The Girl Who Wasn't There Page 7

  Then I hear the door shut and the baby’s cries coming nearer, and I stand back before she comes into the room, her face blank and cold.

  She hands the baby back to me, and his crying stops instantly. Only I can settle him when he cries. Only I can tell his cries apart—the one for food and the one for hugs and the one for a clean diaper. She knows that. He is all that makes me human and not a ghost—the touch of his soft, soft skin, his small fingers tightly wrapped around mine, his eyes that follow me.

  “We told you before—stay away from the windows,” she tells me. “There are bad people out there. You want them to see you?”

  Then she’s gone.

  13

  I am still stuck upstairs and mainly in bed. I haven’t even been well enough to sit by the window, so I have no idea if the girl has appeared again. I don’t have the focus to study. I haven’t even started the homework Ellie brought, I can’t do the small amount of work that Judy left for me, and I can’t even listen to audiobooks right now.

  “I should have known those awards would be too much for you, mój aniele,” Mom worries. She puts a mug of tea down on my bedside shelf and sighs.

  “But it was amazing, Mom! I wanted to go, and I’m glad I went. I just wish I didn’t feel so bad now.”

  “I know, you’re right,” Mom says, nodding. “Listen, I’m going to pop next door to check on Mrs. Gayatri. I won’t be long. Will you be okay?”

  “Of course, Mom,” I say. “Tell her I’ll visit myself as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Mom assures me.

  Mom really isn’t gone for long, and she comes straight upstairs to see me when she’s back.

  “How’s Mrs. G.?” I ask her.

  “Not too bad,” Mom tells me. “Her daughter’s there—seems very nice. They were chatting away as if they’d never been apart. I’ve never seen Mrs. G. so animated. I met the grandson, too. Navin—Nav, he likes to be called. He must be about your age.”

  “What’s he like?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say much—sat playing on his phone, with earphones in. Mrs. Gayatri says he’s offered to work on her yard this week, since he’s on a break from school, so that’s good. She hasn’t been able to really look after it for years. I did suggest to your dad once that he might mow it for her and he said he would when he had a chance, but of course he’s never gotten around to it, and he’s so busy at work.”

  Later I come out of the bathroom and hear the sound of the lawn mower out back. I am curious and make my way to my parents’ bedroom, clutching the walls as I go, so I can look out the window. I sit on the dressing-table stool and peer down into Mrs. G.’s yard.

  I can see a boy with pale brown skin and dark brown hair sticking out from under a red hat. He is mowing the overgrown lawn with Mrs. Gayatri’s mower, but is doing it in the most bizarre way I have ever seen. He’s walking in zigzags, crisscrossing, sometimes going around in small circles. It’s almost like a lawn mower waltz or something! I find myself laughing out loud, I can’t help it. He’s thorough, though, and it does look much neater when he’s finished.

  Next day I’m happy to see he’s there again. This time he’s on a stepladder, trying to cut some dead wood out of an evergreen hedge with shears. The hedge is taking on a very weird shape, and I start to wonder if he’s actually doing topiary. I’m glad I can remember the word for it—I remember Dad once describing hedges shaped like amazing birds in the garden of a big mansion he was remodeling. He showed me pictures online. Nav’s hedge is starting to look like some kind of dinosaur, with a long, curved back and spindly tail. Just as I think he’s about to start work on the head, he chops it off, so maybe it wasn’t meant to be a dinosaur after all.

  “Nav seems like a nice boy,” says Mom, coming in with a pile of washing. “He’s working so hard out there. Maybe I’ll suggest he comes over for a slice of cake and a drink. Wouldn’t you like to meet him, Kasia?”

  I wasn’t expecting this. “Mom! There’s no way I can make it downstairs. Are you suggesting some strange boy comes up to my bedroom—with me in my pajamas? I don’t think so.”

