Chapter Twelve #2
She thinks briefly of the most recent waking-dream she had, standing in the shower a few days ago.
The one in Paris during the war, when a different little girl – but still her sister – was killed, again because of a decision she’d made, because she wasn’t around to save her.
She wonders again if that’s what this is about – her brain processing trauma in some weird way, years and years after the fact.
Although that doesn’t explain the other images she gets, does it?
‘Look!’ Ash’s voice jolts her back to the present. ‘They have jalapeno hot chocolate there, Lissa.’ He sounds totally delighted, pointing at a stall selling hot drinks. ‘We have to try it.’ He marches on over, leaving her to follow him.
‘I’m definitely not trying that,’ Lissa says firmly. She looks at the menu. ‘I’ll have an ordinary hot chocolate.’
He shakes his head mockingly. ‘Way to be adventurous.’
‘Yes, because I show all signs of being the adventurous type.’
‘Ah, come on,’ he insists. ‘What do you have to lose? Worst case, it’s awful and we throw them away. But good to try something new, right?’
Lissa isn’t totally sure she agrees with that philosophy – new can often have catastrophic consequences, after all – but he seems so enamoured with the idea it’s hard to argue. ‘Fine,’ she says on a sigh. ‘But I’m buying them – my treat to say thank you, remember?’
He frowns as they edge closer to the front of the queue. ‘Thank you for what?’
‘For the other day,’ she says, really hoping that the heat doesn’t show in her cheeks.
‘Oh.’ His frown deepens. ‘Why do you need to say thank you?’
‘Because …’ But he’s at the front of the queue now, ordering the two spicy hot chocolates and not giving her the chance to finish. And she has to admit, as she sips it, that it’s really not as bad as she thought it would be.
They pass various stalls selling an array of gifts, which makes Lissa wonder whether she ought to start thinking of Christmas presents for this year. Maybe there’s something here she can buy for Nicole – she never knows what to get her.
Ash exclaims in delight at a stall selling hats and scarves, as if the concept of a hat is entirely new to him. ‘What do you think?’ he asks, jamming one on his head – a particularly garish one, with a rabbit riding a reindeer stitched into the front.
‘I don’t believe you’ll ever wear that,’ she says, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous he looks.
‘Sure I will. Goes with everything. And here …’ He does a quick sweep of the hats on offer, pulls out one that is clearly meant to be gold but is more of a sickening yellow colour, and which she is pretty sure is supposed to be in the shape of a star.
Something that, by the look of things, is hard to pull off in a hat.
He plonks it on her head, then grins. ‘Perfect. Definitely suits you.’
She rolls her eyes and pulls it part way off, but he just shoves it back down again and tucks a stray strand of her hair underneath it. The nape of her neck prickles with awareness.
He turns a beaming smile on the saleswoman. ‘I’ll take both,’ he announces.
‘Oh no,’ Lissa says quickly, ‘don’t get one for me. I—’
He holds up a finger as he slides his card out his pocket. ‘You wouldn’t buy it if I didn’t.’
And that logic is kind of hard to argue with.
‘So do you reckon there’s a roller coaster around here somewhere?’ he asks as they start walking again. And now it feels rude to take the yellow star hat off, even though it will definitely be clashing with her hair.
‘A roller coaster?’
‘Sure. Don’t some of these markets have like a mini fairground?’
‘Ah, if they do, I think it’s more like the odd Ferris wheel rather than a full-on roller coaster.’
‘Hmm.’ He looks unsure whether to believe her – like she could be lying about the lack of roller coaster.
‘Though I can tell you right now, I’m not getting on any sort of fairground ride. They’re not safe.’
‘They probably are.’
‘They’re definitely not.’
He glances down at her. ‘Would you have a panic attack again?’
She’s taken aback at the direct question, though there is nothing more than genuine curiosity in his voice.
But no one usually asks directly, at least not people who’ve only just met her.
And not even people who have known her for years – look at Liam, who is still eyeing her almost suspiciously whenever she’s in the office, as if he’s expecting her to collapse again, but who hasn’t actually addressed the subject head-on since it happened.
‘No,’ she says after a beat. ‘Probably not.’ But she bites her lip, because can she be sure of that, after the motorbike incident? ‘I mean, maybe. Usually they only happen when I’m actually hurt – like if I cut myself badly or something.’ She can’t quite look at him as she speaks.
‘You fell over the day we met,’ he points out. ‘You fell off the scooter.’
She hesitates. ‘Yes.’ She can’t quite explain that she was in a different headspace then.
