by Faye Bird
I turned onto The Avenue and crossed the road in front of the houses and walked onto the Green. I sat down on the tree roots of the old oak and took a sip from my water bottle. I knew I’d tripped over these roots before. I remembered a deep graze on my knee like a burn that wouldn’t bleed. It wept yellow liquid before it eventually turned red and scabbed over, leaving a scar.
Instinctively I reached down and rubbed my knee with my hands, for comfort. I had no scar. Because that had been Emma’s scar. I am Ana now, I said to myself. I am Ana.
I looked up at the house again—42. I remembered it so well. But what use was this? What use was it coming here—seeing and remembering this house?
I began to feel sick. I shook my head and stretched my arms up above it so I could take a bigger breath, make the sickness go away.
I could hear ducks, stroller wheels, the sniff and snuffle of the odd dog padding around the trees behind me. The river. The noise of the path too. Runners. Cyclists. It was busy. I didn’t remember these sounds before. It had felt like Catherine and I were the only ones there, on the Green, that evening. My memories were all silent. Except for me, and what I said:
“We’re going to the river, Catherine. We’ll play hide-and-seek by the river.”
Those words just wouldn’t go away.
“If you don’t play I’ll tell on you. You have to come or that’s what I’ll do.”
I’d said that because I had to make her come. It was the only way to make her come.
And then I saw it. An ambulance. It was driving slowly along The Avenue right in front of me. I looked around to reassure myself that I was still here, where I thought I was, that this was actually happening, that it wasn’t some new and crooked memory. I took another sip of water and swallowed hard. Yes, I was still here. The water was cold as it slipped down my throat.
The ambulance doors swung open and the ramp hit the road. The noise shot a jolt through my bones that made me judder, and I folded my arms around myself instinctively for protection. There she was. Frances Wells. Old, but strong. She was being pushed in a wheelchair down the ambulance ramp and along the street. She was holding her front-door key in her hand and her bag sat high on her lap. I couldn’t move. I was transfixed. This was an almost-regal parade—Frances shrouded in a red blanket, the ambulance men processing beside her—and as I watched them, I walked across the Green, toward number 42, my feet utterly in time with theirs.
I stopped.
I waited so I could watch them go inside. But they didn’t.
They kept on walking.
Farther up the street, beyond 42 … I started to run back toward the trees on the Green, away from the houses, like a wild animal shunned. I looked back. Where were they going? She lived at 42. Frances Wells, 42 The Avenue. It had always been that way … hadn’t it? That’s what I had in my head after I saw her, 42 The Avenue. I had been so sure.
And then I saw it—the wall—as they walked up the pathway of 38 The Avenue. Rough brown stones. Blocks with symmetrical holes cut out of each brick, each hole shaped like a petal, each brick as rough and ugly as the next. I’d crouched down behind this wall. I’d hidden here. I’d traced the pebble dash with my fingers and I’d grazed my knuckles while I’d waited. But what was I waiting for? Catherine was at the river. It was too late for her to find me now. I knew that. I knew she’d never find me now. Because I’d left her at the river.
10
I WENT HOME, WASHED, changed my clothes. I must have checked my phone at least ten times, hoping for a message from Jamie. I owed him a call or a text, but still, I hoped that there might be something from him. There was nothing.
I went downstairs.
“You look better,” Rachel said as I walked into the kitchen.
“Yeah—I feel it,” I said, putting down my phone. I wasn’t sure if we were okay now. We hadn’t talked since lunchtime. Really, I owed her an apology. But when we’d had rows before Rachel usually let them drift, pretended like nothing had happened. It suited me now to do that too.
“Do you want this crepe then?” Rachel said, pointing at a doggy bag on the table.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.” And I opened up the bag, lifted the crepe out of its box and started eating. I was relieved. It seemed like things were okay.
“Is it good?” she said.
I nodded. But it wasn’t. It was cold and it was sticking to the back of my throat. I felt sick. But I had to keep up the act. And I still needed to ask her about a letter for school explaining my absence. And Zak’s party.
I forced myself to take another bite.
“So where were you, Ana? Where did you go when you skipped school? You know I have to ask. You can’t just walk out like you did. And you know that.”
I gagged.
Rachel saw me. “Ana!”
I stood up, walked over to the sink, and spat the contents of my mouth into it.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t eat it,” I said. “I thought I was going to be sick.”
“Sit down. Have some water.”
I sat back down at the table, and Rachel brought the water over and sat next to me. I took a couple of sips and neither of us spoke for a minute or two.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Of course.”
“Have I ever mentioned the name … Catherine … before?”
Saying her name, out loud like that, to Rachel, it felt somehow wrong. Like I was giving away my biggest secret, but I had to ask.
“You had an imaginary friend for a bit. I think you were about four or five at the time. She was called Catherine.”
