The Girl Who Wasn't There

by Penny Joelson

  “That’s awful,” I tell her. “What a terrible thing to do—they completely deceived you.”

  “I lucky, maybe.” She shrugs. “It is better I care for baby and not have to go with men. Some girls not so lucky.”

  “But you saved those girls, too!” I remind her.

  “I hope they happy,” Reema says, nodding. “You visit me again?” she asks.

  “Yes—if you like, I’d love to keep in touch.”

  “I want very much. You good friend to me.” She wipes her eyes and smiles.

  34

  Mom has had three orders for cakes following the open garden day and is busy baking. I go next door to see Nav, but he is out with Devi, and I sit instead with Mrs. Gayatri for a while and talk.

  “The open garden day was wonderful,” she says. “I know the idea was yours—thank you so much. And I am so happy that your health has improved so much.”

  “So am I,” I tell her. “I still have to be very careful not to overdo it. I hope I’m going to be able to cope back at school. I’m getting better now, but I might get worse again. You never know with ME. I’m worried—but I’m also happy.”

  “Yes—you must be careful, but you are so different from when you first brought that package to me.”

  “Your life is so different, too,” I point out.

  She smiles. “Yes—I just had the birds to keep me company then,” she says, nodding. “I am so happy to have Devi back in my life—and of course Nav, too. The stroke was a shock, but I am much stronger now, and, if it hadn’t happened, maybe I would still be alone.”

  She says she’ll get Nav to knock for me when he gets back. I go home and I’ve only just taken off my shoes when the doorbell rings. I can’t wait to tell Nav all about Reema. I open the door—and nearly jump in the air. I am so shocked. It isn’t Nav. It’s Marek!

  “Marek! Mom! It’s Marek!”

  “Hi, sis!” he says, wriggling out of his backpack and dumping it with a thud in the hallway, before throwing his arms around me.

  “Not too tight!” I tell him as Mom rushes out into the hall. She’s swearing in Polish.

  “Oh, Marek!” she cries.

  He lets go of me and hugs Mom.

  “I thought it was time to come home,” he says.

  “Come—sit in the kitchen. Have some cake! Tell us everything,” Mom demands.

  We sit and listen while Marek tells us funny stories and asks us what we’ve been up to. I tell him about the open garden and about Reema.

  “So good that you’re not stuck upstairs anymore,” he says.

  Mom tells him how her cake business is starting to take off.

  “I’m so happy you are home,” says Mom. “But what are you going to do now? Will you go back to college?”

  “Mom—I don’t want to,” he says, shaking his head. “I hated it there. It wasn’t right for me.”

  “Your dad won’t be happy,” Mom says, sighing.

  “Will he throw me out?” Marek asks. “I know how much I’ve disappointed him.”

  “He wants the best for you, that’s all,” says Mom. “If you don’t go back to studies, what will you do?”

  “I know what I want to do,” says Marek, “but I need to talk about it with Dad first.”

  * * *

  None of us are sure how Dad will react to Marek being back and we all hold our breath in trepidation when he comes through the front door later.

  Mom rushes out to greet him. He suspects something immediately.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Look who’s here!” Mom says softly.

  Marek steps out nervously from the kitchen. I am right behind him.

  “Hello, Dad,” he says.

  Dad stands openmouthed. For once he says nothing. He seems lost for words.

  “I’m back,” Marek tells Dad.

  “What for?” Dad asks gruffly. “You’re returning to college?”

  “No.” Marek shakes his head.

  “What you back for then?” Dad demands. “Money?”

  “No, Dad—I want to work with you.”

  “With me?” Dad is openmouthed once more.

  “Dad—I know you’d like me to study, but I want to learn a trade and work with you at the same time, like an apprentice. Maybe plumbing or something like that.”

  “This is what you want?” Dad repeats, looking bemused.

  Marek nods.

  I am still tense, waiting for Dad to explode. I sense Mom is the same.

  “Okay,” says Dad, slapping Marek on the shoulder. “Then that is what you will do.”

  “Really, Dad?” Marek asks.

  “Yes, son,” says Dad.

  Nav is here. I’m on a high about Marek being home. Nav is still on a high from the success of his open garden day.

  “So many came—we raised money for such a good cause!” he says. “Maybe one day I will have a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show! What do you think?”

  “Anything’s possible!” I agree.

  He smiles. Then he kisses me gently on the lips, and I feel a rushing sensation, as if the blood is suddenly whizzing around inside me.

  “You know what? This has been quite a year,” he says. “So much has happened that I never imagined—meeting Nani, moving here, a new school, the garden.” He pauses, then reaches out to touch my arm. “Good things, but ordinary things. But you—there’s nothing ordinary about what you did. Even with your illness, you saved a girl from slavery.”

  I picture Reema—her sad face at the window and the contrast with her vibrant, hopeful eyes when I went to visit her.

  Nav’s hand is so soft on my arm.

  “With your help,” I whisper.

  “Her life is so much better now,” says Nav. His hand slides down and squeezes mine gently, “and yours is about to get better, too.”

  “You mean going back to school?”

  “No—not that.” He grins. “I mean because of the hot guy next door! I mean you and me—us!”

