The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  “I wanted to talk to her first,” I said. “I was worried about her. I knew that if I told the police before speaking to her, I’d never get the chance to talk to her about why she was with him. And then when I spoke to her she asked me not to go just yet. At first she said she wanted us to confront him together, but we were too scared to do that. We were going to go to the police tomorrow—today, now—and make a statement. And then he preempted us.”

  “What do you think she’ll do now?”

  “She’ll probably go abroad. She needs to get away.” We were quiet for a while; Joe’s hands gripped mine as if he’d never let me go.

  When he spoke next, he sounded so sad and confused. “I just wish you’d told me, right from the beginning. When you came back from London, if you’d told me then, none of this would have happened.”

  “I think it would, just in a different way. She was still determined to get revenge, and of course he loved having the chance to do whatever he wanted. And how could I have said to you, weeks later, ‘Oh, you remember that conference I went to a month ago? Remember I said I’d had dinner in my room and went to sleep early? Well, I didn’t. I lied about that. And remember I texted you to say I was in bed, about to go to sleep? I wasn’t. I was in a restaurant having dinner with a client instead and we got drunk and then I think he kissed me, but I don’t remember. Nothing else happened, though. I don’t remember but I know nothing happened.’”

  He grimaced. “I wouldn’t have believed you. I know it. And it’s my fault, too. You looked awful when I picked you up off the London train and I still went out. I knew you wanted me to stay home, but I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Gem.” He gave me a tentative look. “Do you think him being arrested will help bring some peace to you now?”

  I thought for a while about all that had happened and how Rachel and I had united to overcome him. “I think so,” I said. “I hope so. Rachel will have a bigger problem, though. She’s lost everything.”

  “Not quite everything,” Joe said quietly. “You’ve been a really good friend to her.”

  “And she has to me, too.”

  We sat in silence for a while, and then he said, “About your job. How do you fancy taking on someone new?”

  I closed my eyes, exhausted. “I’ve already advertised. I told you.”

  “No,” he said. “How do you fancy if I come in with you? I could train up for Brian’s job and take over the lettings when he retires. We could work it so that one of us was always at home with Rory.”

  “You’d do that? You’ve never wanted to work with me before.”

  “All this,” he said, “not David, but all the rest . . . You’re out at work all the time and I know you want to spend time with Rory. You’ve done so well, building up the business, and it’s as though you’re being punished for that now. I want your business to thrive. I want to be part of that, Gemma. I want both of us to do it.”

  I hardly dared ask. “What about Ireland?”

  “Can we think about that as something for the future?” he asked. “In a few years’ time, maybe?”

  “What, not by Christmas?”

  He laughed. “I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”

  I was exhausted. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” I said. “I need to go to bed.”

  Outside the sky was still dark. We had a few hours until Rory would wake. He lay in the center of my bed; before I’d left the evening before, I’d promised him he could sleep with me that night. He lay on his back, legs and arms spread wide, Buffy buried in the crook of his neck. Carefully Joe and I got into bed either side of him and Joe reached over to hold me in his arms. Rory lay between us, his chest slowly rising and falling. In his sleep he seemed to know we were there, and snuggled between us.

  It was all over.

  I held Rory and Joe close to me. They were my future, but they weren’t the only ones I had to consider now.

  I thought of Rachel in her hospital bed and hoped she was sleeping and not thinking about the man she’d married who’d destroyed her family. I hoped she could move past the tragedy of her childhood, knowing she’d overcome the worst things life could throw at her. I knew she’d always be part of my life, the way she had been for so many years without my realizing it.

  And Alex, too. I thought of the boy he used to be and how at last he was vindicated. There’d been a moment when I’d stood in his bedroom where I’d felt connected to him, where I’d sensed his presence there, not just in the way his hockey stick stood behind me, as though it had waited fifteen years to be put into my hands again, but in the way his sister and I had moved as one to bring David down. Alex was there with us in that moment, rooting for us, giving us strength.

  Rachel and I had to live our lives for him, now.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Do you think Gemma’s parents were right to persuade her to drop the charge against Alex? Was it really in her best interest?

  2. Given the seriousness of the accusation against him, do you think Alex should have had the right to defend himself in court?

  3. If the case had gone to court at the time, do you think Alex would have been found guilty?

  4. Gemma met Caitlin at university and they were best friends for years before Gemma met Joe. Gemma assumed that if she confided in Caitlin, her loyalties would be to her brother rather than her friend. Do you think Gemma was right?

  5. How much do you think David’s rejection from Oxford—and Alex’s acceptance—was the reason for his behavior that night? Why do you think he chose the crime he did instead of committing a different violent act (e.g. self-harm or getting into a fight)?

  6. Gemma is terrified that if her marriage ends, she will no longer live with Rory. Do you think this fear prevents some women from fulfilling their career potential and encouraging their partners to be stay-at-home dads?

