When I Find You

by R. A. Casey

  I want to do so many things to protest my innocence.

  But in the end, all I can do is follow Freddie into the van, in the eyes of a crowd, and I cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I sit at the kitchen table with my head in my hands, and I know I cannot hide the entire truth from Freddie for much longer.

  Or from myself for much longer.

  He sits opposite me. He isn’t saying anything. I can smell something in the air. Fruit tea. Berry flavour, which is always usually my favourite.

  But right now, it smells bad. Sickly sweet. Makes me want to throw up. Makes me want to hurl.

  It’s floral.

  And that floral smell just reminds me too much of childhood and the maize fields and the rats and—

  Charlie.

  And his hand on my back.

  And her smile.

  And…

  I lift my head. Freddie sits opposite me. He looks away the second I glance at him. But I can tell he’s been staring at me all this time. Cogs turning. Trying to figure out what to do. What to say.

  How to leave me.

  I know I’m probably being harsh on myself. Freddie is lovely. But what is he supposed to think at the end of the day?

  I’m having a breakdown right before his eyes.

  And I’m not even sure I can deny it anymore.

  “We need to talk about what happened,” he says. “With that man. With Cameron.”

  I close my eyes. Shake my head. I think back to seeing him walking up the road. Chasing after him. Sliding onto the ground and grazing my hands.

  I think of my hands around his throat.

  The fear in his eyes.

  Screaming at him. Loud.

  And then I see the eyes of the rest of the street on me, staring at me. I hear their whispers behind my back, saying how crazy I am, how insane I am.

  And I see how close I was to telling Freddie everything just before I saw Calvin—Cameron, whatever he’s called.

  And just how dangerous that feels.

  “I told you,” I say. Barely any energy left. “I… He came round. He—”

  “Gave you some parcel. Yeah. But that’s not how it happened, is it, Sarah?”

  I shake my head. I am exhausted. “I don’t know what else I can say to make you believe me.”

  “I’m not sure there is much else you can say, Sarah. I’m sorry to say that. Really. I am. But… but the truth is, this guy’s called Cameron. I bumped into him one of the first days we were here. He fixes boilers, all that sort of stuff. I didn’t click when you said about the onion breath. Like, I had a weird feeling, but I didn’t want to say. But you were here when he serviced the boiler. You let him in, and you made him a brew, and that was that. Do you remember? And answer me honestly. Please.”

  My head is a mush of memories and imaginings. I’m not even sure what is real and what isn’t real anymore. I vaguely remember a man coming around to take a look at the boiler, but I don’t remember much about him. He just came in and out. I didn’t make him a brew; I don’t think.

  But what Freddie is saying. Is it possible? Really? Could it be that I am confusing what happened? Mixing things up?

  Could it be that I am converging memory and fantasy all over again?

  Because it wouldn’t be the first time.

  As much as that pains me to admit it, it would not be the first time.

  I swallow a lump in my throat. Look away.

  “I think… I think it might be time you talked to me about what happened when you lost Charlie.”

  I glance around at him. My heart picks up.

  “Properly. I don’t know a thing about you, Sarah. Not really. And I’m starting to feel like if we’re going to go anywhere with this… if we’re going to make any kind of progress, I need to know. Do you understand?”

  I want to tell him to go away. To leave me alone.

  I want to scream at him that this isn’t any of his business.

  That I can’t face the truth.

  But I see this loyal, loving man opposite me, and I know exactly what I have to do.

  “When Charlie went missing… I fell apart. The trauma of it. It… it messed with my head. I needed therapy. I needed medication. Because some days… some days I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. But that’s not what this is, Freddie. It’s different this time. I swear it’s different this time.”

  He looks at me. And the way he looks at me, I know what he’s thinking. It’s not different. It’s exactly the same. I know how desperate I sound. How ridiculous I sound.

  “I promise, Freddie. This—this is different. It has to be. The thing with the rat, that’s…”

  Freddie frowns. “The thing with the rat? What does that have to do with anything?”

  I cover my face with my hands again.

  I shake my head.

  I feel my skin crawl.

  Because as honest as I have been with Freddie, as much as I have opened up to Freddie, I can’t go further.

  I can’t say anything else.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I mumble.

  “And that’s the problem,” Freddie says, standing, scraping his chair on the tiled kitchen floor. “Right there, that’s the problem. Every time we get close, every time we make a breakthrough, it’s two steps back. And I’m not sure I can take it. Not anymore.”

  I look up. My worst fears are playing out right before my eyes. “Freddie?”

  He is crying. Shaking his head. “I want to care for you, Sarah. I want to help you. But if this goes on… if this dishonesty goes on… if this… this lack of openness goes on… I’m not sure I can be with you. I’m not sure it’s fair on either of us. And it absolutely breaks me to say that. So something has to change.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “This changes, Sarah. I’ll always care for you. I’ll always love you. And I’ll always look after you. But you need to start being honest with me. You need to start letting me in. Because I can’t be with someone who isn’t really there. Not anymore.”

