The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  I added my new e-mail address to the end of the message and clicked Send. I doubted I’d get a reply, but I couldn’t think what else to do.

  Stella had asked me if I wanted them to take things further but confirmed I shouldn’t hold out too much hope. “What with throwaway phones being so cheap, and as it’s more than a month after you met him in London, I really doubt whether there’s anything we can do now. I do want you to keep in touch with us, though.” She gave me a contact number and I put it into my phone. “If you think of anything else, you must tell me straightaway. Don’t try to contact this man.”

  I nodded but she wasn’t convinced.

  “I mean it,” she said. “If you want us to investigate, come back and I’ll do what I can. But in the meantime, don’t try to find him.”

  “Right.”

  We sat for a second while I got myself together and then she said, “I need to ask you something but I don’t want to upset you further. Is it possible that you had sex that night?”

  “No,” I said immediately. “No, it’s not possible. I would know, wouldn’t I?” She said nothing and so I said again, “No. I would know if I had. I would have noticed.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Monday, August 7

  BY MONDAY MORNING I was desperate for Joe to come back, if only because I was taking some time off when he returned.

  “Are you feeling all right?” asked Sophie. She startled me; I must have been miles away, thinking about seeing Joe and Rory again. I looked up and saw her standing by my desk, a look of concern on her face.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Can I get you some water?”

  “I’d love some.”

  She fetched a bottle out of the fridge and passed it to me. It was only when I went to the cloakroom afterward that I saw why she was worried; my face looked pale and tense, my eyes showing the strain of staying up late searching the voyeur site for naked photos of myself.

  At the morning meeting I sat back while Rachel took control. She’d clearly watched me closely at those meetings and followed the same routine that I did. She seemed so much more confident now. I had a notebook on my knee to make notes to go through with her later, but I was too distracted and worried. While I made a pretense of listening to her, I made note after note of what had been done to me and what I had to do to make things right.

  Lucy came into the office just as the meeting was about to end. I’d sent her a message asking her to call in when she dropped her daughter off at school. She sat down at the meeting table with us.

  “Now that we’re all here,” I said, “I want to bring up the issue of safety. I don’t want anyone to meet a client outside the office unless we have seen some form of ID. Check it carefully, too, then photocopy it and keep it with your files in the office. If you’re unsure, ask me.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Rachel. “Has something happened?”

  “I’m just looking out for you,” I said. “You’ve all heard about Suzy Lamplugh disappearing. In those days they just had to write the client’s name in the diary. We do more than that since we collect their address, e-mail, phone number, et cetera, but it’s still not enough. If we’re taking clients to a property, we need to make sure we’re safe. And if you have any doubts about a client—any at all—then make sure you don’t go anywhere with them. I’ll deal with them myself. If I’m not in, tell them they have to wait until I’m back. And when I’m not here, then I want two of you to lock up together. If that’s not possible, I’ll come back to the office or send Joe to lock up.”

  They looked a bit subdued.

  “Everyone still remembers the code word, don’t they?”

  “Anne-Marie Thomson,” said Sophie.

  “That’s right,” I said. Anne-Marie had been a friend of mine when I was in school and I’d chosen her name as our code word, which acted as a distress signal. If any one of us used her name in a call, it was a signal that we needed help. “Don’t forget, it doesn’t matter what you say, as long as you mention her name. You can say she’ll be coming into the office later than planned or that you need to meet with her. Anything at all. Rachel, can you remind us what happens when Anne-Marie’s name’s mentioned?”

  “We have to ask questions where the answer’s yes or no,” she said promptly. “Like ‘Are you where it says you are in your diary?’ If the answer is no, we have to phone 999.”

  “And, don’t forget, you must never go out without your panic alarm. If you leave it at home, let me know. There are spares in the cupboard, but I need to know if someone’s taken them out. Do you remember the rule about always walking behind the client?”

  Lucy said, “That’s quite a hard one to stick to. Some people are quite insistent that I go into the house first.”

  “If you get any bad feeling about that, as though they’re trying to make you do something you don’t want to do, then don’t go into the house with them. Always have an excuse prepared, like you need to get something from your car.”

  They were in a pretty somber mood by then.

  “Has something happened?” asked Sophie. “You’ve told us all this before, but . . .” She looked up at me and her face looked so young and scared. “I know I’m here in the office all the time, but it frightens me to think that someone might attack one of you. I’d hate to get a call where someone spoke about Anne-Marie.”

  I could see that Rachel looked pale and scared, too, as though she were panicking about what she’d do if someone frightened her when she was on her own. Lucy seemed more confident, though she was much more experienced and more likely to see trouble coming. I knew, though, how easily something could come out of the blue and destroy your sense of self.

  “No, there’s nothing for you to worry about,” I said. “I was reading an article about personal safety the other day. A woman in Bolton is running courses; I’ll get in touch with her later and ask for some advice.”

  After the meeting Rachel and I sat together and I went through some points she hadn’t raised in the meeting.