  7. Alex’s father responded to his son’s death by running away and starting a new family, whereas his mother responded by breaking down and refusing to leave the family home. Why do you think Rachel blamed her mother rather than her father for her subsequent lack of a healthy childhood? Why do you think people can react so differently to a tragedy?

  8. What difference do you think it would have made to Alex’s mother’s physical and mental health if she’d known what really happened at the party?

  9. In the final scene, Joe says he wishes Gemma had talked to him, but there were occasions throughout the book where he clearly knew she was unhappy. Do you think the responsibility also lay with him to talk to her and to try to discover the cause of her unhappiness?

  10. Rachel has grown up believing Gemma was responsible for the destruction of her family. After everything they’ve been through in this book, do you think they have the chance of becoming true friends?

  DON’T MISS MARY TORJUSSEN’S

  GONE WITHOUT A TRACE

  AVAILABLE FROM BERKLEY

  “A clever, fast-paced tale with a twist so sharp it will give readers whiplash.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Tami Hoag

  “One of the most interesting narrators I’ve ever come across.”

  —Shari Lapena, New York Times bestselling author of The Couple Next Door

  “A gripping page-turner from start to finish.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  ONE

  I WAS SINGING as I walked up the path to my house that day. Actually singing. I feel sick at the thought of that now.

  I’d been on a training course in Oxford, leaving Liverpool as the sun rose at six, returning at sunset. I work as a senior manager for a large firm of accountants, and when I got to the reception of our head office and signed myself in, I scanned the list of attendees from other branches and recognized several names, though they weren’t people I’d met. I’d read about them in our company’s newsletters and knew they were highflyers, an
d for the first time I realized that must have been what the company thought of me, too.

  My skin had prickled with excitement at the thought, but I’d tried not to let my feelings show, relaxing my face into that calm mask I’d practiced so assiduously over the years. When I went into the conference room, I saw the others standing around chatting as though they were old friends. They looked polished and professional, as though they were used to this sort of event, and I was glad I’d spent a fortune on my clothes and hair and nails. One of the other women had the same Hobbs suit as me, though luckily in a different color; another gave a covetous look at the chocolate Mulberry bag my boyfriend, Matt, had bought me for Christmas. I took a deep breath; I looked like one of them. I smiled at the nearest person, asked which branch she worked for and that was it, I was part of the group and soon my nerves were forgotten.

  In the afternoon we were set a task to complete in a team and at the end I was chosen to present our findings to the whole group. I was terrified and spent the break time in a corner feverishly memorizing my speech while the others sat around chatting, but it seemed to go well. Once I’d made the presentation I could relax and was able to answer everyone’s questions in full, anticipating follow-up questions, too. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Alex Hughes, one of our partners, nodding as I spoke, and at one point he made a note about something I’d said. When everyone was packing up to leave, he took me to one side.

  “Hannah, I have to say you performed very well there,” he said. “We’ve been looking at your work for a while now and have been absolutely delighted with your progress.”

  “Thank you.”

  Just then Oliver Sutton, the firm’s managing partner, came to join us. “Well done, Hannah. You were excellent today. When Colin Jamison leaves in September I think you’ll be on track for promotion to director. Wouldn’t that make you the youngest in your branch?”

  I don’t know what I replied. I was so surprised to hear him say that; it was like one of my dreams had come to life. Of course I knew exactly when each director had been promoted; I’d pored over their bios on the company’s website. I’m thirty-two and I knew the youngest had been appointed at thirty-three. That had helped give a certain edge to my work lately.

  The organizer of the event came up to speak to them then, and they smiled and shook hands with me before turning to her. I walked as calmly as I could to the cloakrooms and locked myself into a cubicle where I nearly screamed with pleasure. This was what I’d been working toward for years, since leaving university and starting with the firm as an assistant. I’ve never worked as hard as I have this last year or two, and now it looked as though it was going to pay off. When I came out of the cubicle I saw in the mirror that my face was pink, as though I’d been out in the sun all day. I took out my makeup bag and tried to repair the damage, but my cheeks still glowed with pride.

  Everything was going to be all right.

  I reached into my bag for my phone to send a message to Matt, but then the Human Resources director came into the cloakrooms and smiled at me, so I smiled back and nodded at her and took out my hairbrush instead to smooth my hair. I didn’t want her to think I was excited about anything, to suspect that maybe I thought I didn’t deserve promotion.

  There was also no way I wanted to hang around while she was in the loo, so I went back to the conference room to say good-bye to the others. I decided I’d tell Matt face-to-face and couldn’t wait to see his excitement. He knew how much I wanted this. Of course it was too early to celebrate—I hadn’t actually been promoted yet, after all—but I was sure that Oliver Sutton wouldn’t have said that lightly. Each time I thought of his words, I felt a swell of pride.

  And then in the car before I set off I thought of my dad and how delighted he would be. I knew he’d hear about it from my boss, George, as they played golf together, but I wanted to be the first to tell him. I sent him a text:

  Dad, I’m at a training day and the managing partner says they’re considering promoting me to director in a few months! xx

  Within seconds I got a reply:

  That’s my girl! Well done!

