Page 12 of The Love of Our Lives

For the next few days, I stay close to the flat, trying to figure out what to do.

I feel anxious and outside of myself, so I don’t go back to the Purple Pineapple again or put myself in any other strange situations where people think I’m someone else.

But I do take short walks around the sunny Meadows, and I do keep the flat tidy.

I find some other stuff as I go: a few flyers on the side table Emily must have picked up – for wall climbing, cooking lessons and a dance class in Edinburgh, for skiing in the Cairngorms, and even for a few nightclubs I’ve heard of in town.

There’s a guitar at the back of the hall cupboard too and I give it a nervous, unmelodic strum before placing it back where I found it.

A few books lie around the place, including an atlas, and some quirky little diving figurines.

But nothing really tells me anything about what’s going on. Or why I’m here.

Eventually I venture to the little supermarket along the street to get provisions. There’s not a lot of money left in the wallet, but I manage to pick up some fruit, milk and wholemeal bread. I go to pick up porridge oats then stop myself.

Will I actually be here to eat it all?

Surely this has all got to end soon. Grabbing the box anyway, I add it to the basket. Just in case. But as each morning drifts to afternoon and then evening, and right back around again, I find myself realising that none of this is going anywhere.

Eventually I head to the local library, find a computer I can browse the internet on.

I search the terms ‘woken in someone else’s body’, and ‘woke up in the past’, but most of the stuff that comes back is metaphorical – people talking about how they don’t know how they got here in life generally.

Some people talk about it more literally, in fairness, this feeling of waking up in someone else’s life, but it’s all just on chat sites, and I can’t deny they sound a little bit crazy.

I think about going to see a doctor, but then stop myself.

What the hell would they say about any of this?

What could I possibly say that sounds even vaguely sane? I don’t want to get sectioned.

And so it all drifts on, my panic steadily humming throughout.

On the sixth evening here, I’m sitting at the big bay window, looking out across the city.

The sky has started to take on the pearly hue of evening, and I can’t help feeling a deep sense of dread – and something like restlessness.

Here am I again, all alone in this flat, with no one to talk to and no idea what to do with myself.

I’m just so used to being in a house where Mum and Dad are somewhere close by, or I’m on the phone to Jess, or seeing her.

I have none of my art stuff here. No laptop either.

Wandering around the dining table now, I pick up the camera and go back through the images on it again.

I had a look at them all eventually, hoping to find something that would give more of a clue to Emily’s life, but they’re all of scenery mainly, images from around the city.

And all of them seem to have been taken in the last two weeks.

It’s as though there’s this invisible line in Emily’s life, and before that line, it’s all blurry and grey.

All I know is she lived down in London, had an amazing job and at least one great friend, and then for some unknown reason, gave it all up.

For what?

I look back at the one selfie of Emily I found before, right at the end of the reel, like she’d taken it the day before I got here. She’s sitting in the Meadows alone, ice cream in hand, and she just looks so relaxed compared to some of the older photos; so very happy.

And for the briefest of moments, I imagine myself out tomorrow with this camera doing exactly the same thing as she did: taking in the city, alone, with no faulty heart to worry about, and no other people to worry about – no concerned mother breathing down my neck.

Could I?

A whisper of a thrill goes through me unexpectedly, as a knock sounds on the door.

I turn to it sharply and pad, barefoot, across the cool wooden floor. In front of the door now, I peer through the small eyehole.

It’s him again.

Adam.

I step back quickly, heart racing.

Why is he here?

For a moment, I think about not answering, when I realise just how pathetic I’m being.

He seemed friendly enough, and he helped me when I needed it.

What if he needs help now? Opening the door, I look out to see him standing there in jeans and a plaid shirt, which exposes his muscular forearms, the end of that tattoo.

A kick of attraction again.

Then he smiles, that dimple appearing in one cheek. ‘Hey.’

‘Hello.’

‘So, this might be a strange one,’ he says, ‘but I saw your light was on tonight, a Friday night, and I was just heading out for something to eat, so I thought I might see if you fancied coming with me? I have a great place in mind.’

I open my mouth in surprise.

‘I don’t know,’ I start automatically, because I can’t actually remember the last time I went on a date. Let alone in someone else’s life.

‘No pressure at all,’ he says, ‘but I thought you might not know anyone here and fancy some company.’

His eyes are soft on mine, and I feel that unexpected pull to him; that wave of attraction, and something else like longing – to go outside and take in the city like Emily did, to stop trying to figure this all out for a moment and let my brain rest. I look down at the grey t-shirt I’m wearing, the shorts.

I could stay here in the flat and do absolutely nothing. Completely alone.

Or—

‘If you give me a minute,’ I say, pointing back inside, ‘I can change quickly and come with you.’

‘All right,’ he says, eyes alight.

‘Just give me ten minutes, OK?’ I say, ushering him in. As he passes me, I can smell toothpaste and a woody natural scent.

‘Have a seat,’ I say, leading him into the living room. My heart is beating very fast now. ‘Sorry, I’d offer you a drink, if I had anything in,’ I say, unsure what to do.

‘I’m OK,’ he says easily. ‘Thanks, though.’

Heading back away into the bedroom, I strip the t-shirt off as I go. I hear the creak of him walking across the living room as I pull down the shorts.

‘Can I take a look?’ he calls through.

I pause, thrown by this question, before realising he must be meaning the camera.

‘Um, sure,’ I say, even as I frown at the dresses hanging in the wardrobe. I would never have the courage to wear any of these normally, but I have to admit, that dress I had on the other day looked pretty good.

Which one tonight?

I find myself touching the buttercup-yellow one, then before I can overthink it, I’ve taken it off its hanger.

‘Wow, these are really good,’ Adam calls through.

I’m not quite sure how to reply for something I didn’t do, so I find myself replying for Emily instead. ‘Thank you.’

Pulling the dress down over my head, it slips on effortlessly, hugging my sides in all the right places, and kicking out at the waist. Stepping in front of the long mirror in the corner, I can’t deny I look nice in it, the yellow bringing out the gold in Emily’s big hazel eyes.

And there’s something about speaking with her English voice and not my Scottish one that gives me an added boost of confidence too.

I’m someone else entirely tonight.

With a slight skip in my heart now, I step into some white trainers by the bed and throw a silver bag across my shoulder.

Should I apply some make-up? I barely apply it to my own face normally, let alone someone else’s, but I suppose I should try.

Tentatively, I peek into the little pink case on the windowsill, look through the impressive eyeshadow palettes and striking lipsticks.

I keep finding these little glimpses of another kind of life – an expensive one, which feels different from this flat.

I eventually apply a little mascara and blush, but after a quick internal debate, I decide it’s probably safer not to try anything else with so little time. The natural look will have to do.

Walking back through to the living room, Adam turns quickly from the mantlepiece.

‘Wow,’ he says, a soft smile appearing on his face, ‘you look amazing.’

My body is pumping with nerves, with anxiety, with this overwhelming feeling that this is a bad idea, and I should just tell him I can’t go anywhere. But then, I hear Jess’s words ringing in my ears.

You’re not living.

And maybe I should live a little.

While I’m here anyway.

‘Well,’ Adam says, smiling at me, ‘shall we get going?’

After a moment’s pause, I nod.

‘OK.’