The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  At ten o’clock I was ready for bed. David said he was going to stay up for a while; he was looking at something on his iPad, and he put it facedown when I kissed him good night. I was used to this, and normally I never let myself think about what he was looking at, but that night as I pressed my lips against his cheek, I thought of the website that Gemma had told me about. And though I smiled and said good night, all I felt was disgust. Disgust with him and disgust with myself for putting up with it.

  FORTY-NINE

  GEMMA

  ONCE AGAIN I got home to find Joe fuming because he thought he was going to be late for his running group.

  “You won’t be late if you go now,” I said, tired of taking the blame for this all the time. There was an early-morning group he could run with, but in his mind the evening one was more convenient. It wasn’t, and I was tired of explaining that every week.

  “What’s for dinner, Mummy?” asked Rory once Joe had left.

  “Haven’t you eaten yet, sweetheart? It’s getting late.”

  “I wasn’t hungry before,” he said, sitting at the kitchen island with a hopeful look on his face. “Can I have a buffet for my dinner?”

  I laughed and hugged him. We’d been to a wedding a while ago and Rory couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the buffet. He spent most of the afternoon going up there with his plate and choosing what he wanted to eat. I opened the fridge and was so glad I’d remembered to order an online shop to be delivered that morning.

  I quickly prepared a few snacks for Rory, and after he’d eaten I let him beat me in a dozen games of Snap, but all the while my mind was racing with what Rachel had told me.

  I had believed her when she’d said she didn’t know that David had been in my hotel room that night. She was married to him, so why would she want him to do that? And if she knew I was drugged, she would have been there, just to be sure of what he’d done.

  I shuddered. Had she been there? Was she lying to me about that? But then I thought of the look on her face when she saw the voyeur website. She wasn’t that good an actress; that was true disgust.

  While Rory splashed around in the bath, in his own imaginary world, I sat on the bathroom floor and wondered whether she’d be able to act normal that night, to pretend nothing had happened. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.

  I thought about what she’d done. She’d started work for me without explaining who she was. That wasn’t a crime. She might have passed my home address to David, but it was available online anyway. I wondered about the phone calls I’d received at home, where all I could hear was silence. Was that him? Or even her? I’d given him my mobile number and my work e-mail address myself, but everyone at work had my home landline number just in case. And then in London she’d taken my photo, but she hadn’t done anything with it, though sending it to me might indicate blackmail was intended. I had a feeling Joe would have received a copy of it one day, but he hadn’t so far. What had she done, exactly?

  I wanted to talk to Joe, but I worried that instead of thinking about what Rachel had done, he’d think about what I’d done. I’d lied repeatedly to him. Did it matter that I was being set up? All he would think about were my lies. I thought of Caitlin and yearned to talk to her, too, the way we used to back in the day. When I met and married Joe, I was so happy. It was as though my family was complete. I knew, though, that no matter how hard she tried, her allegiance would always be to him. In marrying Joe, I’d lost my best friend, in a way.

  Of course it wasn’t like that really. She’d come round and it would be just like the old days, and we could sprawl on the sofas and chat and everything would be fine. Great, even. She was happy for me to criticize Joe as long as it made her laugh, as long as it was gentle and said with love. But how could I talk to her about a man in my hotel room and the lies I’d told Joe over and over again? Just that day I’d had a text from her saying, Ugh, you saw a mouse? I can’t believe you didn’t call me! and I thought, Well, that’s because there was no mouse but what I actually wrote was It was awful. Don’t make me talk about it. Lies upon lies.

  After Rory was out of the bath and had been read to, I went downstairs for something to eat. I couldn’t face cooking anything then, but I knew Joe would be starving when he came back from his run. I made up a plate of sandwiches and put together a fruit salad, then sat in the living room, thinking about Rachel and how she’d got on that night. Had she spoken to him about it? Lost her temper over him taking things too far? Or maybe he’d noticed a difference in her and wouldn’t rest until he found out what was bothering her. And was she really innocent? Perhaps I’d been wrong to believe her when she’d said she knew nothing about the photos and the website.

  I grabbed my laptop, went into Incognito mode, and checked the voyeur site, scrolling through it, trying to both see whether I was on it and not look at the other women. My phone beeped, startling me. It was Joe.

  Hey Gem, mind if I go for a drink with the boys? xx

  Immediately I replied, Of course not. If he stayed out, I could stay on the voyeur site again without worrying about Joe noticing and thinking I was a pervert. I added, Have a great night xxx

  After another ten minutes on that site, though, I felt disgusting, and on impulse I reactivated my Facebook account. For old times’ sake, I looked up Lauren’s page. She and I had been Facebook friends for a long time, but I’d hidden her notifications after a while. She had twins a few years ago and would post on there hourly, updating the world on their achievements. But that night I was thinking about the past, about Alex and that night at the party, so I looked at her page and started to read about her life over there.

  She must have noticed that I was online, because within ten minutes a message came up.

