The Girl With No Past (8 page)

‘Oh this is…nice,’ Maria said, when we reached my front room. ‘Love books much?’ She gazed around, taking it all in, trying to match my flat to what she already knew about me. I don’t know what conclusion she reached but I’d put money on the fact she never pictured me living anywhere like this. Alone, yes, but not somewhere so basic and soulless.

‘It’ll do for now,’ I said, sitting on the sofa. ‘I’ll get something better eventually.’

Maria continued standing. ‘Hmmm. You should see my place, it’s a right shit tip! You should come over for dinner.’ Her words were lies to make me feel better but, either way, I was grateful for her tact. ‘Anyway, you just stay here and relax, I’ll find my way around the kitchen…if you don’t mind?’

I shook my head, sure I wouldn’t be able to say no and make it sound like the truth. I was supposed to be ill and, whatever else I felt, I was grateful for her kindness.

She was already in the kitchen, calling across to me. ‘I know soup’s a bit dull, but it’s meant to be good for flu-type things and, well, I wasn’t sure you’d want anything else.’

From the sofa, I told Maria that soup was fine and listened to her banging around in my drawers and cupboards, biting my lip because it just didn’t feel right. Perhaps if we’d known each other a lot longer I wouldn’t have felt so strange, but it had only been a few months, and the truth was you could know someone for years but not
know
them. I, of all people, knew that. It would be easy to tell Maria I felt a lot better, even help her make the soup, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to face going into work the next day when I had my emailer to sort out. So I kept up the pretence.

We sat at the kitchen table to eat, and I stared at the French stick Maria had bought to dip into our soup. I longed for a piece but stuck only to the soup to preserve my lie. If I wanted the day off tomorrow I couldn’t have Maria suspecting me. I didn’t think she would blab to Sam if she thought I was faking it, but how could I really know when our friendship – if that was the right word – was so new.

‘You’re lucky, you know,’ Maria said, dunking her bread in her soup.

I almost laughed because that was one word I’d never been able to attach to myself. ‘What, to have a couple of days off work? I’d rather go in,’ I said, knowing that wasn’t what she’d meant, ‘than be stuck at home ill.’

She stopped chewing. ‘I mean, what are you? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?’

When I told her I was thirty her eyes rolled upwards.

‘Do you know how lucky you are? You’ve got the best years still ahead of you and every chance to meet someone.’

All I could do was nod. That was exactly how it looked to other people. I seemed normal enough, looked okay and could hold a decent conversation, so why wouldn’t they assume I could easily find someone to settle down with? On the surface, perhaps the best years were ahead of me, but I couldn’t tell Maria, or anyone else, that my past had erased any chance of a future.

‘So have you,’ I said, attempting to deflect the conversation away from me. ‘You just can’t let it stress you and make you seem…’

‘Desperate? Yeah, I know. But it’s hard not to when you
are
. I’m bloody thirty-nine, Leah.
Thirty-nine!
’ She laughed then, but I knew it was just for show. I’d quickly realised that her inability to settle down with anyone bothered Maria.

‘Stop looking,’ I said. ‘That’s all you have to do.’ I sounded like I knew what I was talking about and felt like a fraud. No man had been near me since Adam, and the little I had learnt had been from my time on the website, or from Maria.

She nodded and looked around the kitchen, something passing across her face that I was sure was annoyance. Had I spoken out of turn? She was always so open about things that I’d assumed no topic of conversation was out of bounds.

‘You’re right,’ she said eventually. ‘Anyway, are you feeling any better? You seem to be. Shall I make us some tea or coffee?’

While Maria boiled the kettle, I ignored her protests and washed up. I needed something to help pass the time because as much as I liked her, I needed to be alone to work out what I could do about my problem. I had no idea how long she intended to stay, and I hated the uncertainty her unexpected visit had brought. As if my life wasn’t already in a state of flux.

‘I’ll just have this coffee then I’ll have to get home,’ she said, as if she could sense my thoughts.

We took our mugs to the sofa and while I sat drinking mine, wondering how it could taste different just because someone else had made it, Maria took it upon herself to browse through my books. It shouldn’t have mattered; there was nothing there I had to worry about, but I still balked at the intrusion.

When she trotted off to use the bathroom, I took our mugs to the kitchen. Mine still had at least a quarter of the cup left but I tipped it down the sink and doused it in washing up liquid, my mind already assessing my options for how to deal with the messages I’d been getting.

Maria crept into the kitchen so quietly that when she spoke I jumped, almost dropping my mug in the sink. ‘I would have done that.’

I spun around. ‘No, don’t worry, it’s fine. Thanks for coming over, though, and for dinner, it was really kind of you.’

‘No trouble at all. Just hope you feel better soon.’ Her eyes narrowed as she said this, forcing me to look at the floor.

‘Any man would be lucky to have you, Maria. And you will find him. Didn’t you say to me there’s someone for everyone?’

She shook her head. ‘Well, I must have been drunk. Anyway, I’ll let myself out, you just get some rest.’ Heading out, she scanned my flat again as she walked to the top of the stairs. But before she reached them she turned back around, frowning. ‘You do seem a bit better, though. That’s good, isn’t it?’

Once she’d left, I paced the flat, unable to shake off Maria’s visit. I knew it was irrational; she was a friendly work colleague and nothing negative had ever passed between us, but something had been different that evening, and I couldn’t pinpoint what. Perhaps I was still shaken after the email, and that had put a slant on her visit? Or it could have been that it was too strange having someone in my flat after so long on my own.

But it had been nice to have company and I wondered if I could do it again. It was too much to hope that I could ever invite a man here – like Julian – but maybe I had taken a small step, even in the midst of the chaos that was unfolding. But still, no matter how I justified things, Maria had definitely not been herself and it could only be because I’d upset her with my frank words.

