The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  He stared at me for a couple of seconds. I could feel my chest heaving. He glanced down, then at my face. He sounded bewildered. “What? What about it?”

  “I didn’t realize you were there,” I said. I tried to sound matter-of-fact, but my heart was racing. “You weren’t on Alex’s guest list. I saw it, after he died. My mum used to go through everything. She phoned everyone on it several times, checking again and again. Well, you know that. I’ve told you often enough. But she didn’t phone you, did she?”

  “Why would she?” he said slowly. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t invited. It was just for his friends from school.”

  Now that I had started I had to go on, even though I felt like a lemming running toward a cliff. “Well, yes, that was the idea. My mum and dad made him promise that. But you were there anyway. And Alex didn’t know.” I stepped back a couple of feet. “Why was that?”

  “I wasn’t at the party,” he said again, his voice louder now. He sounded confident; I would have believed him if I hadn’t known otherwise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a silence, and then he went on, “Look, this must be upsetting for you, coming back here. I wish you’d let me sort it with you at the weekend. We could have got the house emptied.”

  “It’s not upsetting at all,” I said. It was as though I could hear my voice from elsewhere. I thought of Gemma behind that door and hoped to God she was texting someone who’d help us. “Hearing that my brother had committed suicide was upsetting. Sitting next to my mother in the ambulance as she died was upsetting. This is nothing in comparison.”

  Irritation flitted across his face. “I know, babe,” he said. “You’ve been through such a lot. Come on, let’s get you back home.” He reached out to hug me. “Let’s get you home. You need a good sleep.”

  And then I couldn’t help it. I laughed, though nothing about it was funny. “I don’t think so.” I didn’t dare look at him. He was standing between me and the staircase and I realized too late there was no other way out. The silence was thick and frightening, and I couldn’t stop myself from breaking it. “Do you really think I sleep well in my bed? With you beside me?”

  “What?”

  The memory of that night flashed before me and I shouted, “You with your phone, taking photos in the dark? You must think I’m stupid.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said again. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get back home.” The floorboard creaked as he took a step toward me. I took a step back and banged into the wall next to Alex’s door. “You’re just upset because you’re back here.”

  “I’m not. I hate being here, but this is nothing to do with that.” He reached out and put his arms around me. “David, you were at the party and . . .” His hands were all over my body now, stroking me as though he owned me. As though he could do whatever he wanted with me. “Get off me! Keep away from me!”

  Now his voice changed. He sounded hesitant. Confused. “You’re not wearing perfume, are you?”

  My stomach tilted. “What?”

  “When you opened the door, you kissed me,” he said. “When I hugged you, I noticed that you weren’t wearing perfume. You know I love it when you do.” He stared at me as though he couldn’t recognize me and he sounded perplexed, as though he was trying to figure something out. “But when I walked upstairs with you I thought I could smell it. I can smell it now.” He took a step back. “And I think I recognize it.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  GEMMA

  THERE WAS SUCH a long, tense silence that I thought I would collapse. When Rachel spoke, her voice was farther away, back toward her mother’s room.

  “My mum had some perfume in her room. I sprayed it. It reminded me of her.” She was a good liar. Very convincing. But then, she’d convinced me for months that she hadn’t known who I was. “It’s being back here. It reminds me of her.”

  David had stayed in the same place, just beside the bathroom, outside Alex’s room. Just inches from me. “I don’t think so.” I didn’t dare breathe. “I think you’re lying to me, Rachel,” he said. “Why would you do that?”

  Terrified, I leaned back against the wall. My hip touched something. Something hard. I slid my hand behind my back and felt around.

  It was a hockey stick. Alex’s hockey stick.

  And I thought of the only time I’d spoken to Alex in school, right at the start of our course, when we were sixteen. He was getting onto a coach to go on a sports trip and he was carrying too much kit and dropped his hockey stick. I’d handed it to him and he’d smiled and said, “Thanks, Gemma.” I hadn’t realized he’d known my name.

  Now, with my hands around that stick, I felt he’d passed it to me, just when I needed it.

  And then the door to Alex’s room opened wider and David walked into the room. His back was to me. He walked over to the window, past the lamp he’d switched off that night so many years before, past the bed where he’d raped me and the blankets he’d thrown over my head so that I wouldn’t see him. I could hear him breathing in the stale air. My body was coiled like a spring.

  Then he turned and my legs buckled.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look who’s here.”

  * * *

  * * *

  HE STOOD IN the darkening room, looking straight at me. He was shocked, I could tell, but confident in his strength. Now, as then, I was no threat to him.

  I stood motionless, my hands behind my back, gripping Alex’s hockey stick so hard that my skin felt raw. I stared at David, not wanting to show any fear. My stomach had plummeted, though. I was scared and in the instant I looked at his face, I knew that he knew that, too. From a movement near me, I realized Rachel was standing in the doorway; the open door stood between us.

