The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  “There’s no alternative.” Anger surged through me. He was on his holidays with his mum looking after him and he wanted me to carry on without any help! “Either I work every single day or I take on someone new. One or the other.”

  He was quiet and I guessed he was figuring out whether the business could afford more staff.

  “I need to go,” I said, though actually there was nothing I needed to do. I hadn’t brought any work home with me for a change, and I only had my Kindle for company. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Send me a text when the ferry arrives in Holyhead and I’ll make sure I’m home to meet you.”

  I sounded subdued, I knew, and he hated that.

  “Oh, okay, then, if that’s how it is,” he said. “I’ll give your love to Rory.” He ended the call and I knew that if he could have slammed down his phone, he would have.

  I didn’t know what to do then. I couldn’t go home. I could not be in my bed at home at midnight, waiting for something to happen. What if someone came into my house? I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of that. I put the television on and flicked mindlessly through the channels. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t think straight. What on earth was I doing in a hotel on my own? I was being chased out of my own house. I thought of calling the policewoman, Stella, but by now it was eight o’clock and I guessed she wouldn’t be at work. And what could I tell her?

  I looked at the e-mail again. What if Stella said that it was just junk mail? I knew it wasn’t, but how could I prove it?

  Quickly I sent a reply:

  Why are you doing this? What is it you want?

  Just typing that message made me feel pathetic. That didn’t stop me from sending it, though. Thirty seconds later it bounced back: There was no such e-mail address. Of course there wasn’t. He’d closed it now.

  THIRTY-ONE

  AT NINE THAT night my phone beeped with a message. My heart leaped as I thought it was Joe, apologizing for our argument earlier. No such luck. An e-mail had arrived from the voyeur site in response to my query.

  We operate under DMCA law, it said. There was a link to Wikipedia’s Digital Millennium Copyright Act. If someone makes an abuse request we process it and remove the content from the site.

  Well, that was a relief. Now all I had to do was to find the photos. I switched my iPad on and started to search the site again, trying desperately to find any photos David had taken of me. I dreaded seeing them, but at least I knew now I could have them taken off the site. As I scrolled through pages and pages of images of women—yes, all women—being photographed in intimate situations, without a clue they were going to end up on a site like that, I started to cry. What kind of person was I dealing with here?

  * * *

  * * *

  I TRIED TO sleep but couldn’t. The hotel bed was comfortable, the room was warm, and I felt safe there, but I lay in bed wondering what on earth I was going to do. I had to admit everything to Joe, I knew that. Part of me thought I should sell up, move to Ireland as Joe wanted, and leave all my problems behind. I could change all my e-mail addresses and contact numbers, go back to my maiden name, even, and just run away. And part of me really did think that was what I should do; it was the only thing I could do. But then I’d get furious, with David and with myself. Why should I do that? Why should I have to hide when I hadn’t done anything wrong? Even if I’d invited him back to my hotel room in London, even if I’d asked him to take those photos, there was still no reason for him to torment me like that.

  And then just before eleven P.M. I thought again of the countdown gif. I opened the e-mail again and the timer was still ticking down. Seventy minutes to go now. Suddenly I was in a blind panic, wondering what would happen then. He would assume I was in my house, wouldn’t he? What was he planning?

  I jumped out of bed and got dressed. If something was going to happen, I needed to know about it.

  * * *

  * * *

  I SPENT AN hour driving around my neighborhood. All was quiet; it always was late at night in that part of town. I didn’t know what I was looking for or what I’d do if I found it. I drove past my house and watched as the neighbors’ lights popped off for the night. The road was quiet; the only cars around were ones I recognized.

  When it was nearly midnight I parked near my house and took out my phone. I opened the e-mail and clicked on the timer gif and watched as the digits clicked nearer to their goal. In another window I opened the voyeur site and clicked frantically on the Latest Pickings section. Just the name of that made me feel sick. That last minute to midnight seemed to last an hour; I held my breath as the figures changed. What was going to happen? I had visions of my phone ringing, of a photo appearing online, of seeing someone approach my house.

  Nothing happened.

  I sat and watched the street, my hand clutching my phone, feverishly refreshing the screen, reassuring myself that if someone went into my house I’d see them and if something appeared online I’d see it. Nothing stirred on the street and the screen remained full of strangers. At half past twelve, I started the car. There were some parked cars by the side of the road, but nobody sat in them. The street was empty, the alleyways were clear, but still I drove quietly up and down the street, my eyes straining to see if anyone was around.

  Finally, exhausted, I headed back toward the hotel. The receptionist greeted me with a nod and asked if I had my key card. I nodded, unable to speak, and took the lift to my room, where I collapsed into bed, wondering what the hell that had been about.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Wednesday, August 9

  I OVERSLEPT THE next morning and reached the office ten minutes after Rachel and Sophie, though as I’d given Rachel the spare key, they didn’t have to wait around outside. When I reached the office I felt Rachel’s eyes on me.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You look tired. Are you okay?”