  “Thanks for not bringing them up in front of the others,” she said. She sounded a bit embarrassed and relieved. “That was really nice of you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I remember what it was like when I first starting holding the morning meetings.”

  She looked at me, curious now. “What, you were scared?”

  I laughed. “I was petrified. I used to work in London when I first left university. It was so competitive there, especially in the estate agency business.”

  “I would have thought you’d like that. You’re pretty competitive, though, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I just wanted to run my own business. In London . . . well, it got a bit cutthroat. All sorts of tricks were pulled. You used to work for Bailey and Harding back home, didn’t you? That’s the sort of place I want here.”

  She nodded. “I worked for them every weekend, when I was at university and then for about a year afterward.”

  “They gave you a great reference.”

  She blushed. “How was your mum when you went back the other day?” she asked. “Did everything go well? She was at Arrowe Park, wasn’t she?”

  “What?” I’d completely forgotten that I’d told them I’d been up to see my mum when I’d really been in London. “Oh yes, she was fine, thanks. It was just a checkup.”

  We sat for a few more minutes. I could hear Sophie busy with the photocopier in the back office, and Brian was washing up the cups from our meeting.

  “Do you ever go back there?” I asked Rachel.

  She started. “Back where?”

  “Back home.” I smiled. “I don’t know why I call it home. I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen.”

  “There’s nothing for me to go back for,” she said. “And I was glad to get away. It doesn’t hold very good mem
ories for me.”

  “Me neither.”

  Rachel put all her papers back into her file and stood up. For a moment I saw her mouth tremble, and I felt guilty. Her mother had only died last year; it was obviously still raw. I watched her as she sat at her computer and drank some water. She was soon typing really fast, focused on her work, and I hoped she’d be all right.

  Before I started work, I e-mailed the personal safety adviser and asked her to contact me. A reply bounced back saying she was on holiday until August 18 but that she’d be in touch, so I set up a reminder on my diary to make sure I contacted her then if I hadn’t heard from her.

  The morning went quickly, with a sudden rush of clients calling in around lunchtime, so we all had to abandon any hope of lunch. At three P.M., as usual, the office grew quieter. Everyone set about their routine jobs so that everything was arranged for the next morning. Sophie was in the window, stocking up the brochures, while Brian was on the phone to a plumber to fix a leak in a tenant’s apartment.

  “Sophie, do you fancy running out for some cakes for everyone?” I asked. “My treat.”

  “Cakes? It’s not your birthday, is it?”

  “No, I just wanted to treat everyone. We need a sugar hit.”

  While Sophie went off happily to the shops, I went over to Rachel’s desk. “I wanted to talk to you alone for a minute,” I said. “How long have you been here now? Six months?”

  Rachel nodded, her expression wary.

  “You’ve worked really well. I’ve had this place for over seven years now and you’ve picked things up quicker than anyone else who’s worked here.”

  She blushed and looked down. Her hands played with the rings on her fingers. “I’d been working for Bailey and Harding, don’t forget. I learned a lot there, too.”

  “Don’t undervalue yourself. You’ve done really well here. And I’ve realized that I really need someone who can stand in for me. I want to cut down my hours a bit; I want to spend more time with Rory. So, I thought I’d promote you to senior negotiator and look for someone new for your role. What do you think?”

  She looked up, astonished. “But you can’t do that!”

  I laughed. “Why not?”

  “But . . .” Her face was pink with embarrassment. “What about Lucy? I thought she’d be coming back soon. I don’t want her to think I’m taking her job.”

  “Lucy’s great, really great, but she only wants casual work for the next couple of years. Even then I think she’ll just want part time. Anyway, I’m offering you a promotion; you shouldn’t say someone else would be more suitable!”

  She looked awkward and I realized just how young she was. She dressed older than her years and always looked well groomed, as though she wanted to be taken seriously at work, but in reality she was still very young. I knew I’d done the right thing; she deserved this promotion.

  Just then Sophie returned with the cakes and I stood to go back to my desk.

  “Please would you make us some coffee, Sophie? We’ve got something to celebrate.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Tuesday, August 8

  THERE WAS JUST one day to go before Joe and Rory returned, and the house was lonelier than ever without them. As soon as I got home from work that night, I put the chicken and salad I’d picked up from the local deli into the fridge and went upstairs to have a bath. I poured bath oil into the running water and found my Kindle. I locked the bathroom door firmly behind me—something I rarely did when Joe and Rory were at home—and put my phone by the side of the bath. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  I lay in the bath and thought of Rachel and her pride in her promotion—she seemed embarrassed that her skills had been noticed and hardly met my eye after I told the others. Sophie was the opposite; she was very keen that I should know she was progressing well, and I half expected her to ask whether she could have Rachel’s job, despite the fact that her only experience was a year in administration, but luckily she didn’t.

  I sent Joe a text asking when Rory would be free for a chat, and he replied immediately, asking me to call in an hour. Perfect. I picked up my Kindle and started to read. The room was steamy now and the late-summer sun shone through the window, making it hard to see the screen. I jumped out of the bath to open the window, then sank back into the warm water to read some more.

