The Girl With No Past (4 page)

It was only on that day I ever let myself cry. Ducking my head under the water, I kept it there for as long as I could manage to breathe; I didn’t want to feel the tears on my face. At least that way they merged into the water, leaving no trace behind.

Something woke me, hours before my alarm was due to go off. Living in London, I had become accustomed to noise, so much so that I barely noticed it, but this sound was all wrong, not part of the nightly soundtrack I was familiar with. But I’d been asleep so couldn’t identify it. I closed my eyes again and tried to drift off, reluctant to get up and check things out when it had already taken me three hours to fall asleep.

I heard nothing more, but the fact that I’d been woken by something niggled away at me. I had to investigate. There would be no hope of sleep if I didn’t.

As it was so small, it didn’t take long to search the flat. Everything was as it should be. But then, remembering the card, I decided to check the downstairs hall. There hadn’t been any mail for me when I’d got home from work, but something compelled me down the stairs.

I didn’t notice it at first – the only light in the flat came from the bedroom – but as I got closer I clearly saw the white envelope, standing out against the dark grey doormat like a sign post leading me towards it, my name emblazoned across it in the same writing as the card, with the same black marker pen.

It’s hard to say what I felt at that moment. Perhaps I’d been expecting the card to only be the beginning of something. But in that case I should have taken it as a warning to ignore the new envelope. If I didn’t open it, it couldn’t hurt me. I could take it upstairs, rip it to pieces and dump it in the recycling bin so that I would never know what was in it.

That’s what I should have done. Instead, I grabbed the envelope, ripping it open as if it was a lottery cheque. I pulled out a photograph. A road at nighttime. A road I knew well. I didn’t need to see the small sign at the bottom of the photo confirming it was High Elms Lane.

I sat on the stairs, my eyes fixed on the photograph, even though I didn’t want to see it. The only thought in my head was a mixture of fear and confusion that it had taken so long.

But rather than let fear paralyse me, I raced back upstairs to the bedroom and pulled the card from my underwear drawer. Taking it to the kitchen, I dug out the lighter I had used only a few hours ago to light the candles. Then, holding both items above the sink, I lit the corners of each, and watched them blacken and crumble.

Only when I had removed all the charred pieces from the sink did I climb back into bed and pull the duvet over my head, telling myself nothing had happened. That it had just been another ordinary anniversary.

FOUR

On Monday I made my way to Fulham. I had an appointment with Dr Redfield and probably would have rescheduled, as I usually did, had it not been for the card and photo. I may have destroyed the evidence, tried to tell myself nothing had happened, but erasing the memory was impossible.

As I walked along Fulham Palace Road, I tried to remember the last time I’d kept an appointment with Dr Redfield. I had a vague memory of wearing a loose top because the shoulder kept falling down, and I was conscious of constantly hiking it back up, so it must have been during the summer. And now the end of the year was approaching. Would she see right through me? Would she know I was only going now because she was the only person I could mention what had been happening to? But I didn’t suppose it mattered. She was not a friend whose feelings I had to worry about; she was paid to listen.

It always astonished me that Dr Redfield worked from home, letting people into her private family house. It was a beautiful three-storey terrace house on Rigault Road, and if I’d owned it, I wouldn’t have let people like me anywhere near it. She worked out of a downstairs room that had been converted into an office, but other rooms were visible from the front door, so what was to stop someone strolling around, prying into her life?

I hated to think how much Mum was forking out for my sessions. I’d been having them on and off for over ten years and I knew she was dipping into the inheritance Dad had left her. Many times I’d tried to persuade her I was fine without Dr Redfield, but she wouldn’t listen. My sessions were only monthly – or meant to be at least – but it still added up, so I worried how she was managing. But Mum would never discuss it. To her, financial affairs were not something to burden your children with. Even if that child was now an adult, and responsible for everything bad that had happened in your life.

Dr Redfield was already standing at the door, watching me, when I walked up the path. As always, she was dressed immaculately, this time in a pencil skirt, cardigan and pretty black and white scarf tied in a knot around her neck. I could never tell her exact age, but she was probably fifty-something yet better dressed than I was. My clothes weren’t dowdy, just nondescript. Jeans, slightly fitted t-shirts or jumpers, boots or trainers. Nothing that would make me stand out, but nothing that would point me out as a slob either. It was all about blending in.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t been standing here long, I just saw you from the window,’ Dr Redfield said, smiling and beckoning me inside. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Leah, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’

I looked at my watch and it was only five to ten. But Dr Redfield wouldn’t mind about giving me an extra five minutes; she was kind and considerate, which only made me feel worse for cancelling so many appointments. Following her into the office, I sat down on one of the black leather armchairs while she set about making me a cup of tea. Despite the infrequency of my visits, she always remembered I liked to have tea during our sessions.

‘So how have you been?’ She sat on the other chair and took a sip of whatever she had made for herself.

I wondered if she made her patients drinks to make us feel more like we were just having a cosy chat rather than a counselling session. But whatever the case, it worked. I told her I’d been fine but she scrunched up her eyes and frowned.

‘Have you been going out at all? Meeting people?’ By people she meant men. She considered it an issue that I hadn’t let anyone near me for so long, but it should have counted for something that I was okay with that. That it was my choice. Until Julian. But I wasn’t going to mention him, or the fact that I’d been scouring the website for weeks, because nothing had happened. And there was no way it ever could.

‘No, I didn’t mean that kind of fine. Just, well, I suppose I meant fine for me.’

