Read Online My Second Life by Faye Bird - Free Book Online

“but I’m certain we have never met before, Ana.”
    It felt wrong, her saying my name the way she did. So I just said it.
    The words that had been going around and around in my head.
    â€œI’m Emma,” I said. “I’m Emma Trees.” And as I said it, I felt as if a sweet warm wind had blown across my face, and it bathed me, all of me.
    Frances sat utterly still. “You can’t be Emma.”
    â€œI know it seems impossible, but — ”
    â€œYou said you were Ana.”
    â€œAnd I am Ana — now — ”
    â€œEmma Trees died.”
    â€œI know,” I said.
    â€œEmma Trees is dead,” she said again. “She died thirteen years after Catherine. If you know that, then you know you cannot be her.”
    â€œI was playing, with Catherine — ”
    â€œEmma was twenty-two, she was twenty-two, and you — you’re — ”
    â€œWe were playing, on the Green, out the front — here — ”
    â€œYou can’t be more than sixteen — ”
    â€œWe were on the Green, and — ”
    We were both speaking fast, we were both listening to each other but desperately clinging to what we knew. Frances took a short breath, and neither of us spoke for a minute.
    â€œEveryone knew Catherine was on the Green before she died,” she said. “It doesn’t make you Emma Trees.”
    â€œBut I was there. I remember it. I was with her…” The desperation in my voice was back.
    â€œI think you must be mistaken,” she said.
    I looked at her, and as I did all I could see was Catherine’s pretty face looking back at me. Mother and daughter, they had the same almond-shaped eyes.
    â€œI fixed her hair clips,” I said. “The tartan bows.”
    Frances looked at me.
    â€œThey matched her skirt,” I said. “The bows. She was dressed for a party. White tights and black patent shoes with buckles. I did them up for her, here, in the hall. The hair clips wouldn’t stay in. She said she didn’t want to wear them, but she — ”
    â€œI made her wear them,” Frances said. “For the party.”
    We sat in silence for a moment. I didn’t know where to look anymore. If I looked away and looked back at her my eyelids started flickering, blinking with nervousness, fear. I felt like I shouldn’t say any more, but I wanted — needed — to carry on, to tell Frances what I knew.
    â€œTell me something else,” Frances said. “Something you think you know about Catherine, about that night.”
    â€œWe were playing ball. On the Green,” I said. I could see the ball now. It came back to me. “We had a blue ball. You wiped it clean before we played with it. You got the ball out of the shed and you wiped it clean in the kitchen…” I pointed through to where the kitchen was, desperate to show her what I knew. “Through there.”
    â€œGo on,” she said.
    â€œYou tried to wipe the ball with a wet cloth and the dirt smeared across the ball, across your hands,” I said. “You were angry, with the mess. You went to a drawer and got a dry tea towel and you wiped it clean and told us to go out onto the Green and play. I think — ”
    Frances raised her left hand. She wanted me to stop talking. I stopped at her command. I looked at her, waiting for her to allow me to carry on, to keep talking. She was utterly still.
    â€œWhy are you here?” she said.
    â€œI need to know what happened. I need to know how she died.”
    â€œYou don’t remember?” Frances said, her voice rising steadily, but with the utmost control. “You don’t remember what you did?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œYou’re lucky,” she said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œDon’t ask me that!” she barked back. “You can’t ask me that!”
    There was silence.
    And then she spoke again. “Why did you come