I have to pull over and check the address several times, but eventually I find the road and park the car.
Carrying my bag, I walk along the street until I reach the right number. The building is the only red one in a long row of terraced houses. A low black fence runs along the front. I open the gate, walk up three stone steps, and press the buzzer for Flat 3.
‘Hello?’
‘Kylan?’ I say. ‘It’s your mother. Can you let me up?’
I hear the buzz of the door opening. When I reach the top of the stairs, he’s standing at the door.
‘Hi, darling,’ I say, reaching forward to give him a hug.
He stops me. ‘Mum, have you been crying?’ he says.
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
He hugs me then, and stands aside so I can walk in. The walls are painted red and the floors are wooden. I follow Kylan down the corridor and through a door. It’s a small kitchen with a generous window on the far wall, through which I can see the lights of the street below.
Kylan gestures to a chair at the table and I sit down.
‘I thought you’d be more surprised to see me,’ I say.
‘Dad rang,’ he says. ‘He said you might turn up.’ He steps over to the kitchen counter, flicking the switch on the side of the kettle. ‘Tea?’
I nod. ‘What did he say?’ I ask.
‘He was worried,’ he says, reaching into a cupboard for some mugs. ‘Said you’d gone out to the shops and hadn’t come back. He found your wedding ring on the kitchen table and most of your clothes were gone.’
He puts a mug of tea in front of me and sits down.
‘What’s going on, Mum?’
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say. ‘Something about your father.’
He blows on his tea, his sandy hair falling messily across his forehead. I remember a picture he drew when he was a little boy: a man and a woman with their arms around each other and a little boy standing in the middle. I hear Kylan and Hector laughing from the other side of the study door.
I wonder how to continue. ‘He’s not—’ I start. ‘He’s not who I thought he was.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Things haven’t been easy.’ This is impossible. ‘I’m going to go to the police,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow. But I wanted to talk to you first.’
Kylan’s eyes widen. ‘The police? Why would you need to go to the police?’
‘I’ve stopped taking my pills and I’ve started remembering things,’ I say. ‘Your father made me take them.’ I pause, trying to find the right words. ‘He’s a bad man.’
Kylan is staring at me, the line between his eyes deepening. ‘Mum, I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ he says. ‘What has Dad done?’
‘For a long time, I couldn’t remember where your father and I met.’ I laugh. ‘Isn’t that strange? He always says we met on holiday, and I could remember being there with him, but I didn’t remember meeting him there. I remembered him taking care of me, after my parents died.’
‘There are photos of you,’ he says. ‘On the island. Sitting at a restaurant by the water. Your first date.’
‘But I’ve started remembering things before that,’ I say. ‘I never chose him, not how you chose Katya. He chose me.’
He’s staring at me blankly. ‘Mum. I don’t understand. What are you saying?’
‘He said he found me on the doorstep,’ I say, slowly. ‘That I was ill. But I think he made me like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘He made me ill. He told me there was a car crash, but it isn’t true. He told you that too. I’m so sorry, Kylan.’
I start to cry then. Kylan doesn’t come and put his arm around me. He sits across the table and stares.
‘Perhaps we should talk about it in the morning,’ he says. ‘You’re obviously very tired.’
I grasp his hand. ‘I don’t want to tell you this,’ I say, the tears coming again. Since they started at the bus stop, I can’t seem to stop them. ‘I’m not even sure if I’m right. Perhaps I should be taking my pills.’
‘Why have you stopped taking them?’
‘I suppose I wanted to see what would happen,’ I say.
‘But you know what happens. You’ve done it before.’
‘I wanted to know what I was like without them,’ I say. ‘And I’m starting to think that maybe they’ve been stopping me from remembering things.’
Kylan gets up, puts his arm around me, pulls me to my feet. ‘Come on, Mum,’ he says. ‘We can talk about it all in the morning.’
I grab hold of his arm. ‘I need you to help me, Kylan,’ I say. ‘I need to figure it out.’
Kylan stares at me. ‘Figure what out?’
‘What really happened.’
‘I’ll help you as much as I can,’ he says. ‘But I think you should get some sleep. It might feel different in the morning.’
I let him lead me down the corridor and into a small square room with just enough room for a double bed. There is a dresser squeezed in alongside it, with a pot of dried lavender on the top.
‘Is Katya here?’
‘She’s gone to bed. Do you want me to get you anything?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stays standing there, as if unsure what to do next.
‘Well, the bathroom’s at the end of the hall,’ he says. He turns to leave.
‘Kylan,’ I say. He stops in the doorway and turns back. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘What for?’ he says.
‘Just please don’t tell him I’m here.’
Kylan looks at me for a moment, and then leaves the room.
*
I dream of the blonde girl.
Smiling, she dodges me, and I see her running across a beach. She doesn’t look back, but I can hear her laughing. She is young; the sunlight glances off her still-blonde hair. All is light there: it shines on her and from her.
It’s warmer where she is. I can tell by the way her image shimmers and blurs at the edges. It is where I would be now. If, if, if.
Finally, I catch up with her. She’s trying to tell me something: I watch her mouth move, hear the sounds, but I can’t make out the word she is saying.
She splashes into the sea and plunges underwater, her body like an arcing seal. Rushing into the water, I swim deeper and deeper, my eyes stinging with salt. I force them open. I swim for a long time, but I can’t find her. When I return to the surface, I look down at my body, touch my blonde hair. It is hers. I have found her at last.
The word is on my lips when I wake up.
Elise.