  “What’s going on?” he said. He glanced over at Rachel. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Gemma and I have been talking,” said Rachel. She was trying to sound strong, but I could hear a slight tremor in her voice and I knew that of course he would have heard that, too. He’d recognize it as a weakness. I knew he’d be good at spotting those. “Talking about the party.”

  “What about it?” he said. “You’ve talked about it a million times. I’ve told you I wasn’t there.”

  I took a deep breath. “But you were there.” My voice was shaky. “You were at the party.”

  “Oh, and how would you know about that?” he said.

  “There’s a photo of you there in the kitchen that night.” From the tightening of his jaw I guessed he hadn’t expected that. “You were wearing the Coral T-shirt.”

  “The Coral? I don’t have a T-shirt like that. You’re mistaking me for someone else. For Alex.”

  “You do,” said Rachel from the doorway. “Or you did. Alex had photos of you both at Glastonbury that summer, wearing the same T-shirt. I’ve seen them.”

  “Yeah, I had one then. It got ripped there, the night they played, and I left it behind.”

  He was a good liar. His voice was steady. Reasonable. If I hadn’t seen that photo, if I hadn’t seen him wearing that T-shirt, I probably would have believed him.

  “I don’t think so.” Rachel was agitated now. “You were at the party and you were wearing the T-shirt. There’s proof of it.” She gave a mocking laugh, designed to make anyone angry. “You’re just making a fool of yourself if you deny it.”

  He stared at her for ages, then the realization that she was on my side, not his, dawned on him. Then he looked back at me.

  My legs began to shake. He was still the same man I’d taken to view properties in Chester, the man who’d charmed me at dinner in the hotel in London. He was still as tall, as dark, and as handsome as he had been, but something had changed. He was now under threat. His body was tense, ready for battle, and in that moment I knew he’d do anything to win.

  “So,” he said. “You two are in
this together? That’s interesting.” There was a pause and I knew neither Rachel nor I dared to break it. “After all the things you said about her, Rachel. I’m surprised.”

  Her face was crimson.

  “So all those nights you told me about how you wanted to pay her back for ruining your life, for your brother dying . . . you were lying then? Were you lying when you told me how much you hate her?”

  “That was before I knew what really happened.”

  “You know what happened, babe. I’ve told you. I wasn’t there. You were mistaken.” His voice went soft. “I’ve always been honest with you, Coco.”

  Coco? I thought. I saw Rachel hesitate and guessed it was an affectionate name he used for her. My stomach tightened. Was she going to be taken in by that? Where would that leave me, if she did?

  “Remember what you said about her husband and son?” He mimicked her again. “Why should she have a happy marriage? Why should she have a good job? Alex didn’t have any of that.”

  “He didn’t,” she said. “And I’m wondering why now.”

  He carried on, speaking as though he were her, in a high, breathless voice. “And that poor son. He’s being brought up by his father. I bet he wouldn’t even recognize his mother!”

  “Shut up!” she yelled. “Ignore him, Gemma! I didn’t say that.”

  But she had. I knew she had. I thought of Rory in his pajamas that evening, fresh and damp from his bath. He’d hugged me before I left, holding his toy rabbit to his face, rubbing it across his cheek as he always did when he was tired. My eyes prickled. He was my reason for working so hard, and I just wasn’t spending enough time with him. The thought of someone criticizing my relationship with my son made the fear inside me turn to strength.

  “Why are you focusing on what she said rather than what you’ve done?” I said softly. “The night of the party, you came in here and you raped me.”

  “I did what?” He sounded so shocked I almost believed him.

  “You raped me.”

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  GEMMA

  HIS EYES FLICKERED toward Rachel. “What’s she talking about?”

  When she spoke, I knew she was crying. “You did it, David. And you let Alex take the blame.”

  He flinched then. “What? I didn’t! I wouldn’t do that!”

  I wanted to get out of there. He was going to keep on denying it and I couldn’t stand to hear him. But Rachel was blocking the doorway and she was shouting.

  “You did do it! I knew Alex hadn’t done it! And you let him . . .” She almost choked on her tears. “You let Alex take the blame and then he killed himself. And you came round night after night and sympathized with my mum when it was you that had done it all along!”

  “I wasn’t here,” he insisted. “I’ve told you!”

  And then Rachel turned to me and said, “Gemma, were you wearing a hair bobble, the night of the party?”

  I stared at her, confused at the change of subject. “What?”

  Her voice was strange. It was as though she was thinking something over and couldn’t quite believe it. “Can you remember?”

  “I can remember everything,” I said. “And no, I wasn’t wearing a hair bobble.”

  I heard David take a step or two back. I glanced at him; his eyes were fixed on Rachel and he held himself very still.

  “What about lip gloss?” she said. “When you were at the party, when you were eighteen, did you wear lip gloss?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” said David.

  “Yes, I wore lip gloss,” I said. “Why?”

  “Did you take it with you to the party?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you take it home with you?”

  I stared at her. “No. I didn’t. I must have lost it.”

  Her face was pale and her hair was spiked with sweat. “Was it raspberry ripple? Or blackberry? Or maybe vanilla fudge?”

