Chapter 17
17
FOUR DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
I wake with a start. A montage of the day before dashing through my mind: the drive, the lay-by, the car park, the hike, the cave.
I know where he goes, I know how he disappears, and yet I still don’t know why.
We’d been tired when we got home last night, full of fish and chips, cheeks aching from smiling, thighs pleasingly humming with the warmth of a workout. I’d hung our coats over the banister to dry, thrown our gear into the washing machine ready to turn it on this morning. I’d been too tired last night and couldn’t face it. I’d fought sleep again, watched him for as long as I could until I drifted off. I’m quiet as I shift away from him. I need to find out who Rebecca Bevitt is; I need to find the answers before it’s too late.
‘Don’t go,’ he mumbles, his nose digging into the back of my neck. I turn my body to face him. He opens one eye, a slow smile on his face as he rolls onto his back. I begin to smile back but then my whole body locks.
The scratch is gone. I reach for his neck, running my finger over the place where I’d drawn blood .
‘Your neck,’ I say.
‘My neck?’
I sit up, turning his head from side to side, examining his skin, but there is nothing there, not a blemish.
‘Liv?’ he asks, confused.
‘Kit, did we go to the beach yesterday?’
‘The beach? No, I was working and?—’
I throw the sheets off the bed and rush into the kitchen. Pots and pans are scattered around the surfaces, the remains of something that looks like a pasta bake glued to the outsides of a glass Pyrex dish.
‘Liv!’ he shouts from the bedroom.
I spin around in a circle. Our coats aren’t hanging on the banister. I rush back into the kitchen and open the machine. It’s empty – no wetsuits, no towels. I hurry down the stairs. Our walking boots aren’t covered in sand, and my backpack is in the small cupboard at the foot of the stairs. It’s empty: no half-drunk bottle of water, no leftover bar of Snickers.
Yesterday didn’t happen.
At least not for him.
We didn’t go to the beach, he didn’t show me the cave, we didn’t go to the bay in Pembrokeshire.
I didn’t change anything.
The thought comes into the flat like a wave. It rushes through the open doors, floods through the windows, the doors; I’m drowning in this realisation, my throat tight, my lungs trying to gulp down air.
Memories of yesterday flicker and fade.
My legs carry me to the lounge, hand reaching for the corner of the table to steady myself. I’m shaking as I begin leafing through the books on the table, all tidied away, all with sticky labels and asterisk signs. A small shopping list sits atop a Post-it pad next to the pile of folders, ingredients for playdough for the science lesson I have clearly planned for when I go back to work after the Easter break. Or rather, she had planned – Liv from back then, Liv who spent the day planning, not driving to the coast, not walking inside a cave, not sitting on the beach as the sun set.
I’m alone. Stuck in the past without being able to change a damn thing.
Memories from my childhood creep in. You can’t go out, Liv; it’s cloudy. We can’t go on the bus, Liv; we can’t go to the shop. Can’t, can’t, can’t.
I can’t stop him leaving.
The future has already been written. It’s all there in permanent marker. I can’t wipe it away; I can’t erase any of it. I can’t change my future. I can’t make him stay.
I sink to the floor, wrap my arms around my knees and hug them, resting my head to the side.
‘Liv?’ Kit asks from behind me. I look at him over my shoulder. He’s standing in his boxers, hair unruly. ‘You OK?’
‘You’re going to leave me,’ I say. The words fall out of me in a breath.
‘What?’ He laughs. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because it’s true.’ The truth is folding in on itself. He sits down next to me, taking my hands in his.
‘I will never leave you,’ he says, planting determined kisses on my knuckles. I let out a small noise that finds its way out from the lump in my chest.
‘Unless… I mean is there something you need to tell me?’ he asks, fear in his eyes, like I’m going to tell him something unforgivable.
I laugh then. I laugh at the mess I’m in. Yes, there is someone else. No, there isn’t anyone else. Yes. No. Now. Then. Alive. Dead. Missing. Found. My life is like a map without place names. And I don’t have a compass. I laugh again. James has a tattoo of a compass on his right bicep. He had it done a year after Kit disappeared. So he could always find his way back, he’d said.
