Girl in the Window. Penny Joelson

you mean. Now, what else . . .’

      ‘The girl across the road – can you tell me any more?’ I ask, leaning forward. ‘What happened to her?’

      Mrs G shakes her head. ‘Really, it is upsetting for me even to think about it. Let’s talk of happier things and leave the past behind. It will do your health no good to focus on such sadness. Shall I show you what came in that parcel the other day?’

      I nod. I’m frustrated. I am desperate to know more but I don’t want to push her if it’s upsetting her. She walks slowly back into the kitchen and returns with a bird feeder.

      ‘I love my garden but I’m not up to tending it like I used to,’ she tells me. ‘I like to watch the birds, though. I wondered, as you’re here, whether you might do me a favour and hang it outside for me – on the silver birch. I have the seeds to fill it with. Then I can sit by the back window and watch for the birds. They’ll be grateful now the weather’s getting colder.’

      This sounds sad to me – having nothing more interesting to do than watching birds, though maybe it is no sadder than watching the street like I do. I nod again and follow her to the back door, which she unlocks. The garden, which looked overgrown when I last glimpsed it from my parents’ bedroom window, looks far wilder from down here. Neglect has turned it into a jungle.

      ‘This garden was beautiful once,’ Mrs G says wistfully. ‘My husband and I – we were both keen gardeners. But now I don’t have the strength for it, nor the money to pay a gardener.’

      ‘I wish I could help,’ I tell her, ‘but I don’t have the strength either.’

      Actually, it’s the last thing I’d want to do, even if I did have full strength. Gardening isn’t my idea of fun at all.

      ‘Of course you don’t, my dear, but it’s a kind thought.’

      She seems so sad, I struggle for something positive to say. ‘I guess it’s good for wildlife?’

      ‘True,’ she says, but I sense this is little consolation.

      I fill the feeder and find I can easily hang it on a branch. Mrs G’s house is on the corner and it’s the only one in our row that has a decent sized garden. I’ve never been very interested in gardens, but I do vaguely remember it being much neater in the past. I used to be envious as a young child because we only have a small paved back yard with no lawn or plants at all.

      ‘Thank you so much!’ she says. ‘That’s wonderful. I’d have to stand on a stool to do that and I knew it wasn’t a good idea.’

      ‘No, you mustn’t go doing things like that,’ I agree. ‘It’s nice to be able to do something helpful for a change. It’s usually me who needs the help.’

      ‘Well, I’m very grateful,’ she says.

      ‘I’d better go now,’ I tell her. I suddenly feel so tired – and she is looking tired, too. She doesn’t protest and I wonder if I have already outstayed my welcome.

      ‘I hope you will come again,’ she says. ‘It’s been so nice to have some company.’

      I’m relieved. I was worried I’d upset her asking about tragedies, and that she wouldn’t want me back. I’m glad I came, though – Mrs G did seem genuinely pleased to see me, and I even learned something about the girl over the road. At least, I may have done. I learned there was a tragedy, and it involved a girl who died. Does that mean the girl I see really is a ghost? I wish I knew the whole story.

7

      ‘A gummy bear factory! My son is making gummy bears?’

      Dad has somehow seen Mum’s latest WhatsApp message from Marek, who has moved from sprinkling cheese on pizzas to making gummy bears. Dad is reeling off a torrent of Polish insults.

      ‘Why my son? Why me? We bring him here for a good life, he has a good education and he throws it all away to make teddy bear sweets! What did I do to deserve this useless child?’

      ‘Don’t say that, Dad,’ I protest. Dad has a tendency to be overdramatic, but to me this seems unfair.

      ‘Sorry, moje kochanie, I don’t want to upset you.’ Dad gently strokes my hair. ‘But gummy bears! Pah! ’

      A few days later I get a package from Germany. Marek has written a card saying how much he misses me and enclosed five packets of gummy bears. I wish he’d come home.

      I have a bad day for no apparent reason. That’s what it’s like. I spend the morning in bed eating gummy bears and then the afternoon sitting up, looking out of the window. I’ve been looking out every day, but I haven’t seen the girl again.

      Mum is worrying that I’m seeing things – as in imagining them. I overheard her telling Dad. I get brain fog sometimes. I can’t think straight and I struggle with the school work my tutor leaves for me, but hallucinations are not a symptom of ME. I know that because I looked it up online. Even so, the more I watch from the window and don’t see the girl, the more I doubt my own memory. I’m wondering if I really saw her at all or if it was a trick of the light. It’s easier to think of her as a ghost than as a real person – but if she was real, perhaps she was staying there and now she’s gone. I hope so, but either way, I can’t stop thinking about her. I wish I could.

      It’s almost a relief when my home tutor, Judy, gets here and I can think of something else. She sits on the wicker chair in my room, runs her hand through her thick dark hair and adjusts her big glasses as she checks my attempts at some maths problems. I’m panicking that I’m getting so far behind at school.

      ‘I want you to give me more work, Judy,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not doing enough. How am I ever going to catch up?’

      ‘You can only do what you can do,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to give you too much. It will stress you out and that’ll set you back further. But you’re doing OK, and you are getting better. You couldn’t have done maths like this a few weeks ago.’

      ‘My head is less fuzzy,’ I agree, ‘but, Judy, I’m so far behind! I’m meant to be taking ten GCSEs. Even if I get back to school, how will I do it?

      ‘Maybe you could cut down on the number of subjects? she suggests.

      I shake my head. ‘I don’t want to give any up.’

      ‘Or you could perhaps stay in Year 9, repeat the year.’

      ‘Never,’ I say emphatically. ‘Can you imagine how awful that would be? I want to be with my friends.’

      ‘Don’t think about it now,’ Judy tells me. ‘Keep working like you are and get plenty of rest too. Just focus on one day at a time.’

      It’s easy for her to say but the thought of staying down a year, while my friends all do their GCSEs next year and then go into the sixth form without me, is more than I can bear. I won’t let that happen. I have to get better and back to school as soon as possible. If Judy won’t give me more work then I will get it from Ellie.

      Once Judy’s gone, I work hard on more maths, but I’m exhausted and I don’t manage as much as I’d hoped. My eyes are drooping. I wish I had more energy and could concentrate better. But Judy has said that I’m improving. So that gives me hope.

      The next day, Ellie is due to visit and this time I’m determined to remember to tell her about the girl, as I’m sure she’ll be able to help me think it through. But when she arrives she’s with Lia, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Lia’s in our form group but I don’t know her that well. We’ve never been friends.

      ‘You were moaning that no one else comes to see you, so I brought Lia,’ Ellie tells me. ‘We’ve been working together in drama. We’ve done this sketch – you really should see it. It’s hilarious! We might even do it in the show next term!’

      She