I couldn’t think about that now, though; I had an email to write, and my words needed to be chosen carefully. With the laptop balanced on my knee, I logged in to my Hotmail account and opened the message. I hadn’t intended to read it again, I’d just meant to click reply, but there were the words, taunting and mocking me, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Do you really think any man could be interested in you after what you’ve done?

And seeing them again, every intention I might have had to keep calm and work this out evaporated. Anger coursed through my body and my fingers flew to the keys as if they were one step ahead of my brain. How dare they? It may have been true but that was for me to think, nobody else.

I read my words again.

Yes, I do. Get over it.

There was still time to press delete, abandon the whole email and rethink my strategy, but, of course, that’s not what I did. Within seconds I was staring at a message telling me my email had been sent.

It’s hard to say what I felt afterwards, as I sat staring at the screen. It wasn’t regret, just anxiety because I wasn’t used to acting so spontaneously. I preferred to think things through carefully, weigh up all the possible outcomes. This seemed to have become a habit of late; I had done the same with Julian. Well, it was too late to dwell on that now. On any of it.

Thinking of Julian, I logged on to Two Become One. Even if he wasn’t around, reading some chat room conversations might help distract me from the mess I was making. Plus, if he was online, there was no better way to get back at whoever was emailing me than to prove his or her words wrong. Even though I didn’t believe that, or that Julian could be interested in me for that matter, I needed to hear from him.

He wasn’t online but when I checked my inbox, he had left me a message. It was short, but his words lifted me out of the fog I was in. They couldn’t have been more different from those of my emailer.

Missed you this eve. Was hoping to chat! Speak soon.

I replied straight away, given that there was no thought needed for what I would say. I was following my heart for the first time since Adam and it felt good. Scary but good.

Will go on tomorrow evening, hope to chat then!

I studied my reply for a moment, making sure it didn’t seem desperate or needy. I had learnt from Maria that men detested that. When I was certain it was okay, I sent it, logged off and went to bed.

It was no surprise that I couldn’t sleep again. I tried to think about Julian and how if I was a different person we might have been able to meet, but my thoughts were flung back to the emailer. I wasn’t sure what effect my reply would have but it was too late to worry about that now.

EIGHT

As usual, Miss Hollis can’t be heard above the cacophony of voices in the classroom. Imogen and I sit at the back, our heads buried together, trying not to be overheard by any of our classmates.

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Tell me that again. Slowly.’ Although I have heard exactly what Imogen said, I need to make sure because this is a huge deal.

‘Last night,’ she whispers. ‘Finally. It was weird but good weird not bad weird, I mean I liked it, course I did cos it’s Corey.’

I should have seen this coming; she has done nothing but talk about wanting to lose her virginity with Corey for months now. But it is still a shock. Not a bad one, not really, because she is my friend and I want her to be happy, but I just feel sad. For myself. That there is no hope of me ever losing anything with any boy. I am also surprised because I thought Imogen was going to wait until her sixteenth birthday. But I will just have to be happy for her, especially after everything she does for me.

‘That’s great,’ I say. It’s not hard to mean it when I see the excitement on her face. ‘Do you feel…different?’

She shrugs. ‘A bit. Kind of. Yeah, I think I do.’ But I doubt this. Surely it must all be psychological because it wasn’t like it physically made you any different. At least not on the outside. But I am no expert so I keep my mouth shut; I have never even kissed a boy.

The door swings open and Mr Faulkner, our head of year, strides in. We call him Sergeant Faulkner because he bellows commands at us as if we’re in boot camp, but he’s not all bad. And his strictness is far preferable to Miss Hollis’s inability to take control.

Behind him, following him into the room is a boy I have never seen before. He is wearing our uniform so must be a student here, but up until now I thought I knew everyone in our year, by face if not by name.

The room falls silent and Miss Hollis quickly stands up, probably trying to make her presence felt now that Mr Faulkner is here. The head of year scowls. I bet he is angrier with her than he is with us; we are just doing what kids do, it is Miss Hollis’s job to keep us in order.

‘Year Ten, this is Adam Bowden,’ Mr Faulkner says, his voice loud enough to shatter glass. ‘He’s joined us from another school and will be in this form, so let’s all make him feel welcome.’ Beside him, Adam Bowden slouches and stares at the class, looking as if he couldn’t care less whether or not he is made welcome. I wonder how he can be so confident. If it were me standing there I’d be hiding behind Mr Faulkner, wishing the floor would swallow me up.

But not Adam Bowden. No. He just stares at each of us in turn, from underneath his floppy dark hair, nodding his head as if making secret judgements about us, before strolling to an empty seat at the back. He doesn’t even wait for Miss Hollis to allocate him a seat. I am impressed. Impressed and a little startled by this boy’s behaviour.

He turns to Imogen and me as he slumps in his chair and raises his eyebrows, smiling as he does so. It’s not a mocking smile, but quite a friendly one. And this is when I realise that, whoever this boy is, I think I like him.

Once he’s delivered a lecture about the school field being out of bounds when it’s raining, Mr Faulkner leaves, letting the door slam behind him, and we all stay quiet, waiting to see what Miss Hollis will say, if anything.

‘Um, excuse me, Adam? You’ll be sitting here.’ She points to an empty seat in the front row. It’s Nicholas’s seat but he hasn’t been in school for ages and no one knows where he is.

Adam’s reply is firm and confident, matching his appearance. ‘No thanks, Miss. I’m fine here.’ He rests his head in his hands and stares at her, daring her to object.

For a second, Miss Hollis looks shocked. She nervously eyes the class, as if expecting someone to back her up, but most of the students are now beginning to chuckle.