Dr Redfield nodded, waiting for me to continue. Both her hands cradled her mug and she crossed her legs, pointing them towards me. No doubt she was an expert in body language, every position she took up deliberate, a means to an end. But I didn’t mind. I was just grateful she didn’t make notes. She might do afterwards, of course; how else would she remember everything about all her patients? But she at least had the courtesy to wait until the session was over.

When I didn’t speak she continued her questioning. ‘How’s work going?’

‘It’s fine. I can cope with it. It doesn’t cause me any problems, at least.’

She nodded again. ‘You’re still at the library? That must be enjoyable for someone who loves books as much as you.’

Again I was impressed with her memory, and wondered if someone could learn to retain more information. Although that wouldn’t help me; I needed less information cluttering my head.

‘It gives me a quiet life,’ I said, shifting in my chair. I began to grow uncomfortable with her line of questioning. She knew all this about me already. She knew my job at the library was the only one I’d ever had. That since I’d given up on university, there was nothing else for me. It was as if it was our first session and we were starting from scratch.

‘And the care home? Do you still volunteer there?’

I nodded. ‘As much as I can. I love being there, keeping the residents company.’

Dr Redfield smiled. We had talked about my voluntary work before and she had told me how pleased she was that I did it, how selfless it was. I’d tried to explain that I got just as much out of it as the residents but she told me not to be hard on myself. That I was doing a good thing. I’d wanted to ask her if she thought it made up for anything but I’d kept quiet, fearing her answer.

After an eternity of similar questions, which I went along with because I liked her a lot, I owed her, Dr Redfield threw something out that I wasn’t, but should have been, expecting. ‘Can I ask what you did yesterday? After work?’

I stared at her but she held my gaze, her eyes widening, showing me we both knew exactly what she meant. I hesitated at first, but why had I gone there if not to reach out to her and get some advice? She didn’t usually tell me what to do, preferring that I made my own decisions, but she could at least guide me. So I told her about the card and photo, and she listened, storing it away in the filing cabinet inside her head, to be referred to again next session.

‘Well, I suppose it could have been instigated by the date. Maybe that will be the end of it.’ She drummed her fingers on her mug. ‘However, if it continues I would have to think that this is something a bit more serious than someone just trying to upset you.’

I thought about this for a moment. I hadn’t wanted to consider that this might continue. At least not beyond the twelfth. The post had already arrived when I’d left that morning and there had been nothing further, so it was easy to convince myself it was over. But after Dr Redfield’s suggestion I was far from sure.

‘Well, what do you think I should do?’

She paused, biting her lip before answering. ‘I think it’s too early to go to the police because there’s nothing obviously threatening in either thing.’ She frowned. ‘At least not to anyone else.’ She didn’t have to tell me this because there was no way I would go to the police, even if I had been directly threatened. No way in hell.

It was making me anxious talking about the subject so I tried to dismiss it. ‘I’ll just see what happens,’ I told her. ‘There’s no point getting carried away, is there?’

I could tell she was disappointed, but Dr Redfield was good at taking a hint, and quickly moved the conversation on to Mum. They had met a few times through mutual friends and, as far as I knew, got on well, even though Dr Redfield had to keep the relationship professional. But even if they had become friends, I trusted her. I might not have always been eager to attend my appointments, but I knew she would never let me down. Despite what she knew about me.

‘Do you visit her often?’ she asked, placing her mug on the desk. I was still holding mine, even though I’d finished the last drop some time ago.

‘As much as I can,’ I said, but then reconsidered. ‘Not enough, though.’ The truth was, I hadn’t seen Mum for over two months, and she only lived in Watford, less than an hour away. My visits were usually fortnightly but lately I had been putting them off, with no idea of why.

‘I see,’ Dr Redfield said, and for the first time that day I saw judgement flicker across her face. She understood everything I had done, but couldn’t forgive me neglecting my mother. Of course she would never say this, but she didn’t have to.

‘I’ll go again soon, though,’ I said quickly. And I was surprised to find that I meant it. I suddenly missed Mum, despite things being strained between us.

Then it was Dr Redfield’s turn to shock me. ‘Have you ever spoken to your mother about what happened?’

I was not prepared for this question. She didn’t usually broach this topic so abruptly, normally coaxing me into bringing it up myself. This was all wrong. I shifted in my chair to give myself time to get my thoughts in order. ‘No. But then I think she finds it difficult to talk about. And I don’t want to push her.’

‘But she does love you, Leah. So maybe you should give her the chance to talk about everything.’

‘How do I even begin to talk about ruining her life?’ This was no exaggeration, not me being difficult or petulant. I had brought chaos and disorder to a world Mum always kept neat and tidy, as if she was the housekeeper of more than just our home.

Dr Redfield tried to assure me this wasn’t the case, but not even she could convince me I was wrong. I glanced at my watch. We had ten minutes left. Ten minutes in which she’d want me to talk about something it hurt me to revisit. ‘Is it possible to live with guilt?’ I asked her, finally putting my mug down and clutching the strap of my bag instead. ‘Even if every day it threatens to suffocate me?’

Her eyes widened. Me bringing this up would be a strong signal we were making progress. ‘I think it’s an unhealthy emotion to cling to. But inevitable given your circumstances.’ My circumstances. Is that what she’d labelled this? Is that how I was supposed to think of it? ‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Leah. Make a life for yourself and live it. A full life. That’s all you can do. You can’t erase the past but you can make sure your future isn’t dictated by it. Punishing yourself won’t change anything. And you’ve done that long enough.’

I wanted to tell her that I was happy with how I lived. My actions didn’t affect or hurt anyone around me, and I was free in a way she could never understand. But I was beginning to doubt this myself. I nodded, assuring her I would start by visiting Mum. It was a small offering, but seemed to appease her.