  It sounds like he’s breaking up with me.

  It sounds like he’s offering me an ultimatum.

  And the hardest thing?

  The hardest thing of all?

  I’d rather he left than open up.

  And that tears my heart in two.

  Chapter Thirty

  It’s the dream again.

  I am there. I am on the field. I can hear the laughter of children, feel the heat of the sun burning against my sweaty face. My mouth is dry. I can taste the remnants of last night’s wine right at the back of my throat. My head aches. Am I hungover? I’m not sure.

  I just know I feel guilty.

  Charlie’s hand is in my left hand. And with my right hand, I feel my tummy. I know what is inside me. I know what Glynn and I created.

  And right now, as I stand here, I know it didn’t quite happen how I remembered it.

  I know what happened between Glynn and I was… more complicated than I’ve made out.

  But I push that aside.

  It isn’t relevant.

  Not for now.

  I see the band on the stage. I see the mass of children swarming towards that stage. And I see Charlie. only…

  Wait.

  No.

  Charlie is still by my side.

  And Calvin isn’t here anymore.

  Calvin or Cameron or whatever the hell he wants to call himself is not here.

  He is gone.

  I feel a shiver down my spine. Because things are happening differently now.

  I am standing there in the field, and Charlie hasn’t let go of my hand.

  He’s still holding my hand.

  “Don’t you want to go see the band?” I ask.

  He looks up at me. Opens his mouth.

  And then he shakes his head.

  “I… I’m okay here, Mum.”

  I hear these words, and I well up.

  Because I know he strugg
les to fit in.

  I know he has had problems with his friends.

  I know Alan can be a bit harsh on him sometimes.

  I know all these things.

  And yet, all a mother can do is stand here, hold her son’s hand, and nod and smile.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “I think it’d be good. To go see Alan. To get real close to the stage. Don’t you?”

  And it’s these words that hurt me.

  These forgotten words—words I’ve tried to gloss over—that kick me in the stomach.

  Because he looks up at me, and I see the disappointment in his eyes.

  He sees where I am looking.

  He sees why I’m trying to get him to run down to the stage.

  “Go on,” I say. “Run along. You’ll have fun.”

  He opens his mouth to say something.

  “I need to speak to you about… about something.”

  I glance over his shoulder, and I see Glynn standing there, and I want to be beside him. I want to feel the tension between us. The heat between us.

  I want to hear my son out—of course I want that.

  But at that moment, it shames me to admit it.

  I’ve suppressed it. So, so much.

  But at that moment, I want Glynn more.

  “We can speak about it later. Go on. You go watch the band. Enjoy yourself.”

  He opens his mouth to protest.

  And then he lets go of my hand, and as I see this moment, I scream.

  I want to stop myself letting go of his hand.

  I want to stop him.

  But I can’t.

  Is this the truth?

  Or is this a false memory?

  I don’t even know anymore.

  I just know that the next moment, I am in the maize field.

  Glynn is deep inside me.

  Fucking me.

  Fucking me while the band plays behind us.

  While the children scream and laugh.

  Fucking me while he’s already got a child inside me.

  And while God knows what happens to Charlie keeps on unfolding, I am moaning out Glynn’s name.

  Pulling him closer.

  “Harder. Harder. Harder.”

  I’m chanting.

  Just like they chanted around me.

  “Go on, go on, go on.”

  “Harder, harder, harder.”

  And then I am digging my fingernails into his back and coming hard, and all I can think of is the shame, the pleasure, the guilt, the loss, the ecstasy.

  And then it snaps.

  All of it snaps.

  I am not the woman you thought I was.

  I have my secrets.

  And I’m beginning to lose sight of which of those secrets is even true anymore.

  I need to see someone.

  I need to speak to him.

  Desperately.

  I just worry what toll it might have on me and my relationship.

  But I know what I have to do now.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I have to wait until Freddie is absolutely certain I’m safe to be left alone before making the move that I know could wreck my already flailing relationship.

  A week has passed since the Cameron incident. Since the tense stand-off with Freddie over dinner. Nothing has happened. Nothing of note. No more parcels. No more packages. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.

  And I have to admit that it makes me wonder. Everything suddenly going silent, right after that final trip to the doctor’s?

  Right after the change in my medication?

  I know how I sound. Like, I’m fully aware of what you’re thinking right now. I’m insane. I’m unreliable. You can’t trust me. I get it. Really. Sometimes, I don’t even know if I can trust myself.

  I snapped after Charlie went missing. I struggled with the fallout of it, mentally. I neglected myself. It took a toll.

  And the whole saga put me on medication that helped me get my life back in order.

  There is no shame in that.

  But right now, I am adamant when I say that I am convinced of what is happening to me. And the talk of the dying rat is what convinced me, more than anything. Because I didn’t see that. Freddie saw it. And it just ties in with my memories far too… conveniently.