I realise I haven’t answered him. Kit’s eyes are beginning to lose their shine. ‘No,’ I lie. ‘There’s just you.’ And your lies. And your brother.
‘Come back to bed. Let me make you a cuppa, OK? I haven’t got a meeting until later today. We’ve got time.’
I almost laugh again. No, we don’t, Kit; we don’t have time.
He gently pulls me up, holds my hand until I’m back in bed.
I lie on my back staring at the ceiling. Then turn and reach for my phone. I type in: ‘Is time travel possible?’
The first answer that comes up is ‘Yes’. It’s on the NASA website.
NASA. It must be true if NASA say so, right?
I shift up and adjust the pillows behind my back. ‘ Although humans can’t hop into a time machine and go back in time, we do know that clocks on airplanes and satellites travel at a different speed than those on Earth. ’
Am I travelling at a different speed? Is this version of me real and I’ve, what, fast-forwarded to my past then reset? Like a broken alarm clock?
‘Tea and toast. Extra peanut butter,’ he says with an exaggerated shudder and a smile. He places the breakfast on the bedside cabinet and carries his tea to the other side, climbing in between the sheets. I slip my phone beneath the pillows. ‘Come here,’ he says pulling me towards him, putting his freezing cold feet against mine. I let out a little yelp.
‘Your feet are freezing!’
‘Sorry.’ He pulls them away but I hunt them out beneath the sheets with my own, warming them.
‘So what’s this about me leaving you?’ he asks .
My breathing has calmed. There is a strange numbness inside my chest now, like I’m floating, watching this all happening from a distance. ‘I just… I had a dream and it was so real, Kit.’ I turn to him, my hands running back over the place his neck should be marked.
‘What happened in the dream?’ he asks softly, pulling the palm of my hand to his mouth and kissing it.
‘You went for a hike… and you never came back.’
I watch his face closely, looking for a reaction, a hint that would make him realise that I’m on to his plans, but there isn’t even a blink. He would beat a lie detector hands down. But then I think back to his reaction the night it snowed. I don’t think he knows, in fact, I’m sure of it. He isn’t planning to leave me, at least not yet.
A horrible thought comes to me. Maybe I am the cause of his disappearance? Maybe all of this is caused by me and my big mouth. Let’s go to Pembrokeshire and find the perfect place to hide, Kit; you go on a hike and never come back . I chew my bottom lip. No. The scratches have gone. There is nothing that suggests anything I say or do will have an effect on the future. I’m not changing anything. But still, the thought rolls around.
‘Well, I have absolutely no plans whatsoever of going on a hike and never coming back. In fact, the only plans I have today involve you and me, this bed and work while you go to your mum’s, that is if you haven’t tired me out too much.’ He plants a kiss on my mouth and sits up, reaching over and biting a piece of toast, his face pulling into disgust. ‘Ugh, this is foul.’ He swallows with difficulty, reaches for his cup and washes down the toast with his tea.
My mind is spinning plates, trying to keep yesterday’s events balancing.
I still don’t know who Rebecca Bevitt is. He doesn’t know I know about her. He hasn’t deleted his messages because I was never at the boxing club that day. This time I’m not going to ask about her.
The plates keep spinning while I try as hard as I can to recall what happened this day seven years ago, but all of the days merge into each other: mornings, afternoons, breakfast, lunch with Mum, dinners with Kit, shopping trips with Ava.
The plates keep spinning as I sip my tea, as I eat the toast that scrapes and tears at the inside of my throat.
Kit’s scrolling through his phone now. I examine every movement he makes, every intake of breath, watching for a sign. Then I see it. It’s a flicker, a frown, a glance in my direction then a smile. He closes the screen and brings me closer so I’m lying on his chest. His heart beating quickly, his lies hidden inside.
I’m getting ready to go to Mum’s when there’s a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get it!’ I say, already heading down the stairs.
James is standing in the doorway. I feel a rush of love, of need. In my mind, I throw my arms around him. I think I know where he goes, I say, and his face is full of relief. Where? he asks. I’ll show you … He pulls me under his arm and I’m covered in the warmth of him. But I don’t do any of those things, because James is looking at me as he waits for me to say something.
