When I got home from work, however, it was to find that she was dressed again in her usual grubby attire. The nose ring and eyebrow piercing were back in place, as was the thick black eyeliner and bad attitude. The fresh-faced and presentable young woman of earlier had completely disappeared, and my daughter was as hostile and as unreachable as ever.
But from then on, once a week, the same thing would happen. Hannah would appear early for breakfast dressed in pretty, fashionable clothes, her hair neatly brushed and with subtle make-up in place. Sometimes she’d return within an hour, her face like thunder as she stormed upstairs to lock herself in her room, but usually she’d stay out all day, with a pleased, self-satisfied expression as she strolled back through the front door. After a while I gave up asking where she’d been: I could sense she enjoyed my confusion far too much ever to tell me.
A few weeks later the phone calls began. She always seemed to be expecting them, always ready and waiting by the upstairs extension, snatching up the receiver as soon as it began to ring. She’d mumble a ‘hello,’ then pull the lead into her room, shutting the door and talking in hushed whispers.
In the end I couldn’t stand it any longer: I decided to follow her. It was a warm day in September. She came down as usual all dressed up and as soon as she left the house I called into work, quickly leaving a message to say I’d had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in until later. When I emerged on the street I saw her disappearing around the corner and got into my car to follow her, keeping a safe distance behind and parking out of sight when I saw her waiting at the bus stop.
I followed her bus to the nearest town and when she got off I parked and saw her hurrying towards the train station. Inside, I saw her queuing at the ticket office and I managed to stay hidden behind a magazine stand while I listened to her ask for a ticket to a town in Suffolk, twelve miles away. I knew I’d never be able to get on the train without her seeing me, and I wouldn’t be able to get there before her in my car, so for that day, frustrated and more confused than ever, I gave up and went home.
The following week, however, I was ready for her. As soon as she came down for breakfast I made an excuse about wanting to get to work early and drove straight to Suffolk. I arrived in a large market town not very far away from the village Doug and I grew up in. When I got there I parked and, sure enough, ten minutes later saw her emerging from the station. Keeping a safe distance behind, I followed her as she headed into the town’s centre. Eventually, to my astonishment she came to a large building with a sign outside that said, ‘Crofton Hill Sixth Form College’. As I loitered at the gate I saw her approach a bench near the main entrance, then sit down to wait.
At eleven o’clock students began to pour out of the college doors and a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl a year or so older than Hannah walked towards my daughter with a wide smile on her face. When she reached her, Hannah got up and the two girls hugged. I was dumbstruck. Who on earth was she? Was Hannah secretly studying here? I was utterly confused. I watched as the two linked arms – such an easy, affectionate gesture, and so unlike anything I’d seen my daughter do before that my astonishment deepened. When they turned in my direction I hurriedly ducked out of sight, concealing myself behind a parked van. A few minutes later I saw them heading back into town so I followed them to a café where they sat down together at one of the outside tables.
I watched them for about an hour. Hannah looked so carefree and happy, so entirely different from her usual self as she smiled and laughed that I felt a wave of sadness, even jealousy for this stranger, whoever she was. When, finally, the girl looked at her watch and grimaced, they both got up and hugged again, before going their separate ways, leaving me to drive home alone, still entirely confused.
For three weeks I remained none the wiser, and then, one morning everything suddenly became horribly clear.
It was a Sunday, and Doug had taken Toby to rugby practice as usual. Hannah had barely shown her face all morning and I was about to start the ironing. I happened to be standing right next to the downstairs phone when I heard Hannah come out of her room and pause on the landing. I knew she was in her usual spot, hand poised over the receiver, ready to lift it as soon as it rang. This time I was ready for her and as soon as it started ringing I snatched it up myself. My heart thudded, had Hannah heard the click? Apparently not. The person on the other end was speaking. ‘Becky, is that you?’
Becky?
‘Yes! How’s it going?’
‘Fine, you know, college work and stuff …’
‘Ugh, how’d it go with that essay?’ my daughter asked.
There followed a conversation about schoolwork, annoying teachers and favourite TV shows. The usual chatter of your average teenager. I should have been used to it, should have heard this or something like it all the time. But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t my daughter talking, not really. I knew Hannah – I knew she wasn’t this girl, the sort of ordinary teenager I’d long given up wishing she’d become. This was Hannah pretending to be someone else entirely. It reminded me of the day I’d overheard her impersonating me talking to the neighbour: today, too, each girlish giggle, breathless exclamation, was nothing more than an act. It was both fascinating and utterly chilling.
As I listened, it became clear that Hannah – or ‘Becky’ – was claiming that she, too, was at a sixth form college taking her A-levels and after some more chat about coursework and deadlines, the conversation turned to me and Doug. ‘What’s going on with your parents, anyway?’ the girl asked.
‘Doing my head in as usual,’ Hannah sighed. ‘I wish my mum and dad were like yours. They sound so great, you’re so lucky.’
The girl snorted. ‘You’re joking, right? They don’t give a shit about what I want. Mum just wants me to go into medicine like her so she can show off to all her friends, and Dad only cares about his own work and what my brothers are doing.’ She sighed. ‘They don’t take me seriously at all. Like that Greenpeace rally I went on last week, I tried to talk to them about it and they just nodded and asked me if I’d done my bloody revision. I mean, who cares about that? Half the planet’s being destroyed and they’re worried about a fucking mock Biology exam. So as usual we ended up having a row. They don’t see how important this stuff is to me, and I’m sure I’m going to fail my exams anyway, sometimes I feel like giving up.’
‘No you’re not,’ Hannah replied. ‘I wish you believed in yourself more.’ Mock sternly, she added, ‘OK, repeat after me: My name’s Emily Lawson and I’m going to ace all my A-levels. Go on, do it!’
I barely heard as the girl gigglingly obeyed. I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched, the air knocked clean from my lungs. I don’t remember what they said after that, only that afterwards I went into the kitchen and felt the room spin around me. As I clung to the table, I was dizzy with shock.
Emily.
Emily Lawson.
Oh please God, no.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
21
London, 2017
Her head felt full of cotton wool, her mouth and throat dry as sand. She became aware of the strong whiff of disinfectant mixed with the boiled-veg-and-gravy smell of school dinners. Her closed eyelids prickled. For a while she drifted, sleep ebbing and flowing.
‘Clara?’ A voice from far away, then the gradual drift forward into consciousness. ‘Clara, can you hear me?’
A sudden sharp awareness of pain in her throat and chest, each breath a dragging rasp. She opened her eyes, daylight harsh against her retinas. A face leaning in that was female, middle-aged, framed by a dark bob. The features took shape, a stranger’s patient gaze upon her. Clara tried to speak, ‘Uh—’
‘Well, good! You’re awake.’ The voice was briskly kind.
All at once the memories rushed back: her smoke-filled flat, the looming threat of Alison, and her fear returned in one violent rush. She tried to raise her head.
‘How are you feeling?’ The stranger’s face was nearer now; pale pink lipstick, crow’s feet around wide blue eyes, a white coat.