Girl in the Window. Penny Joelson

happens when I’m standing still. Then I hear a small sound – a definite movement from inside.

      ‘Mrs Gayatri?’ I call. ‘It’s me – Kasia from next door. I have a parcel for you.’

      The door opens and Mrs Gayatri peers out nervously. She seems more shrunken and wrinkled than I remember, but her eyes are soft and kind.

      She smiles. ‘Hello, dear. I haven’t seen you for a long time. I wondered if you’d gone away to college.’

      ‘No. I’m fourteen.’

      People often think I’m older because I’m tall for my age. I have Dad to thank for that. Mrs G is short – shorter than me.

      ‘I’ve been ill – I am ill. It’s ME – Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,’ I tell her. ‘I get exhausted after I do anything.’

      ‘How awful for you,’ she says.

      ‘This is the first time I’ve been outside for months,’ I tell her.

      ‘Goodness, is it really? You poor girl! So, what can I do for you?’

      ‘I’ve just come to bring you this.’ I hold out the parcel. ‘The postman left it with us. I’m sorry, I can’t stand for very long and I’ll have to get back now.’

      ‘Thank you, dear,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to see you. And if you ever fancy a change of scene – or company – you are welcome to pop in. And I mean that.’

      I nod and smile. I always thought she liked keeping herself to herself. She doesn’t seem to have many visitors. But there’s a look of longing in her eyes as she says, ‘I mean that’ and I think she is genuinely lonely.

      ‘Everything OK?’ asks Mum as I come back into the house. She’s standing by the door and she gives a big sigh of relief. She’s clearly been waiting for me, worrying. I made it. I went next door to deliver a parcel and came back again.

      ‘Don’t make a big deal of it, Mum,’ I beg.

      ‘It’s progress, Kasia – progress,’ Mum says softly.

      I nod. I am mega pleased with myself, though I’d never admit it to Mum.

      Back upstairs I rest in bed for a while and then go and sit by the window. A few people are walking along the pavement, each in their own separate world, though they are only metres apart. A man on his mobile, a woman with smart high-heeled boots, a teenage girl with a bobble hat. A silver car appears and slows down near the girl. There’s something weirdly familiar about the scene, and my heart skips a beat as I remember the abduction. Is this the same car I saw? Is it going to happen again – to this girl? I am frozen to the spot.

      The car pulls over, parks and a man gets out. He glances towards the girl. I hold my breath. She’s still walking, she hasn’t noticed the car. Fear rises in my throat – but the man is walking the other way. He’s heading for the barber’s on the corner. He goes inside.

      I look again at the silver car and realise it isn’t the same kind. It’s a three door and a completely different shape.

      My eyes turn towards the upstairs window at the house opposite. The curtains are closed and there’s no one there – but then I see one curtain move. A hand – a face – dark eyes, looking out. Then nothing. Again, I didn’t see clearly, but I’m sure it’s the same face I glimpsed before and I’m even more certain now that it wasn’t the face of the woman who lives there. This face is narrower, younger. A girl. Who is she? She disappeared so quickly.

      The couple have a baby, but I’ve never seen a girl come in or out of that house. If she’s the one who was looking out of the window, then why did the woman lie about anyone else living there?

5

      ‘Mum, did you know there’s a girl living over at number forty-eight?’ I ask. ‘As well as that couple and their baby. ‘I’ve never seen her go out. Don’t you think that’s weird?’

      ‘A girl? I’ve not seen a girl,’ Mum says as she picks up an empty mug from my bedside cabinet. ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Yes,’ I tell her.

      I start watching the girl’s window more closely. I’m certain she’s real. A couple of days later, I see her again, just as I hear Mum coming up the stairs. I call her urgently. I want her to see the girl – to prove that she exists. Mum comes running, thinking something’s wrong.

      ‘Mum – look! She’s there now! The girl!’

      I only turned away for a second, but as Mum reaches the window and I turn back, the girl has gone.

      Mum peers across the road. ‘I don’t see her, mój kotku. What’s so interesting about this girl?’

      ‘I think it was her,’ I tell Mum. ‘I think she was the one who saw what I saw, when that woman was dragged into the car. And the police didn’t speak to her, did they? Should I call the police again and tell them?’

      ‘But the police went and talked to the people in the house, and nobody saw anything. You know that,’ says Mum. ‘If a woman was abducted, surely someone would have missed her by now and reported it. They found no one missing, did they? Maybe you mistook what you saw?’

      I shake my head. ‘I know what I saw – and there is a girl across the road. I’ve seen her too. And I never see her go out.’

      ‘Someone could say the same about you,’ Mum comments.

      ‘Yes. Maybe that’s it!’ I exclaim. ‘She could be ill like me – and that’s why she doesn’t go out. Perhaps the people across the road didn’t want her stressed with questions and that’s why they didn’t mention her to the police?’

      ‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ says Mum. ‘If unlikely.’

      ‘I want to go across the road and ask them,’ I tell Mum. ‘Maybe we could even be friends?’

      ‘Oh Kasia. I don’t want you going round there annoying them. If you really think this girl exists and she might be stuck inside, ill like you, then perhaps I could go over and ask for you.’

      ‘Would you, Mum? Thanks! That’d be great.’

      Mum goes downstairs and I sit at the window and watch her cross the road to number forty-eight. It’s the man who opens the door. I can see Mum talking, but she isn’t there long.

      I wait eagerly for her to come in and back upstairs.

      ‘So?’ I ask. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘Well, I asked – you saw me. And the man had no idea what I was talking about,’ she tells me. ‘I felt embarrassed, Kasia.’

      ‘What did he say?’

      Mum gives me a quizzical look. ‘He said there’s no girl there.’

      ‘What? Did he speak English? Maybe he didn’t understand,’ I say, bewildered.

      ‘He had an accent, but his English was clear enough,’ says Mum. ‘Perhaps you imagined her. Or maybe a girl was there and now she’s gone – I don’t know. But she isn’t there now and I think you should put your mind to other things.’

      I go and lie down on the bed – but I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t understand what’s going on. The man must be lying – but why would he? I’m sure I saw her! Only glimpses I know, but why would I imagine it? If only she wouldn’t always vanish so quickly . . .

      As I think more, prickles start running up my spine. And then I start having properly crazy thoughts, like, what if the reason she vanishes so quickly and that no one else has seen her, not even the people who live there – what if that’s because she’s . . . a ghost?