  I said, “I’m fine,” but when I went into the cloakroom I grimaced when I saw what she meant. I always prided myself on looking groomed, but that day my skin was dry and patchy, its usual response to stress, and my makeup was all over the place. My eyes were red from lack of sleep and I quickly put on glasses to hide them. I locked myself in the cloakroom and spent a while tidying myself up, but I could still see everyone staring at me when I came out.

  “We’ll have the meeting in five minutes, shall we?” asked Rachel, sorting out the files on her desk.

  I looked up, startled. Even though I’d happily promoted her, it was odd to realize that responsibility for that task would no longer be solely mine. “Yes, just give me a couple of minutes.”

  “It’s just that it’s now nine fifteen and I’ve a few things I need to get through,” she said. “I got here early so I’ve made a list of all the overnight inquiries.”

  That put me in my place. I bit hard on my lip and tried to stop myself from making a sharp comment.

  “Okay. Let’s start,” I said.

  Rachel sat at the head of the table, just where I’d sat from the first day I opened the office seven years ago. I didn’t mind; I wanted to pass it all on, but it felt strange and I could tell that Sophie and Brian were uneasy. They kept glancing over at me as I sat in Rachel’s old seat, as though I was going to object, to oust her from her place.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out my iPad, so that I could make a few notes on the meeting. When I switched it on, it opened at the voyeur site; I must have fallen asleep with it still open. Hastily I switched it off again, then picked up a pen and a notepad from the nearest desk. My face was hot with embarrassment. Had anyone seen the screen? I glanced up at the others. Sophie’s expression was as plain as daylight; all she was thinking about was whether to have a cake with her morning coffee. I looked at Brian—was he averting his eyes? Oh God, what if he thought I was looking at porn?

  Then I realized Rachel was looking at me closely. She w
as the one I really hoped hadn’t seen my screen. She noticed everything; while that was great at work, I really, really didn’t want her to know my private business. I gave her a questioning look and she averted her eyes, then started the meeting.

  We had a number of things to get through in such a short time, and I watched Rachel organize everything that needed to be done that day. She was very efficient and fair, too, I thought; in the past I’d worked with people who, once they were promoted, refused to take on any of the boring or awkward jobs themselves, but she wasn’t like that.

  “You did a good job today,” I told her, once the meeting was over.

  She blushed. “Thanks.”

  “It’ll be easier on the days when I’m not here,” I said. “The last thing you want is me watching you.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, but I knew I was right.

  * * *

  * * *

  JOE SENT ME a text at three P.M. telling me they’d just arrived at Holyhead. Within minutes I’d packed up my things, ready to go home.

  “You’re in a rush!” said Sophie.

  “I’m just desperate to see them.”

  She smiled. “Have a lovely evening. See you on Friday.”

  I’d picked up groceries in the supermarket at lunchtime, so I was able to dash back home to get dinner ready for Joe and Rory. It would take them a couple of hours to get home from Holyhead if the traffic was good, so I had time to cook for them. At the front door I took the post from the letter box and put it on the hall table. Everywhere still looked lovely after the cleaners had been there, and I wondered how long I’d be able to fool Joe that I’d done it.

  * * *

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED HOME at five P.M. I heard the car pull into the driveway and ran out of the house to greet them. Rory gave a shriek of joy when he saw me and flung himself into my arms when I opened the car door. I held him close to me, rocking him as though he were a baby. I breathed in the sweet scent of his shampoo, felt his T-shirt rise up as my arms held him, so I could feel his skin, soft and warm and damp from the heat of the car.

  And then Joe was behind him, his arms around both of us.

  “We’ve missed you.”

  My throat tightened. “I’ve missed you, too.” I thought of the loneliness I’d felt since he’d gone, the worries I’d had. I’ll tell him, I thought. I’ll tell him tonight. Everything will be all right. He’ll help me sort it out. He hugged me tighter, and for that moment I truly believed everything would be okay. He was on my side.

  In the house, dinner was ready for them. I took the roast lamb out of the oven and put it onto the counter ready to be carved. The gratin dauphinois was bubbling and golden and the air smelled of garlic and rosemary. The patio doors were open and the table was set for dinner, with roses in bud vases and our special-occasion glasses and cutlery shining on the crisp white linen tablecloth.

  “Wow, this place is clean!” said Joe. He turned to me, a guilty expression on his face. “I’m really sorry it was such a mess when we left. How long did it take you to clean up?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said. “I did it as I went along.”

  “It looks brand-new!” Rory said, and promptly tipped his biggest box of Lego onto the rug.

  “How are you?” asked Joe. He held me tightly and kissed the side of my neck. “Anything been happening while we were away?”

  I hesitated. “There’ll be lots to talk about. Let’s get Rory fed and bathed first, eh?”

  We sat at the dining table to eat our dinner. Joe lit candles around the room, though it wasn’t yet dark, and he poured us a glass of wine and a cup of juice for Rory and they told me what they’d been up to in Ireland.

