Karen had her back to me, browning the fish in the frying pan, turning round every so often as if checking I was still there. She licked the spoon and smiled, taking me back to yesterday evening, before I’d packed, when I dug out my photos from our Leeds days, eager to hold Karen’s face clearly in my mind. In every photo she appeared in, she shone. Parties, barbecues, sunbathing, our trip to see the tennis at Wimbledon.
There was the weekend in the second year when we went to Brighton. She took me to my first comedy club (an eye-opener) and Salsa dancing (my hips actually had rhythm). It was during that weekend when we were on the beach and she was goading me to go into the water, that she found out I couldn’t swim. So that became her project for the following term.
‘You will float, Alice Flemming,’ she said. ‘Not only that, but you will glide through the water like a mermaid.’
One of the best things about Karen was that she believed in me.
She was right too. She became my dedicated personal trainer at the University pool and after seven weeks I was doing doggy paddle – it was splashy and uncoordinated, but I didn’t go under. A few weeks after that I mastered breast stroke.
Without warning, Karen came over from the stove, wiped her fingers on her apron and gave me a broad hug. ‘I’m so glad you’ve got all these plans and are doing so well.’
‘A lot of it’s down to you, you know.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘It is. Honestly. You took me under your wing at Leeds and showed me what was possible.’ I stopped there. I didn’t want to embarrass her.
But there was something else.
She was saying all the right things, but none of it felt quite genuine. Karen had been my glorious vision of the person I dreamt of being and I wanted her to be that person again. The strong, intrepid woman who spoke her mind and relished a challenge. What wasn’t she telling me?
When she dished up I tried to look pleased, but I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I felt like someone was boring a pneumatic drill into my head and was still waiting for the tablets to kick in.
I glanced up at the clock again. One thing was clear. Karen had been mistaken about the time earlier – or maybe she hadn’t wanted me to worry – but I hadn’t been dazed for only a few seconds. I’d been out cold for at least twenty minutes.
Chapter 5
We’re here and everything is set up. It’s going to be a very lonely road from now on. I need to keep track of every detail. Mustn’t stuff up.
Alice is so innocent and unaware. She has no idea why she’s here. Quite sad, to be honest – she’s clearly missed me heaps and is so keen and excited about being invited.
Had a near miss soon after we arrived, when she went and banged her head under the sink. Totally blacked out and I was in a real stew thinking I was going to have to rush her to A&E. I checked her pulse, of course, and made sure she wasn’t having any weird kind of fit. She moaned a bit and when she finally came round I managed to convince her it wasn’t that bad. Luckily, she trusts me. Really didn’t want to risk her being kept in for observation or whatever – I need her right where I can see her, the whole time.
If only she knew why I’ve got her here. If it all goes smoothly she’ll never know. I’m banking on her, hoping that she won’t ask awkward questions. Or, if she does, she’ll take my word for it and shut up when I tell her to.
She’s come a long way emotionally by the sounds of it – trying to stand up for herself and be her own person. Good luck to her. She’s trying at least. I don’t mind a bit – as long as she doesn’t get too big for her boots and mess everything up.
Chapter 6
When I woke the next morning, the world had changed. It was eerily quiet and still; as if all the sounds outside the cottage had been sucked away. I could tell from the quality of the shimmering grey light that there had been a fall of snow and I tugged at the curtains to see how deep it was.
Living in London again, I’d forgotten about the impact of a vast snowfall. Not just a dusting, but the dense accumulation that smothers everything in sight by dawn. I’d forgotten how it blanches the colours out of the air, smoothes over hard edges and creates new plump mysterious shapes.
I could see shades of white backed up for miles across the valley, over pine trees, crags and the occasional rooftop, but the scene was quickly closing in on itself. It felt as though the whole world had stopped and I’d stepped inside a black and white photograph. Nothing moved except the hands of the clock.
As soon as I turned round the headache hit me again. It was like being smacked by a blunt instrument. I knew the only reason I’d slept at all was because I’d taken a sleeping tablet.