  “Oh—that!” I laugh, and I lean forward and kiss him softly back.

  I am not a ghost. I am flesh and blood. I am more flesh now that I eat good food. The ache of hunger inside me has gone. I am afraid but I have hope, too. I have good people—my foster parents, my cousin, my friend Kasia. I will work hard at school. I hope I can stay in this country.

  When I saw Kasia in the window I thought she was like me. She thought I was like her. We were both inside the house—never coming out. We were hidden, our stories never told. But now our lives have changed—we see the light. Like Kasia, I am no longer a girl in the window. I am a girl of many windows and many doors, too.

  Author’s Note

  I have personal experience of ME/CFS, which started in my twenties and seriously affected my life for the next ten years. I still have to be careful, because symptoms do come back if I overdo it—but I value every aspect of the life I now lead, remembering a time when I didn’t imagine I’d ever be well enough to get married and have a family.

  According to an Institute of Medicine (IOM) report published in 2015, an estimated 836,000 to 2.5 million Americans suffer from ME/CFS, but most of them have not been diagnosed. Many people recover after a period of months or years, but others remain severely affected, with some bedbound for years. When I began to plan this book, I was shocked to see how little progress has been made in research as to the cause or treatment. Research in this area has been grossly underfunded. I hope more funding will be forthcoming, and that progress will be made to help all affected by ME.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to start by thanking my family—and especially my husband, Adam, and our children, Michael and Zoe, who I love so much.

  I feel privileged to be published by Egmont, which has looked after me so well! My editors Liz Bankes and Stella Paskin
s have been wonderful. I also have a brilliant agent in Anne Clark, who helped me to develop the beginning of this idea into something that could become an actual book and helped me survive the ups and downs of writing with a deadline (a new experience!).

  Many people helped me with the research for this novel—and I apologize if I have left anyone out. In particular I would like to thank Iwona Olejniczak, Raj Shah, and Savita Kalhan for support with Polish and Hindu aspects; Action for ME, Jess Muxlow, Abbey, Michaela, and many other young people with ME who answered my questions and/or gave feedback on the manuscript; the NSPCC, the staff of which was so helpful; and Ann-Marie O’Keeffe for gardening advice.

  I’d like to give a special mention to Jennifer Brea, whose film Unrest about her life with ME is incredibly powerful and from which I quoted at the start of the book. Anyone who wants to know more about life with ME should watch it.

  I am also so grateful for the support of Janis Inwood, former librarian of Southgate School, and Southgate School beta readers Sofia, Nina, Cameron, and Naeemah; my Friday writing workshop members Angela Kanter, Jo Barnes, Vivien Boyes, and Derek Rhodes—whose constructive feedback and emotional support has been, as ever, invaluable. I am grateful too for the support of City Lit, where I began as a student and now teach adults who want to write for children and young people. It’s a wonderful place to learn and to teach!

  Read on for a preview of another heart-racing thriller by Penny Joelson

  1

  I tense up as soon as I hear the doorbell. I know it’s him. I know it’s Dan. Sarah’s still upstairs getting ready, and I hope she comes down soon. I don’t want him coming in here.

  Mom calls up to Sarah, and I hear Sarah say she’ll be down in a minute. “We’ve been keeping her busy, I’m afraid,” Mom tells Dan, “so she hasn’t had much time to get ready!”

  “I know she wouldn’t have it any other way,” says Dan. “She’s a gem—and you too. What you do for these kids.”

  I listen to them chatting away and Mom laughing at Dan’s jokes. Everyone loves Dan. Then Mom says she has to get back to the kitchen—she’s left things on the stove and she’s sure Sarah won’t be long.

  It’s quiet for a moment. I hear the distant clattering of pans in the kitchen. Then I hear Dan’s voice, coming closer as he speaks.

  “What show are you watching? Ah…Pointless!”

  I can hear him breathing. Then he whispers, “A little like your life, isn’t it, Jemma?”

  He’s standing behind me now, but I can’t see him because my wheelchair is facing the TV. I try to focus on the game show questions and forget he’s there, but he gives a long, dramatic sigh.

  “Don’t know how you can stand it.” His voice is low, not loud enough to be overheard. “Watching television must be the most excitement you get.” He only speaks like this when no one else is around. He used to ignore me completely, but not anymore.

  He moves so he is in front of me, blocking my view of the TV. Grimacing, he leans forward. I get a gulping feeling, a tightness in my throat.

  “If I were you,” he whispers, “I’d kill myself.”

  My heart thuds as he rubs his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Oh, yeah… You can’t, can you? Listen,” he continues, “if you ever want a little help, I could—”

  We both hear footsteps on the stairs. Dan backs away. His face transforms from ugly sneer to fake grin, his features softening as if they have been remolded.

  “I’d have done better than that couple!” he says, laughing and pointing to the TV screen. “We should go on this show, shouldn’t we, Sarah?”

  I get a waft of Sarah’s perfume, which is quickly overtaken by the smell of onions frying in the kitchen. “I’m useless at trivia,” she says, laughing as she comes into view. “I bet Jemma could do it, though, if she had the chance.”

