Page 84 of The Truth About You and Me
Just like last time, I focus on everything I can remember until I’m hit by a sense of something being off. The shadow across the road moves. I hear – not my own thoughts exactly – but a feeling of something definitely not being right.
But this part is new.
Footsteps. Slow, steady, the sounds of boots against tarmac. Mine? The shadow? Buildings move, roads sweep forwards and retract, curve then rise and fall. Then I see a flash of long red hair against the blacks and greys of the shadows. My voice rings out, ‘Excuse me?’
The strike comes from behind me. The pain of impact so real that I gasp. Maggie instantly pulls away, her worried face leaning over as her room comes back into view.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks, concerned. ‘Jack?’
I’m hot, the blood rushing around my body.
‘I… I think so.’
‘Let me get you a glass of water.’ She hurries from the room, returning with a glass, which I drain. The images start to push and shove against each other. Maggie sits next to me, face etched with worry.
‘I think something was going to happen to her.’
‘To the redhead?’
‘I think so.’
‘We should go to the police.’
I’m hesitant, but I remember so much more now. ‘Agreed.’
Who is she?
I need to find out who she is.
And if anything happened to her.
36
JACK
I slip into fourth gear and glance at Maggie, watching the darkening patchwork of countryside that was the backdrop to my childhood rushing past. The mosaic of rolling fields to the left; to the right, glimpses of the coastline dipping under the setting sun keep up with our progress. Despite it being November, winter is yet to hit us in full force.
‘When shall we go to the police?’ Maggie asks. ‘I’m sure they’ll reopen your case now.’ She’s searching on her phone again for any mention of an attack, or a clue as to who the woman, or the person in the shadows was, but so far nothing has come up.
‘Yeah. Maybe.’
We’re quiet for a while, Maggie’s hand furiously typing into the search bar. ‘I’ll check the missing people pages, again.’
The sun catches the bronzes and golds of Maggie’s hair, her pupils small against the jade of her irises, and the memories of that time take on a fresh design. For so long, I had felt like I’d lost all purpose in this life, but now I’m starting to realise that the night I thought I’d lost everything was actually the beginning of something new. And now, with Maggie’s help, I’m finally finding answers to the questions that have plagued me since that night.
I think back to my previous session with Dr Levin. It’d been amazing to me, the pride I felt in being able to read The-lion-sat-on-the… I didn’t quite get plains, but after a few weeks of intensive reading and writing, for the first time I think that maybe, I might be able to find a way back. He’s made it clear I will never be the person I was – reading will always be taxing; the alexia will never go – but the reading age of a six-year-old is better than no reading at all.
I turn onto the steep driveway leading up to the house. ‘We’re here.’
‘Here?’ Her eyes widen as she looks up from her phone. ‘Your family lives on a cliff?’
I cast an apologetic glance in her direction as we pass the sign that I know reads:Chadwick Crest.
‘And they have acrestnamed after them. Ofcoursethey do.’ Her eyes sweep the surroundings, her head turning towards the sign as we pass.
‘Kind of, my great-great-grandfather named the place after himself. A kind of two fingers up to the previous owners. He worked on the estate when he was younger, then made his fortune.’
She’s alternating between pulling her cuffs down and pushing them back up her arms.
