe in yourself.’

  I look at him.

  ‘I think I’m starting to.’

  There’s silence, his eyes on mine, mine on his and I am suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to move closer to him. It’s like an itch I’m burning to scratch. And suddenly, I realise, that desire is all I’m feeling. All of my nerves about college have evaporated. In the end it wasn’t the peppermint tea, it wasn’t the knitting, the spot cream, or the face mask that helped. It was— Oh. My. God. The spot cream. The spot cream is still on my face.

  In horror I put a hand to my forehead but Dustin doesn’t say anything. He very slowly moves my hands away and gradually our heads move closer together, until finally our lips meet.

  Chapter 15

  Dustin

  I’m barely through the door before Mum is there, rushing to help me steer the pushchair around the staircase. ‘How was the walk?’

  ‘Umm … ’ I’m still thinking about the salt and pepper guy. Did I know him? He was looking at me so strangely. ‘Fine, yeah, it was fine.’ I wrestle Zara out of her pushchair.

  ‘I can hold her,’ Mum says, extending her arms to take her from me. I shield Zara from her instinctively.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  Mum doesn’t let her smile fall. ‘OK, well, you go into the warmth, I’ll sort out the pushchair,’ she says, shimmying past me. I go into the living room carrying Zara, and sit on the sofa. It’s quiet. Alicia and Elliot must not be up yet. Then I notice it. On the coffee table, a brown parcel. My name is scrawled on the front in block capitals. DUSTIN.

  No address.

  No postage stamp.

  Weird.

  ‘Oh yeah, that arrived for you,’ Mum says behind me, causing me to jump. I didn’t re
alise she was already in.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘That came whilst you were out.’

  ‘Came for me? What do you mean? Did someone deliver it?’

  ‘Well I suppose they must have done, as it’s way too early for post. I was just putting the rubbish out … ’

  Looking out to see if I was on my way back, more like.

  ‘And I just tripped over it on the doorstep.’

  I look down at the parcel, focusing on the handwriting. It doesn’t look like Willow’s usual loopy hand, but then it’s hard to tell with block capitals. Did she post this? But how does she know where I am? In fact, how does anyone know I’m here? My friends from work know I’ve come to Mum’s, but they don’t know where she lives. And anyway, there’s no way they’d come all the way from Brighton and not stop by. Georgia and the gang? But again they’d just pop round. Or message me, even if, I think guiltily, I am avoiding their messages. I pop Zara down on the floor and sit next to her, carefully stroking the parcel.

  ‘Come on, I’m excited, I want to know what it is,’ Mum says.

  I ignore her. Does she really not think there’s anything weird about this?

  I finally decide to open it, ripping it open with the same bated force with which you rip off a plaster, and stare in disbelief at what is exposed in my lap.

  ‘Ooooh, that’s nice,’ Mum says, peering over my shoulder. ‘Is it a baby blanket? It looks like nice quality.’

  A lump is stuck in my throat. I pick up the blanket, trying to stop my hands shaking. ‘Yeah, it is,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s Zara’s. She loves it, can hardly sleep without it.’

  ‘Ah, how sweet,’ Mum says. ‘Well I’ll go and see to breakfast, shall I?’

  She pads into the kitchen and leaves me stroking the blanket. The blanket I definitely left in the Brighton flat yesterday morning. How the hell is it here now?

  Zara has clocked the blanket, and her wide eyes stare at me in excitement. ‘Blankie!’ she says.