by J. A. Baker
Afterwards, he makes his own way home, refusing to get into the car with the rest of his family. His mother cries, his father pleads, his sister smirks and turns away. How can he possibly sit close to them when his dignity is in shreds, his reputation in tatters. The journey to the church had been bad enough, the atmosphere thick with resentment and mistrust. He isn’t prepared to put himself through it again.
His parents still don’t quite believe him, he knows it for sure. It’s evident in the way they sneak glances at him, watching him when they think he isn’t aware, their minds ticking over, wondering if, wondering how, but most of all, wondering why. His sister is good at it, you see, this lying caper. Better than him. She can be eloquent when required; charming and persuasive. Everything he isn’t. He stumbles over words and flushes scarlet when faced with problems. And he can’t see a way out of it. He can’t see a way of getting them to believe that he really is innocent, that all he is guilty of is being less able to lie than his sister, less able to engage with people and get them on his side.
They may have said those words, that they think him blameless but that element of doubt will always remain. He will always be that kid, that lad who was accused of pushing a little girl off a cliff. Whether he did or not is irrelevant. It’s out there now, words whirling about. And there is nothing he can do about it. His life will never be the same again.
Everything is ruined. Everything has turned to shit.
7
Present day
Everything is wrong. Messed up and wrong. Leah looks around. She has no idea how she has ended up outside Chloe’s flat. She has no memory of getting to this place, just a vague recollection of the ground moving under her feet, objects floating in her peripheral vision. The world sailing past as she made her way somewhere, which is apparently here.
She is fully dressed which is odd as she is certain she had recently showered and was in her nightclothes. A vision flits into her mind, a vivid recollection of pain and anxiety. She remembers her hand and the smashed ornament. She stares down at her palm looking for blood or stitches or anything that will convince her that the memory is real, that that event really did take place. A line of thin scars cover her hand, small pink streaks of a past injury. Leah blinks, swallows down her misgivings and tries to put it down to fatigue. She is confused and tired, that’s all it is. Her body clock is skewed, her mind still processing everything that’s happened since the accident. She thinks about Will’s words – the brain is a complex thing and perfectly capable of misrepresenting things, allowing us to see what we want to see and hear what we want to hear.
Above the rooftops, birds congregate atop the mass of wires strung across the street, an elongated huddle of small black bodies sitting silently, their feathers sleek, their songs muted. She doesn’t even know what time it is. Her wrist is bare of a watch and the entire street is deserted. The sun is a hazy ball of orange, slung low in the sky. Sunrise or sunset? Leah runs her fingers through her hair, separating the strands with her fingers, pulling it back off her face to clear her vision. Her mind is blank. She has nothing to go on, no clues. What time is it and how the hell did she get here? At what point did her life get to be so bad that everything feels as if it is falling apart?
As fast as she tries to clear her mind, more thoughts and memories muscle their way in; random unpleasant occurrences from way back. Like finding out by chance that she wasn’t who she thought she was. That particular memory stabs at her making her flinch; an icicle ramming into her flesh, reminding her of how she never really belonged. Everything that had happened, everything that she had felt for so many years, all those deep-rooted emotions that she had been unable to explain, suddenly began to make sense after her discovery. It all slotted into place. She was an imposter, an interloper. A stranger in her own home, in her own family. She wasn’t their first choice. She was an afterthought. Still is.
Leah shakes the thought away. She has more than enough to deal with at the minute without allowing rogue unwanted memories to push her closer to the edge. She has other pressing issues to deal with; important matters that cannot wait.
A distant echo of footsteps sends a frisson of electricity through her; an uneasy tingling that races through her veins. She has no idea why, no clue as to what is going to happen next. All she knows is that she is on edge, her nerves jumping and pulsing, her heart thrashing about under her sweater. A distant figure marches up the street towards her, a small silhouette, grey and characterless with no definable features. Leah squints, attempting to work out who it is. They look angry, or if not angry then at least prepared for conflict. She stiffens her spine in anticipation, her body braced for whatever may occur next. The figure picks up speed, closing the distance between them until eventually she can see him, is able get a good look at his features and stance. He seems brusque and business-like, unaware of her presence. Unaware that she is staring straight at him.
She relaxes, loosens her muscles and lets out a small chortle of relief. There was no need to be fearful. It’s nothing and nobody to be concerned about. Just a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit, clutching a briefcase, on his way to or from work. A tic takes hold in her jaw. Something about him is familiar to her, some feature or expression, possibly his gait. There is something about him that dances on the periphery of her mind but refuses to fully reveal itself. Turning away from him, she tells herself it’s not important, that she has to stop focusing on the minutiae. Instead she should think about sharpening her thoughts and getting her brain to function properly, to focus instead on her movements and stop herself from wandering aimlessly with no direction or purpose.
The suit wearing man passes by her, barely giving her a second glance, his eyes fixated on a point in the distance, his attention absorbed in things other than her presence. He’s just a normal man going about his daily business; and yet the idea that she knows him still bothers her. The familiarity she initially felt is still there, nagging at her.
