Page 2

Rachel

One, then two, then three. Three, then one, then two.

The counting of the trees was the only thing keeping me sane. I noticed they came alone, or sometimes in clusters, the thick branches fighting to get their leaves to the top, eager for the sunlight.

The trees made me feel calmer. Despite the passage of time, they were a constant, remaining the same, reminding me that we were insignificant.

The trees would outlive everything. Any problem I had, no matter how immediate and pressing it seemed, the trees in their age-old wisdom had seen it all before, and those problems had passed, just like I would.

Time would erase the memory of me and all that I had done.

Time was a healer of all wounds. And time would bring the gift of forgiveness and forgetfulness. The trees proved this to me, and it remained a fact, no matter what else seemed to be going off around me. The trees would outlive it, and all problems would pass.

Some people had an issue with their own impending death. They didn’t want to face their morality.

But not me.

I welcomed the day I would leave this world behind, and in turn, leave behind all the problems I had caused.

Time would erase that, as surely as it would erase me. I couldn’t for the life of me find a problem with that. The sooner that happened, the better.

There were a select few members of this world affected by my actions, and those too would soon be a distant memory.

The trees were looking down on us, watching the soap opera that was our lives, but they would soon have a new generation to entertain them, to draw them into a new set of problems and dramas. They stood the test of time.

I took great comfort in the fact that thousands, millions even, had passed before me, looking at the same clusters of trees.

From people speeding past in their cars, to the horses and carriages, the penny farthings and those on foot.

So I stared, and I counted, and I reminded myself that this was a problem that plagued me right now, but I would get past it.

I would be back in my safe haven soon, and, just like the trees, I’ll move on.

One, then two, then two, then five. Then three, then two…

I had only been back in England a handful of times since it happened. There was nothing for me here, but it kept drawing me back. I’d only ever bumped into them the once. But it was enough to spook me into not returning. At least until now.

The odds were in my favour, but that hadn’t stopped me from living in perpetual sweat and anxiety since the moment the plane touched down.

Still… I would feel better once I had American soil back under my feet. I could feed myself all the soundbites in the world about being safe, but nothing was safer than distance.

And I’d be back on American soil just as soon as Mrs “Call me Elizabeth” Geller ordered her food. She was taking her sweet ass time, as usual, and with every passing minute, the trees became less comforting and more sinister.

Mocking.

Reminding me that they had seen it all, and in their wisdom, they could predict the outcome.

I couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling from creeping over me, causing me to shiver and hunch my shoulders.

This time felt different. There was something in the air. A chilling forewarning that could not be denied, nor ignored.

Mrs Geller’s voice filtered through my thoughts, her nasal twinge penetrating through the cloud of anxiety as she whinged at the waitress. I cringed, feeling my face flame as she drew unnecessary attention to our party of four.

Another fact of life was that people talked.

You could hold water easier than people could hold their tongues.

And what I did was juicier than any steak on the menu.

One person ate it up, and fed that gossip to another, regurgitating it like a mother bird would to feed her chicks, and before you knew it, the world, its brother, and its great uncle Frank knew about it.

I was a sitting duck, waiting to be noticed. Waiting to be exposed. They would know I was here, and they would come looking for me.

But all Mrs Geller cared about was that her fork was polished to perfection, and she had precisely three cubes of ice in her water – let’s not even mention the bitch fit over it being tap water.

You’d think a summer trip around Europe would have opened her eyes to the fact that not everyone in the world uses bottles.

But no, here we were, listening to her scream at an undeserved waitress, whilst I waited for the inevitable pang of recognition to flicker in the surrounding people’s eyes.

My entire family had been on the news. They all knew who took the blame, but everyone also knew who really deserved to be punished.

Me.

It was bad enough to do what I did. It was even worse to remain unpunished.

Time might heal everything, but vengeance was time’s biggest enemy. Vengeance did not like to forget. It did not like to forgive, and vengeance certainly had not forgiven nor forgotten me.

I should never have come. It was stupid. But it was my job. It was this, or hit the streets, reputation in tatters.

I played with my blonde hair, reminding myself that I wasn’t the same girl.

Gone was the hair as dark as a raven’s wing.

In its place were perfectly styled, perfectly cut, perfectly coloured blonde waves.

The heavy gothic makeup had been replaced with a natural look, applied with an expert hand.

All thanks to a training course Mrs Geller had insisted I enrol in.

I represented them, and image was everything.

I had been with the Geller’s last year, on the exact same holiday, and everything had been fine. There was absolutely no reason why this year should be any different. But something was screaming at me to get out. To escape. To free myself before they found me.

But there was another part of me, a dark, evil, disturbing side that screamed at me to stay. To relish in seeing the pain on their face when they cast their eyes upon me, knowing I was the one that was responsible for extinguishing the flame in someone else’s eyes.

I could never quite tell which side of me I agreed with.

I scanned Mrs Geller as she stood with a huff, following the waitress to the bar so she could inspect the food as it came out of the kitchen.

That woman needed a reality check. We were in a greasy spoon cafe at a shitty service station on the way to the airport.

Aptly named; Greasy Spoon. Gordon Ramsay wasn’t about to pop out and suddenly give this place a much-needed makeover and provide her with Michelin star level food.

She knew what to expect, and she still complained.

“Rachel!” Joseph cried from my left. “You’re not even listening!”

I slapped a quick smile as Mr James “I’d love to fuck you, but I’m too much of a bitch” Geller looked our way.

I could hear his thoughts clear as day: Keep him busy, Rachel.

Keep him from bothering us. Don’t allow him to talk to us, Rachel.

We’re very busy and important people, you know.

We haven’t got time for his endless questions and demands.