  Unless that memory is a false memory too.

  No. Don’t be insane, Sarah.

  You know what’s real.

  You know there’s something going on here.

  Even though every fucking thing is starting to suggest otherwise.

  I stand at the door. The house I’m at is nice. A big detached, right in the middle of the countryside, just outside of Preston. Fields all around. Barely any houses down here at all. Ivy-covered walls, something that always reminds me of being younger.

  Nature.

  I stand there at the door and wonder if I really want to do this at all. Whether I really want to go through this exchange. And really, what I’m trying to achieve by it. Am I looking for some kind of confirmation? Some kind of redemption? I’m not even sure myself anymore.

  I just know that I need some security. Some stability. Someone from my past, as much as I try to push against it, as much as I try to resist it.

  I go to pull the ornate doorbell handle when I hear the door creak open.

  I turn away. Instinctively. Fear taking over.

  I see a woman standing there.

  She is blonde. Older than me. Hair looks bleached like she’s trying to hide the fact she’s going grey. I make a note to try it myself. Might freshen my image up a bit.

  She’s holding a bin bag. Staring at me with wide, green eyes.

  “Can I help you?” she asks. Smile on her face.

  I wonder if this is her. The woman he moved on with. The one he left me for. Because regardless of what I did, that’s still how it happened. He left me.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t be here. I…”

  I turn around. Walk away.

  “It’s Sarah. Right?”

  I stop. Freeze. The hairs on my arms stand on end. She knows. Knows exactly who I am.

  I swallow a lump in my throat and turn around. “Look. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have come here. I’m just going through a rough time right now, and I guess I was looking for some answers about the past. There’s nothing to it. I promise.”

  She stares at me, somewhat bemused.

  “And if… if Gregg asks, please don’t tell him about this. Keep it between us. I won’t bother you anymore. Sorry.”

  I go to walk to the gate, burning up, embarrassed. Idiot. Why the hell am I coming here in the first place? What am I hoping to discover? What am I hoping to achieve?

  “Who’s Gregg?” she asks.

  I stop. Turn around.

  She is still standing there with that bin bag in her hand. I want to ask her if she’s joking, but she looks deadly serious.

  “Gregg,” I say. “I thought… Sorry. But you’re not married to Gregg? Gregg Evatt?”

  The woman smiles. “I’m not married to anyone. Is there a problem, Sarah?”

  I shake my head. Am I literally losing my mind? If Gregg doesn’t live here, then why the hell am I here in the first place?

  “Sorry,” I say. “I… Who are you? And how do you know me?”

  “You really don’t remember?” she asks.

  I sense I remember.

  I sense, deep down somewhere, there is a memory of this woman.

  But I have pushed it away.

  I have suppressed it.

  I have—

  And then it clicks.

  Hard.

  “I thought it was you,” she says. “I mean, I know we shouldn’t really speak about… about the past. But it’s a long time ago. And the past is the past, right? Why don’t you come inside? I was just making a brew.”

  But I am frozen to the spot.

  Because this is the house Gregg bought. This is where he moved. I know it was because he told me.
<
br />   He…

  Wait.

  “How—how long have you lived here?” I ask. It’s the only thing I can say.

  “Why don’t you come ins—”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “I’ve… I’ve lived here for ten years, darl. I got away. Just like you did. But whoever you’re looking for… he isn’t here. I’m sorry.”

  I stand there.

  I stare at this woman.

  I see her eyes, and I see a reflection of myself in them, a reflection of the things I’ve been through myself, the things I’ve seen.

  I see a look of regret.

  And a look of shame.

  And then, as much as I want to stay, as much as I want to talk, I turn around, race out from behind the gate, and I run.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I sit in my red Mini Cooper just outside Costa down the road from the cottage, and I try to wrap my head around everything that just happened.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon. Freddie is on a job today. I told him I’m going to start up my online tutoring again soon, something I’ve been dragging my feet on for weeks, but really that’s all just a lie. I’ve spent the last week convincing him I’m okay. Taking my new meds. And sure, nothing has happened since then. Everything has been… nice.

  But I have no intentions of setting any goals or targets when it comes to my tutoring today.

  I told him I was nipping out. That I was just getting some air. Might grab a coffee. And he was so worried about me. So concerned. He even offered to take the day off and join me, but I reassured him I am okay. That I am perfectly capable of taking a day for myself. That I am totally fine.

  But how can I even say that anymore?

  Especially after what happened at the cottage, with the woman?

  I hover over Gregg’s number on my phone. I haven’t called him in years. Haven’t text him in years. I just know he told me exactly where he was moving to. Nook Cottage. Langford Lane. Grimsargh. The place me and Gregg used to drive past. The place he told me we’d both move into, together.

  Only that’s not how it happened in the end.

  He moved in here after our issues. With his new Mrs, no less.

  Only that’s not how it happened. The woman there. It was someone from my past. Someone I barely recognised, yet still her.