Marshmallows for Breakfast (34 page)

He didn't see me. I'm sure he didn't see me, I said to myself as I turned on my heels and walked away into the heart of the hotel where the receptionist had told me the restaurant and bar were. On the way, I saw a small discreet sign for the women's toilets. I turned towards it, pushed open the door and walked in.

Large, clean, furnished with brass and marble and clean white towels, it was also empty, all eight stall doors stood open.

“I thought that was what you wanted, I've seen you. I know what you re like. I thought that was what you wanted.”

I leaned over the bank of sinks, each carved out of smooth cool stone. I stared down into the bowl at the white plug.

It was heat first of all. A torrent of it lighting up the cells in my body, burning me up from the inside out.

I pressed my palms flat against the stone, steadying myself, allowing the coolness to seep into me.

“You're special. Stop fighting, you're special.”

Air. I couldn't get air into my lungs. I pressed my right hand against my chest, trying to calm my speeding heart, trying to ease my wrung out lungs.

“Stop fighting and I won't kill you.”

I was going to pass out. If I couldn't get air into my lungs, I was going to pass out. It'd happened before. I'd been like this and I couldn't stop it, and then the blackness had come. But not for years. This hadn't happened in years.

The vice around my chest tightened, the beating of my heart sped up, running away from the fear of a memory. I was stuck here. I couldn't stop myself. I was trapped in this moment. The memory was becoming stronger, the words growing louder.

“I thought that was what you—”

The door to the bathroom opened, swung back on its hinges and banged against the wall. I jumped. Jumped out of the past into the present. Suddenly I was here again. In a hotel bathroom. Not back there. Not back when.

“Oops, sorry,” a woman said when she saw me jump, before she went into a stall, slammed and locked the door.

“Don't say sorry,” I wanted to tell her. “You just saved me. You just rescued me from that place.”

CHAPTER 29

T
he auditorium could seat three hundred people. The original outbuildings of the manor house had been converted into a conference center with meeting rooms, business communications center and the auditorium.

The lights were lowered and at the front a spotlight was on the guest speaker; the screen behind her was lit up with graphs and figures. She was lecturing on the changes in recruitment practices. I knew that because it was written on the sheet in front of me. The sheet that was part of my delegates’ pack. I knew because my eyes had scanned the front page of my delegates’ pack and had read those words. Hadn't taken them in, hadn't digested them, but like the good girl I was, I had read them. Nothing had registered since the moment beside the stairs. Since I glanced up and saw him.

He hadn't seen me, I was sure of that. As sure as I could be. I'd stayed in a locked stall in the bathroom for an hour before I ventured out, finished checking in and went upstairs to my room on the fourth floor. All the while I'd been on the lookout, in case I bumped into him. In case I had to see him up close and act normal and say hello.

As I sat in the auditorium, I knew I wasn't completely safe. Proximity wasn't an issue now, unless you counted the space in my head. That area he prowled around, baring his teeth, growling like a bloodthirsty animal.

Weeks after I finished my work experience at the
Harrogate Local & International Chronicle,
when I'd spent a fortnight making tea, photocopying and transcribing interviews, when I'd been totally enamored with the whole process and decided it was for me, Lance asked me to come to a party at the paper.

“Nothing fancy,” he said. “But it's a good way to get your face known. If they see you again they'll remember how good you were. There may be a job in it for you when you finish college.”

Since I'd been a little girl noting down my stories and pieces of my imagination, writing had been my passion. What he was saying meant my dream could come true, I could become a journalist.

It was a quiet party, held upstairs at a pub in Harrogate. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, and the smell of beer and cheap wine clung to the smoke. I sat in a corner, not really a mover and shaker, far too shy to just go and talk to the editor or the deputy editor. Or, indeed, anyone with the word
editor
in their title apart from Lance.

Being there was enough. Lance spent a lot of time at my side, getting me drinks, introducing me to people, and as a result a few people said to give them a call if I wanted to come back to do work experience again. I was made.

I wasn't drinking much. Had managed to choke down a half and was struggling through a pint. Since the split with Tobey, anything more than three drinks transported me to a bad place, where I felt sorry for myself. Where I wanted to remake myself in Penny's image, in anyone's image if it would get my wonderful boyfriend back. I hated feeling like that. I didn't understand how I could let a man do that to me. Make me feel like that but I did.

It was getting late and I had to get the train back to Leeds. I had three- quarters of a pint sitting on the table so decided I'd finish it before I left. I went to the loo and lingered there, looking at myself in the mirror. I wasn't always staring at myself in shiny surfaces but I was fascinated. What was it about me that had sent Tobey back to his ex? Did she have longer, more feminine hair than me? Mine was halfway between my shoulders and my chin. Did she have more beautiful eyes? Mine were such a deep dark brown they looked black, as though I had two large pupils. Did she have a smaller mouth? Because my lips were pretty full-on. Did she have a nicer nose? What was it?
Oh stop it,
I told myself.
You should be over this by now, it's been five months. He isn't coming back to you.