  Mom laughs at my expression. “Kasia, don’t be silly! You’re bored and stuck indoors, and I’m sure he could do with a break. You’re curious about him, I can see, or you wouldn’t have made the effort to walk all the way in here to look out the back window. I will help you get dressed.”

  “In sweatpants and a hoodie?”

  “Well, you’re not going on a date, are you? That’ll be fine for a chat and a snack.”

  “You can suggest it to Mrs. Gayatri if you want,” I say, sighing. “He’ll probably say no anyway.”

  But he doesn’t. Mom goes next door later that afternoon and comes back saying Nav will pop in tomorrow.

  Now I’m feeling so nervous. Why did I agree? What are we going to talk about? I don’t even know what time he’s coming.

  The next morning I get dressed slowly, the first time in a long time, and then lie down for an hour. When I get up, I look at myself in the mirror and try to cover up the spots that have flared up on my face. I brush my hair. It’s so dry. It needs conditioner, but I don’t have the energy to wash it very often, and Mom has to help me.

  He doesn’t come. I wonder if he’s changed his mind. I imagine him sitting with his earphones in, listening to music, playing some game on his phone. I’m sure he’d rather be doing that than coming over here to visit me. He must have just said yes to be polite.

  Then the doorbell rings. I hear Mom greeting Nav cheerfully, but I don’t hear his reply. I think about sitting in the chair, but decide to leave it for Nav. As I hear the footsteps on the stairs, I prop myself up with pillows.

  “Come and meet Kasia,” Mom says brightly, opening the bedroom door. She stands holding it open and Nav comes in. He’s shorter than I thought—shorter than me—and he looks so nervous, as if I’m lying here dying or something. I’m only sick—I shouldn’t be that terrifying.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Mom asks him. “A piece of apple cake?”

  “I…”

  “I’ll bring you some,” Mom doesn’t let him finish. “Do you want anything, Kasia?”

  “No thanks, Mom.”

  “Sit down, then, and I’ll leave you to get to know each other.”

  Mom’s gone. Nav sits awkwardly on the edge of the chair and I look at him. My room suddenly feels even smaller with this strange boy sitting here so close to me.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean it yet.

  “S’all right, not much else to do.” He shrugs but doesn’t look up.

  I wait for him to speak, but he clearly doesn’t have a clue what to say.

  “I saw you mowing the lawn,” I comment.

  He looks startled. “I thought you were stuck in here?”

  “It varies from day to day,” I tell him. “Some days I can get downstairs and others I am stuck in bed. I can get to the bathroom next door, and sometimes I make it to my parents’ bedroom.”

  “So you were spying on me?”

  I’m not sure if he’s teasing or if he’s really embarrassed.

  I nod and smile. “Interesting way to mow a lawn! You never done one before?”

  “No. We don’t have a yard. I was just having a little bit of fun. Looks all right, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it looks fine. You did a good job.”

  He meets my eyes for the first time.

  “I’d love to have a yard,” he says. “I got a Saturday job at the garden center near where we live—just watering the plants and that—I thought it would be boring, but I really like it. I’m getting to know all the names and what soil different plants like. I want to study it—plants, garden design, and all that.”

  I have no interest in plants whatsoever, so I have never thought that someone might w
ant to study them. I don’t know anyone else my age that’s interested in gardening.

  “So maybe you take after your grandmother,” I say. “She loves her garden.”

  “I know. Hey, listen… I wanted to thank you—for finding Nani, you know? Saving her life. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have gotten to meet her.”

  Mom’s head appears around the door. “Here. Enjoy, Navin!” She hands over a plate with a large piece of apple cake and a fork.

  “Thanks—that looks great,” he tells her.

  “You taste—tell me what you think,” says Mom, and she’s gone.

  There’s an awkward silence. Nav takes a bite of cake and brushes the crumbs from his mouth. I can see from his eyes he is more impressed than he expected to be with Mom’s cake.

  “So, you didn’t even know your grandmother existed?” I blurt out.