“Catherine?” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I don’t know where you got the name from. Maybe a book, or TV. There weren’t any Catherines around at the time.”
“So what did I used to say … about Catherine?”
“Oh, I don’t remember…,” she said.
“You must remember something?”
“Actually, yes—you played hide-and-seek a lot. I remember that now. It was always hide-and-seek.” She stood up and went over to the sink. “Why are you asking?” she said over her shoulder.
“Oh, nothing. Just wondering … about the name … I don’t know…”
“Right.”
“I think I’ll have an early night, Rachel,” I said.
“Okay. Call down if you need anything,” she said.
I took myself up to bed and slid under the duvet again in all my clothes. I closed my eyes, but sleep just wouldn’t come. Because all I could see was Catherine in the water. Her hair splayed out and her head motionless as she lay in the darkness of the river, her eyes wide open as if she too could see the horror of what I had done. Had I known about Catherine—had I known but never allowed myself to think about her? Had I blocked out Catherine and what had happened to her because it was just too awful to face?
I stared at the ceiling while the hours passed and I waited. I waited for the light to return so that I could get up and go straight back to The Avenue. It was the only thing I could think to do.
friday
11
I TOOK RACHEL A cup of tea in bed at seven o’clock and told her I had to be in early for auditions for the school play, that I’d forgotten to tell her last night, that I’d see her later. She nodded and gladly took the tea.
And I took the bus and went straight to The Avenue and stood on the Green by the trees. They hid me and I wanted them to. I didn’t want anyone to see that I was here. I might have been wrong about Frances’s house number, but not about Catherine. We’d played hide-and-seek. I’d wanted my dad to myself. I’d taken her to the river and told her to go and hide, and it was dark, and she’d died because I’d killed her. I might have played with Catherine in this life as if she were my imaginary friend, but she was real. She was Frances’s daughter, and she had lived and she had died, and it was because of me.
I looked up at number 38. I stood and I looked at it.
>
I felt an urge to go inside.
But why? To do what? To see Frances again? Frances was old, and she was ill, and how could I go to her after what I had done? I couldn’t. Except she was the only person in all the world I could talk to now. The only one.
My heart started to pulse in my chest.
I looked around.
I was frightened.
I wanted Mum.
I wondered whether I’d ever find her.
Ever see her again.
If I was here living a second life to face the horror of what I had done, if I had to pay for it in some way, then I’d do that—I’d face it, I’d pay. But I needed my mum. I needed her.
Dry grief grazed my throat raw. I felt so full of feeling and yet so empty. Since seeing Frances, nothing was normal anymore. Normal life had been replaced by huge swaths of emotion. The fear of what I’d done and the longing always for my mum was twisting tighter and tighter around me all the time now. It was suffocating me, and there was nothing I could do.
I stepped out from under the trees and started walking toward the houses. Putting one foot in front of the other grounded me.
I should go. I should go to school.
I took a deep breath and looked up again.
And that’s when I saw her.
Frances.
She stood at her front door, and she was beckoning me over.
I went toward her.
“It’s you,” she said, when I reached the front path. “I’ve been watching you.”
I didn’t answer.
“You know I have very little else to do these days but look out at the world from here.”
There was silence.
“Did you come to see me?” she said.
I nodded. I hadn’t thought that I had, but she was right. I had.
My throat was still so dry.
I wasn’t sure whether my voice would be there if I tried to speak.
I swallowed.
“Come in,” Frances said. I didn’t reply.
Suddenly I felt unsure about going inside. Frances looked at me.
“You know, you never told me your name,” she said.
“Ana,” I said. “It’s Ana.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I did know that. Millie told me. Ana what?”
“Ana Ross,” I said.
“Well, Ana Ross. I think you should come in.” And she opened the door wider to let me through.
And I went.
Because in that moment I knew I had no choice but to do exactly as Frances said.
12
FRANCES INDICATED FOR ME to go into the front room. The windows were vast, the curtains were heavy. I saw her young. Her slim waist, her navy dress. I heard the muted laughter. It was all with me again in an instant. I felt uncomfortable in this room. I had wanted my dad here. An overwhelming need for him came over me. For a moment I thought I might cry the tears I had cried as a child, when I had needed him then.
“Please, sit down.” Frances pointed to a chair. “Do you want tea?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. I looked at my watch. It was still early, but I’d need to start making my way to school really soon. “I won’t stay long.”
“Good,” Frances said, sitting down in an armchair. She looked like she was in pain as she sat.
“I didn’t mean to upset you when I came to the hospital,” I said. “I really didn’t mean to—”
“I was surprised you knew her name,” Frances cut in. “Catherine’s name.” And as she spoke she looked me directly in the eye in a way that made me feel so uneasy.
“I … I came to the hospital because—”
“I may be old,” she interrupted, “but I’m certain we have never met before, Ana.”
It felt wrong, her saying my name the way she did. So I just said it.
