‘Just look at yourself, fool! You’re gorgeous, but you don’t really know it! He saved you to make you into a recruiter, salvaging what he could from a job gone wrong. Just like he had to satisfy himself with the pair of gloves he made from Hezzy, rather than the full costume he was really after!’
‘You’re saying that I…’
I don’t want to say it.
‘Do I really have to spell it out?’ Jackie sneers. ‘It wasn’t that I made you suicidal that bothered Freak; it’s that you were going to end it all by jumping from a bridge. Leaving that glorious body of yours absolutely shattered and beyond any use for him!’
*
Chapter 38
I don’t go to Freak’s shop.
I head back home.
Is Jackie telling the truth?
Was I supposed to end up as just another costume in Freak’s shop? There to be worn by one of his wealthier clients, whenever she wanted to experience being young and beautiful again?
Jackie had said that had been the plan.
Freak had even shown this favoured customer of his pictures and videos of me. Giving her a taste of what could soon be hers. She’d already handed over a down payment, reserving me for her own personal use.
Oh God God God!
‘And you…you were going to help him do that to me?’ I’d asked Jackie, aghast.
‘Look at me!’ she’d replied, drawing my attention back to how she looked with the same sweep of her hands she’d used to indicate my own looks. ‘Do you really have any idea what it’s like to look like this? Like a leper? A zombie? You’ll do anything to stop yourself ending up looking like this, believe me! As you’ll find out, unless you continue delivering Cath to him!’
So that was it; that was what Freak wanted.
As he couldn’t have me as his latest costume, Cath would have to take my place.
*
Of course, I can’t do it.
I can’t hand Cath over to Freak.
How could I live with myself, knowing my best friend has become nothing more than a piece of fancy dress for a depraved yet incredibly rich woman to dress up in now and again?
Ironically, Cath now hates me. She rings me every single day, pleading with me to let her use the gloves. When I refuse, she hits me with every kind of insult she can think of before angrily hanging up on me.
For a while, we used to go through the same kind of arguments at school. Her accusing me of still being in love with Jase. Of keeping the magic of the gloves for myself so that I can win him back.
She’d avoid me for most of the day, then suddenly charge towards me, either lashing out angrily or, once again, just about getting on her hands and knees as she begged me to let her have the gloves.
One day, even through her anger, her anguish, she finally noticed what most other people had already spotted; that I was rapidly losing my looks.
My hair hung down across my face, greasy and lank, no matter how much I washed it.
My skin was dull, blemished, even breaking out in places in reddish patches beneath which you could see broken capillary veins.
And then, on one side, my whole face began to freeze oddly.
No amount of heavy makeup can hide that.
So now I don’t see Cath at school. I don’t go into school anymore.
I don’t go out anymore.
I stay in bed, in a darkened room.
I’ve told Mum and Dad I’ve caught some sort of virus.
They’ve had the doctor round, of course. But he admits he can’t see what the problem is.
Poor diet, he says.
Low self-esteem.
Anxiety over school, friends, boyfriends.
Hormonal changes.
They all take their toll on a young girl’s body, he says.
I’ll get over it.
I just need to rest for a few days. Calm down a bit.
That seems to have satisfied Mum and Dad that there’s nothing to worry about. They’re getting on with their own lives once again, leaving me with the microwave meals piled up in the fridge. They say I can top them up with the vitamins and mineral pills they’ve left out for me on the kitchen top. Oh, and drink plenty of fresh water.
Yeah, great; that should have me looking fresh and peachy any day now.
Mum drops the biggest shock I’ve never had when she tells me – ‘what with everything being brought to a head by your illness, dear, and all the extra worry we’re having to deal with’ – her and Dad are splitting up.
They’re already talking to the divorce lawyers. Already drawing up the papers. Already deciding who gets to keep what.
Mum would have preferred me not to know until I was better, course; but I’m a big girl now, aren’t I? I’m at an age when I should be able to deal with such things easy enough.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I say as casually as I can, so as not to upset Mum too much. ‘So, are we staying here, or moving out, or…’
‘Well, sweetie, that’s one of the things me and Ferdinand can’t quite agree on just yet–’
‘Ferdinand? Who’s Ferdinand?’
‘Look, see, sweetie? I should have waited until you were a little better, shouldn’t I?’
Cath still rings. Still pleading for a use of the gloves. Still calling me names when I refuse.
Now, though, she’s wailing down the phone at me that Fiona’s back. And she’s going out with Jase.
I tell her not to be crazy; that’s impossible, I say. Trust me.
So she sends me a short video she’s taken on her mobile.
It’s Jase and Fiona, out together in the park.
*
Chapter 39
‘Ah, I wondered when you’d be back,’ Freak greets me with a pleased grin.
I’m surprised he can recognise me. I’m wearing a heavy, hooded coat, the hood tied tightly so that it completely covers my head and face.
‘Fiona,’ I say bluntly, ‘you’re letting Jackie go out as Fiona once again!’
He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed by my accusation.
