I pause and have the grace to look a bit sheepish. ‘Tomorrow.’ The word drops like a grenade between us. I’m sort of impressed with how smoothly I say it, but inside, my stomach is doing backflips.
‘What?Tomorrow? No. Jade, that’s crazy. Why so soon? That’s no time for a proper goodbye or anything.’ She gets to her feet and stares me in the eye until I look away and busy myself locating a serving spoon.
‘I wanted to tell you sooner, but then I thought it would be easier for both of us this way. No dragging out a long goodbye.’ I try for honesty, or at least something that sounds like it.
She stands up, comes over to me, and for a second I think she’s going to slap me, but instead she says, ‘You make it sound like you’re disappearing forever. When will you be back?’
I shrug. ‘It’s an open ticket, so . . .’
She shakes her head and sits again, stares at the wall, eyes glazed. Then, as if remembering something, she looks over. ‘How are you paying for all this?’
I shrug. ‘I’ve been saving. And I’ll work while I’m away. There’s loads of fruit farms and hostels, and bars that hire backpackers. It’s what everyone does.’
‘So you’ve no idea when you’ll be home?’
I shake my head.
‘But you’ll call me every week, let me know you’re okay?’
‘Once I get a new SIM,’ I say.
‘I won’t be able to call on your old number?’
‘No, but—’
‘Jade, I don’t like the sound of this. At all.’
I can feel her fear, thick and metallic in the air. I almost want to hug her, but I don’t. I never really learned how.
She stretches her lips into an unconvincing smile. ‘You always were a stubborn one. I can’t stop you, can I?’
‘Nope. Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll be fine. I’ll be living my best life. Same way you can do now, without me cluttering up the place.’
She snorts. ‘Don’t try and make it sound like this is you doing me a favour, Jade. I can’t say it won’t be nice having the place to myself for a while, but I still want you close by. You’re my daughter.’
‘And you’re my mum.’ I hate how it comes out so raw, like I’m five and scared of the dark. There’s a long, draining moment where neither of us speaks, and her eyes go glassy, and my stomach fills upwith guilt, lifting my ribs until I think they’ll snap. I stare at nothing, willing the silence to settle and become manageable. Instead, it tips over the edge and keeps falling, echoing the truth that I’m not just leaving – I’m vanishing. Or at least Jade is.
I want this part to be over. To relegate Mum’s hurt expression to history. I want to be living Bella’s life already, without my mother guilt-tripping me.
‘Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.’ I scrape the cottage pie on to plates, using the motion as a way to focus on something that isn’t my mother’s devastated expression. Reminding myself that this is what I wanted. Remembering all the weeks of hard work that have got me here. My new life is within tasting distance.
As I hand a plate to Mum, she looks up at me, her eyes glistening. ‘Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Jade. Don’t do anything... stupid.’
I nod, even though ‘stupid’ is all I’ve ever done.
‘If you hate it, you can always come back,’ she adds, voice tight.
‘That’s not the plan, Mum. I want to see what else is out there. Even if it’s just... something different.’ I don’t mention that what’s out there is already mapped and measured – a house, a career, a bank account. I’m inheriting someone else’s ‘different’ like it’s a hand-me-down jumper. I change tack and try to lighten the mood. ‘Besides. You’ll be so busy catching up on all your true-crime podcasts, you won’t even notice I’m gone.’
She can’t manage a smile. ‘Let’s eat before it gets cold.’
It occurs to me that this is probably the last meal we’ll ever have together, and immediately, I start counting every chew, every swallow, like I have to log it in my memory for later. I almost wish she’d start an argument. It would be easier than this. She barely touches her food. I wolf mine down, too fast. I want to get to the next step, the one where I’m not Jade anymore. I want to be Bella, with no history and nothing to be sorry for.
Mum goes to bed before ten, claiming she’s tired, but I know she won’t sleep.
Once I hear her bedroom door click shut, I go into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for a long time. I turn my head from side to side, trying to see what Bella saw when she looked in the mirror. There’s the same nose, same small gap in my front teeth. But where I see a jumble of bits, Bella probably saw perfection. I need to become her now, all smooth lines and easy charm.
I slide the envelope from the back pocket of my jeans. My hands shake as I open it again. The Polaroid is smaller than I remember. In the picture, she looks like she’s asleep, aside from the bullet hole in her forehead and the fresh, red blood pooling around her head. The way her face is slack and grey makes my stomach drop. I read somewhere that if you lose your twin, you lose half your soul. I wonder if that’s true, and if so, which half do I have left?