  I was just drifting into a nap when I heard a ping from my Kindle and jolted awake. My phone pinged then, too, a second later. I clicked on the notification on my Kindle and my e-mail box opened.

  I didn’t recognize the sender’s address. I frowned. Was this junk mail? The heading was Are you ready?

  My stomach fell. I knew this was meant for me. I clicked on the e-mail. There seemed to be nothing there and then I saw a link. Should I click it? I thought of what Stella had said, that I shouldn’t open any attachments or links from an e-mail, but I couldn’t resist. I touched it lightly and held my breath.

  An image appeared. A gif. It was a timer and it was counting down in seconds. The time left on the image was five hours and forty minutes. I stared at it as the numbers counted down then looked up at the clock on the bathroom shelf. It was now six twenty P.M.

  It was counting down to midnight.

  In a panic I clambered out of the bath, pulled a towel around me, and sat on the chair in the bathroom with my Kindle and phone. The same message was left unopened on my phone; it hadn’t yet registered that I’d opened it on my Kindle.

  My heart was thumping hard. What was going to happen at midnight? I would be here alone. Suddenly I was so scared I just didn’t know what to do.

  As quietly as I could, I slid the lock on the bathroom door and peeped out into the bedroom. Everything looked the same as when I left it to have my bath. I pushed a chair against the bedroom door and dressed hurriedly. My mind worked frantically—what was going to happen? I couldn’t stay here, that much I knew. I had to get out.

  I checked my messages to see what Caitlin had said about when she was returning home. It was as I thought; she wouldn’t be back for another week, so I couldn’t go to her house. My mind raced as I tried to think where I could go to. I thought of my other friends, but quickly abandoned that idea. Freya was a friend I’d made while I was on maternity leave with Rory; we still met up every now and again, but she’d had twins a year after her son was born and her life was really hectic now. Besides, she didn’t have a spare room; I knew she wouldn’t be able to put me up. It was only until tomorrow, when Joe was back, but even so I couldn’t just turn up there; I hadn’t even seen her for a few months, though we’d kept in touch on Facebook. And my friend Grace’s husband had been unfaithful last year and had walked out when he was confronted; he’d been meeting the other woman in hotels all over the place, so I didn’t want to tell her what I might have done in case she thought I was the same as him. Really, I wanted Caitlin, but she was Joe’s sister—how could I tell her I might have been unfaithful to her brother? I’d lose her. I’d lose him.

  I started to panic. If I lost Joe, I could lose Rory, too. Joe was the one who took care of him each day, and yes, he could only do that because I worked all the hours I did, but the fact remained that he was Rory’s primary caregiver. If Joe left me, he might take Rory with him. They might go and live in Ireland.

  I felt dizzy at the thought of that. I was not going to lose my son. I wouldn’t do anything that would put me in that position. But what could I do?

  I had no choice. I grabbed an overnight bag from under the bed and crammed some clothes and toiletries in it for the next day, then picked up my handbag and car keys and left the house.

  THIRTY

  AN HOUR LATER I was in a hotel five miles from home and on the phone to Joe. It was only when I was safely in the room that I remembered I was supposed to be calling to speak to Rory. I’d decided not to tell Joe anything while he was away and still couldn’t figure out whether
to tell him, or even what to tell him.

  “Is Rory there?”

  “I’m so sorry, Gem. He’s flaked out already. I gave him a bath and brushed his teeth and went downstairs for his cup of water and by the time I came back up he was flat out.”

  “Can you take a photo of him? I really want to see him.”

  “Okay.” I could hear him smiling and my heart just reached out to him. I wanted to be near him, to hold him. Both of them. I shouldn’t have agreed to them going away without me. I could hear Joe walking upstairs, then heard his mother’s voice. He said, “Won’t be long,” and I didn’t know whether he was talking to her or to me, but then a few seconds later my text alert sounded and Rory was on the screen. He was lying in a double bed with his two little cousins, his blond hair tousled, his Spider-Man pajamas pulled up to show his plump belly. All of them were asleep, snuggled up against each other, their faces pink and scrubbed after their bath.

  I enlarged the photo so that I could just see Rory’s face. Tears welled in my eyes and I brushed them away. “He’s grown since I saw him,” I said. “He looks more like a boy than a toddler.”

  “Oh now, we’ve only been gone a few days!”

  “So you’ll be back tomorrow?”

  He laughed. “Have you missed me?”

  “Put it this way, you’re not going away without me again.”

  “What, ever?”

  “No,” I said. “I miss you too much. I need you here.”

  “I promise. How’s work?”

  “I’ve decided to promote Rachel to senior negotiator. She’s going to take over some of my jobs and in a while I’ll take on a junior. It’ll mean I can get some time off in the week.”

  There was a silence, and then he said, “That was a very quick decision.” He sounded hurt; we usually talked over staffing issues together. “Won’t it be expensive?”

  “Would you prefer me to work every day?”

  “No, no, of course not.” He sounded defensive. “Stop putting words into my mouth. You know I didn’t mean that.”