My Second Life by Faye Bird Page B

myself. I’d taken her to the river and told her to go and hide, and it was dark, and she’d died because I’d killed her. I might have played with Catherine in this life as if she were my imaginary friend, but she was real. She was Frances’s daughter, and she had lived and she had died, and it was because of me.
    I looked up at number 38. I stood and I looked at it.
    I felt an urge to go inside.
    But why? To do what? To see Frances again? Frances was old, and she was ill, and how could I go to her after what I had done? I couldn’t. Except she was the only person in all the world I could talk to now. The only one.
    My heart started to pulse in my chest.
    I looked around.
    I was frightened.
    I wanted Mum.
    I wondered whether I’d ever find her.
    Ever see her again.
    If I was here living a second life to face the horror of what I had done, if I had to pay for it in some way, then I’d do that — I’d face it, I’d pay. But I needed my mum. I needed her.
    Dry grief grazed my throat raw. I felt so full of feeling and yet so empty. Since seeing Frances, nothing was normal anymore. Normal life had been replaced by huge swaths of emotion. The fear of what I’d done and the longing always for my mum was twisting tighter and tighter around me all the time now. It was suffocating me, and there was nothing I could do.
    I stepped out from under the trees and started walking toward the houses. Putting one foot in front of the other grounded me.
    I should go. I should go to school.
    I took a deep breath and looked up again.
    And that’s when I saw her.
    Frances.
    She stood at her front door, and she was beckoning me over.
    I went toward her.
    â€œIt’s you,” she said, when I reached the front path. “I’ve been watching you.”
    I didn’t answer.
    â€œYou know I have very little else to do these days but look out at the world from here.”
    There was silence.
    â€œDid you come to see me?” she said.
    I nodded. I hadn’t thought that I had, but she was right. I had.
    My throat was still so dry.
    I wasn’t sure whether my voice would be there if I tried to speak.
    I swallowed.
    â€œCome in,” Frances said. I didn’t reply.
    Suddenly I felt unsure about going inside. Frances looked at me.
    â€œYou know, you never told me your name,” she said.
    â€œAna,” I said. “It’s Ana.”
    â€œThat’s right,” she said. “I did know that. Millie told me. Ana what?”
    â€œAna Ross,” I said.
    â€œWell, Ana Ross. I think you should come in.” And she opened the door wider to let me through.
    And I went.
    Because in that moment I knew I had no choice but to do exactly as Frances said.

 
    12
    F RANCES INDICATED FOR ME to go into the front room. The windows were vast, the curtains were heavy. I saw her young. Her slim waist, her navy dress. I heard the muted laughter. It was all with me again in an instant. I felt uncomfortable in this room. I had wanted my dad here. An overwhelming need for him came over me. For a moment I thought I might cry the tears I had cried as a child, when I had needed him then.
    â€œPlease, sit down.” Frances pointed to a chair. “Do you want tea?”
    â€œNo, I’m fine,” I said. I looked at my watch. It was still early, but I’d need to start making my way to school really soon. “I won’t stay long.”
    â€œGood,” Frances said, sitting down in an armchair. She looked like she was in pain as she sat.
    â€œI didn’t mean to upset you when I came to the hospital,” I said. “I really didn’t mean to — ”
    â€œI was surprised you knew her name,” Frances cut in. “Catherine’s name.” And as she spoke she looked me directly in the eye in a way that made me feel so uneasy.
    â€œI … I came to the hospital because — ”
    â€œI may be old,” she interrupted,