  After dinner I let them go upstairs ahead of me, as I wanted to hear their reaction to the rooms up there. The cleaners must have spent hours putting everything back in drawers—my husband and son were so messy and favored the floor for everything. As they walked upstairs I noticed the mail that had arrived earlier in the day. There was a bowl of white roses on the hall table and a couple of petals had fallen onto the envelopes. I picked up the mail and gave it a cursory glance. A renewal for our car insurance. A takeaway food leaflet. A letter from a credit card company we’d never used; I assumed it was junk mail. At the bottom of the pile was a padded envelope addressed to me. I was just about to open it when something about it made me stop in my tracks. I knew I hadn’t ordered anything lately. Was he sending something to my home? But how would he know where I lived?

  Even as I raised that question, the answer was there. I knew that if I Googled myself, my home address could be easily discovered.

  I heard Joe’s exclamations as he saw how tidy and clean everything was upstairs and then his footsteps as he came to the top of the stairs. Before he could come down, I shoved the envelope into my bag and zipped it shut.

  “Yes!” I called as I ran upstairs toward them. “I’ve been really busy!”

  THIRTY-THREE

  IT WAS HOURS before I could check the envelope. I left my handbag downstairs by the front door when I went up to Joe and Rory. I knew that otherwise I’d be looking at it all the time, willing them to go away so that I could open it. We stayed upstairs all evening. Rory had his bath; I’d so missed doing that each night, missed his warm, sweet body as he’d stand up in the bath ready to come out, his body slippery with bubbles. As usual he soaked me as he leaped out, but that night there were no recriminations, just gratitude that he was back home. A little voice at the back of my mind kept saying, This is how it would be, not seeing him for days at a time, and the fear of that just kept me frozen, stopped me from saying anything to Joe. After I’d read Rory a record-breaking number of stories, he finally dozed off. By then I’d changed into my pajamas as I was so wet after his bath, and Joe had had a shower.

  “Shall we go downstairs?” he asked. “Watch some television?”

  I groaned at the thought. “I’m going to stay up here, I think.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “You look like you need a rest. You must have been working so hard, cleaning the whole house.”

  We lay on the bed, his arm around me, and chatted about his trip to Ireland.

  “So Brendan and Sarah are moving back there?”

  “Yes, they’re planning to be there within the next few months. They’ll rent their house out over here, so they’ll keep their options open. He’s trying to persuade his boss to give him a leave of absence for a year, so they have the freedom to come back if they want.”

  “Good idea. But what happens if one wants to stay and the other wants to leave?” I couldn’t see Sarah putting up with her in-laws getting as involved in their lives as they’d like to be. “Are they going to live near your mum and dad?”

  He ignored the first question I’d asked. “Yes, they’re looking for houses now.”

  My heart sank. I could tell from the longing in his voice that it was something he really wanted to do as well.

  We were quiet then and I knew he wanted to talk about us going there. I wanted to sleep, but I knew that if I didn’t say something he’d be awake for ages thinking about it.

  “You do know we couldn’t do that, don’t you?” I asked. “My job’s here. My business. I couldn’t just pack up and leave here and start again in another country.”

  He squeezed me tight. “Nothing’s impossible, sweetheart.”

  “Seriously, Joe. We couldn’t do it. I don’t know the first thing about the property market in Ireland.”

  “Oh, you’d be fine,” he said. “Okay, so the laws are different, but essentially it’d be the same, wouldn’t it?”

  “Do you have a time in mind?” I asked, my voice tight with irritation. “When would you like to go?”

  He squeezed me tighter. I didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed my body was rigid. “I was thinking maybe the end of the year?”


  “What? You want me to close down my business, arrange management for the rentals, sell this house, move to Ireland, buy another house, and set up another company in the next four months?”

  “We wouldn’t have to do it all at once. We could get a manager in to do your job.”

  “One manager?” I asked. “I’m at work every day of the week!”

  “Perhaps two, then, job sharing. We could rent out this house, too. Brian would look after it. And there’s no rush with setting up over there. We could settle in and you could get used to the area.”

  “But where would we live?”

  “If we were renting this place out, we could rent somewhere over there,” he said. “Just take a short contract at first till we found somewhere we wanted to live.”

  I was quiet. I hadn’t realized he’d thought this through and I wondered now whether he and his brother had cooked this up between them.

  “Nothing’s impossible,” he said again. “You just have to want it enough.”

  “But I don’t want it enough!” I shouted, unable to hold back any longer. “I don’t want it at all!”

  “You’d see more of Sarah,” he said. “You like her.”

  “And I wouldn’t see as much of Caitlin,” I said. “If I wanted to see more of Sarah, I would. It’s my own son I want to see more of.” I could hear my voice wobble now. “I need to spend time with him. I don’t want to be left behind while you take him on holiday.” I could feel Joe’s hostility; he was always like that when he felt guilty. “And I especially don’t want to have to clean up after you while you go on holiday.”

  As I said this I knew there was no going back and I would never be able to admit to having the cleaning service. I felt so angry in that moment, it was as though I had scrubbed the house from top to toe.