The Other Us by Fiona Harper

Author:Fiona Harper [Harper, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2017-05-03T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I miss Becca. Apart from my children, she’s the person I miss most when I’m in this life, when I’m this person. It’s hard to switch our friendship off and on every time I shift paths. In my other life I’ve got used to calling her nearly every day. I want to tell her about my fantastic new career as the owner and founder of Meg Greene Designs. I want to tell her about the totally amazing house that Jude has found for us in the heart of Notting Hill – our dream house. It’s a total dump at the moment, a four-storey Georgian terrace that was turned into bedsits, but if anyone can return it to its former glory, Jude can.

I’ve pored over my Filofaxes from the last couple of years, searching for any hint of her name that might suggest a meeting or even a call, but there’s nothing. It’s as if I’ve cut her out of my life.

I’m not surprised, really. We were both really angry that day we met up in the Italian restaurant. But the me that travels through time has had other experiences with Becca since then. We’ve laughed and cried, bickered and made up countless time. Emotionally, I moved on from that angry place a long time ago.

All I can think about is that she might still be with that psycho Grant in this life too. And what if he’s not better but worse in this world? What if Becca’s tragic story could be featuring on Crimewatch five years from now?

I pick up the phone and dial her number. I don’t even know if it’s the right one. She might have moved. Someone else could pick up the phone …

But after four rings the answerphone kicks in and I hear her voice. I know what to do after the beep, her tinny voice informs me, then she laughs that soft, throaty laugh of hers before the recorded message cuts out. I’m so relieved I almost want to cry. She sounds happy.

But my joy is short-lived, because suddenly I realise this isn’t just about hearing Becca’s voice; I’ve got to leave a message. I’ve got to say something sensible, something that’ll convince her to give our friendship another chance after years of silence.

I get stage fright.

‘Hey,’ I say, and my voice sounds Mini Mouse-high in my ears. ‘It’s me … Meg. I mean, Maggie …’ My brain empties. ‘Anyway … I just, I just …’ Oh, God. This is going worse than I thought. What can I say? What excuse can I give?

And then it hits me. Maybe excuses aren’t what’s needed. I clear my throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘about the way we left things. I know it’s been a long time, but I don’t want to lose our friendship. Call me?’ I recite the home phone number written in my Filofax, then I think I’d better add something: ‘I’m still with Jude. I just thought you should know that. But we have a nice life, Becs.

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