The words that had been going around and around in my head.
“I’m Emma,” I said. “I’m Emma Trees.” And as I said it, I felt as if a sweet warm wind had blown across my face, and it bathed me, all of me.
Frances sat utterly still. “You can’t be Emma.”
“I know it seems impossible, but—”
“You said you were Ana.”
“And I am Ana—now—”
“Emma Trees died.”
“I know,” I said.
“Emma Trees is dead,” she said again. “She died thirteen years after Catherine. If you know that, then you know you cannot be her.”
“I was playing, with Catherine—”
“Emma was twenty-two, she was twenty-two, and you—you’re—”
“We were playing, on the Green, out the front—here—”
“You can’t be more than sixteen—”
“We were on the Green, and—”
We were both speaking fast, we were both listening to each other but desperately clinging to what we knew. Frances took a short breath, and neither of us spoke for a minute.
“Everyone knew Catherine was on the Green before she died,” she said. “It doesn’t make you Emma Trees.”
“But I was there. I remember it. I was with her…” The desperation in my voice was back.
“I think you must be mistaken,” she said.
I looked at her, and as I did all I could see was Catherine’s pretty face looking back at me. Mother and daughter, they had the same almond-shaped eyes.
“I fixed her hair clips,” I said. “The tartan bows.”
Frances looked at me.
“They matched her skirt,” I said. “The bows. She was dressed for a party. White tights and black patent shoes with buckles. I did them up for her, here, in the hall. The hair clips wouldn’t stay in. She said she didn’t want to wear them, but she—”
“I made her wear them,” Frances said. “For the party.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I didn’t know where to look anymore. If I looked away and looked back at her my eyelids started flickering, blinking with nervousness, fear. I felt like I shouldn’t say any more, but I wanted—needed—to carry on, to tell Frances what I knew.
“Tell me something else,” Frances said. “Something you think you know about Catherine, about that night.”
“We were playing ball. On the Green,” I said. I could see the ball now. It came back to me. “We had a blue ball. You wiped it clean before we played with it. You got the ball out of the shed and you wiped it clean in the kitchen…” I pointed through to where the kitchen was, desperate to show her what I knew. “Through there.”
“Go on,” she said.
“You tried to wipe the ball with a wet cloth and the dirt smeared across the ball, across your hands,” I said. “You were angry, with the mess. You went to a drawer and got a dry tea towel and you wiped it clean and told us to go out onto the Green and play. I think—”
Frances raised her left hand. She wanted me to stop talking. I stopped at her command. I looked at her, waiting for her to allow me to carry on, to keep talking. She was utterly still.
“Why are you here?” she said.
“I need to know what happened. I need to know how she died.”
“You don’t remember?” Frances said, her voice rising steadily, but with the utmost control. “You don’t remember what you did?”
I shook my head.
“You’re lucky,” she said.
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me that!” she barked back. “You can’t ask me that!”
There was silence.
And then she spoke again. “Why did you come here?” she said.
“The answers—they’re here. They must be.”
“Why?”
“You, Catherine, this house, that night … It’s all here. Isn’t it? We were here—”
“How long have you known?” Frances interrupted.
“That I’m Emma?” I said.
Frances nodded.
“I’ve always known that I’m Emma,” I said. “But I hadn’t remembered about Catherine. Not until this wee
k. Not until I saw you in the hospital. We were there, weren’t we? Both of us, that night?” I said. “I … I just had to speak to you. Since I saw you in the hospital I’ve been remembering things, things I haven’t remembered before. I have no one else to talk to. There is no one I can tell.”
Frances continued to look at me. She was searching me with her eyes, and even though I didn’t like it—how it made me feel—I let her, because I was desperate for her to let me stay and talk.
“I don’t know why I should believe you,” she said.
“Because you have to!” I said, my voice getting louder. “Because there is no explanation for what I know—”
“There are no explanations,” Frances said. “None! I’ve been searching for an explanation. I’ve been waiting for a reason, an understanding, an answer why she died. I’ve been asking for a sign, for something—anything—to come to me through every day of every one of the long, long years since she died. And there has been nothing.”
“Maybe I know things you don’t…?” I said.
“I doubt that,” she said.
“I have memories, images, inside my head—”
“I have those too, Ana.”
“But they won’t be the same. I was with her, wasn’t I? Before she died?”
“You were,” Frances said slowly, looking at me again. “So you remember that?”
I nodded.
“Would you talk to me?” I said. “Please. Could you do that?”
There was another silence between us.
“We aren’t the same—you and I,” Frances said. “What you did sets you apart. If I agree to talk, you must never forget that.” And she looked at me in a way that made me cold, all over. I could feel my skin rippling with the chill.
I shivered. And I opened my mouth to speak—
“What I want to know,” she said, “is why you are here.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“So what do you know? It seems to me the answer is not very much, young Ana.”