  I flushed with pleasure. My father has his own business and he’s always said that the one thing he wants is for me to be successful. As far as my career was concerned, he was my biggest supporter, though it could be stressful if he thought I wasn’t promoted quickly enough. Another text beeped through:

  I’ll put a treat in your account—have a celebration!

  I sighed. That wasn’t the point of telling him. I typed back quickly:

  It’s OK, Dad, no need to do that. Just wanted to tell you how I got on. Tell Mum, will you? xx

  Another message beeped:

  Nonsense! Money’s always good.

  Yes, money’s nice but a phone call would be better, I thought, then I shook some sense into myself and started the car.

  * * *

  * * *

  IT WAS A two-hundred-mile drive home and I did it without a break. I live on the Wirral peninsula in the northwest of England, just across the River Mersey from Liverpool. Despite the evening traffic, it was an easy drive with motorways all the way and it seemed as though the journey passed in a flash. I was so excited I couldn’t stop myself wriggling on my seat as I practiced what I would tell Matt and how I would say it. I wanted to stay calm and to just mention it casually when he asked me how my day had gone, but I knew I’d just burst out with it as soon as I saw him. When I reached Ellesmere Port, about fifteen miles from home, I saw the Sainsbury’s sign shining brightly in the distance and at the last minute I indicated to take the exit. This was a night for champagne. In the shop I picked up a bottle of Moët, then hesitated and picked up another. One isn’t enough when you have news like that, and besides, it was Friday; no work the next day.

  Back on the motorway I pictured Matt’s reaction as I told him the news. It wasn’t as though I’d have to exaggerate. Just repeating what Alex Hughes and Oliver Sutton had said would be enough. Matt worked as an architect and had done well for himself; he’d understand how important it was for my career. And financially, too, I’d be level with him if I was promoted. I thought of the salary scale for directors and felt a shiver of excitement—maybe I’d earn more than Matt soon!

  I stroked my soft leather bag. “There’ll be more of you soon, sweetheart,” I said. “You’ll have to learn to share.”

  It wasn’t just the money, though. I’d take a pay cut to have that kind of status.

  I opened the windows and let the warm breeze run through my hair. The sun was setting and the sky ahead was filled with brilliant red and gold streaks. My iPod was on shuffle and I sang song after song at the top of my lungs. When Elbow played “One Day Like This,” I pressed Repeat over and over until I reached my home. By the time I arrived, I was almost in a state of fever and my throat was throbbing and sore.

  The streetlights on my road popped on to celebrate my arrival. My heart pounded with the excitement of the day and the fervor of the music. The champagne bottles clinked in their bag and I pulled them out so that I could present Matt with them in a ta-da! kind of moment.

  I parked on the driveway and jumped out. The house was in darkness. I looked at my watch. It was 7:20 P.M. Matt had told me last night that he’d be late, but I’d thought he’d be back by now.

  Still. There’d be time to put the bottles in the freezer and get them really chilled. I put them back in the bag, picked up my handbag, and opened the front door.

  I reached inside for the hall light, clicked it on, and stopped still. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  Was someone in our house?

  TWO

  FOR THE LAST four years I’ve had pictures on the hallway walls that Matt brought with him when he moved in. They’re huge photos of jazz musicians in heavy black frames. Ella Fitzgerald usually faced the front door, her eyes half-closed in a shy, ecstatic smi
le. Now there was nothing but the smooth cream paint we’d used when we painted the hallway last summer.

  I dropped my coat and bags on the polished oak floor and on automatic pilot stooped to steady the bottles as they tilted to the ground. I stepped forward and stared again. There was nothing on the wall. I turned and looked at the wall alongside the staircase. Charlie Parker was usually there, bathed in a golden light and facing Miles Davis. It had always looked as though they were playing together. Both were gone.

  I looked around in disbelief. Had we been burgled? But why had they taken the pictures? The walnut cabinet I’d bought from Heal’s was worth a lot and that was still there. On it, alongside the landline and a lamp, sat the silver and enamel Tiffany bowl that my parents had bought me when I graduated. Surely a burglar would have taken that?

  I put my hand on the door to the living room, then hesitated.

  What if someone’s still here? What if they’ve only just got here?

  Quietly I took my handbag and backed out of the front door. On the path, safely away from the house, I took out my phone, uncertain whether to call the police or to wait for Matt. I stared at the house. Apart from the hallway, it was in darkness. The house attached to mine was dark, too; Sheila and Ray, our neighbors, had told me they’d be away until Sunday. The house on the other side had sold a month or two ago and its owners had long gone. A new couple would be moving in soon, but it didn’t look as though anyone was there yet; the rooms were empty and there were no curtains at the windows. Opposite us was the wide entrance to another road; the houses there were bigger, set well back with high hedges to stop them from having to view the rest of the estate.

  There didn’t seem to be any movement in our house. Slowly I walked across the lawn to the living room window and looked through into the darkened room.