  Nav shrugs again and stares down at his plate. “I knew she existed, and I knew Mom never wanted to talk about her, that’s all.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I say—though I’m hoping he will go on.

  He doesn’t.

  “What’s actually wrong with you then?” he suddenly asks. “You don’t look sick.”

  I’m a little stunned by the question. I thought I was being too personal, but now he is. Maybe he’s deliberately getting his own back.

  “I mean,” he goes on, “Nani told me it was ME, but I don’t really know what that is.”

  “It stands for myalgic encephalomyelitis, and it started with a bad case of tonsillitis,” I explain. “I never fully recovered. As soon as I do anything that requires any effort, I go backward again. The pain in my legs, the pain I feel after walking, the dizziness, the swollen glands in my neck, the tiredness after doing the smallest thing—none of that shows. It’s invisible. And I’ve been like this for eight months.”

  “That’s a long time,” he says.

  I nod. “I hate that I’m missing so much school, and that my friends are busy going on with their lives and I’m not—it’s like someone’s pressed the pause button.”

  “So, what do you do all day?” he asks.

  “Listen to the podcasts, audiobooks, look out of the window, try to study a little when I can, think of ideas for stories I want to write.”

  “You write stories?”

  “Yes—I won a competition. That’s the trophy.” I point at it on my desk, a little worried that I sound like I’m bragging.

  Nav strokes the trophy and looks genuinely impressed. “Nice,” he says. “I’m not really a book person, me. I prefer movies, you know? But you need to get out of here, girl. It can’t be right being stuck indoors. Maybe you could sit outside and watch me gardening?”

  I try not to laugh. I can’t say that watching him weeding Mrs. G.’s garden is much of an incentive, though I think he meant it nicely.

  “I need time to recover from that award ceremony last week for the writing competition,” I tell him. “What do you do when you’re not gardening?”

  “There’s this game I play online––I play people all over the world.”

  He starts to describe the game and I feel myself drifting off.

  Nav suddenly stops. “Hey—you look like you need a rest! Sorry, I was going on and on. I hope I haven’t made you feel worse?”

  “No. It was nice of you to come,” I tell him. “I hope you’ll come again.”

  14

  Ellie comes over on her own the next day, and I’m glad to have my best friend to myself again.

  “What’s new?” she asks.

  “Not much,” I shrug. “Mrs. G. next door—her daughter and grandson have come to stay. He’s our age—he came over here yesterday.”

  “What’s he like?” Ellie asks eagerly.

  “He’s into gardening!” I tell her.

  “Oh!” She makes a face. “But he’s tall and handsome?”

  “Not tall—shorter than me. He was friendly enough though,” I add.

  “Too bad,” says Ellie. “Bet you’d rather have Josh staying next door!”

  I laugh.

  “So the award ceremony knocked you out?” she says. “It’s such a shame. That trophy is so beautiful!”

  “It was an amazing day,” I say, nodding, “but I wish I didn’t have to suffer for it afterward.”

  “You were doing so well. I thought you’d be back at school soon,” Ellie comments. “I wish they’d just find a pill you could take and that would be it—you’d be cured.”

  “I wish that, too,” I say with a sigh.

  “Isn’t there anything they can do?”

  “Not much. I have to wait and see what the consultant says when I eventually see him.”

  “Maybe you need a vacation—somewhere in the sun?” Ellie suggests. “We’re going to Spain in the summer, the same villa we went to last year. It’s amazing, the pool is fab. Swimming might do you good, too. Hey! Maybe you could come with us?”

  “I’d love to, Ell—I’d love to so much—but I could never manage it. Think about how I’ve been since that short trip to the award ceremony. I could never cope with a trip to Spain—the airport, the plane, the journey at the other end, or the heat. I’d be laid up in bed feeling terrible and I’d have to shut all the blinds—the light would be so bright, and I wouldn’t feel well enough to even sit up.” Tears well up, and I can’t stop them sliding down my cheeks.

