The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  In the lamplight I looked at myself in disbelief. My dress was up around my waist and my knickers were on the floor beside the bed. My head was fuzzy from sleep and alcohol and I couldn’t think straight.

  And then I heard Tom calling from downstairs.

  “Gemma? Gemma! The taxi’s here!”

  I scrambled off the bed and pulled on my knickers. My sandals were on the floor beside the bed and quickly I slid them on. I looked around frantically. I hadn’t left anything behind.

  I ran to the door, wrenched it open, and ran downstairs as fast as I could, my blistered feet rubbing against my new sandals.

  Tom was waiting for me. “She’s in the taxi,” he said. “Where were you?”

  I shook my head and said nothing. I just wanted to get out of there. Outside I got into the front passenger seat. Lauren was behind me, with Tom next to her. They talked about the party, about how strange it would be to not see people again until they got back from university at Christmas, about how it wasn’t long now and how they’d visit each other every weekend. Everything they said was interspersed with kisses.

  I leaned my head against the window, feeling it cold against my burning skin. I couldn’t think about what had happened to me. I couldn’t talk about it. What would I say? So when Lauren spoke to me, I closed my eyes and I heard Tom say, “She’s asleep.” Lauren laughed and said, “Lightweight.”

  The journey seemed to take hours. My face was pressed against the glass the whole time, each bump in the road punishing me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t think about what had happened. I couldn’t. I didn’t feel safe enough to let myself do that.

  When we arrived at Lauren’s house, Tom took the money her mum had left us in the hall and paid the taxi driver. I went straight into the spare room, where I’d slept so many times before. I couldn’t take off my clothes. I didn’t want to look at myself. The curtains were drawn and the room was almost dark, with only the faint glimmer of the light from the lamppost outside shining through. I sat on the floor by the wall, rested my head on my knees, and hugged my knees tightly.

  Someone went into the bathroom across the landing from my room, and just the sound of them shutting the door was enough to make me leap up. I stood panting in the dark, just about ready to scream. And then I heard Lauren say, “Sorry!” and realized she must have woken her mum. As my breathing slowed I realized that, of course, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t anything to worry about.

  I sat down by the wall again and stayed there until six, when the sun was rising. I picked up my bag, held my house key tightly in my hand, and tiptoed out of the house. Once outside in the cool morning air, I ran the half mile to my own house on the same estate, focusing only on my feet as the blisters rubbed and burst with each step I took.

  Safely home, I ripped off all my clothes and put them into a plastic bag and buried them at the bottom of the bin outside. I wouldn’t wear them again. Then I stood in the shower, scrubbing my body until it was raw, not daring to look down at the blood that colored the water pink as it swirled down the drain.

  I still didn’t cry. Perhaps if I had, things would have been different.

  FORTY-FOUR

  GEMMA

  Present day

  I TOOK A step backward, unable to believe what I’d heard.

  “Alex’s sister?”

  “Yes, Alex Clarke’s sister. You remember him, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yes, of course I remember him.” How could I not? “But you don’t look anything like him. And your surname’s Thomas. Is Thomas your married name?”

  “It’s my mother’s name. Her maiden name. When my parents divorced, she and I changed our names. We didn’t want anything to do with my dad.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were his sister?”

  She laughed. “Like you would have given me the job!”

  I thought back to the application she’d written. She’d seemed so enthusiastic and her qualifications were great. She hadn’t used Alex’s address, I knew that. I would never forget that address, even now, fifteen years later. “Did you know who I was when you applied for the job?”

  “Of course I did.” She gave me a scornful look. “I’m not stupid.”

  “But why? Why would you want to come and work for me?”

  She said nothing, just stood staring at me, her knuckles white as she gripped the clipboard.

  And then I realized just what was going on. “Are you in on this with David Sanderson?” Her sneer only reminded me that I didn’t know his name. “Or whatever his name is.”

  “You needed to be taught a lesson,” she said.

  “I did? Why? What have I done?”

  “Do you really think,” she said, then stopped. I could see tears in her eyes. She began again. “Do you really think that you could ruin my brother’s life and get away with it?”

  “But, Rachel,” I said, “I was raped. Alex raped me.”

  Even though it happened years ago, I still struggled to say those words.

  “Don’t you dare say that! He wouldn’t do that.” Her voice broke. “You know what he was like—how could you think he’d rape someone?”

  “I was there,” I said. “I was the one it happened to.”

  “Nothing happened!” she shrieked. “You lied to the police and Alex was arrested. And then you said you wouldn’t testify. After doing all that damage! You’re the reason Alex died. You’re the reason my dad left. And it’s because of you that my mum died. Everything bad that’s happened to my family has happened because of you.”

  She stood in front of me, red-faced and triumphant, but all I could think about were those years after the party where I’d had no self-respect and had put myself in dodgy situations with men I didn’t even know, stupidly thinking that initiating things with them would mean I was in control. It had taken a therapist to show me that I was no more in control with them than I’d been that night at the party. If I hadn’t had that help, I don’t know what would have happened to me. And even now, with Joe, I knew that my problems with him were because I couldn’t assert myself. I couldn’t do it that night at the party and I hadn’t been able to do it since.