A quick flare of heat pushes under her skin as she turns and stares once again at the stranger’s retreating shadow. She knows then, the memory a jabbing blade in her consciousness as she realises who it is. Him. It’s him. And yet it can’t be. It’s too much of a coincidence. Why would he be here? And yet, why not? As chance encounters go, it is an odd one, improbable but not impossible. She brushes the thought away, refusing to consider such an idea. It’s a ridiculous notion. She’s confused and worn out, that’s all it is. Her mind is doing its damnedest to trip her up, make her question her sanity and she is tired of it. She is better than this. At least she used to be before that awful crash impacted her life, turning everything upside down.
Blinking, she stares at him, trying to organise her thoughts, to slot them into some sort of coherent order.
There is no denying who he is. It’s him, the guy from the train. The one who was sitting opposite her when the crash happened. Her blood runs like sand as she observes his stance, his confidence and swagger, as if that horrific accident didn’t affect him one iota when it has ripped her world in two. And why here? Why would she see him here on the street in the middle of Durham City? The chances of such an encounter must be almost zero, yet here they are, passing strangers with a deep and lasting connection, the two of them linked by an event that has left her traumatised and struggling to know her own mind while he strides away, seemingly untouched by it all.
Tears prick at her eyes. She blinks and takes a deep breath, oxygen bursting out of her lungs in ragged chunks. She tries but is unable to obliterate thoughts of that day and yet this man is breezing along the street as if it didn’t happen. How has he managed to escape the anguish and the atrocious levels of pain she experiences every minute of every day? Here he is, happily strolling down the street while she barely knows her own mind and seems to stumble from one disaster to another with no idea of how to live a normal life anymore. How is any of it fair or just?
She clamps her jaw together, bites at her lip until the metallic taste of
blood floods her mouth then she looks up the street for the familiar stranger, but he has already disappeared. There is a cold emptiness around her. It’s as if he was never there at all. Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he was a figment of her imagination and she really is going mad.
Leah sighs. In the property opposite is the woman who has ruined her life. That’s what she needs to focus on here. Not some random stranger from a fated journey that went nowhere. A fated journey that it would appear, has no end, following her wherever she goes, leaving a trail of stricken memories in her wake.
As disconcerting as that may be, the woman who snatched Leah’s boyfriend away from her, acting in the most insidious way possible, is close by, almost within touching distance. She shouldn’t let old memories draw her attention away from that fact. Everything Chloe did, every single move she has ever made has led Leah to this point. Chloe started off as an irritant, an unwanted bystander in their lives, but her presence grew and grew, spiralling out of control until she eventually became a permanent fixture, always there, always close by. Wherever Jacob was, Chloe was there too. And no matter how many times Leah tried to keep her at arm’s-length, she would appear with her saccharine smile and that innocent air, giving Jacob long lingering looks of adoration plastered all over her face, the glowing varnish she wore to snare her man.
Chloe always had the upper hand in every situation they found themselves in, playing at being the victim, the poor downtrodden innocent girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she was good at it too. It was yet another ploy to gain Jacob’s attention, to turn his head and lure him away. Like the time she turned up at his birthday party uninvited, dressed inappropriately in a short skirt and low-cut top, carrying a gift for him that was neither needed nor wanted, much like her presence there that night. Leah had tried to intervene as Chloe approached him, her tits on show for all the world to see, and was thwarted by Jacob whose eyes were out on stalks as Chloe sashayed towards him. Enraged and feeling more than a little humiliated, Leah had suggested they eject Chloe from the room.
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
Jacob had rounded on Leah, telling her not to be so ridiculous and that Chloe had as much a right to be there as anybody else. His eyes blazed as he stared at her, his voice was filled with anger. Leah knew then that Chloe had ceased to be just a colleague to Jacob and that their relationship was about to progress to the next level.
Startled by Jacob’s visceral reaction, by the sheer ferocity of it, by his need to protect a colleague and put her needs above those of his girlfriend, Leah had taken her drink and thrown it over him, silencing the room in seconds. Not content with spoiling the party by turning up dressed like a complete tart, Chloe then sidled up next to Jacob, took his arm and began dabbing him dry with a handkerchief that she miraculously had to hand. The whole scenario was so contrived, so sickeningly affected and overly dramatic that Leah had been unable to contain her anger and had attempted to push Chloe away. What began as a happy evening at a local pub to celebrate Jacob’s thirtieth birthday, ended in catastrophe with Chloe falling backwards and being surrounded by a group of people who insisted she receive hospital treatment for a purported wound that Leah doubted even existed.
Leah spent the remainder of the evening sitting alone in her flat, drinking vodka and sobbing hysterically. That was the evening that sealed her fate and ended her relationship with Jacob for good. Perhaps she overreacted, perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed Chloe. Perhaps Jacob did the wrong thing by inviting her in the first place, but what was done was done. There was no changing the past, just a chance to shape the future. She still has an opportunity to get Jacob back and for them to go back to how things were before that dreadful woman came along and ruined everything.
Staring over at Chloe’s flat, Leah knows what she must do next. She has to confront Chloe, warn her off and remind her of who she is dealing with. Leah may be unable to pinpoint what day it is or keep tabs on her memories and thoughts but she is no pushover. While the rest of her life is falling apart, this thing, this meeting she will have with Chloe is clear in her mind. She knows exactly what she has to do, what she will say to send her running. And when it’s over, she and Jacob will be back together. Everything will be back to how it was. It will be perfect.
