Chapter 3
LIZZIE
Immediately I’m thrust back to that dreadful day, the one that I can never forget, and the intense feelings of fear and guilt are suffocating me. I swallow, my chest tightening, my head spinning as I try to regain control of my mind. I can’t have a panic attack here. Not at my mum’s wedding.
My head is light, as if everything is happening around me, my ears are buzzing and I’m scared my legs won’t support me. I take a deep breath and reach for the chair behind me, the chair that a few minutes ago Sheila had sat on to watch Mum and George get married.
‘Are you all right, Lizzie? You look terribly pale.’ Alison sounds concerned, puzzled. She takes my arm. ‘Is it the heat? It is rather hot in here but I’m used to it, living in Spain. Why don’t you sit down for a minute.’
She holds my arm firmly, and I sink into the chair. I can’t look at her, can’t speak. I’m blindsided at this turn of events. I never thought that I would see her again and now she’s my stepsister. I’ve been plunged into a nightmare and I don’t know how to deal with it.
I never knew Ally’s surname. I never met her father, and her brother had been so young that I didn’t recognise Kenny, how could I?
It’s been twenty-five years since that terrible day, but I’d know Ally anywhere.
Her hair was long and a golden brown back then, scooped up in a ponytail, but I remember those blue eyes, one darker than the other, and the tiny brown mole on her right cheek just under her eye.
There can’t be two people with the same eyes and mole, the same name, the same age. It’s got to be her.
Has she recognised me? My heart thuds so hard in my chest that I fear it might burst through my ribcage and explode.
‘Lizzie.’ She bends down to talk to me. ‘Are you okay?’
I bite my lip and force myself to meet her concerned gaze, waiting with sick dread for the recognition in her eyes.
Recognition that will turn to horror and rage when she realises who I am, what I did.
My hands are sweating, my pulse racing, and I’m bracing myself for her cry of outrage. But all I see in her eyes is concern.
I draw on an inner strength, dredge down through the anxiety consuming me and reach for a thread of common sense. Even if Alison recognises me all she will remember is a seven-year-old girl she met on a school trip, I remind myself.
No one saw what I did. No one knows.
The dam of guilt bursts and a river of relief floods through me, washing away my fears when I see that Alison is smiling at me. She’s speaking to me. I can’t hear what she’s saying but her tone sounds friendly and comforting.
I scrape through the fog in my mind to focus on her words. ‘It’s probably the emotion of the day. It’s been such a whirlwind romance, hasn’t it? But it’s so good to meet you at last. Dad speaks so highly of you.’
She doesn’t recognise me. Thank God.
I breathe out slowly. Of course she hasn’t recognised me.
I’ve changed a lot over the last twenty-five years.
My hair is black now – tired of the taunts of ‘ginger nut’, I’d dyed it when I was fourteen and despite Mum and Dad’s annoyance I’ve kept it that colour ever since.
I’m slimmer too. Nothing like that dumpy red head Ally – now Alison – had met on the school outing at the amusement park.
My head whirls and I start to feel faint as the memory of that day shoots into my mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the awfulness of it all.
‘I’ll get you a glass of water,’ I hear Alison say.
‘Lizzie, darling, are you all right?’
Mum has noticed me and comes over to check. I flick open my eyes and see her face tight with anxiety. I don’t want to spoil this day for her. The last thing she needs is to worry about me. She’s done enough of that over the years.
I force a bright smile on my face. ‘I’m good, Mum. Really. I forgot to have breakfast. I’ll be fine in a minute. You go and mingle.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Mum frowns, her eyes raking my face.
I force my smile wider. ‘Positive.’
Alison returns with the glass of water. ‘Here you are, Lizzie. Drink this.’ She hands it to me then turns to Mum. ‘I’ll stay with her until she feels better.’
George calls, and Mum squeezes my hand. ‘Sit and rest for a while, darling.’ I nod and she goes off to join George.
I slowly sip the water, keeping my eyes focused on the glass. I daren’t look at Alison again yet, not until I can compose myself. My head is swimming with images of her mother desperately trying to breathe, gasping, her eyes bulging, dying in front of our terrified eyes.
And it was all my fault.