  Hi Gemma! How are you? It’s ages since we spoke x

  Hi Lauren, I replied. Great to hear from you. I was just thinking about the old days.

  Oh me too, she wrote. Especially after seeing Jack’s photos. Can’t believe how young we look!

  Jack?

  Jack Howard. Remember him? That geeky boy who took Business Studies in school. He’s quite good-looking now—I should’ve gone out with him when I had the chance! He’s put photos up of that trip to London we went on, remember?

  I thought back. Jack Howard. That was a name from the past. He’d had a crush on Lauren, but she hadn’t had time for anyone except Tom.

  I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from school. Even my friendship with Lauren had faded pretty quickly. I’d wanted to put that part of my life behind me, to start again, and in those days, before social media was so popular, it was easy to lose touch. When I met Caitlin she easily replaced the friendship I’d had with Lauren and, although I knew that was unfair, I think Lauren was relieved by it, too. By the time she married Tom and they moved to Australia, our friendship was reduced to Christmas and birthday cards.

  I searched for Jack on Facebook. His profile was locked down, so I sent a friend request and went back to chat to Lauren.

  We talked for a while, but it was difficult, really. I hardly knew her now. I didn’t know her friends, had never met her children. In a way, though, she was living the life I’d thought I’d lead when I went to university. I’d thought I’d emigrate; go as far away from home as I could. The thought of bumping into people from school for the rest of my life had horrified me. Even though my name hadn’t been in the press, everyone had known. I knew there had been reunions over the years and normally I would have loved that, loved to have gone back and reminisced with old friends, reliving our youth and celebrating new achievements. I doubted I could have done that even if Alex had lived, but once he’d died he was deified.

  FIFTY

  GEMMA

  I’D GONE TO bed by the time Jack accepted my friend request on Facebook. Joe was still out, clearly making the most of his late pass.

  As soon as I found he’d accepted me, I
went to search his photos. He was surprisingly organized and his albums were clearly labeled. I opened Term 1, School and there we all were. I found Lauren with her long blond hair standing next to me. That morning we’d both straightened our hair; it had taken us ages and we’d both burned ourselves. We were laughing at Tom. My heart thumped at the sight of myself then, aged sixteen. Contrary to everything I’d thought about myself, my skin looked smooth, my hair shone, and I was much, much thinner than I remembered.

  Alex was in that first album. Unlike Lauren and me, he wasn’t taking any notice of the camera at all. There were photos of him standing for class rep, of him playing football, and of him lying asleep along three chairs in the canteen, surrounded by hundreds of students. One photo was a close-up. He was doing an experiment in a science lab and the photo showed him looking at the results of a test tube, his expression thoughtful and clever. The photo was used later for the school’s prospectus and he was overheard saying he was actually thinking about what he’d have for lunch rather than the results of the experiment.

  I lay back in bed and looked at the photos of him. He looked so young. There was nothing predatory about him in those photos, yet he’d come into a room where I was sleeping and he’d shut the door and turned off the lamps and he’d raped me, before leaving like a thief in the night. He stole something that night. I was never the same again.

  There must have been twenty or thirty albums there. I was just looking through the photos to see whether I recognized anyone when I heard the key turn in the front door. Joe was home.

  It took him about half an hour to shower and get into bed and tell me all the exciting things that the running club were up to. Given I didn’t know many of the people he was talking about, I struggled at times to keep track of what he was on about, but I let him talk and talk until eventually his breathing slowed down and finally I knew he was asleep. I got out of bed to go to the bathroom and he didn’t stir. He was lying on his side, facing away from me, so I was able to prop myself up on my pillows and open my iPad again.

  I could see on Facebook that Jack was online. I looked at the time—it was after midnight. I quickly typed a message:

  Hi, sorry it’s late, just wanted to say hello. I was at Wirral School with you—I was Gemma Taylor then. I was Lauren’s friend, remember?

  I was nervous about his response. He’d been a friend of Alex’s—how would he react to me now, after everything that had happened? Just a couple of minutes later a response popped up.

  Hi Gemma! Nice to hear from you.

  How’re things? I asked. Just looking through some of the photos you’ve posted—brought back so many memories.

  While I waited for him to reply I flicked through more of them. There were so many people I hadn’t thought about in years.

  It must be tough for you to look back, he replied.

  I stared at the screen. Did that mean he believed me? I’d always thought everyone would have been on Alex’s side. Facebook hadn’t been around then, thank God, but I knew there would have been a lot of speculation and guessed I wouldn’t have come out of it well. He was far more popular than I was at school. That was why I’d rarely gone home in the years following the party; I felt protected from the gossip when I was hundreds of miles from home.

  Jack hadn’t waited for a reply. He sent another message: Time’s gone so fast. You and Lauren look great in your photos. I was badly in need of a makeover!