‘Fiona is back there,’ he says calmly, indicating that I should lead the way into the back of the shop. ‘As she has been since the day you left her there, poor girl.’
I rush through into the back, continuing through into the room where I’d last left Fiona.
As Freak had insisted, she’s still there. Beautiful. Smiling.
I’d come over here as soon as Cath had sent me the video. She’d only just taken it, she’d told me. No way could Jackie have beaten me back to the shop.
Despite the way I look, all deformed and freakish, Freak can obviously detect a hint of bewilderment on my face.
‘How close were you? When you think you saw her, I mean?’
I already feel foolish enough without admitting that I’ve only seen a video of her. And on a mobile’s small screen at that.
‘Well, reasonably close.’
He gives me a doubtful look.
‘And you’re sure it was her? You’re sure it wasn’t just someone who looks a bit like her? You know; maybe copied her style, her hair? Someone who admires her, and thought, Hey, you know what – I could look like her?’
‘Well, I…’
Yeah, it is a possibility, isn’t it?
He gives me an understanding, forgiving grin.
‘We’ve all done it; we think we’ve seen someone we know from a distance. But when we get close, we realise we’ve made a mistake.’
‘Yeah, yeah, that must be it,’ I say, even though I still can’t help being a little doubtful that that’s what’s really happened here.
‘And so, as you’re here…?’
He indicates the waiting Fiona with a nod of
his head, an expectant pout of his mouth.
‘Yes, yes; why not?’ I say eagerly.
*
I slip into Fiona’s skin with all the excitement of someone eager to shrug off their own ugliness and take on all the beauty and attractiveness of a truly gorgeous woman.
‘I don’t need the help of your freaks,’ I say as soon as I see them heading my way.
As Freak looks their way to dismiss them, I use the distraction to slide my mobile phone out of my jeans and into one of the pockets in Fiona’s dress.
‘May I ask what made you change your mind?’ Freak asks as he looks my way again.
‘Hah! You’ve seen the way I look, Freak! You’re the one responsible, after all.’
He puts on a pained expression, like I’m being a little unfair on him.
‘And you know what I thought,’ I continue, as I slip on more and more of Fiona, ‘when I kept getting all these wailing, complaining calls and insults from Cath?’
Freak’s hurt expression instantly changes into an impressed smile when he sees how readily the skin of my arms is blending with Fiona’s, negating any need for the freaks’ stitches and tightening.
‘What the hell, I thought; she’s really the one who’s guilty of everything she’s accusing me of! She’s the one who was looking on enviously when I was going out with Jase! She’s the one who was bad-mouthing me behind my back, according to Jackie! So what the heck am I doing, looking like I’ve just stepped out of a grave, when I could be beautiful once again?’
‘Indeed you could, Jill!’
He beams with immense satisfaction as, with a nod of his head, he directs me to look at myself in one of the surrounding mirrors before finally slipping on the last of Fiona.
I smile.
The real me, Jill Paxton, is beautiful once more.
*
Chapter 40
This time, I need a truly secluded spot, one where Jase isn’t going to accidently come across me.
As Mum and Dad are out yet again, each enjoying their fun-filled, separate lives while their daughter recuperates from her ‘unfortunate hormonal changes’, that means my own home.
I’ve just got to make sure no one sees Fiona slipping in though the side door, that’s all.
See, there’s only one way to find out if Jackie has – for once – been telling me the truth about Freak’s way of harvesting the young girls he needs for his creations.
I need to find out what happens to Mary.
I mean, everything seems to be going pretty well for her. She’s so beautiful, no one but no one could turn up to displace her in the affections of her lover Joshua.
Sure, there’s all that class thing, no doubt backed by a threat from Joshua’s parents that he’ll be disinherited – but believe me, he’s deeply in love with her. He’ll put up even with that, I’m sure, just to be with her.
I’ve felt all this every time I’ve been Fiona, even when I’m not tapping into Mary’s past life. It’s like an emotional message running through every fibre of her being.
She doesn’t seem the suicidal type. She doesn’t seem to have any reason to be committing suicide.
Admittedly, she must have died young – but hey, way back then, that could be down to any number of reasons, right?
I lie down on my bed.
I relax.
And I’m Mary once more.
*
They’re married.
Mary and Joshua have married!
They’ve moved into a small cottage, situated by a picturesque river, on the family’s estate.
Joshua has been disinherited, as his father and mother had threatened if he continued his relationship with Mary. But he’s still able to regularly draw money from some sort of trust fund that could easily provide them with an extremely comfortable life.
Mary couldn’t be happier. Joshua couldn’t be happier.
Even when Joshua’s regiment calls him back into service to fight in one of Queen Victoria’s many wars, it all seems rather glamorous rather than terrifying. They’ll miss each other, naturally, but these things are usually over quite quickly. And as an officer, he’ll be entitled to extended periods of leave he can use to return to Britain on a frequent basis.
Mary’s out in the garden, hanging out the washing, when Joshua’s father arrives in a pony trap.
He gets down from the trap, rigidly stern-faced behind his whiskers.