That when that part of her takes over – albeit very occasionally – her brain doesn’t work in quite the same way.
And that it’s not every time she hurts herself, only sometimes, which makes it all the harder to predict, to manage.
‘I thought you were a bit of a daredevil, given the way we met for the first time.’ She looks up at him then. Somehow he still manages to be attractive, even wearing that stupid hat.
‘Trust me, I’m anything but a daredevil. Sorry to disappoint.’
‘I’m not disappointed,’ he says mildly. ‘Just curious.’
Inside her coat pocket, she twiddles her house key between her fingers. ‘It’s just, that day …’
But she breaks off, catching sight of two teenage girls up ahead. She doesn’t recognise one of them – the blonde – but she does recognise the brunette, who’s wearing a hoodie underneath her jacket along with baggy jeans.
Lissa comes to a stop, wondering what to do. She barely hears Ash asking if she’s okay. Should she go over and say hi? Would Elsie want her to – maybe it’d be embarrassing? And God, is she really this bloody out of touch?
The decision ends up being taken from her, because Elsie looks over, sees her. Her eyes go a little wide, and she nudges her friend, clearly muttering something to her. The friend glances over too, gives Lissa what is undoubtedly an appraising look up and down.
‘Who’s that?’ Ash asks at her side.
‘It’s … She’s my sister.’ She fixes a smile to her face as she walks past a stall selling cheese, closing the gap between them. ‘Hey, Elsie.’
Elsie gives her a jerking nod. ‘Hey.’
Lissa smiles at Elsie’s friend, and Elsie jerks her head again. ‘This is Jess.’
‘Hi, Jess.’ Jess gives her another scrutinising look. Lissa can feel Ash coming up behind her, catches the way Elsie looks over at him. The way she looks at them both, taking in the ridiculous hats.
Lissa takes hers off, runs a hand through her hair. Then feels utterly ridiculous. Why does it matter if Elsie sees her in a stupid hat?
‘This is Ash,’ she says. ‘We’re just, ah, shopping.’
‘Us too,’ says Elsie.
‘That’s nice.’ Lissa smiles again. ‘Is Dad here? Or your mum?’ She’s wondering if she’ll have to see them – she really doesn’t want to go through that kind of small talk in front of Ash. And would she have to suggest a coffee all together or something? She cringes at the thought of it.
‘Nope,’ Elsie says. ‘Just us.’ She must have won the argument about coming into Bath alone, then.
‘Are you having fun?’
‘Sure.’
‘What have you bought?’
She shrugs. ‘Not much. Don’t really have much money.’
‘Right. Have you, ah, seen anything you like?’
Elsie gives her a narrow-eyed look, like there is something inherently suspicious about the question, rather than just Lissa fishing for present ideas.
‘I personally like the hats,’ Ash pipes up, pointing at the one on his head.
Elsie looks like she might be about to laugh, then presses her lips together, thinking better of it.
Jess glances curiously between Lissa and Ash, then Lissa and Elsie.
Lissa wonders what – if anything – Elsie has said about her.
‘Well,’ Elsie says. ‘We’re going to get some food.’
‘Right,’ Lissa says brightly. ‘Right, of course. Have fun!’
Elsie nods, hesitates, then shrugs again. ‘See ya.’
There’s a beat of quiet after the two girls leave, linking arms as they walk away. Lissa feels a pang of sadness – that Elsie so clearly would rather be anywhere than here, talking to her. Then again, whose fault is that?
‘So that’s your sister?’ Ash asks. ‘The curly-haired one, right?’
‘Half-sister.’ She immediately winces at the correction – the almost-justification. ‘Not that it matters,’ she says quickly. ‘I just … I had a sister. Another sister. She, well, she died.’
It’s out before she can think better of it, like she needs to explain that she’s not a terrible person, that there is a reason for the type of relationship she and Elsie have.
But she regrets the words almost instantly, because of the sympathy that flashes across his face.
This is why she never says it – because she doesn’t want the conversation that follows.
He lifts his hand, looking for a second like he might reach for her. Then he drops it to his side. ‘I’m so sorry.’
It’s funny, isn’t it, how no one has come up with anything better to say in all the centuries of experiencing loss. Sorry. She’s lost track of the number of times she’s heard that word – the number of times she’s said it herself.
She chooses to focus on the cheese stall instead of Ash. ‘It’s why I’m more “daredevil-esque” on the sixteenth of September. The day you met me. It’s the day she died.’
He baulks. ‘She died the day you—’