  My mother was on my side—she had been every day of my life—but she’d worried that I wouldn’t be believed. I refused to testify because of that, but now, fifteen years on, I could see that she was right.

  FORTY-FIVE

  RACHEL

  Last year

  IT WAS ON the night of my mother’s funeral that I decided to take revenge on Gemma.

  After he kissed me, David said, “Come on, Coco,” and we drank our cocktails in a hurry and left the bar. We were at the Albert Dock in Liverpool and there was a hotel facing us. I said, “Serendipity,” and he laughed and kissed me again. Within minutes we were in bed. When he discovered it was my first time he was so tender. So gentle. I hadn’t dreamed it would be like that.

  Much later he rang room service for drinks and we sat out on the balcony overlooking the river, watching as the lights popped on along the dockside. The sky was growing dark, the breeze was fresh, and though it was chilly and there was the threat of rain in the air, there was nowhere I’d rather have been. Being with David felt like I’d been given the chance of a new life, as though I was reborn, not as something new, but as the girl I’d been before it all went wrong. Before I lost my family. Now it was like my family had returned to me. When he put his arms around me I felt sheltered. Protected. Something I hadn’t experienced in such a long time. Like family, it didn’t take long to catch up with what we’d done in the years since we’d last met.

  I knew at the time he’d gone to Bristol University when Alex went to Oxford, and my mum had heard from someone that he’d gone abroad to work after his degree. Philadelphia, she’d said. He’d married someone there. I hadn’t known the marriage had ended until he told me that afternoon. He told me a bit about it
then, though he seldom mentioned it later. He told me he hadn’t known her well on their wedding day, that he was in love with her until they’d been married a few months, when he really got to know her. He said that was when he knew it was over.

  Of course I didn’t have much to contribute when it came to my past. I was so much younger than he was, but I’d hardly done anything anyway.

  “So you had to be with your mum the whole time?” he asked in disbelief. “But aren’t you working?”

  “I haven’t worked for over a year,” I said. “I’ll be looking for jobs now, of course. When she became ill—well, when she admitted to being ill—I had to stay at home with her. At least she couldn’t drink as much then.”

  “She had a drink problem?” He frowned. “I don’t remember that. Alex never told me.”

  You can’t believe how good it was to have a conversation where Alex’s name was dropped in, as though he were still here. Ever since he’d died I’d wanted to share my memories of him with someone who knew him, too. My mother talked about him incessantly. If I spoke she just spoke louder. She wanted me to be there, but only as an audience for her monologue. If I talked about him I could predict the time it would take for her to find a bottle to comfort her. It was her loss, that was made clear, not mine. She said I was too young to remember him properly and that only a mother knows true love. Friends avoided talking about him, in case I got upset, and of course my dad went after a year or so, so there was nobody, until I met up with David again, to whom I could talk about Alex. Not about what happened, so much, not about his death, but just passing remarks about him, about what he liked to do, things he’d said.

  “It started after Alex died. She hadn’t really drunk that much before. I’d never noticed it, anyway, but then I was only young. But afterward . . . She became a full-on alcoholic. Within a couple of years I couldn’t ask anyone home. I couldn’t go to sleepovers; I was too worried that she’d fall down the stairs or choke on her own vomit.”

  He hugged me. “That sounds really tough.”

  “I think she’d known for years that she was ill. She kept it from me.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “I think she just wanted to die. She didn’t tell me anything was wrong until that last year. I’d noticed she’d lost weight, but then she’d been thin for years. She wasn’t interested in eating.”

  “I had so many meals at your house when I was a kid,” said David. “She was a great cook.”

  “All that went straightaway,” I said. “I can hardly remember it now.”

  But I could. If I let myself, I could remember walking home with my friends that last year of junior school, the summer before Alex died. I’d say good-bye to them at the end of my road and run up to my house. I’d come panting into the kitchen, my face red, excited to see my mum, and I’d find her listening to the radio, our dinner in the oven. She’d look up when she heard me at the door and I’d run over to hug her. I can still remember my face against hers, feel the softness of her cheeks, smell her perfume. I’d sit with her and have a biscuit and some milk while we waited for my dad and Alex to come home. We wouldn’t eat dinner until they were there. And when Alex came in, she’d leap up to greet him. I noticed that even as a child: I ran to her and she ran to him.

  He grimaced. “And your dad couldn’t help?”

  “He’d gone by then.” I think I made it clear I didn’t want to talk about him again.

  “That’s terrible, Rachel. Really terrible.”

  “I still really miss Alex,” I said. “Every day.”

  “I know, babe. I do, too.”

  “And do you know what?” I asked. “There’s one person to blame for this.” I jabbed my finger at his chest. “Just. One. Person.”