They were such sacks of shits. As far as I was concerned, they could eat a bag of dicks. But despite myself, I had grown fond of Joseph. He deserved better than parents like these. Parents who had only had him so they could brag about getting him into the right schools, with the right people.

Who knew children were such status symbols?

But they were in this world. Joseph opened up a whole new door to them.

He had the best of everything. You bought your crib from IKEA?

Joseph had his custom made by a team of top designers.

Your child had a dummy – or pacifier, as they would say.

Joseph had a custom made one dipped in a sacred river.

Your clothes were from Gucci? Joseph’s were handwoven by dying, blind nuns, whose last wish was to create bespoke, custom, one-of-a-kind pieces for the special little guy.

Okay, not really, but you see my point. Joseph was the ultimate possession. The list of brags never ended. He was walking by nine months. His first words were “stock market”. He was potty trained by seven months.

It was such bullshit.

I happened to know his first word was “no”, and he still sometimes had nighttime accidents. There was nothing to be ashamed of – if you were a regular parent. The Gellers were not regular parents.

“Sorry, little man! I was miles away! You know this is my home city, right?” He nodded his response. “Lots of memories here. I got lost in them. But I wasn’t ignoring you. What were you saying?”

Joseph rambled on about some nonsense or other, and I played my part well.

I smiled when he smiled and enthusiastically nodded my head.

If he looked shocked, I gasped. If he frowned, I frowned with him.

I could be nailed to the cross, only able to save myself by repeating this conversation, and I still wouldn’t be able to recall a single word.

But that was the beauty of children. They were easily pleased, especially one like Joseph, who thrived on attention, yet was born to parents who didn’t even know his favourite colour.

I saw the irony in my words. I was guilty of doing the exact same thing to him. But I couldn’t help it. My mind was elsewhere.

Maybe I was tired.

Maybe that’s the reason I was on the bridge of a panic attack.

We had spent the summer travelling around Europe, the same as the Gellers did every year. The same as I had last year. And, once again, England was our last stop before returning to America. Back to home. Back to my job. Back to where it was safe.

Where they couldn’t find me.

You’re not returning to America!

I shook my head, forcing out the mocking tone that I could have sworn came from the trees. But, regardless of where it came from, it was back. The nagging feeling that something was wrong.

I had been with the Gellers for three years now, working as an au pair as they went about their business.

They basically left me to raise their son, only hauling him out when needed to play their part as the hard-working parents.

I didn’t mind the work, and Lord knew it kept me busy, kept me away from those I should never have entertained going near.

I still missed home, though. No matter how many hours I worked, as I climbed into bed at night, thoughts of home always came to me.

I lived and breathed for England. I wanted so desperately to be able to return here, to finally be able to call this place my home again.

It was a fool's wish. There were people rotting in jail cells because of me, and another cold in the ground, as a direct consequence of my actions. I could never stay here. Too many people had been hurt, including myself. Too many people with a grudge to grind. Not that I cared much who was rotting in the ground. As far as I was concerned, he deserved it and so much more. Fuck him and fuck his entire family. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, and I’d do it with the same smile on my face.

The only thing that kept me going, that convinced me my life was worth living and to not keep fucking it up, was the other people.

People I did care for. They were the ones that made me stop wishing for time to erase me, and to keep going, because they had made sacrifices for me.

They had given their life away to a jail cell so that I could be free.

I owed it to them to keep on going, to make something of myself, or else it all would have been for nothing.

Mrs Geller returned to the table with a sneer on her face. She slapped the plates of food down, grumbling about how she had been forced to bring it over herself. I accepted mine with a grateful smile and did my best to placate her before she embarrassed us any further.

“Thank you, Mrs Geller. It really does look lovely.”

“Elizabeth, please! I’ve told you a million times! We’ll drill it into you eventually, won’t we, James?”

His eyes flicked over my face. “I’m sure she’ll be a willing pupil when she’s ready.”

I bet you’d like to do some drilling with me – willing pupil indeed! Vile fucking maggot.

“Maybe one day,” I said politely, turning to Joseph so I could help him cut his meat and make sure he wasn’t sprinkling too much salt on his food.

It was his new obsession. He had recently learned about seasoning, and as far as he was concerned, the more the better.

We made toast before we started our holiday, and one bite in, my mouth puckered like a baboon’s asshole, and all the water left my body.

Our plane was due to depart this evening, and though we could have easily eaten in the airport, Joseph had begged to stop off earlier, saying he desperately needed the toilet, that he would die if he didn’t go immediately.

I think he was just reluctant for the holiday to end.

This was the only time he spent with his parents all year.

I knew he loved me, but he was desperate for their attention, whereas I gave it willingly.

Mrs Geller had given into his demands and told her husband to stop at the nearest facilities – not because she cared about her son, more the fact that she wanted him to stop talking. And since we were already here, didn’t it make sense to eat here rather than at the airport?

I knew logically it made sense.

It did. Of course it did. But it also meant I was stuck here that little longer.

At the airport, I would have felt the same as Joseph.

He would have been sad to see the end, but I would have been elated.

The airport signifies the holiday is over.

It makes it all feel that bit more final.

I would have been getting the fuck out of here.

Leeds Airport was safe, but it was also far too close to my hometown. Where people knew me.

I was a sitting target, waiting to be found, and I knew it.

One, then two, then two, then three. Look at the trees, Rachel. Time will erase all of this. The memory fades further and further every day. You only have a few more hours to go.

I knew better than most that the entire world could change in a few hours. A few hours were all it took to completely alter the course of my life and the lives of all those around me.

I vaguely heard the ding of a bell as someone entered the cafe, but I focused on Joseph and the trees.

The person didn’t immediately shout my name and start kicking ten bells of shit out of me, so they didn’t know me.

I didn’t care who else it was. I remained with the trees.

I would be out of here soon. I had to believe that.

I had to.