Someone You Know. Olivia Isaac-Henry

not mine. Has he found someone else already? I don’t care. I can’t be alone tonight.

      I close my eyes, but sleep is far away. At some level I’m aware my body is tired and my limbs ache. But my mind is running fast. Images of bars, dancers, grubby hands grabbing at me in grubby cubicles … Then Edie. Always Edie.

      Twenty years have passed quickly, but the individual days are long and the nights even longer. Wherever I’ve been, whomever I’m with, whatever I’ve taken, it’s never enough, I always see her.

      *

      ‘Tess.’

      Edie’s voice. I sit up. My mobile’s ringing. It feels like seconds since I shut my eyes. Max’s imprint in the sheets is cold. He must have gone to the gym hours ago. Was he angry with me for sneaking in next to him when I should be on the sofa, or did he wake, his arms around me, and wish for a moment that we were still together? I look to the bedside table in hope. There’s no mug. He used to make me a cup of tea before leaving in the morning.

      The mobile’s still ringing. I pick up.

      ‘Tess, it’s Cassie. You’re late.’

      ‘Shit.’

      I look at the clock, it’s nearly ten.

      ‘Nadine’s asking for you. You better get in quick; there’s a meeting at half eleven.’

      ‘I’m on my way.’

      I roll off the bed. Pain runs up my ribs and back and I land on my knees. I slip my fingers under my T-shirt. Some of the material is stuck to me. I peel it back. The sharp sting makes me shudder. A thin scratch runs from the bottom of my shoulder blade to under my left breast and my front ribs are bruised, not too bad but a little raised. I think back but can’t remember hurting myself.

      The blood leaves a faint iron smell. And I smell. Not of me, but of other people’s clammy bodies.

      The shower is as hot as I can take it. Water and steam scald my skin, the pain doesn’t matter. I have to cleanse myself of last night.

      Afterwards, I dab at the scratch with TCP. I don’t have to worry about Max noticing now he’s broken up with me. Judging by the lingering scent of Coco Mademoiselle last night, he’s not changing his mind.

      Cassie once asked why I was with someone as dull as Max. Maybe because he is dull. He reminded me of Dad, quiet and caring. ‘Be careful of the road,’ became ‘You shouldn’t drink so much, you shouldn’t take that stuff, you don’t sleep enough or eat properly.’ I never did. He was familiar, safe and knew me from back home; he knew Edie, too. So there’s none of the awkward pauses I get when I tell people about her, a shuffle of the feet, oh I’m so sorry, then change the subject. We’re two mixed-race kids from a nowhere Midlands town who’ve lost their mothers. Mine was killed by a drunk lorry driver. Max’s ran off with his school physics teacher, Mr Kent. Max always changes the vowel. There’s nothing to hide or explain. Being with Max was easy. He’s kept me anchored. Without him, I’m worried I’ll float away, adrift in disarray. Last night was just a glimpse of the chaos waiting to swallow me up once he goes and I’m alone again. If there wasn’t three months still to run on the tenancy agreement, which neither of us can afford on our own, he’d have left already. I don’t even know where I’ll go. Back to a room in a shared house, my milk missing from the fridge, other people’s hair stuck to the side of the bath. And what else? Meeting men in bars, lost weekends, lost jobs, Dad having to come and take me home because I’ve stopped getting out of bed. I’m nearly thirty-five. Other women my age have houses, husbands and children. I’m on the verge of being homeless and alone.

      But what Max wants, moving back home and having children, terrifies me more than the chaos. How could I ever have a child and stay sane? She’d not be allowed to walk to school alone or go to sleepovers or have boyfriends. I’d never leave her side knowing one day she could disappear like Edie and I’d be left forever wondering. A child raised in a glass cage. And what sort of life is that for a child or for me? Max always thought I’d change my mind about having children. I won’t.

      My phone beeps with an incoming text. Cassie: GET A MOVE ON.

      Half an hour of dawdling between the bedroom and bathroom to clean my teeth, spray on deodorant, put on a loose-fitting blouse, jeans and strappy sandals, comb my hair, drag mascara across my lashes and I’m ready to leave the flat. Last night’s rain has raised the humidity and the tube’s heat and claustrophobia will be too much today, so I catch the bus. It’s slower but I’m already late and at least I’ll be able to breathe.

      A red light halts our two yards of progress along the Caledonian Road. From the top deck I watch a girl pass by on the street below. She’s in school uniform with curly hair that hangs to her waist. It’s not her. I know it’s not her. I’m not going to look. The bus lurches forwards. I turn around. Sensing my stare, the girl glances up. Other than the hair, she’s nothing like Edie and she’s a schoolgirl. I forget Edie’s grown up now. I have to believe she’s grown up.

      *

      At work, the office intern is hovering by the door. I smile at him.

      ‘Be a love and get me a coffee will you, Oliver?’

      ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And it’s Oscar.’

      ‘Of course, sorry. Oscar. Americano.’

      ‘No milk, no sugar. I remember.’

      ‘You’re a star.’

      I head for my desk. It’s not unusual for people in our office to turn up late and dishevelled. In advertising sales most of our pay is commission, so it’s your own loss. And on my good days I bring in a lot of sales. Only there haven’t been so many good days recently and I can’t remember the last time I was at my desk by nine. The laptop flickers to life and I lean back in my chair. I used to be able to switch myself on and off like that computer. Not any more. Now the previous evening lingers until early afternoon.

      My coffee arrives. Oscar tries to make small talk. I tell him I’ve too much work to do to sit around chatting. I sip the coffee and stare at my screen for ten minutes then open a spreadsheet. My mobile rings. It’s Dad. He works for his brother, my uncle Ray, so gets away with doing very little. He often rings up during the day to pass the time and chats on about the weather, how it’s affected the garden or the mid-week West Brom match. He asks after me and after Max. We never mention Edie. From our conversations, you’d never know I had a twin.

      I’m not in the mood today and send his call to voicemail.

      *

      Whatever was keeping me buzzing last night has long since left my system and my mind has gone the same way as my body. Caffeine isn’t doing the trick. I need rest, so head for the toilets. As I walk past, Nadine taps her watch.

      ‘Ten minutes,’ she says.

      Not enough time for a nap.

      Instead, I splash water on my face.

      ‘Your mascara’s gonna run.’

      A figure emerges from the cubicle behind me. Flawless skin, neat hair, ironed clothes. Cassie. The last time I’d seen her was about 3 a.m., when she was dancing with some vaguely famous DJ. Now, she turns up looking like someone who’s had eight hours’ sleep whilst being drip-fed wheatgrass.

      ‘How do you manage it, Cass?’ I say. ‘Weren’t you out as late as me?’

      ‘Out, but not out of it. You need to slow down, Tess Piper.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say.

      I pat my face dry with a paper towel. Its rough texture scrapes against my skin.

      ‘Seriously, you look terrible,’ she says.

      ‘Thanks,’ I say.

      ‘Anytime.’

      We laugh, which hurts my ribs.

      There’s something about Cass that reminds me