  “Your mum?”

  “No,” I scoffed. “She couldn’t help it. She just had one long fourteen-year breakdown.”

  “You don’t mean Alex, do you?”

  “No.” I drank some more wine. I’d had too much to drink but it was one of those days when it seemed I couldn’t have enough. “I mean Gemma Brogan.”

  “Who? Do you mean that Gemma?”

  I saw his hand grip his glass and I knew he was thinking of her, the woman who’d ruined my brother’s life.

  “Yes, the one who accused Alex.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten her. How could I? But I thought she was Gemma Taylor.”

  “She was. Brogan is her married name. I’ve been keeping tabs on her. She’s married now, with a little boy. She’s got a business in Chester and she’s doing very well for herself.” I poured myself another drink. “Very well indeed. But not for much longer.”

  He gave me a questioning look.

  “I intend to do something about it,” I said.

  He laughed. “What? What are you planning?”

  Full of bravado, I blurted out, “I want to stop her happy little life in its tracks, just as she stopped Alex’s.” I saw him looking at me and stopped, embarrassed. “Sorry, you must think I’m mad.”

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “Alex died because of her lies. That bitch needs bringing down.” He raised his glass and clinked it against mine. “Count me in, Coco.”

  FORTY-SIX

  GEMMA

  Present day

  FOR A MOMENT neither of us said anything; her accusations rang in the air. I could hear our breathing, high and fast in the empty room. We were both panting, both furious.

  Rachel’s face was so pale. She was staring at me as though she couldn’t believe what she’d said. I’d never really thought about the impact this had had on other people’s lives. Just one action, one accusation, and wham, everyone’s life changes.

  “You’ll have to forgive me if I see things differently,” I said. “I’m sorry Alex died.” For the first time since it happened I realized it was true. I wondered whether his death had been an accident, or whether he’d felt guilty because of what he’d done. Whether he was too ashamed to live. “Whatever happened, for him to be in such a bad way that he took his own life is really awful.”

  Her mouth twisted and I knew she couldn’t speak. I wouldn’t have been able to, either. I took a new bottle of water from my bag and passed it to her. She hesitated and I thought she’d refuse, but she took it from me and drank some of it.

  “I’m not sure he meant to do it,” she said heavily, “but what do I know? I was only eleven at the time. It was as though I didn’t know anything anymore. But my mum . . . well, she thinks . . . she thought he’d done it on purpose.” She glared at me. “You have no idea what it was like for me after he died. It’s all she could talk about. All she could think about.”

  “You can’t blame her,” I said quietly. “He was her child.”

  “And so was I! And I was alive and needed her. And she begrudged that. Hated me for it. Every single day I was made aware of the fact that I wasn’t him.”

  “Don’t think that, Rachel,” I said. “Of course she didn’t hate you.”

  “What do you know? You weren’t there. I was, day after day, with all her memories.” She grimaced and I could tell she was trying not to cry. “What about my memories? I learned to say nothing, though. There was no point.”

  She took some tissues from her bag and scrubbed at her face. Rachel’s makeup was usually perfect, her hair glossy and smooth. Now mascara was smeared over her face, her hair tangled where she’d knotted it with her hands. She clutched the tissues now and crouched down by the wall. Suddenly she looked exhausted.

  “Why don’t you just go? Leave the keys and I’ll lock up after I go,” she said. “I need a few minutes.”

  I shook my head, too scared to leave her like this. “I’ll wait with you.”

  She started to speak but gave up. Her head on her knees, she started to cry in earnest. I sat down beside her. For a long time we said nothing. When her tears had stopped and her b
reathing was back to normal, I said, “So all these things, these things that David’s been doing . . . they were to punish me for Alex’s death?”

  “If you hadn’t lied,” she said, “if you hadn’t said it was Alex, then he’d still be alive. He’d be in his thirties now, like you. He’d probably have a family. A good job. Like you.” She looked at me, anger and guilt on her face. “Why should you have those things when he doesn’t?”

  “And David? What kind of man would do those things to a woman he doesn’t know?”

  “A man who lost his friend. His best friend. He’s Alex’s best friend. Was. We became close last year, when my mum died. We married not long after that. He’s the only one who understands.”

  I frowned. “Was he at school with us? I don’t remember him.”

  “No, he didn’t go to the same school as Alex. He lived a few miles away; they’d always gone to different schools. They played sport together. Hockey. That’s how they met.”

  “Whose idea was it that he did those things?”

  She gave me a proud, truculent look. “Mine. I wanted to pay you back.”

  I sighed. She clearly wasn’t going to listen to me tell her how my life had changed because of Alex. How overnight I’d gone from a quiet, confident girl to someone who I couldn’t recognize at times. I couldn’t tell her how I still longed to be the girl I used to be, the girl who wasn’t scared of shadows, who could sleep in the dark.

  “You don’t deserve the life you have,” she said.

  That much was true. I didn’t deserve any of the things that she and David had done to me.