  At her words, I felt a kaleidoscope of memories form into shape. I remembered dipping my finger into the little pot of raspberry ripple lip gloss as our taxi approached Alex’s house. Lauren had dipped her finger into it, too, and we’d smeared it over our lips and giggled, before going into the party. I’d slipped it into my pocket and hadn’t thought of it from that day to this.

  “It was raspberry ripple,” I whispered. “How did you know?”

  “I found it, didn’t I?” she said to David in a conversational tone. “There was a pile of stuff in an old bag of yours. It looked like a load of junk. That’s what you told me it was, didn’t you? You said an ex-girlfriend had borrowed your bag and left it all behind. You said you’d throw it away, but you didn’t, did you? Didn’t you think I’d check?” Her face was pink with strain, but she stared him straight in the eye.

  David was breathing hard and fast and staring at her so fiercely I took a step back. I knew something was going to happen.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she said. “Those things . . . what are they, something from each girl?”

  A muscle moved in his jaw. I was on high alert now.

  “They looked like trash, but they were precious to you, weren’t they? They were significant. Did you keep them to remember them by?”

  “You’re insane,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Funny,” she said. “Because you made enough effort to hide them the second time.” He stared at her and she said, “You really need to think twice before you let your wife borrow your car. You lent it to me last night without even thinking. You were so keen that I should go out and buy you some whiskey that you completely fell for it when I said my car was out of petrol.”

  His jaw was tight, his eyes on her.

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t look in the boot?” There was a tense silence and she said, “Underneath the spare tire? Odd place to put things that mean nothing to you.” She glanced at me. “Gemma, there were loads of them.”

  And then he broke. He reared back and suddenly he was taller. Broader. I steeled myself and faced him head-on.

  Here it comes. Here it comes.

  “You stupid bitch,” he said to Rachel. “She wasn’t even awake. All that fuss, calling the police, when she was asleep the whole time.”

  I nodded, once, and moved into his view. “And how do you know that?”

  “You,” he sneered. I steeled myself. “You were so drunk. Lying there with your skirt up round your waist. Anyone could have had you. You pathetic bitch. If you didn’t want it, you shouldn’t have flaunted it.”

  And there it was. The last fifteen years of my life had been a lie.

  SIXTY-NINE

  RACHEL

  FOR A MOMENT I don’t think either Gemma or I could speak. The sound of him admitting what he’d done resonated in the air, and for that moment all was still. And then my body responded.

  I pushed the door wide open.

  David stood, poised for action, in the middle of the room. He was staring at Gemma—I think he thought she was his main threat.

  He was wrong.

  I leaped into the air and slapped him hard across the face. He swore and swung away from me. He’d taken his eyes off Gemma and I could see her standing still, staring at him.

  He turned toward her again.

  Big mistake.

  I moved closer and hit him again. A loud slap resonated in the room. At the same time, Gemma shouted, “You bastard!”

  My eyes met hers and in that moment we were united. His reign over us was about to end; I didn’t know how and neither did she, I think, but that look between us decided it.

  We had had enough.

  “It was so long ago, Rachel,” he said, attempting a beseeching look. He put his hand out to me. I think he intended to caress me. “It meant nothing.”

  I relaxed and he s
aw it and smiled. Then I leaped onto Alex’s bed, using the wooden frame as a lever to push myself off, just as I used to when Alex and I played Pirates, that game we played when we were kids, where we weren’t allowed to touch the ground. My body must have kept the memory of that move he taught me all those years ago just for this moment, as I kicked and spun around and threw myself as hard as I could against David.

  He staggered, and just as he started to right himself, I kicked out again, catching his shoulder. He crashed to the ground and I leaped on top of him, hitting him over and over again.

  All I could think of was Alex and my mother and the way my dad had left, without even saying good-bye. I thought of the house, full of memories of them all. And now this memory would override it; that my own husband had raped Gemma and made everyone think his friend, my brother, had done it.

  And I thought, just for a second, of the girl I used to be, the girl who played chase around the house with Alex, who taught him to dance with girls. The girl who lay on the floor next to his bed night after night after he was accused of rape, listening to him cry.

  I was thinking all those things and more, when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, David’s fist coming toward my face.

  SEVENTY

  GEMMA

  RACHEL CRASHED TO the ground like someone in a cartoon. I blinked, thinking she’d bounce back up, but she lay still, her head against the wooden leg of the bed. Almost immediately there was a swelling the size of an egg on her temple and for one mad moment I thought she was dead.

  “So,” said David. He was breathing hard and took no notice of his wife’s body lying on the floor. He stepped over her: one step nearer to me. “It’s just you and me now, Gemma.”

  I stumbled back until I banged into the door. I could feel my phone in my jeans pocket and I was desperate to take it out and call for help. I needed to get out of the room, to run away from him.

  He clearly knew what I wanted to do. He reached out, his hand almost brushing my face, and I flinched. He touched my hair then and it felt like an assault. My eyes met his; I saw excitement there. He let go of my hair and reached out beyond me to slam the door shut.