  I laughed, relieved. It seemed he didn’t want to discuss it any more than I did. If you knew the effort we went to every single day. I sent that message, then steeled myself and asked: Jack, do you have photos from the party? The party when we got our results?

  I held my breath.

  Are you sure you want to look at them? I thought it was better I didn’t put them up here.

  I hesitated. I knew what he meant and didn’t want to explain myself. It’s OK. I do want to look at them. That was a great night until it all went wrong. I wanted to see what I could remember about it.

  There was a five-minute wait then, and I thought maybe he’d gone to bed without logging off, but then he replied:

  Yeah, I have loads from that night. I don’t have time to go through them and sort out which you might want. I’ll stick them on Dropbox if you like.

  That would be great, I replied quickly, relieved that I wouldn’t have to face comments from old friends who were there. Thanks so much.

  I sent him my e-mail address and he replied, Thanks, doing it now.

  True to his word, in just a short time I received an e-mail telling me I could view the photos. I had to steel myself to open the album once they were ready to view. I’d never seen any photos from the party. Photos from other events were always posted on the noticeboard in the common room at school, but of course we’d finished school by the time of the party. Besides, I didn’t speak to anyone apart from Lauren in those weeks before we went to university. After a while I saw a therapist every week for a few months, but by the time I’d been with Joe for a while, I’d dealt with that period of my life. I thought I’d been successful, but now when I opened the album it all came back to me.

  The first photos showed everyone arriving at the party at about seven o’clock, when the sun was low. There was a driveway up to the house, with tall trees either side; the road beyond was hidden from the house. It had been a long, hot summer and we were all tanned from the summer break. I looked at the photos and once again realized how young we looked, and how happy and relaxed we were. We’d all been together for those last two years, though some had come there from other schools, and others, like Lauren and me, had been friends since we were very young. Most of us arrived at the party at the same time; when I got there with Lauren and Tom, there were dozens of cars and taxis dropping students off. Everyone carried bottles of wine or crates of beer. There were shouted warnings from parents as they left, but nobody thought the night would be anything other than a fantastic end to our school days.

  The photos then moved into the house, where huge bowls of punch and bottles of beer filled the kitchen table and countertops. There were photos of people I hadn’t thought of for years, happy and animated, talking to friends and drinking. Everyone was drinking.

  And then I scrolled down and saw a photo of myself, holding a huge glass that was half empty. I knew it would have been full just minutes earlier. That was the thing we all did then. There was no finesse, no tasting what we were drinking. The goal was to get drunk.

  Lauren was there, too, wearing her little white dress with pink flowers. Mine was identical, though the colors were reversed, with white flowers on a dark pink background. We looked like mirror images and were so pleased with ourselves. We’d been shopping that day for our clothes and had hit the shops early so that we had time to get ready all afternoon.

  Scrolling through again, I saw my first photo of Alex at the party. He was in the kitchen and the clock was behind him. It was just after eight P.M. and through the window I could see it was dusk. His face was flushed, his eyes bright. He looked just as he had when I’d seen him play football or when we’d bump into him in a pub in town. We didn’t know him, didn’t know him to talk to, that is. We couldn’t have said he was a friend, except that on that night, of course, everyone was our friend. It was the last time we’d see most of our friends from school, and besides, we were drunk. But even on the night of the party we didn’t talk to him, though we were happy to stand and listen if he was talking to his friends. We’d seen him as in a different league from us. Looking at the photos again, I could see how hard we were on ourselves.

  The next photos were outside, where the fairy lights lit up the trees and the barbecue could be seen smoking in the distance. I don’t remember eating anything that night, but every time I smelled a barbecue for years afterward I’d feel ill. I’d been able to smell it in the bedroom. As the night grew darker you could see from our flushed cheeks and
stupid grins that we were getting more and more drunk.

  I paused and closed my eyes. There were only a few more albums to go. Soon I would see what was happening while I was upstairs. Asleep.

  I heard Joe stir behind me and pushed my iPad under the quilt. He moved farther into the middle of the bed, nudging me over. I tried to move him back, but he grunted and turned over. I held the iPad over the edge of the bed, hoping he wouldn’t wake and see it, but the drink had seen to it that he wouldn’t. He flung his arm over mine, trapping me under it.

  I clicked the Off button on the iPad and dropped it gently onto the floor. I was about to settle down to sleep, but a glance at the clock told me it was after one A.M. I groaned. I’d have to be up at seven. I snuggled down in bed, pressing my back against Joe. Or maybe half past. I reached for my phone to change the alarm and changed my mind when I saw a text from Rachel.

  I need to talk to you. Can you get to work at 8 tomorrow?

  FIFTY-ONE

  GEMMA

  Tuesday, August 15

  I WASN’T POPULAR with Joe the next morning as I was up and ready to go to work at seven thirty A.M. I shook him awake just before I left.

  “Rory will be up soon,” I said. “I’ve put a carton of juice and a banana on my side of the bed so he can get in with you and have that, but don’t go back to sleep, will you?”