  I don’t know about that, although I do sometimes get the right answers. It’s possible I’d be better than Sarah. She’s an awesome aide, but she’s not too smart when it comes to general knowledge—or boyfriends.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her kiss Dan softly on the lips.

  My own mouth suddenly feels dry.

  The couple playing Pointless have been eliminated. They look very disappointed. Dan and Sarah only have eyes for each other. “Ready?” Dan smiles at Sarah. “You look stunning, babe.”

  She nods and turns to me. Her eyes are sparkly, her cheeks flushed. “Bye, Jem. See you in the morning.”

  “See you, Jemma,” says Dan. He winks at me.

  2

  “Sorry to leave you so long, dear!”

  Mom bustles into the room, and I’m relieved to hear her warm, soft voice. She switches off the TV and pushes my wheelchair into the kitchen, to my place at the end of the table.

  I hear the car in the drive. Dad’s back from taking Finn to his swimming lesson and picking up Olivia from ballet. Soon the kitchen is noisy and cheerful, as usual, and I push Dan out of my mind.

  Olivia is boasting to Mom about how good her dancing was, and I watch as she shows Mom the new steps while Mom tries to get her to sit down at the table. She’s nine and has only been here a year. We’re all fostered. I’ve been here since I was two and so has Finn, who’s nearly six. I’ve heard Mom say Olivia was “hard to place.” Maybe that goes for Finn and me too, though Olivia’s problems are different from ours. Finn is autistic, and right now, he is lining all his beans up neatly on the plate with his fingers. He’s obsessed with straight lines. Olivia is a whirlwind—sometimes a tornado—and she’s loud. Finn and I don’t speak, so life is very different and much noisier since she came.

  “Sit down, Olivia!” Dad says in his “firm but kind” voice, and Olivia finally does. At least she doesn’t start one of her tantrums.

  Mom serves Dad’s lasagna, then starts feeding me my mushed-up version. Dan’s words creep back into my head while I’m eating, and I try to shut them out.

  “If I were you, I’d kill myself. Listen, if you ever want a little help, I could—”

  I can’t believe he said it—as if my life is worth nothing!

  Olivia is wolfing down her food like she’s never eaten before. She’s skinny, but she has a huge appetite. Finn isn’t eating. He’s still lining up his beans, concentrating as if his life depends on it.

  “Come on, Finn,” Dad coaxes. “Time to eat them now.”

  But Finn clearly doesn’t think his line is straight enough.

  “Finn, my love,” says Mom gently, “why don’t you start with the lasagna?”

  I don’t think Finn is listening to Mom, but I think he’s happy now with his line of beans. In any event, he forks a small amount of lasagna into his mouth.

  Mom spoons some more into mine.

  “I saw Paula earlier,” she tells Dad. “She looks dreadful, the poor woman.”

  “Still no news?” Dad asks. Mom shakes her head.

  “News about what?” Olivia demands.

  Paula lives down the street, and her son, Ryan, was murdered last month. He was nineteen, and he was stabbed to death, and no one knows who did it. Everyone’s talking about it, though—it’s even been on the radio.

  Dad quickly changes the subject.

  “Finn’s swimming like a fish now,” he tells Mom. “He’s come along so fast.”

  “And I was really good at ballet!” Olivia says, never wanting to be left out.

  “I’m sure you were,” says Dad.

  “How was school?” Mom asks Olivia. She shrugs.

  Olivia never wants to talk about school. It’s like it’s some big secret for her.

  I have no secrets of my own. I’ve never done anything without someone knowing about it. I’m sixteen years old, and I have severe cerebral palsy. I am quadriplegic, which means I can’t control my arms or legs—or anything else. I can’t eat by myself. I can’t go to the bathroom witho
ut help. I can’t move without someone lifting me with a hoist or pushing me in a wheelchair. I also can’t speak.

  I’ve been this way all my life. I can see, though, and I can hear. Sometimes people forget that; they don’t realize that I have a functioning brain. Sometimes people talk about me as if I’m not even there. I hate that.

  And sometimes people tell me their secrets. I think it’s because it’s really hard to hold a one-way conversation. If they are alone with me, they want to talk to pass the time and they end up telling me stuff. They know I won’t tell anyone else, so they think telling me is safe. The perfect listener.

  Sarah told me her secret. She’s cheating on Dan. She’s still seeing Richard, her old boyfriend, because he’s so sweet and she can’t stand to hurt him by breaking up with him. Neither of them knows the other exists. I’m always worried when Sarah has a boyfriend, although I enjoy the way she gossips to me about them. She has this dream of a fairy-tale wedding—she’s even shown me pictures of her ideal wedding dress online. I know I should want her to be happy, and I do. It’s just that I’d miss her so much if she went off to get married. She’s the best aide I’ve had.

  More than that, I don’t want her to marry someone who isn’t good enough for her. And I definitely don’t want her marrying Dan.

  I Have No Secrets

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  About the Author

  Penny Joelson was born in London, where she still lives with her husband and two children and teaches creative writing. She is also the author of I Have No Secrets. Find Penny on Twitter @pennyjoelson.

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