My Second Life Read Free Page B

Ana, because I haven’t been able to talk to anyone else today but her. Maybe you should go and get me that magazine after all, lovely? Something gossipy and fun.”
    â€œDid she say anything else? About her daughter?” I asked.
    Grillie was fumbling with her purse, trying to find some coins. “No, nothing else, lovely. And I didn’t like to ask. Now here, get yourself something too. Some chocolate or something.”
    I took the coins and walked down to the shop. I glanced back at Frances’s motionless body as I went. This was the closest I had ever been to my first life, and I didn’t know what I was meant to do. But in that very moment I was glad of the space to think, of the opportunity to be walking away.

 
    3
    I WAS MEETING J AMIE at four thirty.
    I couldn’t stop thinking about Frances Wells as I walked to meet him at the café.
    I walked, and I thought.
    I was a good person, wasn’t I?
    There had been times when I was desperate to tell someone how I’d lived before, but I never did. I’d held on to my secret to protect the people I loved. That was good, wasn’t it? That had been the right thing to do? I was trying to be a good person. But now — Frances — and these memories — this feeling of shame, and guilt — I didn’t know what to do with that —
    42 The Avenue.
    It came to me, as I walked, like someone had posted a letter to my brain.
    42 The Avenue.
    It was there, suddenly.
    42 The Avenue.
    An address.
    Frances’s address.
    I was sure.
    *   *   *
    Jamie was late.
    It shouldn’t have mattered. Going out with Jamie for a coffee after school was actually pretty normal. But now that Ellie had moved away and Zak was going out with Hannah, our gang had dwindled to almost nothing. Now there was just me and Jamie and it felt, well, awkward. I liked him too much. Way too much. And I wasn’t sure I could hide it if the others weren’t there.
    I ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows — the lot — and sat down on the sofas next to a low table by the window. I played with the spoon, looking up every now and then to see if he’d arrived. I picked up my phone. No messages. I flicked through my photos, my contacts, and then I opened up a Web search and put in “42 The Avenue Frances Wells.” I didn’t remember where I’d lived before. Frances being here, now, didn’t give me anything to go on. Not really. I could have lived anywhere before. But I put in London anyway. It seemed like a good place to start. I scanned the pages. Nothing. A few people called Frances who’d lived on Avenues. Of course. What was I thinking? Like it was going to give me some kind of information on … what? What was I looking for exactly? I didn’t know … Some proof, I guess — that Frances was who I thought she was.
    â€œSorry, I know I’m late.” Jamie was here.
    â€œHi!” I said, overenthusiastically, putting away my phone.
    â€œI’m gonna get one of those too!” he said, pinching a marshmallow off the top of my mug, and then he walked up to the line to order.
    I looked over at him and popped a marshmallow into my mouth and sucked it soft while I waited for him to come back and sit down. He looked nice.
    â€œSo, you all right?”
    I felt awkward.
    â€œYeah, yes,” I said.
    â€œHow’s your gran?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Yeah, she’s okay. She’ll be home soon.”
    â€œThat’s good,” he said, spooning whipped cream into his mouth. “Mmm, this too.” He looked up and smiled at me, his eyes sort of holding mine. I wasn’t sure whether to look away or carry on looking back at him, but somehow I couldn’t let go of his gaze.
    â€œWhat did you do last night then?” I asked, racking my brains for something — anything — to say.
    â€œWent to Zak’s, played