Weightless (6 page)

‘Chances are that he’s on there,’ she said.
‘You could sign up and send him a message.’

‘Thanks, maybe I will.’

I knew I would because I was desperate to
talk to Jack. I couldn’t shake the need to explain my behavior.

So, with shaking fingers I joined the
Facebook generation (apparently comprised entirely of Olds). I
added a photo so he’d know who I was, and typed his name into the
search box. More than a dozen Jack Winslows appeared down the
screen. I could eliminate a few right away, like the portly man who
lived in Seattle and the Jack Winslow who’s profile picture showed
a very fit torso. Not that my Jack wasn’t fit, but his was more of
a two-pack than a six-pack and he wasn’t the type to brag.

Then I saw one who might be him. The photo
wasn’t clear enough to know for sure, but when I clicked on his
name, I saw our school name appear. My Jack. The Message button sat
at the top of his profile, daring me to go ahead.

I typed quickly and hit enter before I could
chicken out.

Dear Jack, will you please talk to me? I
love you.

Annabel

That was all I could do. If he’d give me a
chance to explain then… I don’t know what I thought would happen
then. I guess I hoped there would be a way to fix what I’d
broken.

Within a few minutes a little red box
appeared at the top of my profile. I took a deep breath and clicked
on it.

Jack Winslow

I’m sorry, Annabel. I don’t even know who
you are.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I clicked on his
name, just to see his face again.

The page you requested was not found.

Chapter 9

Let’s see. A dozen ignored phone calls plus a
curt message. And according to Kate, the
page not found
notice meant he’d blocked me or deleted his account. So I’d
potentially driven the poor man off Facebook. Just how many ways
were there for Jack to tell me that what I did was
unforgivable?

All week long, I couldn’t stop thinking
about the message he sent.
I don’t even know who you are
.
That’s what really bothered me, because it wasn’t the case. He did
know who I was.

At the risk of turning into a stalker-type
person, I had one last option. I opened a new page in my notebook
and began to write.

Dear Jack,

I
’
d like to introduce myself
properly. I
’
m
Annabel Markham. You may not have noticed me much in school. I was
the fat girl who never looked anyone in the eye for fear of what
I
’
d see there. It
wasn
’
t that I
didn
’
t want to be
sociable, just that I didn
’
t know how to do it very well. So
you
’
d have
thought I was shy, or possibly a little standoffish. I was also a
good student, except for PE, and even though I
can
’
t play piano
my singing voice is all right. I might have auditioned for one of
the musicals if I
’
d been more confident, but I wasn’t. So you probably
don
’
t remember me
at all.

Something remarkable
happened when I was at university, when I made friends with people
who gave me the chance to be me. That
’
s when I stopped being bullied
AnnaBall and started being just plain old Annabel. It took me a
long time to crawl out from under people like Christy Blake, but I
did it.

That
’
s why it
’
s so ironic, you mistaking me for
her, and me letting you. Because she
’
s the last person that
I
’
d want to be
mistaken for. But that
’
s what happened. You thought I was her, and I let you think
it. By the time I knew that I had to tell you the truth, the stakes
were too high because I already loved you.

It
’
s not true that you
don
’
t know me,
because every emotion and reaction that I
’
ve had with you has been honest.
And I really do think oysters were put on this earth as a
dare.

I
’
m so sorry I lied to you.
It
’
s unforgivable
but even so, I honestly think I could forgive you anything if the
shoe was on the other foot.

Annabel

I scribbled his name and my return address
on the envelope, put on my coat and headed towards Finchley Road. I
had an hour before Kate’s appointment to deliver the letter to his
flat.

As soon as Kate arrived for her appointment I
knew something had happened. She was smiling. ‘How are you, Ms.
Markham? Have a good day?’

‘Yes, thanks, Kate. Would you like a cup of
tea?’

‘I would, thanks,’ she said.

Things were getting more peculiar by the
minute. ‘So,’ I said, handing her the steaming mug of sticks and
leaves. ‘How is everything?’

Her smile broadened. ‘I hate to admit you
might be right, but you might be right. A couple of people have
actually commented on my haircut. Ariadne, of course, said I look
like a demented poodle, but when she wasn’t around one of the other
girls said it looked nice.’

‘And how did that make you feel?’

She looked at me for a minute. ‘Normal,’ she
finally said. ‘I felt normal.’

That was a very good start.

Chapter 10

A letter arrived two days later. My heart
sped as I ripped open the envelope and scanned down to the
signature. It wasn’t from Jack.

Dear Annabel,

Let me introduce myself. I’m Jeremy
Weatherwick. You probably don’t remember me from school but we were
in a few classes together. My hair was dyed black then and I had
pierced ears (though not in school – wouldn’t want break the Dress
Code). You may have noticed me around though outside school. I
usually wore black platform boots, a long leather coat and (I’m
embarrassed to admit) black lipstick. But maybe not. Or if you did
you probably ignored me and my friends. Most people did. We weren’t
what you’d call the popular kids. We were just a bunch of Emos.

So when you mistook me for Jack, what could
I do but go along with it? I guess with my normal hair color there
is a strong resemblance. Who’d have guessed? To be honest I always
thought Jack was a bit of a twat, but hey, if being him meant THE
Christy Blake talking to me then why not?

Then you agreed to leave with me (I didn’t
believe you at first) and on top of that you weren’t just a pretty
face. You were funny and smart and nice and I couldn’t wait to see
you again. You seemed to feel the same way.

The only problem was, you were excited to
see Jack, not the lipstick-wearing ex-Emo who’d duped you into
going out with him. And then we slept together and how could I tell
you then?

I nearly had a heart attack when Mike turned
up. I just prayed he wouldn’t call me Jeremy. Instead he outed
you.

So I guess that’s the punch line. While you
were gaming me, I was doing the same to you.

But other than that first night I haven’t
lied about myself. I don’t know if you really can forgive me, but
I’d love it if you could try. My phone is always on if you want to
give me a call.

Jeremy

I sat there in my flat trying to piece
everything together. Jack wasn’t Jack at all. He was Jeremy and he
was right. I didn’t remember him any more than he probably
remembered me. We’d both crept about at the edges back then.

So if Jack was Jeremy then of course the
real Jack on Facebook had no idea who I was. No wonder he responded
the way he did and then blocked me. He must have thought I was a
psycho.

Although I suppose there was a sort of
poetic justice in professing my love to the person I hadn’t had the
guts to talk to in school. Let’s call that closure then, shall we,
rather than abject humiliation?

The important thing was that Jack, I mean
Jeremy, wanted to talk to me. But did I want to talk to him? After
all, he had lied to me about who he was too. Relationships had to
be based on trust. So could I trust him?

He was probably wondering the same thing
about me. At least that was a question I could answer with one
hundred per cent certainty. Yes. He could trust me. I had to tell
him that.

I wouldn’t call him though. There’d been too
many misunderstandings already.

The Tube was already getting crowded by the
time I jogged down the station steps. There was a chance we’d miss
each other, passing on trains bound for opposite ends of the line.
It had been that kind of relationship so far.

People were streaming from their offices and
hurrying through Soho Square when I arrived. Some had their
umbrellas up against the evening rain. Others didn’t bother,
instead hunching into their coats in stoic defiance. I didn’t bring
an umbrella and was feeling neither stoic nor defiant. Just
nervous.

I stared at Jeremy’s office windows, glowing
in the semi-darkness, as I dialed his mobile.

He picked up on the second ring. ‘Hello.
Annabel.’

It was weird hearing him say my name. ‘I’m
downstairs. Can you come out?’