  “Oh, Kasia. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

  “I can’t believe I’ll ever get better. Maybe I’ll never be able to go on a plane again. Maybe I’ll never graduate from college. Maybe I’ll never be able to work or marry Josh or have kids or anything.”

  “Stop, stop!” Ellie holds out her arms to hug me. I let her, even though the hug hurts my muscles. “You’re going to get better, okay? Most people do, don’t they?”

  “Sorry, Ellie—just now and then it all builds up and I feel so frightened.”

  “You’ll be okay,” she tells me again. “You’ve got me as a friend—your BFF, don’t forget that! And I’m sure you’ll get married one day, if that’s what you really want, but it might not be to Josh. Do you know anyone who married someone they went to school with? I don’t! Not many people do, I bet. Look, why don’t we watch a movie together—a funny one to cheer you up?”

  “Thanks, Ellie. But I can’t watch a screen for more than five minutes without getting a headache.”

  I see Ellie’s face drop, and I force a smile. “Anyway—enough!” I say. “Let’s talk about something else before I drown in self-pity! There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “Go on,” she says.

  At last I tell her about the abduction, about the girl in the window, how the man and woman living there seem to be lying—even my mad ghost theory! Finally, I show her the picture of Farah on the missing persons website.

  Ellie’s eyes are wide with astonishment as she peers at my tablet. “So you really think this could be her—and that she’s being kept across the street against her will?”

  I nod. “I think it’s possible.”

  “Are you going to call the police—or this missing persons hotline?” she asks.

  “I don’t feel sure enough,” I tell Ellie. “The police didn’t believe me about the abduction. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  Ellie walks over to the window. “She isn’t there now,” she says.

  “I haven’t seen her since I went across the street and asked,” I admit. “Maybe they’re not letting her near the window. Or maybe she is eighteen and busy with the baby, like the woman said.”

  “Next time you should take a picture with your phone,” says Ellie. “Then you can zoom in and take a closer look. And maybe there’s another way to communicate with her. Could you put a note through the door?”

  I sha
ke my head. “If the man or woman found it, they’d never give it to her—and they would know I didn’t believe them,” I say. “But the photo’s a good idea. I’ll try that.”

  “What else, what else…?” Ellie says thoughtfully. “How about Morse code? You could use the flashlight on your phone.”

  “I don’t know Morse code,” I say doubtfully. “And she might not, either.”

  “You can look it up online. It’s worth a try.”

  “I guess.” I nod again. “Thanks, Ellie—I’m glad I told you.”

  After Ellie leaves, I look up Morse code and write out the signals for “Do you need help?” I sit and watch at the window for as long as I can, but there’s no sign of the girl.

  15

  The next day, Nav comes over with a book. It’s called Recovering from Chronic Fatigue. I thank him and put it on my desk. Mom got a few books out of the library when I was diagnosed, but they weren’t much help. This one looks better, but it’s a heavy book, and I know it will give me pains in my arms if I hold it for too long. Whoever wrote or published it didn’t think about that! It’s nice of him, though.

  “My mom spotted it in that used bookshop on Main Street,” he tells me. “And I’ve been reading it myself. Just call me Dr. Navin—here to get you well!”

  I laugh a little, but I’m also surprised. He’s been reading it—to help me. That’s thoughtful and kind.

  “I won’t need to read it then,” I joke. “It’s too heavy anyway.”

  “No, it’s really easy to read,” he tells me.

  “I mean the weight of it, not the content!”

  He laughs. “Rest it on your pillow!”

  “So, what’s the advice, doc?”

  “It’s all about routine,” Nav says. “You do the same things every day—only half of what you’re able to do, what you can do without feeling worse. Then you very, very gradually increase that over time. It’s all about recharging your batteries. Like your illness has made them flat, and they need to be charged. Light activity will begin to recharge them.”