‘Hi,’ I say. It comes out in a croak and I have to clear my throat. I stand there staring, rolling my hands into fists to stop myself from touching him.
‘He in?’ His expression is neutral, no smile for me, no look of absolute love and devotion anywhere near his eyes.
‘Oh, yes, he’s upstairs.’ I step away from the door, letting him in. ‘Kit!’ I shout as James takes the stairs two at a time as though he can’t get away from me fast enough.
‘I’ll see you later!’ I shout after him, them.
‘Love you!’ Kit responds.
‘Me too.’
I close the door behind me, and begin walking to Mum’s.
I get to the end of the road when it starts to spit with rain. Last time I’d checked the forecast and had an umbrella. I make an about-turn and head back to the flat to grab it, slowing my pacing as I hear James’s voice. It’s raised, angry. I step closer, pressing my back against the wall like a low-budget spy.
‘I mean what the fuck!’ James shouts.
‘I’ve got it all under control.’ Kit’s response. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘You’d better!’ is all James says before he walks out of the door, slamming it behind him. I watch as he strides away, hands through his hair. He stops, turns as if to go back, shakes his head and continues to his car, starting the engine and practically two-wheeling a three-point turn.
James has never told me he argued with Kit just days before he left. He’s never uttered a word about it. What has Kit got under control?
I slip my key into the lock, charging up the stairs to confront him. I step into the lounge and he has his head in his hands. Sensing me, he looks up, reforms his expression. ‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Why were you and James arguing?’
‘What?’
‘I heard you. I think most of the street could hear you.’ I nod to the open window.
‘It’s nothing, just James being James.’
‘What do you need to get under control? ’
His face blanches slightly. ‘I can’t talk about this right now, Liv. I’ve got a meeting.’
There is a snap to his voice, which he immediately softens on registering my reaction.
‘Kit.’ I walk forward, taking his hands in mine. ‘Tell me what’s going on. If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help. You don’t have to do this… whatever this is, alone.’
‘I’m not in trouble, I promise.’ But he doesn’t meet my eyes; instead he kisses the top of my head, grabs his things and leaves.
‘Kit, wait!’ I chase down the stairs after him. ‘Just tell me the truth. I know something is going on with you. Please just tell me.’
‘I know your dream spooked you, but Liv—’ He puts his hands on my shoulders, smiles that smile, eyes glinting. ‘There is nothing going on. I love my brother, but you know… he can kind of be a dick. He’s overreacting to something Mum said and as always I’m stuck in the middle, trying to make peace.’
‘What did she say?’
‘It’s not my place to say. Now please, stop worrying, OK?’ He kisses me on the mouth, leans his forehead against mine. ‘I’ve got to go. Love you.’ He kisses me again and closes the door behind him.
I pull up outside the boxing club and walk in. It’s strange seeing the place like this, the before, the after. James is going hell for leather against the punch bag in the corner of the room. It’s not there any more in our timeline; there are two treadmills in its place. I stride over. He’s got his earphones in, loud angry music tsk-tsk-tsking outside the sound of his gloves pounding the bag. His eyes widen when he sees me. He throws another couple of punches before stopping .
‘Can we talk?’ I ask him.
‘What?’ he says. I reach over and pull out one of his earphones.
‘I said, can we talk?’
‘Why?’
I inwardly sigh. I’m reminded of the battle I used to have with James, how hard it was to get a conversation out of him.
‘Because I know you’re pissed at Kit and I want to know why.’
‘It’s not your business,’ he replies.
He pulls off his gloves and heads over to the skipping area. I hurry after him, old anger resurfacing at 2016 James. He picks up the ropes and unwraps them.
‘James!’ I say, my voice louder than I intended. Heads turn our way.
‘What?’
I lower my voice. ‘Look, I’m worried about him. I think something is going on and I need to know what you know.’
He stretches out the skipping ropes, pulling them tightly.
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘I did, but he says everything is fine.’
‘Look, Liv…’ He continues unwrapping the rope. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. If Kit’s got shit going on that he doesn’t want to tell you about then it’s none of my business. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got half an hour to train before my double shift at the pub.’ He pushes the earphones in, turns his back, and starts to skip.
2016 James is a complete and utter dick, I decide, marching out of the club.