Back to how things should always have been.
All around her the empty road slowly comes to life; street lights turn off in an eerie sequence, people appear at windows as blinds are opened, the birds overhead disappear in a dark swoop as a car engine kicks into life. It is morning. The world is waking up.
Unwilling to be seen, Leah turns and walks back towards her flat, her mind sifting through the details of what she must do next, sorting through the details and intricacies, smiling at the thought of it. It keeps her going, puts fire in her veins, stokes a furnace in her soul. This is what she needs – a plan, a purpose, a way to get her life back.
A way to get Jacob back by her side. Right back where he belongs.
8
The fabric of the chair scratches at the back of Leah’s legs. It reminds her of cinema visits as a child; the coarse material that resulted in her being reprimanded for squirming and fidgeting while the rest of the family sat quietly watching the film. It reminds Leah of her brother, completely inactive, a bag of popcorn in his hand, eyes fixed on the screen while she, bored, would bend and twist, spilling her food, splashing her drink until eventually her father would escort her outside, his hand holding her firmly in place in case she decided to run off. Memories like that remind her that she has always been trouble, never quite fitting in. Always different from the rest.
Will watches her as she tries to get comfortable, his gaze eventually resting upon her fingers. She places them on the desk; they are splayed, bare of any jewellery. Seeing his contemplative look, she removes her hands, places them on her lap, thinks about how unadorned and naked her fingers feel without any diamonds or glittering stones. No gold, no silver. Unlike lots of women her age whose fingers are heavy with engagement rings and weddings bands, hers are unembellished. She traces the skin around the third finger of her left hand, touching it lightly, a painful reminder of how lonely she is, how anxious she is to get Jacob back into her life.
‘How are you?’ Will says softly, as if he too, can sense her loss, her need to be reunited with the only man she has ever loved.
Leah doesn’t know how to respond. She left Chloe’s street feeling buoyant but has no memory of getting home. How can she begin to tell him about the plans she has for the future when she can’t even recall the present? ‘The same. I’m just the same.’ She keeps her eyes averted from his, refusing to be scrutinised, refusing to look at the ghastly painting over his shoulder, the one that reminds her of what it must be like to be cast deep into the bowels of hell.
‘And how is that?’ Will asks, his penetrative stare making her feel uncomfortable. She shifts around in her seat, her hands hot, her fingers itching to scratch at her scarred arms over and over or to pull at her own hair until it snaps and comes away at the root.
‘I think we both know how it is. My life is a mess. I live in a flat with two other people who neither know nor care whether I live or die. My boyfriend is with another woman who stalked him and stole him right from under my nose. My parents want nothing to do with me and I keep seeing people in the street who are connected to me in some way yet they don’t seem to see me or recognise me, including my dead brother. How’s that for starters?’
Will nods, his body language one of neutrality. Just this once, she would like him to say something to make everything better rather than giving off an aura of detachment and complete impartiality. Just for once, she would like somebody to be on her side.
‘I’ve suffered,’ she says, a tremble evident in her tone. ‘A lot. I’ve been through more than most.’
A look of resignation crosses his face, or perhaps it’s a look of compassion. Leah can’t quite work out what he’s thinking. She
wishes these sessions were easier. It feels like a one-way street, her voice filling the airwaves with her cries of pity and self-loathing. All she wants is her life back to how it was. She wants her mind to be clear and to get her thoughts in order. Progress seems impossible and she finds herself wondering if these sessions are really worth the effort.
‘You have suffered a great deal,’ Will replies, catching her unawares. ‘And I’m here to help you out of it, to stop your pain and make everything better. We’ll sort this out, I promise.’
His words take her by surprise, unaccustomed as she is to receiving help and hearing kind words. A lump swells in her throat, tears burn at her eyes. The pain in her abdomen increases. She places her hand over it, pressing down to alleviate the dull ache that is ever present.
‘I’d like to talk about my parents,’ she says as she bites down on her lip. That wasn’t planned. She has no idea why she even suggested such a thing. The words seemed to spring out of nowhere and she now wishes she could take them back.
‘I’m listening,’ Will says as he leans forward, his pupils dark with curiosity.
Something inside her stirs, a feeling of unrest that refuses to go away. She hates these memories, hates talking about them, hates every bloody thing about them. Yet here they are, fresh in her mind, about to unfurl, ready to show themselves to both her and Will, a man who knows nothing about what went on.
She closes her eyes, reluctant to look at him anymore, to be subjected to his silent scrutiny as she reveals her innermost thoughts and waits for him to assess them, to dig and probe and analyse and pass judgement. She counts to ten, thinks about what she is going say before opening her eyes again and glancing his way. Will appears closer than she remembers. She lets out a juddering breath and digs her fingers into the edge of the chair, clutching at it for support. The walls feel as if they are crushing her. She can almost feel the heat of Will’s body and hear his low breathing as she starts to speak, the words pouring out in a rapid unstoppable stream.