Mary smiles, even though she knows Joshua’s father is one of the few men who won’t respond positively to her smiles.
She wipes her hands on her apron.
‘Could I make you some tea–’
‘He’s dead. Joshua’s dead. Not even killed in a battle, either. Dead from some foul pestilence, caught on the damned ship taking him out there.’
He throws a sheaf of official looking papers down at Mary’s feet. He spins around on his heels, head’s back to his trap, crying out his last words to her over his shoulder.
‘I want you out of the house by tomorrow morning.’
He can’t even be bothered to look back at the weeping Mary as she crumples to the floor. He mounts his trap, turns it around, and heads back towards the grand house.
After a while, Mary finally manages to pick herself up off the ground. Leaving the papers to blow away in the wind, she heads back into the house.
She takes a sad look around the kitchen, remembering all the happy times they’ve had here. She opens a drawer, taking out an elaborately decorated box from inside.
Opening the box, she takes out the gloves; his very first present to her.
She brings the gloves to her face, breathing in the smell of him that still lingers on the soft leather.
It had been their first night together. Their first experience as lovers.
She slips on the gloves, remembering more of that night, of other nights. Of days walking out together, his hand in her expensively-gloved hand.
They look strange on her at the moment, these wonderful, incredibly expensive gloves, in conjunction with her crudely made smock.
She steps outside, back into the garden. The wind has already taken away the papers. It’s also threatening to carry away a bed sheet she’d only managed to half-peg onto the line.
She strides past the angrily flapping sheet.
She walks across the short patch of thick grass lining the riverbank.
She steps into the cold, clear water of the river.
She lies down.
She lets herself relax.
And lets the flowing waters slowly close over her.
*
Chapter 41
I leap up from my bed spluttering, gasping for air, gagging.
I really thought I was drowning!
I swear that, for a moment there, I even I felt the water dropping off me as I sat up on my bed.
Poor poor Mary!
Jackie was right – she was telling the truth.
I have to stop Freak doing this! I have to destroy his shop!
I reach for my mobile, search for his shop on Google maps.
As I’d hoped, it has a small courtyard round the back. It’s surrounded by a high wall. That’s both a positive and a negative; positive in that it will hide me from any passer-by, negative in that I have to get over it.
I set my mobile so that whoever I’m calling won’t recognise my number. I click on a speed dial number I should really have got rid of ages ago.
When he answers, Jase’s grinning face comes up on my screen.
‘Hi,’ he says brightly, obviously highly pleased to see Fiona’s smiling face on his own screen, ‘can’t get enough of me, eh?’
‘Jase,’ I say, fluttering my eyes a little, ‘just how much do you love me?’
*
It’s dark by the time we’re standing just along the street from NonPareil.
No one’s around. Even in this neighbourhood, this is what passes as the shopping district, so everyone’s gone home.
Jase is carrying the heavy bag of tools I’d gathered together before meeting up with him. I’m carrying the birthday card.
I’ve looked up on the internet how to get back into a house you’ve accidently locked yourself out of.
So I’ve brought along a narrow wallpaper scraper, glass cutter, pliers and an assortment of other tools that might come in handy. I’ve also told Jase I’ve included a couple of bottles of boxed wine to explain both the heaviness of the bag he’s carrying and the odd glugging noise he can hear. Actually, it’s a plastic can of lawnmower petrol I’ve taken from our garden shed. So I’ve also had to tell him the smell’s down to it being our gardener’s bag.
The matches I’ve got in my pocket, thinking they’re safer there rather than lying next to what could potentially be a crude bomb.
And the birthday card? Well, I could hardly tell Jase why I’m really breaking into the shop, could I?
It’s one sent to me earlier that I found in my cupboard. One of those with inner leaves that I’ve torn out so I could re-sign it; wishing a happy birthday ‘To all my wonderful friends at NonPareil!’
As far as Jase is concerned, I’m going through all this as an amazing surprise for my friends, as it’s exactly five years since they set up the shop.
Hey, coming from Fiona, he’s prepared to believe it, right? Fact is, I could probably tell him straight out what I’m intending to do, and he probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid. If his gorgeous Fiona wants to indulge in a bit of arson, what could possibly be wrong with that?
Still, doing it my way, with the lie about the birthday surprise, means I can reassure him that if I’m caught, I can just pass it all off to the police as a joke gone wrong. And he’s bought the lie because he wants to buy it. Because he wants to be seen to be someone Fiona can always rely on, no matter what she asks him to do.
He even offered to break into the shop with me, even though I’ve told him all I need him to do is help me over the wall – then he can safely head off for home.
As we reach the wall, he turns, placing the bag on the floor and grabbing me by the waist.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
It’s odd, being like this once again. His hands on my waist. His eyes sparkling with happiness and, yes, even love.
But it isn’t love for me of course. It’s love for Fiona.
‘Ready,’ I reply.
Letting me use his hands as steps, he lifts me up. (Didn’t I say he was strong and athletic? Why do you think all us girls have been lusting after him?) He lifts me up to a point where I can grab the very top of the wall and then pull myself up onto it.